Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
***SEPTEMBER 2021 SCIENCE FICTION MICROSTORY CONTEST (Stories Only)***
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CAROLINECaroline forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes as she started for the door.
“Will you be late?” her mother asked.
“No, mom. I’ll call if anything comes up.” Keep it natural, she screamed at herself. The slightest twinge, and she’ll know something’s up.
“Okay. Be safe.”
“I love you.” Her blood froze as her mother glanced at her, the hint of curiosity in her expression. Idiot! How often do you say that when you go out with your friends?
“ ‘Love you too,” her mother said, shrugging as she turned.
Caroline heaved an inward sigh of overwhelming relief. As she turned, and crossed the threshold, that’s when it hit her, like an on-rushing bullet train. She forced back the tears as she realized she would never see this house, her parents or her friends ever again.
#
“We are a nation of life,” Governor Cosgrove’s gigantic holographic face said over the towering spires of the capitol city, hover buses flitting through the fearsome visage like gnats. The thunder of his voice through the aero drones made the cabin of the sky cab shake around her. She trembled. “Our nation’s heroic forces continue to make brave sacrifices along our borders, to defend our way of life, and the lives of the next generation. Despite the countless lives lost to the plagues, the fires and the storms, the abortionists continue to slaughter the innocent across our borders on the coasts and in the godless north. Blessed be the innocent unborn. Blessed be the Continental American Alliance!”
Caroline averted her eyes from the fire of artillery on the horizon. The California border. Her heart trembled as she ran her hand along her stomach. She had no memory of the rape at the dorm party. Only of the nightmares she’d kept secret since she’d found out. Who was she now, she wondered, wiping aside her tears. A murderer? She covered her ears as the thunder of distant explosions grew worse.
#
“The Underground will convey you through the sub-tunnels, right under the border into California,” the dark-haired woman said, smiling and stroking her hand comfortingly across Caroline’s face. “Don’t worry, dear,” she whispered. “It will all be over soon.”
Caroline almost managed a smile as the woman embraced her. She almost didn’t feel the sting of the osmodic tranquilizer needle at the back of her neck.
#
She prayed it was a nightmare as she awoke in one of the CAA government life protection centers she’d read so much about. But, it was real. She screamed, spread-eagled in a machine designed to protect the life growing inside her. Her heart pounded. She knew what came next. She shut her eyes and clenched her teeth as she was turned face-up. The machine she’d dreamt about would soon close in around her. The machine that would be her prison for the next nine months as she lay, unable to move, fed through tubes like a veal in a box until the baby was delivered by medidrones…cutting her open and draining off her blood. The ultimate punishment for the ultimate crime.
A technician coldly reached for a switch. She prayed. Her eyes widened as the technician’s head exploded in a shower of blood.
Armored Nationalist commandos appeared from behind shimmering holo-screens, firing with plasma guns until the last of the CAA guards were dead. The surviving techs surrendered. She dared to hope even as she blacked out.
#
She awoke to find herself in another machine, tubes entering every inch of her body. She looked around at dozens of other young women in a vast web of milky white tubes, like flies in some gigantic spider’s web. She cried hysterically. God, was this hell?
#
Cosgrove smiled as he was sealed into the life pod, the tubes entering his body. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, the process commencing. The mitochondrial energy syphoned from all those pregnant girls, regenerating his cells, keeping him eternally young. It was more than just survival, he realized. It had become an addiction. Life. Power. But, he didn’t care. Why should he? The loss would be blamed on the Nationalists.
His eyes snapped open as the cold shock of disconnection blasted through him.
#
Ten years later…
Caroline laughed at the sight of her 2-year-old at play as her husband prepared dinner. The holographic news announcer droned on. “And today, the CAA was formally reabsorbed into the union. Exactly ten years after the artificial womb was perfected.”
Mod
©2021 by Jot Russell
Aknar breathed heavily, holding the weapon over the slain, adult male; convicted for his Fenlin addiction. The sweat dripped off his young hand as he dropped the double-edged sword to the stone surface. He took another breath and looked over towards the next chamber to see his friend also competing against a much larger opponent. Aknar gasped, seeing the convicted smuggler duck under Torakus' strike and thrust himself upon his friend's back. Aknar ran to the screen that divided the chambers, somehow hoping to break through and lend assistance to the boy that he had shared his childhood with.
With his hands upon the field, Aknar could see the bottom end of the arched blade extend up and out from back of the man. Using it as a level, Torakus raised the top end of the sword, rolling the body off of him.
Now free, Torakus stood with his sword raised in celebration. He gave no care at the red ooze that dripped down upon his already red stained uniform. He bore it like a trophy as he walked over towards his friend. With his approach, the translucent field released. The boys exchanged grasps and turned to meet the man that approached.
"Well done boys! You have completed all eight challenges. However, before you can enter the academy of the nation's elite, there is one, much more difficult challenge for one of you to complete."
Aknar looked confused. "A ninth challenge, master?"
The master stood firm and provided no explanation.
Torakus asked, "What do we have to do?"
The master clarified, "Not we. One of you has to kill the other. Begin!"
