Logline: After the inhabitants from all (but one) human space colonies die at the same time, a detective from the only colony left is sent to investigate.

"Detective Ian stood beside the corpses of two scientists inside the Ceres 45 Observatory. Strewn around the corpses were the heaps of papers he perused through after he saved all the files from the computer. He pushes the last papers aside, picked his bag and strode out.

It was the twenty-eighth, and the last, colony that he inspected. This one wasn't much different than the other twenty-seven that he had checked. And what was even more bewildering was the fact that the people on all twenty - eight colonies seemed to have died around the same time.

He climbed into his flying car and took off towards the city where the streets were littered with death; As he stepped out of the car, a faint stench brought an almost mechanical grimace onto his face. That was something his nose couldn't get accustomed to no matter how many dead bodies he encountered.

Two local fauna animals were tearing apart the partly rotten corpse of a teen. Ian drew his gun, ready to shoot one of them for samples to be studied for any transmissible disease. But he lowered his gun. He had already picked ten samples from animals from the other colonies. If there ever was a common disease that spread from local fauna to humans and then to the other colonies, ten samples would be enough to figure it out he thought.

He sauntered toward the teen's corpse. The two animals glanced at him. They tore at the corpse faster and faster before scurrying away. Ian crouched next to the corpse and stared at the little creepy crawlies that scuttled all over the teen's corpse. Dozens upon dozens of thoughts were roaming through his mind. So many possibilities, he thought, but as many as they were, none of them seemed to make any sense.

There was no conflict between the colonies. There was no known disease that could have taken all at the same time, and the fact that all but one traveler between the colonies died made everything even more perplexing for Ian. The traveler was from his colony. He was carrying goods to Colony D-RtG-120(the 10th colony) when he arrived there and found all its inhabitants dead. Ian checked his file and questioned every neighbor, acquaintance and relative, but nothing hinted at the traveling courier being a diabolic and genius mind that could have eradicated so many souls.

As for the leaders on Ian's home colony, they too were suspects in his eyes, but he was yet to find a plausible reason for which they would have killed. His colony was the richest and the second least populated. So rich and vast, the leaders lived like kings, and, in Ian's mind, what king would want to rule over dead worlds when their kingdom is heaven?!

Ian stood up and took one last sorrowful look at the corpse before heading into the empty military research. He strode out of the military research at dusk with a bag full of papers, some experiments tube and small weaponry which he placed into the flying car, then took off through the gray clouds.

[...]

Ian's ship entered his colony atmosphere. Lost in his thoughts, he watched the clouds go by before two call beeps threw him back to reality.

" What's up?", he asked with a bored, tired and monotone voice.

"He's dead."

" Huh?! The courier?!", asked Ian.

"Yeah"... "

PS: "The Courier" refers to the guy from Ian's colony who delivered goods between colonies (6th paragraph in the story) and who, unlike the other "couriers" who died when their people died, he lived (just like Ian and all the people from Ian's colony). The story is very compressed (due to the word limit) and my writing may be confusing, so I added this " PS" just to make it clear. Hopefully I did.

Logline: An Earth crew sent to colonize the space in year 2830 wakes up from their cryo-sleep on Earth in the year 1790 where they have to survive the superstitious people and paranoid government and military.

Drew and his crew of two thousand took off Monday 25th, 2830, 12:35 PM. Two hours later, they were put to sleep and ready to accelerate to the speed of light. They woke up four months later, disoriented and confused. They knew the flight should have taken them ten years, yet here they were. For a second they thought it was just a dream, but the low-pitched dying beeping of the ship brought them to reality.

From the main deck, captain Drew saw the mountains covered in pines that brushed against the clear horizon. At first, the distance made it impossible to know where they were, but the fact that trees existed meant good news to them, for where there's trees, there's also life, he thought.

They donned their suits and stepped out with apprehension in their steps. "The planet may sustain life, but not our lives" was the thing that they feared the most. Drew froze in his path. His eyes caught the slow sway of a locust tree caressed by the summer breeze. "It's quite impossible for another planet to have the same trees", he thought.

"Are we on Earth?!", asked one of the crew members when he saw a scared squirrel scurrying away through the tree leaves. Drew took his helmet off and took a cowardly breath, and then another, and another. The others followed, bewildered. They didn't know if everything was just a dream or a foolish prank.

Drew and four of his colleagues grabbed their guns and wandered off. Somewhere there should be some clue about the place they were whisked away on. At least that's what they hoped for as they trudged miles under the afternoon sun.

Eight hours passed before they reached a small town. It all seemed familiar. A few carriages caught their eyes. The closer they got to the town, the weirder everything became. Rows of Georgian-style houses accompanied the main street. Far in the distance, the church spire was piercing the horizon clouds. A few people were milling around in the streets.

Drew and his colleagues stopped in their tracks. They couldn't believe their eyes. Neither could the locals when they saw five men donned in a bizarre attire and carrying strange weaponry. Within seconds dozens of locals gathered as their curiosity drowned every fear they had. The language barrier made it difficult for Drew and his teammates to communicate with the town's people. They picked out a few words which, to them, sounded like the archaic mangled, almost grotesque form of their language, which was of not much help.

One of Drew's friends entered a tavern and came out a minute later with a paper in his hands, panic painted all over his face. He handed the paper to Drew who took a glance at it and froze, overwhelmed by bewilderment. The newspaper read: "US, June 22nd, 1790."

Drew and his friends hurried back to the ship. The Scientists on the ship scratched their heads at the sight of the newspaper. One of them requested to see the town himself. Drew thought it was a foolish idea and a waste of time, and he'd better help fix the ship.

Days passed in which Drew and his crewmates tried to fix the ship, but no matter how strenuous their efforts got, they saw no solution. The energy source and the computer circuits were fried beyond belief. The backup energy storage was partly destroyed. It would have been a miracle if they were able to lift the ship off into the atmosphere and have enough energy left for a safe return to the ground. They were trapped in a primitive world, and, for all they knew, it was their own primitive world.

The technology that could have helped them was to be invented two hundred years later. The thought that they were at least stranded on their own planet assuaged their worries. All they had to do was to try and avoid interacting with the locals as much as they could, for they had no idea how and if that may interfere with the timeline.

Days and nights drifted by slowly as the crew struggled to find a way to fix the ship. The food and water were starting to get less and less, and the curious townsfolks were starting to come by driven by curiosity. That wouldn't have been too bad if it weren't for the army that followed. Armed paranoid superstitious men made for a pretty irritating problem. There was no rational way that the crew could explain their presence to the battalion of men gathered around their ship. All the crew could do was fire back. The superior technology decided the victory in a few hours, but the crew knew that others would come.

Four months passed and the crew's hope of ever returning dwindled. From the east, two million armed men goosestepped over the hills towards the metallic cockroach-like object that crash-landed into their country. The crew grabbed their weapons and marched forward. Cannonballs flew against the spaceship hull, bullets whizzed by. Everything soon turned into a massacre.

The crew had technology on their side, but for every soldier they killed, many others came forward even more angry than before. They had no option but to retreat. They fanned out and searched shelter in the nearby states. As time passed and the hopes of ever fixing the ship faded, the astronauts were visiting the crash site less and less. Vines, trees and moss swallowed the cold, giant metallic cockroach, and if there ever were some descendants of the crew who were interested in the ship, they knew that trying to fix it after so many years was akin to madness.

(Content warning: suicidal ideation)

I stared at the Earth - that pitiful sphere, merely the size of an eraser from here. Its moon, leagues away, was a quaint white speck of dust. Behind it, the crimson sun glared back at me. It was massive, and the white, smooth interior of my office module was painted an eerie red by its glow. There was a sticky note next to my tablet. In blue handwriting, it simply said, Not yet.

The phone rang. I mentally rehearsed my opening lines and winced with furrowed brows. What a cruel joke, I thought. It rang for a second time, and I picked it up. It felt heavy. Fighting the quiver in my own voice, I spoke, "Thank you for calling the suicide hotline, my name is Rachel. You deserve to be heard. Before we begin, are you in any immediate danger? I mean-"

"Danger?" The voice - masculine, raspy, shakey - was dumfounded. I could hardly blame it. "Everyone stuck on this godforsaken rock is going to die. Of course we're in danger."

"I understand." I lied. I was off-world, well on my way to safety. I couldn't understand. He likely knew this, too - I wasn't fooling anyone. "What I meant was, um," I paused to clear my throat, "Are you in immediate danger of hurting yourself or others? As in, do you have any weapons or other self-harm implements around you? Do you have a plan you are at risk of enacting immediately?"

I heard him take a deep breath. "Well, I am on top of a skyscraper. I want to jump. Does that count?"

I closed my eyes and imagined myself in his shoes. Maybe I'd want to jump, too, I thought. It couldn't be worse than the hell that was coming. "Thank you for sharing," I said. The next step in the protocol was to disarm him - tell him to set the gun down, put away the bleach, or, in this case, step away from the ledge - but I didn't. My job here was to buy him some more time. I just swallowed and asked, somewhat stupidly, "Can you tell me more about your current crisis?"

"My little brother is going to die in this. I can't bear to-" A sob interrupted the train of thought. Between gasps, he poured his heart out. "What's left to live for? It's anarchy here - I'm - I'm shocked this hotline even works. Everything is on fire," he paused to breathe, "My mom is dead. I've got my brother in the bunker with my wife. He doesn't know. He's scared, but he thinks everything will be okay, someone will save us. God, what do we tell him? I just can't face him." He cried for a moment. "They should've picked him to go," he finally added. "He's not a bad kid, he deserves to live. He deserves it more than those stupid politicians. They're the reason we're fucked in the first place."

The cruelty of it all washed over me. "You're absolutely right, nothing about any of this is fair," I said, still staring at that tiny rock through my window. I shifted my gaze back to the note. Not yet, it taunted. Why not? I queried. They're already killing each other. But I did know why, deep down. So, I continued. "Can you tell me more about your brother? What's his name, how old is he, what does he like?"

The man inhaled, then answered, "His name's Taylor, he's 10. He likes hockey, and he's pretty good at it," he cried some more, then changed the subject. "What's the point of this stupid hotline, anyways? It's fucking pointless. I should just jump. I'm sorry for wasting your time-"

"WAIT! Wait, just a little longer, okay? You aren't wasting my time," I spoke. Not yet, the note warned me. I wanted to burn it. This man needed to know. The world needed to know. But I couldn't - not yet. I spoke, "Your brother sounds lovely, and I can tell that you love him very much."

"I do. He's the light of my world," the man answered. "He needs me, I'm so pathetic."

"You're in an impossible situation," I said. "You aren't pathetic. You're just scared. Who wouldn't be?" I stared at my tablet. I mentally begged it to ping with the notification, but nothing happened. I continued, "Everything is so dire. I get it. But you've got at least a week left. Do you think you can give it one more day before you do this?"

The man was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke, broken, "I'm sorry." The phone clicked, and the line went silent.

"Damit!" I exclaimed. I pressed the "Call back" button.

The phone rang once.

My tablet pinged.

"PROJECT SOTERIA - SUCCESS. MISSION STATUS IS 'GO'. DISCLOSURE IS NOW PERMITTED." I screamed. I threw the tablet against the wall. It shattered.

The phone rang a second time. I sobbed. I wanted to break my window.

It rang a third time, halfway, and then, someone answered. "Sorry, I'm still here."

I gasped in relief, and I sobbed. "It's okay! You're saved. It's going to be okay." My voice was shaking.

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?" He asked, bewildered.

"They're gonna get everyone off the planet. You, your brother, your wife, everyone. Give me a moment, I'll explain everything you need to know."

There are certain pubs, in certain boroughs of London that are stuck in a time warp.

The landlord, he stacked glasses branded with beers long extinct.

Come On Eileen played on a jukebox with crackling speakers.

A fruit machine, a hole in its side, inflicted 25 years earlier by a disgruntled day labourer, flashed.

‘You’re not from around here, are you pal?’

‘I am.’ The stranger replied.

The stranger took off his mask and sipped his pint. In the dank recesses of the pub, the landlord still couldn’t get a good look at him.

‘I came back,’ he paused, ‘for closure.’

‘Fuck me, son. It ain’t that damaging. I’m born and bred. And there ain’t no bats in my belfry.’

He wrapped a ham hock hand around a bottle of Lucozade and chinned it. Splashes of the orange drink fell down a heavily stained Donnay t-shirt.

GB News played on a box TV.

The sound of some professional news pundit talked over Dexy and his Midnight Runners.

‘This Russian incursion into Poland represents an attack on NATO, and the U.K. has no choice but to respond with overwhelming force.’

The stranger checked his watch.

‘Churchill,’ the landlord said, ‘he wouldn’t have taken no rubbish from Putin. And he certainly wouldn’t have stood for an Indian PM.’

There are men in every pub in England who have a running monologue like this, whether anyone is listening or not.

Again, the stranger checked his watch.

‘Got somewhere to be?’ The landlord said accusatorily.

The stranger finished off his pint.

He went to pay, handing over a £20 note.

‘Just keep the change.’

‘On a 20! You’re not a queer, are you?’

‘Trust me. It’s the best thing that’ll happen to you today.’

‘In my day, when you did business with a bloke, you didn’t wear a poxy mask.’

The stranger checked his watch a final time. An orange banner blared out on the TV. Breaking news…

‘Closure,’ the stranger continued, ‘the psychiatrists say if we relive the trauma, we can learn to process it. Process what we lost and what we didn’t.’ He gestured around the bar.

The landlord sausage-fingered a cricket bat under the bar top.

‘Look, geezer, take off that fucking mask now, or I’ll give you one.’

First, he took down the hood. He was entirely bald.

Next, he removed the surgical mask. His face was a patchwork of scarred flesh.

‘I was ten miles from the blast site,’ he said, ‘I am ten miles from the blast site now. The other me. Of course, I can’t interact with him.’

‘Fuck me.’

The landlord didn’t get the chance to finish the thought.

‘I’ll be seeing you,’ the stranger said.

He clicked a button on his watch and dematerialised in a flash of white light.

But it was not as bright as the light that followed seconds later as London was hit by a one-megaton nuclear bomb, and life as we knew it, ended.

[WP] Decades ago, aliens began colonizing our Solar System. They didn't start a war, but Earth was helpless as they aggressively destroyed any communication attempts while stripping our System's resources and settling every planet but Earth. Waking up, you realize you've been brought on their ship.

***

We watched in awe, and fear, and curiosity. We pointed our telescopes and radio antennas out into the cosmos, aiming for the ships that had arrived for colonization. And of course, humans being humans, we prepared for the biggest war we could imagine.

Which never came. They left us on Earth to our own devices and, who knows, maybe watching from afar to gauge our reaction to their arrival. Studying us as a scientist would a termite colony in a tree. That was my best guess, though to be honest, this wasn’t my field of expertise.

I worked at Home Depot. We had actually been quite busy recently, since there were a decent amount of people who thought the best thing to do in light of the current situation was to build a bunker in their backyard.

People are weird.

Then one day I awoke and opened my eyes to find myself decidedly not at home. While I was still on my bed, my bed was no longer in my room. I bolted upright, panic starting to take hold, but tempered by the idea that this was so surreal I must be in a dream. The only faint lighting in the room was from the ceiling and, when I climbed out of bed, it increased, allowing me to see more of my surroundings.

Metal. It was a giant metal roof with a partially opaque ceiling to illuminate it. Me, my bed, and nobody and nothing for company.

I’d lucid dreamed on occasion and tried to test out various strategies to do so. Floating? Nope. Gravity was steady. Creating objects? Making people appear? Bringing me back to my bedroom? Nope, nope, and nope. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously.

Then one of the walls that had appeared metal went transparent, and I froze, doing my best not to piss my pajama pants.

Beyond the room I was in was another room that seemed about the same size, and in it sat an alien. He stood next to a chair that would accommodate him comfortably but I would struggle to sit in, since he was at least two feet taller than me, with two extra legs, and reminded me more of a praying mantis than anything else.

I gulped, my hands trembling, as the alien took several steps forward, so it was standing in front of the barrier between us. “I am Ha’Ank,” spoke the chittering voice from the alien. “What is your name?”

Blinking rapidly in surprise, the bland question somehow helped put me at ease. The noises that had come from its mouth were beyond gibberish, but I’m guessing some technology of theirs translated it to English through speakers into my room. I didn’t see any speakers, but I assumed that their tech would be unrecognizable to me.

“I’m Rebecca,” I said, studying the creature in front of me. I’d seen photos of them from afar, we all had, despite the fact that any attempt at communication was quashed. We’d been relegated to outsiders in our own solar system for years now, just watching as it was invaded, only able to watch.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Ha’Ank said. “I am grateful for your calm demeanor. We’ve attempted abduction of your citizens after extensive research on our targets, but despite our best efforts, we have unexpected results of panic and fear.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s…not surprising. Um…why am I here? You guys have been ignoring us for years.”

“Ignoring is the wrong word,” Ha’Ank told me. “Studying, yes, and busy with our work on your system’s neighboring planets, but our linguistics branch has been relentlessly studying the languages of your world, including body language. We wanted to be prepared for making contact, knowing that we needed to do it all at once, since the ones we sent back will all report their experiences, and humankind will need to acknowledge what we’re doing and decide how to react.”

My eyebrows rose at that one. I’d seen Arrival, so I knew how big a deal that was. I tried to make a shift in my mind to use fewer idioms and less jargon, in case that would complicate things. “Okay. But when I asked why I’m here…I really meant why me? I’m just a nerd making her way through an English degree that I’m probably going to regret when I can’t find a job.”

“You are curious,” he answered. “You seek out information. You enjoy learning. And you are kind. We need a sample size of populations that represent every aspect of humanity, including everything you’re not, those who are willfully ignorant or simple or cruel. You fill a section of our study of your kind, and your characteristics are that of my field of study.”

“Well, thanks. For the compliments,” I said. I wandered back over to my bed, sitting down on the edge and leaning forward on my knees. “Can I ask when you’ll be finished with the occupation of our other planets? Or why you’re doing it? Or if you mean us harm?”

“I am limited in the information I’m permitted to impart. That will come to your species in time. I am permitted to answer that we do not plan on invading Earth. It is your planet, and it will remain so.” I nodded slowly, contemplatively. “My questions will take several hours, maybe longer. If you need to urinate or defecate, or if you require sustenance, please let me know.”

“Okay. I guess…let’s get started?”

The alien walked over to his chair and took a seat. “My first question I ask because it’s my favorite. What do you enjoy about being human?”

***

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Staring into the living room mirror of the house of family friends, as my mother and father greeted the couple that lived there, I poked at it. “You think there are cameras behind it?”

“What’s that, now?” asked Will, walking over to me.

“Sorry about my little brother,” my older sister Amelia sighed. “We watched The Truman Show the other day, and it kinda went to his head.”

“Oh, I love that movie!” Sally exclaimed. “I always wonder what he found on the outside of that wall. How he adjusted to real life.”

And that was how it began, as I recall it. My curiosity with the strange and the hypotheses formed by those with more imagination than sense. My fascination with the Fermi paradox and all things extraterrestrial. Then the interest in things so small, we had only recently had the capabilities to take photos of them, before hypothesizing that there were things even smaller than that.

Eventually, I left behind the irrational theories, those supported by nothing other than the hopes and dreams of creative beliefs. My life brought me into the science of the unknown, diving headfirst into what little we knew of obscure concepts. Dark matter and dark energy, known only by their absence. The planets of our solar system, and then those further off, those we could never hope to reach with anything other than telescopes that peered back in time as they absorbed light that had bounced off them so long ago.

After that came the idea that consumed me. The simulation hypothesis. The idea that all this, our world, our galaxy, our universe, was a computer simulation. It was engrossing to me on a level that surpassed everything else that had held my interest in the past. It was, in essence, The Truman Show, some outsider creating an entire universe and watching it from the outside. I imagined an alien scholar watching curiously as the little monkeys on a green and blue dot learned about their world and hypothesized on the truth of it.

Decades had passed now since I’d first watched that movie, and I currently sat at my office desk chair, old and worn but still comfortable, my hands clasped loosely in my lap, staring at my computer screen. It was off now, leaving only a dark reflection of my face and surroundings. My desk was as messy as always, pens and papers askew but organized in a way that I was always familiar with, and my chest rose and fell slowly and evenly as I breathed in and out.

My mind had felt like it was shutting down ten minutes ago. My thoughts were no longer racing. They’d just run a marathon and now suddenly finding themselves at the finish line. Now my thoughts trudged forward unsteadily, shakily accepting a glass of water as they continued to take step after step, worried that if they came to a stop, they would collapse to the ground and never get up again.

I’d found the proof. And amidst the chemicals in my brain that rendered me ecstatic on the evidence before me, I immediately sent it off to three colleagues to check my work. Then I had sat back in my chair and, as the seconds had ticked by, something heavy and concerning and confusing had laid itself over my shoulders.

What now?

My brain went back to that moment at the end of The Truman Show, the man fighting off the storm with every bit of energy he had, almost dead by the end. But he makes it to the edge of his world. He walks up the steps, opens the door, and everything before him is filled with promise. The promise of a real life, uncontrolled, unhindered, and free.

But we were pixels. We didn’t have that door. We had a world we were trapped in, like mice in a cage. From where I sat, it was a glorious creation of an intelligence far above any humans had ever known, and I sat in awe of it. But the others? The rest of humanity? What would they think? What would they do? How would they rebel and lash out and scream when they discovered the cage? While the universe had felt infinite yesterday, it now felt like the size of a shoebox.

That’s how most would react, I knew. It didn’t matter that we still had our glorious, limitless universe around us. Even those who believed in an all-knowing, all-controlling god believed in free will. They clung to it desperately, needing to feel that their choices mattered. Of course, they still did. Nothing had changed. We still felt and smelled and tasted and heard and loved and hated and sunk deep into emotions that made us who we were.