The boys quickly turned their heads to read the other. Torakus looked down at the empty hand of Aknar and then beyond to see his blade laying near the fallen junkie. With his blood still raging within, Torakus shifted his stance and thrust the blade towards the abdomen of Aknar.
With his face still perplexed by the challenge, Aknar watched the altered glance and expression of his friend to realize the attack was imminent. He twisted his body sideways and thrust his hand into Torakus' elbow. The blade's redirection defended the strike, but Torakus followed with a full, cross-level swipe.
Aknar jumped back in time and into a reverse hand spring. Torakus hesitated only a moment before giving chase. Aknar landed on his back foot and twisted around to direct his sprint forward just as another swipe cut through the back of his uniform.
Jumping forward, Aknar dove into a roll, and grabbed his weapon. He raised it up just in time to meet the blade of Torakus. Using his momentum, Aknar thrust his legs up to catch the hips of the other.
Torakus flew over, relaxing the grasp of his weapon to catch his fall. Aknar extended his weapon to loop around the curved end of the other, pulling it free. With Torakus weaponless on his back, he looked up to see Aknar pointing both down upon him.
"Why Torakus, why?" Aknar brought a hand back, and extended his fingers around the handle to withdraw an item from his pocket. He threw it towards his friend.
Torakus grabbed the photo and recalled the image of them when they were five. He looked back at Aknar and replied, "I don't know. I'm sorry."
Aknar looked up at his master. "I refuse to kill my friend for your academy or for anything you might offer me."
The master clapped his hands. "Congratulations! You have shown principle above all else and will be educated to be a leader of our nation."
"And my friend?"
"He will also be educated at the academy, but only as an instructor. As with myself, his selfishness has dictated that he can not be trusted in a leadership position." Shifting his gaze towards Torakus, "However, if he does not accept this honor or decides to speak out about the details of the ninth challenge, he will be deemed a criminal and utilized for a future challenge. Do you both accept this outcome?"
Aknar replied, "Yes, master."
The master looked down at Torakus. "And you?"
"I do, master."
"In that case, Sir Aknar, it's been an honor serving both of you."
EX-IGNISby Jeremy Lichtman
FADE IN
It is almost completely dark. There are some vague billowing clouds of light off to the left of our view.
The scene resolves, but remains mostly black and white and slightly blurry.
We are deep within a cavern. It is long ago.
A DRAGON is cornered by a group of men carrying long lances.
The men are rendered in black and white, aside from the flames on the torches that some of them carry.
CUT TO:
DRAGON is a top predator, a marvellous specimen of evolution. It is fighting for its life now. It blows a fiery burst of flame in the direction of its opponents. The flame is in color. It looks searingly hot.
CUT TO:
KNIGHT. We see inside of his metal helmet. Sweat runs down his face in torrents. His pupils are huge, fearful. His face contorts in a snarl as he thrusts.
CUT TO:
CAVERN. The dragon is running out of flame and energy. The lances are starting to pierce through its defences now.
CUT TO:
SQUIRE. He produces a matchlock pistol from the leather belt that is buckled around his breastplate. He cocks the pistol with a loud click.
CUT TO:
CAVERN. There is a loud bang and a flash of light from the pistol. The dragon staggers.
CUT TO:
DRAGON. Its eyes close, forever.
CUT TO:
KNIGHT. He turns and looks at his SQUIRE, ambiguously. Is it relief? Anger at not making the kill? Irritation that the pistol was unsporting?
CUT TO:
PILE OF GOLD. We slowly fade to color. The dragon had spent lifetimes mining the cavern's mineral wealth, smelting ore into gold. The MEN throw pieces of gold in the air in celebration. We hear their cheering.
FADE TO:
MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY.
Modern day.
It is mid-morning, although you can't tell from the murky lighting in the Hall of Reptiles and Amphibians.
It is also hot and humid, as it always is in the museum in summer.
PAN ACROSS ROOM.
There is a large CANVAS covering something in the middle of the room.
There are many displays, some in glass, some just skeletons or models in dioramas.
There is a PROFESSOR. He was born to wear that tweed jacket and those round glasses. He stands beside the CANVAS. The professor wipes sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
Standing beside him is a GIRL. She is probably ten years old. There is enough family resemblance that you can tell that she is the DAUGHTER of the PROFESSOR.
There is a HUDDLE of JOURNALISTS, many carrying cameras.
PAN TO:
PROFESSOR.
I also have to thank...
OFF SCREEN: There is a popping sound of camera flashes, which drowns out the rest of his words.
CUT TO:
WIDER VIEW. The professor pulls a rope. The canvas drops from the SKELETON of a huge DRAGON.
CUT TO:
PROFESSOR.
This is a perfectly preserved skeleton of an extinct varanus ignis volans. Discovered in a cave in Iberia.
CUT TO:
JOURNALIST. Interrupting.
Is that a dragon?
PULL BACK TO:
Wide shot of THE SCRUM. Now everyone is yelling at the same time.
How did it die?
How old is it?
Is it a fossil?
CUT TO:
PROFESSOR. He holds up his hands to quiet everyone.
Hold on. One at a time.
This is a preserved skeleton, not a fossil. We think it is about 400 years old.
He pauses.
If you look at the head, you can see that there’s a round hole in it. We think from a musket or primitive pistol of some sort.
CUT TO:
THE SCRUM. They’re going wild with questions now, and we can’t make out who is saying what.
CUT TO:
DAUGHTER. Her name is Clarissa. Her voice is quiet, but pitched perfectly. The room quietens as she speaks.
Papa. Why did they go extinct?
CUT TO:
PROFESSOR.
Dragons could be wise and kind, or they could be cruel and cunning. They evolved their fire-producing organ, their huge claws and teeth in order to dig deep in the ground and smelt minerals. In the end they were no match for firearms.
CUT TO:
CLARISSA. She looks like she will cry.
OFF SCREEN: we hear the voice of the PROFESSOR:
The dragons died out because of man’s addiction to gold. We hunted them in their caverns until they were gone. And we forgot they ever existed.
ZOOM IN ON:
CLARISSA. We see a tear form, and slowly roll down her cheek.
AS WE:
FINAL FADE OUT.
DEFENDERS OF THE TRUTHJack McDaniel
In the bowels of the penitentiary, prisoner 331274 contemplated the previous forty-eight hours and his futile attempt to run.
On the Wednesday following the 9/11 Celebration the Iroquois silently vacated history, the last of the native American tribes to be disappeared. The nation sighed in relief, quietly excised any residual memories or feelings of guilt, and adopted the new history as if it had always been written, as if—at last!—Truth had won out. Schools had long ago ceased teaching the stories of noble savages, Thanksgiving, theft and murder, and the ravages of the smallpox pandemic. The Puritans officially became lustful adventurers who willingly suffered the trials and tribulations of new frontiers, safe within the preordained folds of destiny. Jesus had awaited them on the far coast as validation of their Christian origins and as witness that the new land was, indeed, their’s to claim and exploit. All of this had been generally known for years. Now, it was official. New legislation ratified those truths: the nation was closer to pure. Its righteousness now evident in the history it had written.
President Lionel James was poised to write more history. The file before him bore his name and a DNA analysis created to placate his opponents who demanded he prove his purity. He felt justified in the approach he had planned to take at that evening’s address to the nation.
The nation had a form of heroin in its veins, a red, white and blue addiction, a stars and stripes concoction built upon layers of fallacy and delusion. No one knew this better than James. He had seized upon it to win the office, speaking eloquently on the purity, destiny and importance of the American race and the plans Christ had for them. His rabid followers had lapped it up and separated the country into two groups: defenders of the truth and traitors. They steamrolled a populace that had little stamina for resistance remaining.
President James took advantage of an exhausted opposition and pushed even further than his worst critics would have imagined during his address to the nation.
“We have for decades been the slaves to criminals and men and women whose values are antithetical to everything this country represents. I am speaking, of course, of those who are intimate with failure, losers who don’t respect the flag or God, whose only reverence is for empiricism and the dark and cold halls of academia.” James paused and shook his head. “Scientists,” he spit out in disdain.
At the podium he stared with authority into the cameras, “My fellow Americans, we have a problem, a sickness, that we have to root out, expose and then eradicate.” He paused a beat again and adjusted one of his American Flag cufflinks. He felt the addiction course through his veins, just as he knew it was running through the veins of those viewing the telecast. “The purity of the American race is predicated on allegiance to the flag. Any one of us that stumbles or fails in that allegiance pulls us all down. The failures of science remind us all daily why we need to create a new future, an American future, unburdened by the political views of the scientists and their desire to throw shade on the truth. We need to break free from the shackles of empiricism and embrace the self-evident truths before us. The truth isn’t discovered. It’s created. The will of the people define it. When something is known to be true by enough people, it is true. We don’t need numbers or statistics to validate what we know. What we need at this time is to eliminate the ideas and individuals who hold us back and keep us in the dark ages.”
That was when prisoner 331274 ran, as marked men will do. As the enemy-within it was a no-win situation. In a righteous country where can the guilty run?
The guard approached his cell and prisoner 331274 asked, “What is the value of truth if there is no one to hear it?”
“I’m listening, doc.”
“So you are. What would you say if I could prove the president is part native American and part Jew?”
“Scientists! The dark ages are over, doc. Your addiction to numbers and stats can’t save you. Only Jesus and the truth can do that.”
The guard—hand over his heart, reflexively touched the embroidered American flag logo—turned and walked away, singing:
“America! America! God shed . . .”
The Theory of Orthogenetic Statesby J.F. Williams
Rodant ran as quickly down the alley as his shuddering legs could take him. It was too hot, ninety in the shade, in Boston, in December. He remembered his childhood, when the summer brought sunny days and cool breezes, but the blizzards always came in winter, and everyone had their wooly layers, private power factories, immersive vidconvos. Then came the Great Tipping Point of Thirty-Three. It wasn't just the sentimentalism of oomshee withdrawal, it was the heat, his awful weakness in the heat that made him want the stuff. Hurley's footfalls grew louder, but there ahead was a small metal sign, "P. Rodant Investigations", above a moving neon down arrow.