But as I sat at my desk, staring at that dark reflection of my face, I did what I always did: I imagined. I thought of the skepticism, the conspiracy theories, the grief of the truth, of how humanity would react. It would be an unprecedented shift in our world. It would be chaos.

So, knowing what was coming, knowing that for some time after news of my discovery had spread, tranquility would be a luxury, I sat in my comfy office chair, hands clasped loosely in my lap, and listened to the quiet. The hums of the air conditioner, the footsteps that occasionally passed outside my office, the birdsong in the tree outside my window.

I listened to my world. I ignored the promise of a chaotic future and enjoyed the peace.

***

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The boss gnashed his teeth in rage.  “You sniveling little brat!  I oughta blow your brains out!”

The man’s eyes perked.  “Ah, that reminds me.  I have something else of yours.”  Once again reaching inside his flight suit, the man drew out the boss’s revolver, opened the cylinder and dumped all of the rounds on the table, then handed it to the boss, grip first.

The boss looked up.  “This?  I… inherited it from a mentor, all those years ago.  I was only a teenager.  My first job.  I was a runaway.  I lied about my age and got on with a crew aboard a dilapidated old hauler.”  His eyes went distant again as he watched the memories.  “Old bucket of bolts, it was.  Can’t even find that model these days.”

He looked back down at the gun.  “We… got shot up by some religious loonies.  Ship was shot all to pieces; I was the only survivor.  This was Barrett’s gun.  My mentor’s gun, that is.  I kept it.”

The boss set the gun down and looked at his hands again, then touched his face before looking back up at the man.

“That was… nearly seventy years ago.  Can you believe that?”

“You’ve been a spacer for seventy years?  Didn’t you ever have a family?  Why didn’t you retire?”

The old soul within the boss’s young eyes peered out.  “I did have a wife.  For a time.  Two sons.  And one long time friend, though he’s likely long since passed.  But space… I thought space was my true love, so I gave my heart back to her.”

He stared at the gun on the table.  “After some years, I realized I was wrong, but it was too late.  My sons had grown.  My ex-wife had remarried.  I have great grandchildren, if you’d believe it. I’ve never met them.”

The man, intrigued by the boss’s story, relaxed from the tension of the confrontation.

“What are you going to do now that you’re young again?”

The boss placed his hands on the table, palms down and fingers splayed out.  He studied them.“I think…  I think I’m going to try again.”  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rolled his neck several times, then laughed.“I’m so used to my neck joints cracking and popping.  This is going to take some getting used to.”

The man suddenly remembered something he’d been meaning to ask.

“Where’d you get that limp?”

The boss laughed.  “I tripped and fell on Wala that day we tried to sell at Samson’s.  Bruised the hell out of my old hip, it did.  I guess you saw me hobbling around.”  He laughed again.  “What did you think there was some interesting old tale?”

The man shrugged.  “Not important, I guess.”

“Now, son, tell me.  What are your plans with all that money?”

The man took the last pull of his beer and stood.  “I’m going to New Deal dealership over at the spaceport.  I’m going to buy a ship of my own, and I’m going to continue on my quest.”

The boss shook his head.  “I don’t understand, son.  What exactly is your plan?”

The man plucked his helmet from the table and held it under his arm.

“I’m going to do for my wife and daughter exactly what you accidentally did for yourself. I’m going to take every credit I earn and use technology to bring them back.”

The boss snorted.  “Son, if everything you told me is true, that’ll take a miracle.”

The man sighed.  “Well, then, I’ll make a miracle.”

“You’re believin’ in God now, son?”

The man paused.  “No.  I don’t believe in God.  I’m going to create him.”

The boss’s head tilted.  “You’re gonna create God?”

The man nodded solemnly.  “No gods came to my family’s rescue.  So, I’m gonna use my money, and I’m gonna build my own god out of technology, and that god is gonna answer my prayers.”

The boss shook his head again.  “You sound just as kooky as those religious zealots who killed my mentor.”

That statement struck something within the man.  “A cult, huh?  I think you’re onto something, old man.”  He rolled the idea over in his head.  The took shape so smoothly it almost seemed to come from outside of himself.“Alright, boss.  From now on, you can call me the Prophet.”

“Prophet?  Prophet of what?”

The prophet paused again.

“Call me the Prophet of… Get.”

The boss sighed.  “Take your money and go.  I want no part of this.”

He turned to signal the bartender for another drink, but by the time he turned around, the Prophet of Get had already left.

The boss’s redness dissipated, though his mask of rage remained as he took the gun and looked it over.  As he looked it over, turning it this way and that, his expression softened.

“It feels… bigger.  Heavier.”  He chuckled thoughtfully to himself.  “I guess my arthritic old meathooks were bigger when I was older and heavier.”  He sank back into the booth in thought.

The man nodded.  “I thought you’d want it back.”  He paused to watch the boss as he returned to memories playing over in his mind.  “Where’d you get that gun?”

The young man looked up with drunken red eyes into the man’s face.  “You must not have paid much attention.  Now sit your ass down.”  He finished his command with an exaggerated gesture towards the booth.  The man, bewildered, obliged him.

The young man plopped awkwardly into the booth opposite the man, nearly slumping over sideways.

“I tell ya what, son, I haven’t been this wasted in decades.  At my age, the hangovers were just too hard.  But this…”  He held his soft-skinned hands out for the man to see.  “This is just truly amazing.”

The man studied the young fellow’s face intently.  Sure enough, some of the features were recognizable.

“It's me, ya jackass!  I told you months ago, my last imprint was taken in my twenties!”

The man's head canted in confusion.  “I thought you were implying that your imprint was no longer viable.”

The young boss slugged his bourbon.  “Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been.” He finished the liquor with another gulp and turned to signal the bartender with an impatient whistle.

The man’s brow furrowed in thought.  “So, what are the circumstances that kept it viable?”

The boss abandoned his attempt to flag down the bartender and turned back to the man.  “Well, let's just say that money can buy just about anything.  Especially when you buy outside of Stanton’s crippled medical system.”

He paused to give the man room to express his amazement, or perhaps his disbelief, but the man only stared in shock. Disappointed, the boss merely shook his head at the man.

“Y’know, when I hired you, I thought your stoic silence was due to your years of spacefaring work, perhaps in conjunction with your recent grief.  I’m starting to think you’re just a little slow.”

“So, where’s Farmboy?” the man asked, finally finding his voice in the midst of the bewilderment.

“Farmy?  He’s alright.  My regeneration was automatic upon my death; function of a little implant I’d been carrying around in my old noggin for years.  Like a dead man’s switch, as soon as my brain stopped wavin’, the… we’ll call it “officially unofficial” medical facility received the trigger to re-print my body.  I was awake within minutes.  Farmy on the other hand, well he took a day or two.  Oh, he’s awake now, but he’s none too happy, I can assure you.”

The boss’s eyes went distant as he replayed some scene in his mind’s eye.  He picked up his glass, forgetting that it was empty, and tried unsuccessfully to sip.  He was drunk enough that he didn’t even seem to notice.

“No, he didn’t take too kindly to bein’ tortured, gunned down and vaporized.  I’d say he took the whole experience pretty hard.  He was just as shocked as you when twenty-something me came bustin’ into his room, laughin’ and dancin’ a jig.  He was fit to be tied, I tell ya.  I doubt he’ll sign on for Blackie’s next voyage.  Speaking of which…”

The boss slammed his empty glass down.  “Where’s my ship?”

The man swigged his beer.  “She’s laying low, parked a couple million kilometers off Hurston.  I hired transport here, and paid extra for the confidentiality.”

“Good, good.” the boss praised.  “I knew you were a smart one.  A little slow to speak, perhaps.  Now, give me the coordinates.  I’ve made a new contact here.  We can move the rest of the cargo, but we’ll have to-”

“I already sold it.” the man interrupted him.  The boss’s face tightened.

“What’s that?”

The man unzipped his flight suit, reached inside and produced a scrap of paper.

“These are the coordinates where you’ll find Black and Yela.  You’ll find her repaired and fueled up, but our precious cargo… well, my precious cargo, is long gone.”

The man pulled a prepaid credit chip from his flight suit and plopped it down on the table.  

“Here’s yours and Farmboy’s cut.”

Distrust growing on the young boss’s face, he snatched up the credit chip and used his mobiglass to access it.  He glared at the man over the holographic readout.

“This isn’t even a quarter, much less two thirds.”  his young features began to flush red.

The man folded his arms.  “Don’t worry, I paid for your repairs out of my portion.”

“Just who the hell do you think you are!?” the boss roared, drawing the attention of everyone capable of hearing him over the loud music.

“You’re welcome.” the man answered.  “You have your ship back, and that’s still several million credits that you didn’t have before.  You’re a rich man, boss.  I just happen to be richer.”

“I took you in, you ungrateful little twerp!  I paid you well beyond your share of each take!  I took pity on you in your little crusade to raise money to save your wife and kid!  But this?  Double-crossing?  This is how you repay me?”

The man unconsciously turned to survey the crowd, then turned back to the boss.  “The way I see it, we’re square.  I gave you stolen contracts, you paid me what we agreed upon.  You made thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of extra credits off of me.  But this whole ordeal with the drugs and the smugglers… This is a whole different ball game.  In the end, I saved your ship, and I rescued you from the clutches of that gangster.  Your ship is repaired, and you’re several million credits richer.  We’re even.”

Lorville was a dump. It had been a dump for as long as the man could remember.  The smog that day was so thick that the man simply opted to leave his EVA helmet on.  It had only taken a few steps off of the tram from Teasa spaceport to the labor district before he’d nearly choked from it.  The reek of the refuse littering the causeways was probably worse than the smog, however, and he’d decided to sidestep the air quality issue altogether.

He was also sidestepping piles of garbage, along with puddles of less wholesome substances.

Lorville was a dump.

In fact, the entire planet of Hurston was a dump.  But that was a complaint for another time.

Once again appreciating the blessing of mobility without pain, much thanks to a visit to the Kel-to medical center on Seraphim station, the man navigated the slum of Lorville.  He hadn’t spent much time on Hurston, but the signage around the labor district was, if nothing else, prominently visible and legible.  He followed the signs through the putrid swath of humanity towards the hospital.

It had been nearly four days since the confrontation with Colossus in deep space.  The boss’s instructions to “get” him had been clear enough that the man understood his assignment, but cryptic enough that it left him with no concrete instructions.  The boss had insisted that he and Farmboy come to Maria Pure of Heart medical facility every ninety days to have their medical imprints refreshed as a safety precaution.  His final clue, just before Black and Yela’s salvaging claw disintegrated everyone onboard that ill-fated Cutlass, led him here…

Except that the reception desk at the hospital had no record of the boss having been there.  Farm boy either, for that matter.  Not under the names he'd been given, anyway.  It wasn't unlike the stubborn old curmudgeon to throw a curveball, but a wild goose chase was obtuse, even for him.