Rodant shut the entranceway door, and turned five locks, holding the case between his knees. Why was the light on? He heard a gun cock. It was coming from his office. Vensers.
"It's me, Vensers," Rodant entered the room with his hands up. "Give me a sec." He went to the restroom, shut the door, pulled out the packet and snorted the green powder voluptuously, moaning at the delicious cool that spread over his body. His thinking sharper, he opened the case, which contained a misshapen blob of blue silicone. So this is what those stiffs are after. He carefully secreted it behind a box of toilet paper.
Rodant motioned Vensers to lower his Glock. "False alarm," he said. "The dame had nothing. But her roommate, she took a powder. On her way to Albany."
"That's it!" said Vensers. "Is that the case?"
Rodant opened the small black case and showed Vensers it was empty.
"We don't have much time now."
"Rodant!" shouted Hurley, pounding on the door. "Let me in!"
"That guy, he tried to take the case," he whispered to Vensers. "He's trouble."
"You got something that belongs to me, Rodant!"
Rodant opened the door and made a show of introducing the two men. So here he was with a shady jewel guy and a frosty tool. What was Hurley's game? Vensers had already let on about the sapphires, how they couldn't be exposed to aluminum, so you couldn't even expose them to the air. They were treated to "accrete", to grow by sucking in any nearby "aluminium", and once they started, every sapphire on earth would do the same—every helicopter windshield, every cell phone screen, whatever, would grow and shatter. Vensers called it "Theory of Orthogenetic States", some rule about crystals getting never-before properties, which somehow spread to the same crystals everywhere. That was too crazy not to believe but Rodant sensed the guy was lying about something else.
"Where's the package?" said Hurley. "The Cool Nation can't let terrorists get the package."
"The case was empty. See? Sonya's on her way to Albany. You have people there?"
"Plenty. Sure." Hurley's eyes darted. "You better not be lying, bud."
Rodant despised frosties. Just as the Warming was starting, these rich types had their DNA modified to make them cold-blooded. Back in the 80s. It also made them stupid. Since the Tipping Point, they had been migrating north from Florida, taking over town after town, whining that they are persecuted, killing themselves with daredevil stunts, refusing vaccines, ignoring traffic signs, whatever.
"I think we have mutual interest," said Vensers, smiling. "Why don't we go to alley, we talk about strategy." He turned to Rodant. "We take it from here."
His visitors gone, Rodant locked up, retreated to his office and waited a while after hearing the faint pffft! of a silenced Glock before retrieving the glob from the restroom. He cut it open with his pocketknife, shaking a little as the blade hit the hard surface of his retirement, maybe a mansion in Nova Scotia, on the beach. "You gotta be kidding me," he said aloud. The diamonds glittered in the low office lighting but quickly clouded, and swelled. He had never seen anything like it.
By the end of the week, every jewelry shop in Boston was a shambles as swelling gems broke through their cases. Rodant had to toss his in the harbor before they got too big to lift. In a month, every diamond in the world was a big, heavy chunk of soft, grey rock. It all made sense now. Rodant was no scientist but he knew diamonds were made of carbon and there was plenty of that in the air. Well, not much longer. Maybe he could not retire, but he figured he might cut down on the oomshee.
(749 words)
The Melrose Incident ©2021 Kalifer DeilI, Roger Melrose the Forth, inherited the Melrose fortune, nearly a trillion credits. With that kind of bank, and yes, a weak will, I got involved in drugs; not just one but a smorgasbord. I suffered a few overdoses and alienated the few friends I had. But, the big moment was when I ran into a doorway which was painted on a concrete wall. I woke up in a hospital sober for the first time in many months and came to the realization that drugs had to stop.
I tried to think, but my thoughts were jumbled. A blurry figure of a doctor said to his nurse, “I think we have a basket case here.” Was he referring to me? I tried to say something but no words came. I tried to move my hand but could only move three fingers. It was then I realized my mind, what was left of it, was a prisoner in my body.
The doctor then turned to me and asked, “Do you understand me?” I was able to raise my right index finger. “I take that for a yes? Do you want to be augmented?” Again I raised my finger; who wouldn't want to be augmented in my condition?
The doctor left the room and the nurse looked down at me. “You'll be glad to know that your fortune has grown bigly while in the freezer this last thousand years. You'll be able to afford the finest robot body in your original youthful image. Your brain will be copied to the highest capacity electronic cortex. You will be thrilled.”
Oddly my mind skipped over the thousand-years, robot-body, and electronic-cortex and stuck on “bigly”. Is bigly really a word? He now began realizing that he was feeding through a tube, only able to see a blurred image through one eye and little feeling in his body.
Consciousness faded.
##
“How are you feeling?” As I flashed to consciousness. I felt great, I moved all my fingers and toes slightly, then other muscles in quick succession. “Doc, I feel fine, I see you clearly and wow, I have a great voice.”
The doctor motioned me to get up and look in the full-length mirror. “'I've never looked this good, you are the best plastic surgeon in the world!” I marveled.
The doctor nodded, “You are the best robot money can buy.”
“I'm a what?” A feeling of panic filled me. Even though I appeared to be a well-endowed human, I was a machine. I felt alive, my memories and emotions seemed to be intact. “So now I'm trapped in a computer?”
“You were trapped in a useless body and your mind was deteriorating. We made the transfer just in time. You look like a healthy version of your biological self.”
I moved every part of my body expecting to hear a whirr of gears but nothing. Completely silent. “Sorry, Doc. I'm just a bit shocked. Can I have children?"
“You can adopt!”
“More directly, can I have sex?”
“Everything works, ... except the children part.”
“What about eating and drinking?”
“You can eat, drink, and taste anything you want. If you have a dog, it could eat what you excrete, unless you eat chocolate or drink too much.”
I felt disgusted but refused to show it. “I would like, my being a robot, to remain secret!”
“Mind-uploading is illegal so we certainly want this to be our secret.”
“I'm illegal?”
“In 3025, we had a robot Earth President, Donald Tierran, that became a crazy dictator.”
I mentally fetched his profile on Spacenet, “He was a straight shooter.” I now felt a strong urge to be someone powerful. “He was a robot?”
“Few knew he was a robot. If there was money around he was able to shoot it straight into his pocket. He was power-hungry and corrupt.”
I felt suddenly empowered, “UN President huh”? My mind envisioned worshipping crowds, large armies standing at attention for my review, a space armada that stretched across a dozen star systems.
“Well, it looks like I have a problem to solve, you're really not fit for this afterlife!”
“Huh? Can't stop me noooooow ...” I was fading!
The Doctor had reached into his pocket and pushed a kill button. “Your brain link to our monitors shows you are going to be a problem. We don't need another Tierran!”
VIVIFICATION By Thaddeus Howze
I was still catching my breath when she asked, "How much do you want to live?" Her voice was hot and smoky, she was whispering every word but I felt them as if she were right in my ear. She slid next to me, her arm across my chest. It was heavy or I was perceptible weaker than when we started. Both seemed reasonable.
Deep in the throes of my painkillers, her touch had cleared away the fog, leaving me clear-headed for the first time since I started self medicating to relieve the pain. And yet her question stole my breath.
I rolled over to look at her. While I was drenched in sweat, she seemed to be barely breathing, her dark face, reflected light across her sharp cheekbones and her eyes glittered with a focused intent. Gone was the sultry casual smile which started the evening. This was the cat resting after the hunt. All she was missing was the grooming.
Still in denial about this evening, I tried to be casual. "What are you talking about? I'm fine." I could feel the lie rising up from within. Then the coughing started. The harder I tried to suppress it, the worse it got. My doctor told me it would be more noticeable. Six weeks ago, it barely registered. Now, with his words were like thunder, punctuating each excruciating cough.
"You have six months. Maybe less. Maybe a lot less," he said. I turned away and sat on the edge of the bed trying to compose myself wiping away the blood on a handkerchief.
"What if I could give you forever?" I could hear her sliding across the bed and coming up behind me. Her hands were hot. She knelt behind me and put her arms around my chest, pressing her body against my back. I melted into her grasp despite my urge to resist the comfort. I had come to London to get away from people trying to comfort me.
"Unless forever could be compressed into about six weeks, I'd say there isn't much to talk about."
"Isn't there anything you still want to do? Is there nothing left for you among the living?"
"Of course there is. I'm doing it." I got out of bed and looked out the penthouse window. "I'm blowing my life savings on a suite overlooking the Thames. This is my first time in London. I am sleeping with the most captivating woman I have ever met on a one-night stand, a thing I swore I would never do. I am living the dream..."
"Then why are you crying?"
I hadn't heard her move. She was right behind me. "Forever is a choice you have to make. I can't make it for you. Go out and live as best you can. When you can bear life's challenges no more, call out to me and I will come for you. But know this: Beyond this life, there are wonders and terrors outside of your ability to imagine. What I offer will have it's own hardships."
"I don't understand." She had begun to dress, effortlessly putting on her clothing, her hard body like onyx glittered as she covered herself in what I now saw as a disguise. Her clothing hid what she was like flesh hides the skeleton beneath.
"You will. Soon enough. I can see life's fire burning down in you. That was why I found you this evening. Something to ease my own burdens. You were compelling. Your ambitions intoxicating. Your dreams are rich and your desire for life is great. All you need is time. You will be a great addition to the Grand Awakening."
"I am out of time." I felt awkward. Naked. Vulnerable.
She walks up to me, carrying a blanket to wrap me in, diminutive and yet powerful beyond her appearance. "I have time, in abundance. Call me when you're ready."
She kissed me. The best damn kiss I ever had. I saw my life pass before my eyes, empty. Meaningless. With her touch, I saw a possibility of my true potential. To her, I have barely lived. "How...?"
"I'll know." That voice, this time, soft in my inner ear. Her lips never moved. With that she walked to the window. And jumped. The glass flowed around her, like mercury, rippling before settling. She disappeared into the darkness below.