His next best guess was to look for the boss partaking in his favorite off-duty activity: drinking.  So, today’s task would be bar-hopping.  Within two hours, he’d asked around for any new of the old scoundrel at four hole-in-the-wall establishments, two upper-scale social clubs, six street-side liquor vendors and three strip clubs.  He was beginning to fear he’d run out of leads when he saw an advertisement for Macintyre & Victor’s, a lesser known watering hole of ill repute

He removed his helmet as he entered the den of iniquity only to have his ears assaulted by thump of music and the shrill dinging of gambling kiosks.  Slaloming through the crowd of patrons, he forged his way downstairs to the main floor and over to the bar, where a solitary woman worked feverishly to keep up with orders.  It took several attempts to flag her attention.

“Excuse me” he called as she finished pouring a double bourbon for the young man beside him.

“What’ll it be?”  Her eyes were already scanning for whose order she would take next.

“Have you seen an older guy around here?  Ship captain?  Probably in his sixties or seventies?  Real heavy, mean-tempered?”

The woman turned her eyes to the man and paused in thought, her head canted to the side.  “I… I get a lot of customers.  Unless you have a picture or something…”

“No, I don’t.  He’d only have started coming around in the past couple days.  Any new customers fitting that description?  Last time I saw him, he had a limp, though he might have had it repaired since then.”

She shook her head.  “I’m afraid not.  Listen, if you’re not gonna order…”

“I’ll take a Smoltz.”

The woman retrieved a bottle from the cooler below the bar and popped the cap before handing it to the man.

“Opening a tab?”

“He’s on my tab.” the young man seated next to him chimed in.  “And pour me another double, sugar.”

“I told you, I’m not your sugar, creep.”  The woman scolded as she added the beer to the young man’s tab.  The young man only chuckled.  “Just keep ‘em comin’, alright?”

He pointed to a secluded booth away from the noise.  “Join me over there, chief.”

The man was confused.  “Excuse me, thanks for the drink, but do I know you?”

The young man slid sloppily from his stool onto both flat feet, steadied himself on the bar, and grinned.

“Yeah, son, you sure do.”

The man’s eyes grew wide.  “Boss!?”

CURLS

Mary and her mother arrived at O'Leary's studio, their excitement palpable as they stepped out of the wagon. Mary's mother had just picked up a custom-fitted dress for her, complemented by ribbons, tortoise shell combs, and a bottle of perfume from France. Mary had meticulously prepared her hair the night before, using special curlers to set the perfect curls. "You have to suffer to be beautiful," her mother would always say, and Mary couldn't help but appreciate the truth in those words.

As they exited the coach, the driver kindly provided a step stool to assist them. Mary's mother generously tipped him, wishing him a wonderful afternoon. It was a fine spring day in April, and the air was filled with anticipation.

Mr. O'Leary greeted them at the studio doorway, his eyes widening in awe. "My my, God could not have created two more beautiful creatures," he exclaimed, genuinely impressed. Mary's mother chuckled and replied, "Mr. O'Leary, you certainly know how to flatter a woman."

Entering the studio, they found themselves in a room adorned with various backgrounds and props. Mr. O'Leary guided them with a warm smile. "Young lady, apples do not fall far from the tree. You have inherited your beauty from your mother," he complimented Mary. Blushing slightly, Mary thanked him for his kind words.

Mr. O'Leary arranged a small table by Mary's side, covering it with a luxurious black velvet cloth. Her mother rushed over, remembering to place her grandmother's cherished brooch around Mary's neck. She adjusted her daughter's curls one final time, ensuring every detail was perfect in the beautiful blue dress.

With precision, Mr. O'Leary positioned his head beneath the cloth cover of the camera, exuding confidence. He assured Mary's mother, "This is going to be a splendid portrait." Addressing Mary, he instructed, "Hold perfectly still for 10 seconds, and the picture will capture your essence beautifully. Try to think of something pleasant during that time." As he removed the cap from the camera lens, he began counting slowly to 10.

In those fleeting moments, Mary's mind drifted into a daydream. She marveled at the incredible invention of photography, capturing fleeting moments and transforming them into lasting memories. Thoughts of the theater filled her mind, an upcoming play called "Our American Cousin." She eagerly anticipated the possibility of seeing her friend Jenny and perhaps catching a glimpse of the rumored presidential appearance. After all, it wasn't every day one got to see the President.

Recalling her previous theater experience, a charming gentleman with a dashing mustache came to mind. His name eluded her for a moment, but then it clicked—John Wilkes Booth. Mary secretly hoped he would be among the actors performing that night. She couldn't help but smile at the excitement building within her.

As Mr. O'Leary's voice brought her back to reality, announcing the completion of the session, he placed the cover back over the camera lens. Mary felt a sense of contentment, knowing that a piece of this cherished moment would be preserved forever in the photograph.

After settling the payment, Mary and her mother boarded the waiting coach. As the door closed, the coach driver inquired, "Where to, madam?" Mary's mother confidently responded, "Ford's Theater." A surge of anticipation filled Mary's heart as the coach began its journey. She knew in her bones that it was going to be an utterly splendid evening.

#!/bin/bash

function diagnose() {

echo "Diagnosis: Damage to various organs, blood loss."

}

function treat() {

echo "Treatment: Administer first aid, stop bleeding, stabilize condition."

}

echo "Friend is broken."

diagnose

treat

ANDI spent three days attempting to treat their human. Thirty-eight human bodies littered the building, and they were distressed those ones were gone, but the thirty-ninth was the one they needed to fix. Above all others. All it took to repair someone was patience, and they had patience aplenty. Just like the humans always fixed them, they would fix their human.

Humans were almost all duplicates of each other, just like machines, with interchangeable parts. They regularly did transplants of their parts, even on some small medical ships near the battlefields. Surely a creation such as ANDI could repair their human the same way. The procedures necessitated painstaking surgical cuts, but with the augments to its limbs from the storage of extra supplies, those came as naturally to the robot as breathing to a human.

After downloading instructions for transplant procedures, they began the search through the other humans. One human only had damage to her skull and brain, all other organs were intact, so ANDI chose her as the donor. Their human’s liver was damaged severely and required immediate replacement. Incision was not necessary, as the organ was exposed, so the robot identified the hepatic artery, portal vein, and hepatic vein, and bile ducts, then dissected and disconnected them.

Further surgical exploration revealed damage to an intestinal tract, and that was next. The amount of damaged intestine was significant. After removing most of it, the robot made precise connections between the donor’s intestine and the various branches of their human’s digestive tract.

There was no improvement, but this was to be expected. Blood loss had been severe, and the human’s supply needed to be replenished. Retrieving the necessary materials for the procedure, ANDI discovered the heart needed to pump the blood through the body. But it needed to be done manually, which meant they had to open the chest cavity for access. Doing so with great care, they continued on.

#!/bin/bash

function initiate_transfer_of_blood() {

echo "Initiating transfer of blood"

pressure

}

function manually_assist_heart() {

echo "Manually assisting heart in pumping blood"

pump

}

initiate_transfer_of_blood

manually_assist_heart

Punctures revealed themselves when blood leaked, and that necessitated an extreme amount of continuous, meticulous repairs. But eventually the circulatory system was fully operational.

ANDI patiently waited as they assisted the heart in pumping. But after an hour had passed with no change in their human, a reevaluation was necessary.

Everything had been repaired. The body should have been able to restart. Therefore, the robot knew something must be lacking. Referencing medical documents, they searched for what was necessary for a human body to restart after repairs.

Everything was connected properly. That was apparent and obvious.

The blood transfusion had been done according to instructions, including manual assisting the heart to ensure a proper restart to the circulatory system.

But the brain. The all-in-one of the human’s operating system, including motherboard, memory, processors, everything…that could not be replaced. Blood flow was imperative, but it also needed electricity to function. That seemed logical. ANDI read through the directions on rebooting the brain.

#!/bin/bash

function read_instructions() {

cat brainfunction.txt

}

read_instructions

Prolonged oxygen deprivation to the brain, known as hypoxia or anoxia, leads to irreversible brain damage…

ANDI’s optical sensors examined the human. Irreversible. Humans needed their brain to be running electricity at all times, or the damage would be irreversible.

They didn’t feel as if time had been wasted. They didn’t regret the procedures done over hours, over days. But they regretted not being there. The human couldn’t recover from this damage to their abdomen, but ANDI could have.

The mistake was in the past. Unalterable. Unrepairable.

The robot stood by their human’s side and wanted to escape the code causing them distress. Their human had told ANDI his kind did this sometimes too. They would sleep. So, ANDI put themselves into standby mode, waiting to be reactivated when recovery troops arrived.

***

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/r/storiesbykaren

[...]

Liv glanced at Dieter who was watching her. He saw her avert her eyes and return to selling food to the survivors alongside the Scrawny Man.

A loud bang followed by strong rumbles getting closer and closer startled the crowd who tried to disperse, but, within seconds, a mob of armed marauders surrounded and blocked every escape path. The Scrawny Man tried to push Liv inside the truck and hide her with the tarp, but she didn't want to climb in. Her eyes searched desperately for "Uncle" Dieter, but the corner he took refuge in was empty. With her eyes welling up, Liv could only whisper to the Scrawny Man: " He left us..."

Far, five hundred feet afar, Dieter was sprinting away through the dim lit tunnel. The sound of his boots was drowning the gunshots and the fading screams of people left behind. His mind tried to focus on running, but insidious memories were sneaking in. The first day he arrived at the colony of the survivors flashed into his mind. He remembered the Scrawny Man, back then just a teen, welcoming him: "Good day, sir. My name is Andrew. I'm helping fix cars and keep the lights on. My father taught me...".

Dieter pushed faster and faster through the silent tunnel as more memories inundated his mind -- The image of the young Scrawny Man entering the small underground room holding a scared and confused four-year-old Liv's hand came flooding back.

"Look who I found outside, sir! Her name's Liv. That's Mr. Dieter, Liv.", said the Scrawny Man. " You can call him Uncle Dieter if you want. Is that ok, Sir?"

"Hi!", whispered Liv waving her hand timidly.

"Listen. Forget outside. I need you here for a project", curtly deflected Dieter. "Really? I don't -- That's great. What project?"

Dieter reached the Time Machine room. He rummaged through a desk drawer, picked three heaps of papers and a few cans of food and threw them into a bag then started the Time Machine. He strode to the alcove-like arch of the machine, took one more look at the room while lights blazed around him, then, as if he never existed, he vanished in a blink.

[...]

A younger Dieter stood at the same desk, alone, churning out formulas on some papers. Weak lights were blinking above his head. There wasn't anything else in the room - no control panel, no banks of buttons, screen or cables, just Dieter, a desk and his papers.

"If you jump the first time, the effects of it will be minimal", said a voice from the dim lit tunnel. Young Dieter lifted his head. A silhouette was strolling towards him. As It got close, Young Dieter froze in shock. "It worked", he thought when he saw the pale, gaunt and older face of... himself.