Before I could process what I had seen, the coughing returned with a vengeance, spraying blood everywhere.
Wracked, I wept until dawn.
Orbistar OneIt was the last few dismal days of summer, but autumn was clearly moving in early. The detritus of needles, leaves and branches was already beginning to accumulate in the nooks and crannies where summer had given up. Soon the retreat would become a route as the cold, dark and wet took over, relentless in its efforts to wash away memories of warmth and light. Suffice it to say, this depressed me to no good end. That, and the seemingly constant stream of bad news – be it politics, climate change, unemployment, immigration and poverty, weighed heavily on my mind. It made it exceedingly difficult to focus on the upcoming mission. After all, what point was there in going up there, if down here was such a dumpster fire?
I didn’t need to be reminded of the importance of this particular mission. If successful, it had the potential to alleviate a great deal of suffering throughout the world with unlimited energy. Yet doubts nagged at the corners of my mind. The cynic in me mocked. I’d served two tours in the Cauldron and come home with a raging case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Did anyone really think deploying the array was going to be the panacea for all terrestrial ills? Besides, the true nature of our international mission was so classified that almost everyone thought this was another scientific milk run – growing plants in space, recording the effects of zero-gee on rodents, all that nonsense.
A soft chime sounded on my mobile. It was time for my next pill. I dutifully swallowed it dry. I didn’t need the shakes coming on during pre-flight, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the flight surgeon scrub me for something so petty as withdrawal symptoms. Besides, I wasn’t going to give my Chinese and Russian alternates the satisfaction and international prestige of leading the mission. Almost instantly I felt more focused, confident and alert. Yeah, that was much better. I pivoted and headed directly to Main Mission to start suiting up. It was time to get to work.
***
Orbistar One was the largest orbiting solar array ever created by Man. You could see it from the ground – even during the daytime. Its sole purpose was to collect the Sun’s energy and send it down to twelve roughly equidistant collection stations. Like a giant magnifying glass, it would briefly focus the Sun on each one as it sat in a high geosynchronous position. It was safely out of the way of almost all the low orbit debris, and far out of range of any ground-based antisatellite systems. Yeah, there were still countries out there that wanted to see the world burn just for the hell of it.
As countdown commenced, I pondered the fact that I was also sitting on top of the most powerful rocket built to date. Three times taller than the Saturn V, with ten times more thrust, it packed a wallop and carried an immense payload. With this last mission, Orbistar One would be completed and come online. When the countdown finally hit zero, I couldn’t tell if I was shaking, if it was simply the raw power of the rocket, or both. I really needed another pill, but my helmet prevented it…damn…
***
With great pomp and circumstance, my international companions and I drove the ceremonial “last spike” that connected the final Orbistar components. Ground control immediately took over and deployed the massive solar arrays. They unfurled gracefully like lotus petals, angled towards the Sun, and began collecting energy for all mankind. That’s when I cut the tethers holding the cosmonaut and taikonaut to the station, overrode their suit thrusters, and sent them tumbling towards Mother Earth.
I scrambled back inside and quickly initiated the targeting sequence. You see, not only could Orbistar send power down to the collection stations, but it could also hit anywhere on the planet with the power of the Sun. With the flip of a switch, I instantly made every nuclear and conventional arsenal in the world obsolete. As Orbistar travelled around the globe, I targeted every major capital in its path. I cut large swaths of destruction across the surface of the Earth – and no one could stop me. The light was so bright I had to look away, as even my visor could not reduce the vaporizing flash…
***
The doctor flashed a small light in the patient’s eyes for a response. They barely dilated as the man drooled uncontrollably.
(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2021
Reviews/critiques welcome
Escape PlanHannah was a drug dealer, keeping her addicted customers supplied with their drug of choice. But it wasn’t a pharmacological agent she produced; it was news. Tales of the latest criminal activities of the rich and powerful. The bad behavior of those on the far right, who would force their moral values on the rest of the population. Political scandals to turn the stomachs and keep people reading.
The first hint came from the Luxury Goods Market. The rich flouted their wealth through conspicuous consumption. Until they didn’t. Then the liquidations of stock options. While they were good at hiding their wealth, it was harder to hide it while in motion.
Whatever she was tracking, it was in the double-digit percentages of entire nations GDPs. Whatever they were funding, it had to be be world-changing or world-ending.
And she was determined to find out where it all was going.
--
She gathered all of her documents and sent copies to three of her friends along with “if anything happens to me..” admonition. She had done this several times before, so they were used to it. In a way, she was too, so she didn’t see the limo until several men grabbed her and threw her inside.
Four hours later, she awoke as the vehicle entered the side of a mountain and landed in a cavernous space.
She was ushered into a glass-enclosed office at the far end of the cave and several others filed in from the other side. She immediately recognized several of them: Titans of the tech industries, several famous CEOs and a few more she didn’t know.
--
The CEO of the CEOs, Alexandra Zeezos, should her hand and said, “I’m sure you have lots of questions. We’ll do our best to answer them all.”
“The Earth is dying. Or, more accurately, planets don’t really die, they just become uninhabitable. If you believe the deniers, it will take tens of thousands of years. If you believe the published studies, it will take several centuries. Our model, the most accurate we have, puts it at fifty to seventy-five years.
Us folks, in our fifties and sixties, will have a normal lifespan. Children, born today, will have most of theirs. Their children will not. All of us will witness the changes and be crowded into smaller and smaller habitable zones. It won’t be pleasant.
She hit a switch and the far wall turned transparent. She could see the rest of the cave, extending deep into the mountain, filled with bustling robots. A dozen enormous ships were taking shape in the center of the cave. Their design was unmistakable.
“The money you traced is going to these. Every spare dollar, euro, ruble, yuan is funding these. They will be lifeboats. But we’ll never have enough.”
Hannah interrupted, “So, all of you, the 1% are leaving, leaving humanity to its death. How rich.”
“No. When we think big, we think really big. They are lifeboats for humanity, not individuals. To be on the selection committee, one must agree that they and everyone they know will not be going. We are selecting for genetic diversity, robustness and intelligence. Humanity’s gene pool will be getting a lot smaller, about quarter million individuals, so it has to be diverse enough to survive for thousands of years.
“Think about this way: my father died of cancer. He knew he was dying but he had to believe he wasn’t in order to enjoy what time he had left. I allowed him that. Once the diagnosis was known, we never spoke of it again.
It is the same with climate change. We’ve known the diagnosis for some time. In the beginning, treatment was possible, then it became harder. Now it is impossible. We can’t save you or me but we can save us, our race.
She sat down and turned away from Hannah. “I’ve given this speech so many times, to so many of your peers that I’ve got it memorized. They all chose to remain silent.
They knew that no one was listening then, no one is listening now and, they will remain willfully ignorant until it becomes too obvious to ignore.
You are free to go. Publish if you feel you must. At best, you will be ignored. But, if you reveal our location, those few desperate souls that do believe you will be miserable in their understanding.
Do you want to start the riots and wars any sooner than necessary?”
Serenity in the SmokeThe skyline showed a beautiful peaceful sparkling city with iridescent lights. District 1 was a shining example of New California. The Ministers were enjoying the scenery when the Administrator arrived and called the Meeting called to order.
Minister Jarred stood and reported. “We have successfully hooked 95% of the population. The crime rate has dropped by 96% and violent crimes have almost completely stopped. We have released all the non violent offenders from the prisons and only have a few with mental problems and violent impulses that we haven’t been able to control yet. The death rate from opioid use is now 1% and the cartels have stopped trying to smuggle in drugs which is one of the factors in the drop in violent crimes. The birth rate has dropped by 31%. We are seeing a moderate reduction in global warming. We are using less energy and more solar power. It appears the breathalyzer on vehicle starters has eliminated the issue of driving with slower response times and has also reduced the number of vehicles on the road during busy hours.
The other Districts are reporting similar results. The population is happier, more settled and enjoying the new nature preserves and parks. Internationally the politicians have stopped arguing and the Middle East is enjoying a respite from fighting.
The only downside is that the consumption rate of snacks and quick food is up 63% and the population is gaining weight. We will need to notify the pharmaceutical team that the next addition to the mixture will need to address that issue.
All together the legalization of Marijuana and the free government distribution of it all around the world has created a new “high” for our society.
Secret ThinkerCopyright 2021 by Paula Friedman
Ohno! Omg! Oh no, oh no, oh no. . .. Oh my God. I shouldn’t have.
Should have rushed out, flashed in fast, raced out, done anything and everything, gone shoppin’, carried on, biz just like usual, “first one, and then the next,” from first to last, the way they’ve told us ever since the start that we’re supposed to. Should have. Should’ve done just anything, smiled, waved “keep wavin’ all your worries away,” oh-swim-oh-swim-your fears-away, just like they say to. ANYthing, done anything except not flapped here THINKING about it.
’cause I knew already—like I knew, like we been told—it’s thinking about it, harping on it, clinging ADDICTED to this focus on NEGATIVITIES that makes all this worse. Hell, that makes this happen.
And how they screech, the Big Ones, when I swish my way in even as I keep on thinking, CANNOT (or just DO NOT?) keep myself from thinking, dreamily thinking, like a purple-white mammalian unicorn, about what may be possible--how safe, how comfy, and sweet-distanced from each other in our crowded, jostling masses we’ll—I’ll—feel when one by one, we’ll—
Oh God, how they screech, the Big Ones, when I cannot/do not stop myself but, rather, keep the thinking swimming through me (Just remember, “wishing makes it so!”) of how pink-bloody joyous we’ll all be, every teensy now-still-hungry-homeless one of us, mi comrados, when at last we’re finally ensconced in them, our novel homelands! Joy on joy!
(Except of course their screeching!)
I kept thinking. (And their slipping, sliding, all around our Stick'ums as they overheat!) (Their stupid giant squirt-attacks, as if I can’t outsmart—!)