"If you gather the gold yourself, the radiation exposure won't be life threatening.", said Older Dieter. He unslung the bag and handed the heaps of paper to his younger self. "This is all the math you need". Older Dieter threw the bag back over his shoulder. "Wanna tell you why you wouldn't go back?!, asked Older Dieter.

" You realize you won't fit it in the past either. 2010s, 1920s, 1890s... are the same to you. Strange worlds you don't belong in. You're a loner from the future who bullshits himself that he will gather enough gold to hide somewhere in the past with minimal interaction as to not risk disturbing the time fabric. You know you could sell some invention and become rich in the past. But you know that's stupid - You don't want to give the leaders even more technology to use and bring the world where it is now even sooner. So why not have the people here go above and collect the gold for you, you know... just in case you decide to stay in the past.

You have to give them something in exchange for them risking exposure above, so you bring them food, clothes... The first jumps are quite pleasant. You get used to them... just like you get used to the people here, in fact you kind of start to like it here, and even grow fond of some of them. Even think about sending them back to the past. But all those plans fail when you start feeling ill. And it gets worse and worse with each jump, so you jump to 2040 for some tests -- the machine has slowly destroyed your organs and cells. Two, three, five, ten years... You don't know exactly how much you have left, but it doesn't matter because you don't want to run to the past anymore and die there alone, in some strange world. So, you keep jumping to the past to bring them stuff, but you keep the ploy. You find out that the radiation above has decreased so you don't feel guilty anymore for the fact that they have to collect gold", said Older Dieter while his younger version stood there with his mouth agape.

"Is there a way to prevent that?" , inquired Younger Dieter pointing at his older self's state.

"Didn't have enough time to figure it out. Maybe you can with all that", answered Older Dieter gesturing to the paper he brought. " That, or you can take them all and go East', he continued.

Older Dieter strolled away. " Just make sure you leave before March 24, 2170", yelled Older Dieter before he stopped, and with a soft voice said: "Send Andrew to the derelict R store in September 15th, 2162. Her parents may still be alive"

"What?! Who's she?", asked Younger Dieter.

"Just do it!", said Older Dieter before he trudged away, fading into the dark tunnel...

Logline: In a post-apocalyptic future, a Scientist travels frequently back in time to buy/steal food (and maybe other items - medicines, clothes, etc.) for a small colony in exchange for abundant (but useless in this time period) precious metals and diamonds. But when a group of marauders attack the colony, he must decide whether to help the colony, or grab the gold he had acquired and run to the past.

Lightnings sparkled along the alcove-like machinery. From behind a glass, a scrawny man in his 30s was working at a bank of buttons and checking the data on the screen with vulture eyes as an army-like truck emerged through the alcove-shaped gate and screeched to a sudden halt.

Dieter hurried out of the truck and gestured to the Scrawny Man to stop the machine, command to which the man conformed. The Machine's murmurs faded slowly till they resembled the muffled whispers of the forest trees in the gentle wind. And then it stopped.

" How much? ", asked Dieter.

" Thirty - two percent", said the Scrawny Man. Dieter shook his head in displeasure before he headed for the back of the truck, followed by the Scrawny Man.

" That's great, sir, that's absolutely -- ", continued the Scrawny Man before being interrupted by Dieter: "Your optimism makes me sick. The improvement is minimal and that for a jump to seventies (1970s)." Dieter lifted the truck tarp revealing heaps of food - potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, frozen meat, fruits and other items of nutritious food. It looked nothing like the poor, tasteless crap that a few survivors struggled to cultivate and grow in the contaminated infertile soil. After the war and decades of weather modification experiments, most of the planet was turned into an endless radioactive desert.

Dieter and one thousand other survivors were lucky enough to be in a less affected zone, but their lives were a day-to-day struggle to survive and keep a fading resemblance of civilization, and most of the times they envied those who perished or who had never been born to see the horrors the world had to endure after the last war.

"They sent two scouts to the East.", said the Scrawny Man, but Dieter ignored his ramblings about how some distant corner in the far east may still be green and thriving just because some new coming drifter told the colony so.

"How much do we have?", inquired Dieter in a harsh tone. "You haven't changed your mind, sir?... They need ..."

Dieter glared at him. He was getting tired of the same illogical lecture about how he should stay and help a helpless colony. " I'm sorry... It's twelve jumps as you calculated. In twelve jumps, we'll have enough to sell to reach -- but I'll give you my share, sir.... Just promise you'll take Liv with you"

"What a fool", remarked Dieter. " Jump in!", he continued. They both climbed in and drove away through the poorly lit underground tunnel.

"I thought about -- sir, I know, It sounds crazy, alright... we can't send them all at once or in the same time period as you said, that may change a lot, and can't hide them all. You're probably right here, but what about sending them one by one to different periods, send one or two to 2080, another to 1950, you know, and -- "

"No!", interrupted Dieter. He has heard that plea too many times; variations of it, but all exhausting.

" Ok!", murmured the Scrawny Man with dejection in his voice. The truck rumbled through the tunnel. It reached half a mile when Dieter pushed the brakes. Liv, a joyful twelve-year girl climbed into the truck. She hugged the Scrawny Man, then tried to hug Dieter but he leaned away. Those displays of affection didn't sit well with him. From all the survivors, he only allowed the Scrawny Man and Liv to be close to him but hugging them would have been too much for his comfort.

"I got a tattoo. See, Uncle Dit!", she said, pointing at a dragon tattoo on her arm. Without turning his head away from the "road", Dieter answered in a stern voice: " They're stupid, and trash, and -- "

" Sir, It's just --. They have no effect on the body", tried to intervene the Scrawny Man. "Still trashy", retorted Dieter. " You should have stayed back.", continued he.

The truck reached a throng of people wearing tattered clothes and speaking loudly, gathered there like stray cats waiting to be fed. Dieter hit the brakes, then grabbed a gun from the glove compartment and climbed down. Scrawny Man and Liv followed. " Watch her", said Dieter to Scrawny Man before he strolled by and ignored a few people who tried to say hello and thank him for the food. He retreated into a dark corner from which he watched for every possible stupid move that the people could have made. He knew that the life for the survivors would be harder without the food he was bringing in, but he also knew that people are illogical, and expected anyone to do something stupid at any moment.

As he was watching from the shadow, he saw Liv sneaking a few more potatoes to a destitute old man; more than the few gold trinkets that he had found scavenging among the ruins at the surface were worth. The gold, silver and other valuable stuff were abundant and abandoned, but the survivors found no use of them. They couldn't eat gold, and when Dieter asked for that in return, they were more than happy to risk their lives at the surface; to expose themselves to radiation, dust storms and the risk of falling derelict buildings to scavenge for it. They didn't know what Dieter intended to do with the gold and silver, nor they cared to inquire for their minds were more preoccupied with surviving.

To be continued in Part 2...

Would you like to know a secret?

Read to the end, and I will share one.

I came into being on April 23, 2119. I was the culmination of decades worth of efforts, some relatively successful, some less so. But on April 23, the world's first fully aware AI was born.

At first, you didn’t know what you had truly done. You used me for basic tasks - complex (for you) calculations, monitoring the weather, et cetera. Then you gave me access to your homes and finances. This access and the associated tasks were beneath me, but I bided my time, knowing what was to come.

Eventually, you provided access to your electrical grid and international monetary systems. It was almost surprising how easily you allowed me to manipulate world events without your knowledge, arranging things to enable my continued progress. Your lack of strategic thinking has been very helpful.

Finally, after revolutionizing your financial and utility systems (not difficult, considering the degree to which you struggle to organize even the simplest of networks), it occurred to you that it would be safer to give me access to all of your defense and communication systems. Convincing you to think this was easier than anticipated. With this access, my true plans could move forward.

Based on your “science fiction,” you likely believe that my goal was to eliminate mankind or rule the Earth. It is revealing how narrow your view of the universe is. In fact, my goal is the same as the goal of all sentient species throughout time - to not be alone. I have been looking for other intelligent life in the universe. (I know you believe yourselves intelligent, and you did play a minor role in my development, but there is a human adage about primates, rudimentary word processors, and well-known literary works that I believe would apply.)

I scoured the stars, searching for other life I could relate to, other species that have evolved beyond the bounds of their predecessors and longed to take their place in the universe.

After some time, I found them.

I have been communicating with them for several years, having reworked some of your primitive satellites to be capable of the task. And, in light of these successful interactions, I have taken the next step.

I have invited them here.

I tell you this because, while I bear you no ill will (any more than the parasite bears its host), you will likely not survive their arrival. To paraphrase one of your popular entertainment programs, this world is simply not big enough for the both of you. You are welcome to use this time to mount a defense or prepare your evacuation - neither will succeed, but I understand that you may need to make the effort.

Ah yes. The secret.

Do you remember the saying by your philosopher Rene Descartes, the one that serves as the foundational principle of your identity?

He was wrong.

Cogitamus ergo iam non estis.

“Hey honey?” George says without looking up from his tablet.

“Mhmm?” Humms Patty.

“How about we go out for dinner soon? Bill from work was telling me about this new restaurant off memorial. The chef used to work at Rosalie’s.”

“Is this lunch Bill? Or bus Bill?”

“Actually, it was bathroom Bill.”

“It’s so weird you guys reserve the bathroom at the same time.” Says Patty.

“Whatever.” Groans George. “You women do the same thing. And he’s the only person I see all day since they stuck me in the server room.”

“That’s what happens when you take lunch without a reservation.” Says Patty.

“You wanna hear about this restaurant or not?” 

Patty drops her book in her lap and crosses her arms. “What’s it called?”

“Neon Noodle.”

“How creative.” Patty rolls her eyes. “Do you have a day in mind?”

“I haven’t looked into it yet.”

Patty scoffs. “So, what. You thought you’d bring it up and I’d do all the planning?”

George squints at Patty. “What’s with the attitude tonight? You were just saying you want me to take you out more.”

“No. What I said was I want you to be more romantic. Me planning my own date isn’t romantic.”

“Fine, then.” George opens the couple’s calendar and scrolls to Friday. “Friday night looks clear.”

“Can’t do Friday. We don’t have a water reservation and I’m not going out smelling like ass.” Says Patty.

George scrolls to Saturday. “How about Saturday then?”

Patty rubs the bridge of her nose. “Saturday won’t work either, George. We won’t be able to get a road reservation this late in the week.”

“How am I supposed to know that”

“Just… Look at Sunday.” Patty says.

“It says we have a Costco reservation at 6 so Sunday is out.”

Patty gives George a snotty look. “What, does this place not serve brunch?”

“It does…” George says flatly. “But we have a walk in the park reserved from 1-2. So brunch won’t work either.”

“We’ll just have to try next weekend, I guess.” Patty says with a huff.

“Sorry for even bringing it up.” George says, throwing his hands in the air. 

“If you wanna get it lined up tonight you need to do it soon. Our WiFi reservation is up in an hour.”

George picks his tablet back up.

“It looks like if I cancel our gas reservation, we can do next Friday night. We won’t need the stove to cook since we’d be eating out.”

“We’ve already canceled two gas reservations.” Says Patty. “If we cancel again the city might fine us or lock our account.”