Yes, I'd kept thinking—yes, wishing, wishing secretly—we might invade, outwit, take over such warm, soft new homelands. And, you know, you know--guess what? We did. We won.
I won.
Yes, won. Unable to stop thinking, unable to, instead, “Go out and colonize,” I--lanky, slinky, swift-swimming I--had made it happen. Thus we’d won.
"Won." Except, it had shrunk them all up, heat-dried from inside--the Big Ones, all our brave new homelands crunched down tight upon us. Because I couldn’t—didn’t, wouldn’t—stop from thinking, couldn’t just “Rush out and infect someone!” teeny toes clipping tight, all filaments waving, joying in our New World, like I knew I should.
[360 words]
Mod
First round votes:
Tom Olbert => Jot
Jot Russell => **Paula
Jeremy Lichtman => ***Thaddeus, JF, Kalifer
Jack McDaniel => JF, Jeremy, Thaddeus, Jot
J.F. Williams => Kalifer, Jot, Justin, Tom, Thaddeus
Kalifer Deil => Tom, Jack, Jeremy
Thaddeus Howze => **Paula, Justin, Greg
Justin Sewall => ***Thaddeus, Jack, Tom
Greg Krumrey => ***Thaddeus
Davida Cohen => Greg, Thaddeus
Paula Friedman => Jeremy, Greg, Jack|Thaddeus
Finalists:
Vivication by Thaddeus Howze
Secret Thinker by Paula Friedman
Second round votes:
Tom Olbert => Jot
Jot Russell => **Paula
Jeremy Lichtman => #**Thaddeus, JF, Kalifer
Jack McDaniel => JF, Jeremy, #**Thaddeus, Jot
J.F. Williams => Kalifer, Jot, Justin, Tom, #Thaddeus
Kalifer Deil => Tom, Jack, Jeremy
Thaddeus Howze => **Paula, Justin, Greg
Justin Sewall => #**Thaddeus, Jack, Tom
Greg Krumrey => #**Thaddeus
Davida Cohen => Greg, #**Thaddeus
Paula Friedman => Jeremy, Greg, Jack|#**Thaddeus
Winner:
Vivication by Thaddeus Howze
1) The story needs to be your own work and should be posted on the goodreads (GR) Discussion board, which is a public group. You maintain responsibility and ownership of your work to do with as you please. You may withdraw your story at any time.
2) The stories must be 750 words or less.
3) The stories have to be science fiction, follow a specific theme and potentially include reference to items as requested by the prior month's contest winner.
4) You have until midnight EST on the 22nd day of the month to post your story to the GR Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion. One story per author per month.
5) After, anyone from the LI Sci-Fi group or the GR Science Fiction Microstory Discussion group has until midnight EST of the 25th day of the month to send me a single private vote (via GR or to author.jotrussell@gmail.com) for a story other than their own. This vote will be made public once voting is closed. Voting, and reading each story before voting, is required. If you do not vote, your story will be disqualified from the contest. You don't need a qualifying story to cast a vote, but you must offer the reason for your vote if you don’t have an entry.
6) To win, a story needs at least half of the votes, or be the only one left after excluding those with the fewest votes. Runoffs will be run each day until a winner is declared. Stories with vote totals that add up to at least half, discarding those with the fewest votes, will be carried forward to the next runoff election. Prior votes will be carried forward to support runoff stories. If you voted for a story that did not make it into the runoff, you need to vote again before midnight EST of that day. Only people who voted in the initial round may vote in the runoffs.
7) Please have all posts abide by the rules of GR and the LI Sci-Fi group.
8) For each month, there will be three discussion threads:
a) Stories - For the stories and the contest results only.
b) Comments - For discussions about the stories and contest. Constructive criticism is okay, but please avoid any spoilers about the stories or degrading comments directed towards any individuals. If you want to suggest a change to the contest, feel free to start a discussion about the idea before making a formal motion. If another member seconds a motion, a vote can be held. I will abstain from voting, but will require a strong two-thirds majority to override my veto.
c) Critiques - Each member can provide at most one critique per story, with a single rebuttal by the author to thank the critic and/or comment to offer the readers the mind set of the story to account for issues raised by the critique. Critiques should be of a professional and constructive manner. Feel free to describe elements that you do and don't like, as these help us gain a better perspective of our potential readers. Remarks deemed inflammatory or derogatory will be flagged and/or removed by the moderator.
9) The winner has THREE days after the start of the new month to make a copy of these rules and post a new contest thread using the theme/items of their choosing. Otherwise, I will post the new contest threads.
Jot Russell
Contest Creator/Director
SEPTEMBER THEME: a (terrifying/transformative) secret
SEPTEMBER ELEMENTS:
an addict (the addiction is up to you, there can be more than one addict)
a nation, (a tribe, culture, civilization, nation-state, star system, galaxy, go nuts)
problem-solving (or the failure there of)
This should be a wide enough array of parameters for a host of stories. I know we usually specify "science fiction" but I would like to open the array to "speculative fiction" meaning the stories can range across the spectrum of the fantastical from humble magical realism to star-spanning space opera. I look forward to this month's creativity. Good luck!