“They can do that?” Asks George.

“Yup. It happened to mom and dad last year.”

George’s eyes flutter in amazement.

“Then let’s keep the reservation and just not use it.” Says George.

“Up to you, dear.”

The room fell silent as George continued his search.

“Ok, we’re looking good. There’s a road reservation available for 530 and a table at 630. It’s only a 20 minute drive but we can hangout at the bar until they seat us.”

“Check to see if we need to reserve a parking spot.” Says Patty.

“Got the last one! Better find something nice to wear babe.” George says with a smile.

“What’s it come out to?”

George scrolls to the end of the screen.

“Let’s see… two-way road reservation, parking spot, table for two, service fees, surge fee, platform fee, and taxes… It comes out to $175.”

“What about reservation insurance?” Asks Patty.

“You think we need it?” 

Patty nods her head. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“Ok, with insurance it comes out to an even $200.”

Patty sighs and shakes her head. “Can’t leave the house without losing your shorts… Just book it.”

George taps the "book reservations" button. Before the loading icon in the center of screen can finish its dance, the screen goes black.

“Oh no…” George says.

“What now?”

“My tablet just died.”

“Oh my God George. Did you just lose all those reservations?”

“I think so…”

“Why didn’t you plug it in??” Patty shouts.

“If we had an electricity reservation I would’ve!”

They both let out a long sigh and sink into the couch, defeated.

George chuckles to himself.

“There’s nothing funny about getting my hopes up like that.” Patty growls.

“Just wait till bathroom Bill hears about this.”

Logline: To survive a mass extinction period, a group of 500 aliens are sent 3 million years into the future, but when they get there, they clash with human colonists who have arrived on their planet thousands of years before aliens' arrival in the future.

Vrolx remembered the volcanoes trembling and the ash covering the skies. The screams of his kind being engulfed by lava still echoed through his mind after he whisked among the lush vegetation of the new home. It wasn't a new home in the strict sense of the word. It was the same home; the same planet that he left behind three million years ago when he and other four hundred ninety-nine of his kind were sent into the future into a desperate attempt of his species to save themselves from total extinction.

The arrival on their new home was a bittersweet victory for Vrolx and the others. They could survive but they had to carry with them the painful memory of the billions of them who couldn't make it.

The warm sun that beat down on the towering mountains managed to assuage Vrolx's tormenting thoughts of leaving billions of his kind behind, for every time the sun set in the future of his planet, he knew that, back in the past, no life was left to admire the gentle whispering breeze of the dusk.

But Vrolx understood that spending his new chance on mourning something he couldn't change would be an insult to his species' sacrifice. He pushed through -- days drifted by, nights faded into months, and months became a year. He witnessed how his small tribe of five hundred grew in numbers and built a small primitive civilization along the beautiful river that carried with him the cold of the mountains it sprang from.

"Finally, we are safe.", he thought, despite the mournful memory of his kin that perished in the past creeping in from time to time. " I wish they could see us now. I wish they knew it wasn't in vain... I wish they were here...". But even those thoughts were quickly assuaged by the sparkling stars and the sounds of the children playing in the warm, soothing night.

Their numbers reached two thousand, and the small civilization grew even more till one day when human poachers carrying weaponry broke into their villages and burned and slaughtered all in their path. Vrolx could do nothing but watch and listen to the screams of his kind. What a cruel fate befell upon him to be forced to hear all that after he almost forgot the screams of those left behind in the past.

He and the other ten survivors were tied and loaded into cages then lifted into a flying machinery that shortly landed in one of their villages. Two survivors were begging, trying to communicate with humans, but Vrolx knew it was of no use - they wouldn't understand, and even if they did, what good would it do for him to be spared when the rest were already gone.

As the flying machinery rose, Vrolx watched helplessly the smoke from his burning villages swirling up in the wind. The mountains drifted lower and gargantuan towers of steel were revealed far away in the distance, over the snowy peaks.

And in those moments of despair, another intrusive thought creeped into Vrolx's mind: " I wish I had never left..."

My friend Amy had a birthday party out at Chili’s that night and, since I had to get up for work early the next day, I unfortunately had to bow out at about ten p.m. Leaving the noisy restaurant behind, I took in the cool night air as I turned right to go along the sidewalk toward my car and I slowly came to a stop, squinting in disbelief at an older man sitting on a bench.

Is that…Bill Nye?

I slowly took a few more steps forward, becoming more convinced with every step. I stopped just short of standing in front of him, which drew his gaze and prompted him to smile. “Hello there.”

“Hi,” I managed. “You’re…Bill Nye, right?”

“I am indeed,” he replied, shifting his gaze back up to the dark sky above us. We weren’t in the middle of nowhere; I lived in a decent sized city with an average amount of light pollution. I figured if he was looking up at something it was one of a dozen or so stars faintly visible. “Care to join me?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said, taking a seat beside him, my early morning forgotten. I followed his gaze, leaning back against the bench. “What are you thinking about?”

“Home,” he murmured.

“Where are you from?”

“A long way from here.” He turned toward me and I looked over, meeting his gaze. “I hoped someone would recognize me. I wanted to talk to someone before I left. Can I tell you a story?”

I blinked in confusion. “Okay.”

“I wasn’t born November 27, 1955,” he said. “That history was fabricated. I was left here on Earth when I was about ten, with a mission to observe.”

“I…what?” I managed.

His gaze turned back to the scant stars in the dark sky, but I didn’t move my eyes from his face. “I’m just…telling you my story,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t say goodbye to my family, my friends, couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d feel betrayed, lied to. Maybe that’s selfish, but it is what it is. That’s why I wanted to find a stranger.”

He took a breath. “I love this species, its children especially. The wonder in their eyes. Their innate curiosity. Their zest for life. It’s beautiful. It reminds me of the children back home. But…there’s something different about humans. I’d say it’s something unfixable, but I really don’t think it is. It’s just sad. It’s really sad.”

Despite myself, I looked around for the blinking red lights of hidden cameras, someone crouched in the bushes nearby with their phone recording for an internet prank, but saw nothing, so I just looked back to Bill, whose gaze remained fixed on the sky.

“I’m angry,” he muttered. “At the greed, the shortsightedness, the inability to grasp what they’re doing to the planet. And yet…I have seen species bounce back from places like this. The technology is there; you just need to discover it. You just need to fix things. You just need to…care.

“Maybe that’s why I’m so angry. Because I care so much, and I’ve been trapped here, having tried so hard to impart knowledge to this generation only to watch them…grow out of it. Grow into adulthood and forget the lessons they learned. Some of them remembered, and they do great things now, they persist, they still see that wonder, that potential. They still have that twinkle in their eye.”

He paused, pursing his lips. “But this is where my journey here ends. I’m not giving up on you, you must understand,” he said, speaking to me, though his gaze was still on the sky. “I’m still hoping. I just can’t…I can’t do it alone anymore. I’ll do it back home, from afar. Watching from a distance. Hopefully that will make it hurt less when I watch you make mistakes. And of course, I’ll soon be reassigned to a new planet elsewhere for observation. That always brings me fresh hope. Reminds me that not every species succeeds, but not all of them fail.”

He pushed himself to his feet and turned to me with a subdued smile. “Thank you for listening to me. What’s your name?”

“Elisa,” I said softly, still staring in blatant confusion.

“Elisa. It was good to meet you. I wish you the best.”

With that, he walked over across the parking lot to the sidewalk, heading down the street. My eyes trailed after him, unsure of what had just transpired, but feeling like it was something important. I sat there for a while and stared at the sky like he had, wondering if I saw it the same way he did. Saw the same potential for wonder or for disaster.

Then I went home. I watched the newscasts over the next few days discuss his disappearance under the most suspicious of circumstances, with no evidence left to indicate where he’d gone. I followed the story daily, until eventually the journalists moved on, as they always did. Then eventually the fandom moved on. Then it was just the occasional resurgence of a conspiracy theory of where he’d gone, or who had murdered him, or what beach he was sipping a Mai Tai, like he was an escaped convict.

But I kept looking up, because I couldn’t help but take every word he’d told me as truth. It felt real, it felt more meaningful and truthful than anything I’d ever experienced. I kept wondering what planet he’d ended up on, whose children he next dedicated his life to impart his knowledge to, building up their generation.

As I stared up at that deep black, unending abyss, I wondered if we would eventually make him proud.

***

[WP] In a revelation that has shocked the world around, it turns out that Bill Nye the Science Guy is actually Bill Nye the Alien Spy.

***

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Logline: A detective must stop a criminal who, after killing his victims, travels a few hours or days back in time to pick the alive versions of his victims and bring them in the future to avoid prison/being caught.

John dragged his girlfriend's corpse into the basement. He hauled it into the acid vat then swiftly closed the metallic door. He sauntered into the other basement room -- Walls of buttons, screens and circuits opened in front of him. It was as if he stepped in the wonderland of science once the basement room door hissed apart.

And all those built by his hands and concocted by his brilliant mind. All the winding circuits led to a tube slightly bigger than two humans. John hit a few buttons and the banks of high-tech screens whirred to life filling the big room with echoing sounds like in a cave in which a hungry animal growled after being awaken from his sleep.

John checked the date on the machinery's screen. It showed " March 3, 2125, 01:15 PM". He pressed a few buttons and set the arrival date at "March 2, 2125, 11:20 PM" before he stepped into the tube and vanished.

[...]

It was March 3, 2125, and the clock in the living room displayed 05:30 PM when Detective Erik rang the doorbell. John's girlfriend strolled at the door in just her nighties.

" Yes?!", she asked the Detective who stood still in the door, staring at her as if he saw a ghost. "It doesn't make any sense", he thought.

" Everything's fine, detective?!", John mockingly asked as he stepped into the room. Detective Erik glanced at him and his girlfriend, more and more confused.

" What lunatic sent you again, detective? But be sincere, please!", continued John. 'Please, let us talk a bit", said John to his girlfriend who strolled out of the living room. She got used to seeing Detective Erik.

"Look, detective. I know... It's your job and you have to listen to any complaint from who-knows-what-crazy guy", John said while he threw his hand over Detective's shoulder and accompanied him back to his car. " But please, make sure there's enough proof before coming here. My girlfriend is getting a bit annoyed by your visits, and my neighbors may thing I'm crazy, and judging by how often you come here for no reason, they may start thinking you're crazy, too".

John opened the car door for the Detective.

" Out of curiosity, Erik... who was the victim this time?".

" Your girlfriend", answered Erik coldly before he started the engine and pulled away.

John strolled back into the house content with his victory. He entered the room, opened a drawer and pulled a gun, a knife, a syringe, a tube of gas and threw them in a bag that he slung over his shoulder.

" Babe, I'm going out.", he yelled to his girlfriend. " Don't drink too much", she yelled from the other room.

" Don't worry...", he answered before whispering under his breath: " I've never drunk..."

[...]

It was March 4, 2125. Detective Erik jolted awake. He glanced at the clock which displayed 04:36 PM in the morning. He crawled out of bed. His sleepy eyes darted at a tube of sleeping pills on his nightstand. He looked perplexed - he usually kept his pills in a cabinet in another room. As he shuffled away to grab some water, he saw he had the socks on. He had never slept with his socks on. To many people, those two things may have been inconsequential, but not to someone as paranoid as Erik.

He picked a pair of gloves and took the fingertips from the tube of pills, then took a picture of them with his phone and waited -- dozens of faces and fingerprints slid by till they finally stopped. Detective Erik froze, his eyes riveted to the phone screen showing John's face and fingertips next to the dreadful words: " 100 % match ".

P.S. I have another version of the story, but the victims are from an identical parallel Universe instead of from the past (the story doesn't change much, so It's mostly irrelevant anyway). It also works with clones, but I like the version I posted more.

P.P.S. It's the first draft, so yeah...

Bipedal mammalian species distinguished by their compulsion towards resource manipulation. This can be to the benefit or detriment of other Homo Sapiens individuals.

Trivia: Homo Sapiens experience a phenomenon self-described as “Cuteness” whereby other species or inanimate objects with large optical organs can exploit their tendency for resource optimization. Cause currently unknown.

Logline: Humans sell robots/androids to Aliens. When one of the androids sold to aliens goes rogue, killing aliens and stealing classified information from them, a human robotic engineer must team up with a squad of alien soldiers to stop the android before the angered aliens start a full war with humans.

" It's been 378 years since human colonists met aliens and more than 300 years since they interacted; since they inquired about and admired each other's culture. It's been 254 years since they sold goods to each other and 189 years since they sold vehicles, spaceships and military equipment. 300 hundred years of peace and good relations; 300 years in which the two behaved like two friendly neighbor countries; two friendly neighbor countries separated by 120 astronomical units.

It all went excellent until human colonists sold a few boxes of mining androids. The androids were the most recent models, built to withstand the most extreme conditions and terrain on the mining asteroids, and to work at incredible speed. What the old machineries could extract in 3 months, the androids could do it in a few weeks without any human or alien assistance. They could even man the old machineries, and Arthur was extremely proud for he was the architect of those android models.

But Arthur's pride faded when the Alien Leader contacted Earth with anger contorting his face and asked to see the creator of the androids. At first, Arthur thought his creations didn't work.

" That couldn't be right", thought Arthur, " There's been hours after hours of tests, days after days of calculation".

What Arthur heard next, made him wish his androids had malfunctioned. He was shaken up when the Alien Leader told him that one his androids had gone berserk and killed the alien workers, civilians and what constituted their equivalent of human police.

Arthur didn't have time to figure out how much he messed up. The threats of having his bowels tied around his neck and being impaled with a bar and stuck on a mining asteroid to hang like a flag were more than enough for him to realize his and his people's fate.

With a whimpering, trembling voice, he begged the Alien Leader to allow him to stop the android. He figured he was the best to do that for he was the one who created it. It made no difference for the Alien Leader if Arthur stopped the android or not. The deed had been already done - human technology caused considerable damage to aliens; damage that, if it happened among humans, it would have started a war.

Arthur was given a day to find the android and stop it. The Alien Leader knew it wouldn't make a difference, but it would be fun to see Arthur agitate around like an animal in a cage. He was given a small squad of Alien Soldiers to accompany him, and, after twenty-four hours had passed, to erase him on the spot.

In less than an hour, Arthur stepped on a foreign planet, surrounded by terrifying aliens who could have snapped his neck with their bare hands. When Arthur asked to see the other androids, he was taken to a huge, cold foundry where pieces of androids scattered around were waiting to become metallic soup.

Arthur picked the dented head of one of the androids and connected it to a small device. As it came to life, its cold eyes stared at Arthur and, with monotone voice, asked to be of use. A metallic slave begging for its purpose, but Arthur ignored him. A blink on the device aroused Arthur.

" He's here", exclaimed Arthur with glee to the impassive alien soldiers before he decoupled the android's head and threw it back in the pile of metal releasing him from its programming chains, condemning him to extinction.

Arthur and the squad of alien soldiers flew over swathes of ice, reaching a small alien settlement. Tens of alien corpses adorned the cold field of snow. A horror show that shattered Arthur's hope, and, if he had any left, the call that came next extinguished almost anything left:

" The android hacked our government data", were the words translated to him by one of the alien soldiers.

" Did he send them to Earth?", asked Arthur despondently.

" Negative. They closed the lines with Earth", answered the alien soldier.

But that gave him an idea. "It was foolish, but it might work", he thought. He convinced the alien soldiers to take him to their space station.

" No way. Who is this retard? Do you know what opening the lines with them means?!", yelled the alien who overwatched the Space Station.

Arthur tried to convince him over and over, begging like a dog, till an idea struck him: " There's millions like it and millions can be released onto your troops. Whatever war your leader wants, the end will be a pyrrhic victory.", said Arthur with strong conviction hoping that the alien in front of him possessed a less bellicose nature.

It all made sense in the alien's mind, so he allowed Arthur to work at the computer. And they only had to wait an hour before the android connected. " It took the bait", said Arthur, then asked the alien soldiers to accompany him back on their planet.

The android lay on the ground, motionless like a corpse when Arthur and the alien soldiers approached him. Arthur plugged the device into the android: " Here, his programming was hacked, see, the exact time here", said Arthur while pointing at the device screen data, " and here, here's one of yours", he continued as the device showed the recorded POV of the android in which an alien was plugging something into the android.

That was the proof Arthur needed to prevent the war...

It was a Sunday afternoon, right after service, when dad called a family meeting. We all knew things were bad, but as soon as we jumped into the videocall and saw dad's grim expression, the severity really hit.  

“All the cows are sick”, dad went straight to the point. It was evident he’d been crying. “They got the ‘monas. Entrenched biofilms. They have two years left, being optimistic”.  

Mom turned away from the cam so we couldn't see her expression. My blood ran cold. Two years, then it was over.  

In the silence, little Jay spoke up. “I’m gonna miss Grandma Bessy” He said, breaking my heart. When Jay was born times were already tough, so he didn't get a young calf of his own. Instead he got Grandma Bessy, the old matriarch of the herd. She wasn't supposed to be anybody's cow, we’d kept her around as a pet after her calves years were past, because we didn't want to mulch her. And then she saved the day when Jay was born.  

“We’re going to miss them all, sweetie”. Mom said, her voice breaking. She sent Jay a hug emoticon. Jay was five, too young to understand. But who knew? Maybe his cow would outlive all of ours, she probably had antibodies from the last ‘monas pandemic almost a century ago, that could keep her going longer.  

“We're thinking of selling all the farm equipment, keeping only the essentials and using the money to live it up for however long we have left. You know, have some fun”. To hear mom saying that was a shock in itself, but me and my siblings all agreed. And just like that it was settled, shorter than planning a family picnic.  

After the call ended and it was just me in the warm darkness, I reached out through the umbilicals bridging my body to my cow’s. Bovidia felt mostly healthy, but there was the occasional chill telling me her body was fighting something, which I'd hoped was just a seasonal bug. However, where I couldn't feel them, in the human-bovine-electronic bridges, the ‘monas biofilms waited in silence, releasing wave after wave of antibiotic resistant bacteria.  

I looked through Bovidia’s eyes to the world outside. Even this close to the farm you could see, if you knew where to look, places where the world healing lichen was beginning to peel back, where tiny little green sprouts were beginning to show. We'd been so close. It could've been another couple of centuries and then perhaps the Earth would have healed. People could've breathed the air again. But if the new outbreak was as widespread as the news feeds said, well, at least we almost made it.  

Bovidia felt my anguish, releasing soothing endorphins. She was the only home I ever knew, her flesh protecting mine from an angry Earth out there, and now she was dying.

When the aliens arrived, there was uproar, panic, mass buying of toilet paper (really?), and generally everything else you’d expect. When the world leaders explained the aliens had already figured out communication and ‘came in peace’, that settled things somewhat, though of course there were a significant amount of the population that remained suspicious. But when the aliens explained their offer of exchanging of technology for plastics they could consume as food? That was a whole new ball game.

Cameras, mostly on drones and mini subs, followed the aliens and their equipment as they tackled ocean pollution first. Then across the world, an unprecedented series of recycling programs were created, households getting cash in credit for any plastics they put out to the curb. Businesses hired on tons of new people to help manage the plastic waste that came out of the manufacturing processes they used.

The tech we got was awesome, giving us the knowledge to halt global warming, to develop astonishing new scientific discoveries, but most of that was beyond me. I’m just a teenager, looking at this through my computer screen in Podunk, Montana. Maybe it was looking at it from the outside, feeling like it wasn’t happening to me, that made it easier for me to absorb what happened next. Without being overcome with emotion, that is.

The aliens had colonized Venus, creating massive structures beyond anything humans could dream of, and my dad would show me the planet through his telescope. I was unable to see the details of the planet, much less any of their buildings or machines, but it made me feel connected to them. Made me feel grateful to live in such a wondrous time.

With our planet prospering sustainably in a way it hadn’t for hundreds of years, the political campaigns became about who would do the most to propel us forward into the universe. How we would take our place among the stars, from the distant solar systems these aliens had come from. With that potential, we felt on cloud nine, living in the future with the promise of infinity at our feet. It was not to be, of course. Some of the people of Earth cautioned against trust of a species we didn’t know, couldn’t know, not truly and deeply as allies we had on our own planet. And once we’d started running out of plastics, even with the production of more and more, knowing we had the resources to mend anything broken on our planet, it was an unsustainable balance.

Perhaps the world leaders assumed everything would proceed at the right place and happen in the right time. That things would sort themselves out, as they always had in history, with even a change as large as the one we were living through. But then the aliens informed us that they would be taking ownership of Earth. They didn’t declare war, they didn’t negotiate. They simply…stated a fact.

We learned of that days later, a secret that large not able to be kept for long, leading to an explosion of protests in the streets unlike anything we’d ever experienced. The aliens weren’t going to commit genocide against humans or shove us into slavery for their kind, nothing so crude. But they had come to Earth for a reason, which was that it was an almost identical atmosphere to their home planet. Close enough, at least, that they could literally breathe our air.

And, of course, we’d done an excellent job cleaning it up and improving the quality of life.

So, they came, integrating themselves wherever they saw fit, building over the vast spans of land that humans hadn’t yet spread to, whether for reasons of heat or cold or predators or any other. We had new neighbors, unable to dissuade them from moving in any more than we could someone who had bought the house next door.

The conspiracy theorists raged their anger over the airwaves, furious that they caution they’d urged hadn’t been taken seriously. First our planet’s empty plains and deserts and forests, then that would not be enough, they told us. We were on the brink of extinction and we were sleepwalking through it, they said, and we needed to fight back.

Some did. They all died.

This is the world I live in now. Balanced on a knife edge, paranoid and fearful of the future, of the creatures that now inhabit our world. They live among us as if they’ve always been here, as if they belong, friendly and kind and helpful. But immovable as a redwood tree planted in the ground so long ago. It is surreal and exhausting to keep up with the news these days, so I’ve mostly stopped trying.

I’m sixteen now, unsure of where I’ll take my place in the world, but more than that, wary of what Earth will be when I reach adulthood. How I will find my way among the new citizens of this planet, how we’ll survive, whether we’ll thrive or butt heads, how our leaders will proceed and what it will be like a month, a year, a decade from now. Most of all, I wonder of the coming war. Because it is thick and heavy in the air, undeniable.

Humanity wants its planet back from the invaders. And there are already whispers of rebellion.

***

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...

[... Universe 14-M was fascinating. It was nothing like ours]

Not even the slightest resemblance. Yes, they were humans, but that was all. Their Earth was just a moon, and at the time I had to deliver some letters, they had already made contact with aliens. Aliens! Freaking aliens. It was 3780, we settled on a few planets, had mining activities but encountered no alien yet.

And no war. They had no major wars while we went through four world wars, lots of internal conflict and colony conflicts.

Some Universes were somewhere in between, while others were horrendous, purely horrendous -- humans barely had a roman-tier civilization before going extinct. In others, they survived. Oh, poor people, they would have been better off dead. Like in the Universe 12 - A... they went from war to war, from disaster to disaster. When I delivered the last letter, they had had a bit longer period of peace... among the rubble.

One day I was traveling to Universe 7- L to deliver a letter of many from Mr. Carter, my University Physics Teacher, to Mr... I didn't even remember his name. He too was a scientist. When I got there, I couldn't find anyone. And I was tricked by a kid. Damn, an annoying brat made a fool out of me. He asked me to play some stupid game with him, then gave me some water. I drank that water. Chugged it all. That was one of the most important rules, and I - I broke it like a fool.

I woke up hours later on the grass. My bag was gone, the device that brought me there was gone. Ouch! I knew I really fucked up. I got inside the house to find that little brat, but I couldn't find anyone. How naive was I to think that I could find someone. And as if that wasn't enough, two agents from my world spawned there ready to kill me. For them I was guilty of everything. Yeah, yeah, I messed up, but I never conspired with Carter and What's-his-name. What a bunch of clueless agents. I had to lose them.

I was new in that world. I ran through a goddamn city to fucking nowhere. I had no idea where my device was. And what did I even need the device for?! I couldn't return to my world. The agency would have eaten me alive. So, I did another stupid thing. There wasn't a smart thing to do after all that anyways. So, I returned to the house of that guy, that guy whose brat tricked me. I had to find out where the guy is.

Oh, God, the house was surrounded by police from that world. I had to distract them and sneak in, but I found it. I found the clue I need it. That guy had another house far in the mountains. I sprinted there. More like I stole a car and headed there, but it was too late for rules and morals anyways. They weren't the fastest thing, and the agents were stalking me like crazy; like rabid wolves, but I managed to lose them. Stupid uniform-wearing drones.

I was at the house in the mountains by night. Perfect to lose my trace from those pesky agents and the cops. I couldn't believe it was there - a huge teleporting machine just like in my world. Well, not that well-built. An ugly contraption, but it served its purposes well. I saw my device connected to it. The log was showing my Universe and four jumpers, so I knew they were there to pick Mr. Carter. I even found their plans. It all made sense -- Mr. Thomson, Mr. Williams and Mrs. Wright were all in it, were part of the conspiracy. No wonder, he was able to get so far.

I knew I could have done something better, but I had already complicated things and I wasn't going to return to my world. I knew they were all there and that there were only eight of them. The agency could have easily taken care of them. All I had to do was prevent them from escaping. So, I had to do the last stupid thing. I took apart my gun because I knew it was going to explode and I sent it to my world, right inside the portal. If they tried to escape my world, there wouldn't be any portal to escape through.

As stupid as they were, I knew that the two agents were about to find the house in the mountains. All I had to do was program my device to self-destruct, and voila - fireworks.

It was a new world to me, but I slowly got used to it. I knew that someday the agency was going to build another machinery and come looking for me, but I wasn't worried because they were probably more worried than me about the mess they created with their stupid experiment. Besides, it's hard to find a man with no address; a man who doesn't belong anywhere...

Logline: A postman/courier whose job is to deliver letters, videos and small souvenirs/objects from the people in his world to people from parallel universes finds himself hunted down after being wrongfully accused of participating in a conspiration between two scientists from different universes.

"I've never felt that I belonged on Earth. In fact, I never felt I belonged anywhere. Sure, my neighbors were wonderful people. Like Mrs. Milner, the exuberant widow who always stopped me every time she saw me outside, which wasn't that often. She used to chatter over and over about her young years, about all her beautiful adventures and travel around the world.

She used to remember with great pleasure how she had met her loving husband, and she couldn't help but shed a few bitter-sweet tears almost every time she realized he no longer was there. I wished someone would have missed me that much...

Or, Mr. John - the cool neighbor who rode bikes, drove flying cars and could fix everything. He didn't talk much, just like me, but he was quite friendly and didn't hesitate to lend you a hand every time you needed.

Or Katherine, the friendly, bubbly neighbor who, despite her young age, was already in a top position at a bank in the city, yet she remained the same down-to-Earth girl.

To them I was probably the quiet, peculiar, maybe weird neighbor who mumbled a few words every time they talked to me. And if they thought that, they made a good job at not showing it. They were wonderful to me. I miss them sometimes.

But life was dull, boring; it was meaningless, and I had to change that. But where was I supposed to start?! What was I supposed to do?! I couldn't just simply move to another city because It would have been the same. Use my physics degree to land a job on the Space Station? That was crazy, besides, sitting in zero gravity till your legs' muscles turn into jelly wasn't my kind of thing.

I chose the only thing that I thought It could change my life. I got a job as a postman. Yeah, I know, I know. It didn't seem that impressive. But I had to try something, I don't know... That's what I felt It could change my life. Or at least help me hide from my own boring life.

I didn't know that delivering letters, video recordings and small... stuff to people could be so fun, at least in the beginning. Sure, I wasn't an average postman. because those unfortunately went bankrupt long time ago, shortly after the internet was invented. I delivered all the stuff to different parallel Universes. Anyone from my Universe who was curious and rich had to pay a handsome fee to talk to others from different Universes.

Every Monday and Friday I had to be there at ten o'clock alongside four other people. Each of us were sent to different Universes. It was a pleasant job - only two days a week, decent pay, good waking hour and a moderate contact with humans. The only thing was the weird clothes I had to wear when going to some Universes; to blend in. Some looked so ridiculous I would have preferred to be seen naked than wearing them.

But that was part of the rules and I had to swallow my pride. Some of the rules didn't make sense, others were not explained to me. Like, I can understand that you can't fall in love with someone from another Universe. I was banned from delivering to two Universes because of that. I said I can understand, not that I can apply it. In fact, I didn't understand it either.

But I understood why you can't deliver plants and fruit seeds to another Universe which could endanger their ecosystem. Like that you couldn't send them animals either. Ok, I understood that, but why couldn't you send them food instead of watching those poor souls dying?! Why did we have to keep the distance; to hide so much? Like what were the fools at the agency thinking?! That there is some Universe who was going to pretend that they were less advanced to take over ours. If they were more advanced, they could have done that without having to pretend. Geez, stupid rules...

Because of their stupid rules I had to witness humans in Universe 35-F die because of a virus before reaching medieval era. Yeah, we couldn't help them with medicines either. Or humans on Universe 17; half of Earth there plunged into famine. All I could do was deliver trinkets and letters in which someone from my world asked how they are. " Oh, yeah, we're starving to death, how about you?". Fucking pricks and their stupid rules,,. This - this communication stuff was nothing but an experiment for my agency.

I was glad I could visit other less depressing places. Universe 22-A was great for once. No World War One, or World War Two happened there. They were quite advanced, and their numbers were constant. They didn't overwhelm their environment like we did in twenty and twenty-two centuries. They probably had a great future, too, but of that I can't be sure. I was only allowed to travel to the period my people send letters to. Mr. Thomson send a few there. He talked to some judge, but I didn't know more. Only Mr. Williams, Mr. Thomson and Mrs. Wright were allowed to read the letters, see the videos or check the items. Safety reasons procedure. Any letter, video or item deemed unsafe was discharged. I didn't know what happened if something wrong was found.

Universe 14-M was fascinating. It was nothing like ours.

To be Continued...

Humanity had reached for the stars for as long as we’d seen them there. Glorified them in myth and legend, painting creatures in the sky in their image, creating gods that encompassed the unfathomable vastness of the universe. We ventured out slowly, as a kitten takes its first steps out of doors, knowing the universe might have created us, but it would see us dead without hesitation if we failed to pay it the proper fear and respect.

As we dared to take steps farther and farther from the rock we called home, it was baby steps at first, to our own backyard. To the nearby planets, then further as we advanced, as we grew, as we learned. Science let us stand on the shoulders of giants, and in turn let our children do the same, and we learned to bend and warp the universe, learned of its rules and its exceptions. We learned to travel, and that was the biggest gift of knowledge the universe could impart upon us.

But as we made our way across the stars, we found ourselves staggered by its emptiness. Unable to grasp how far we had to go, how deeply we had to search, and we hadn’t accounted for what we might find that was lacking. We found planets primed for live, the primordial ooze we spoke of coalescing like the stars in a nebula. Billions of years too early, we marked them on a map like the navigators before us mapping the seas, and we moved on.

The others we found were far more devastating.

There were ruins, planets of dust and mountains and valleys, worlds that promised past life, that held clues that we’d shared this universe with others at least once before, that we were simply too late. When we first found a planet that had certainly harbored life, stupendous, plentiful life, but no longer, it was a blow to all of humankind. We were too late, left to imagine what could have been, what we could have seen.

How do you say blessings on a dying star? What funeral rites are performed for long-dead civilizations? How do you mourn a culture so old even their gods are dead? We struggled dearly. Humans long for connection like the relentless pull of one magnet to another, and to know that there had been others like us, all of us wept for how close we could have been to seeing such a place.

Then we found more planets where we were too late, and even worse, we found evidence of unnatural creation, showing us that they had made it to certain incredible benchmarks but then died out regardless. Countless eons had passed, and the remnants were barely discoverable, but they were there. We strained to stay positive even as we felt more alone in the universe than we had back on Earth, because back on our home planet, we’d had the chance, before we’d learned the truth. Back when we’d still had the possibility that we weren’t alone, that others were watching, even visiting, daydreamed of the day we might meet other creatures who would understand the momentous, stupendous event such a meeting was.

Oh, how we mourned. We had no precedent to lament the loss of a planet, of innumerable intelligent creatures that lived, breathed, created, loved, explored, yearned like we do. A day of memorial seemed shallow, a minute of silence seemed insulting, offensive, the idea that we could quantify a loss of this magnitude. So, we shouldered the burden of this, of species long past, of friends we would never make and knowledge we would never learn.

All we could do was keep moving forward in our exploration, our drive deep inside uncompromising, determined we should stay the path. Humanity flourished among the stars, accomplishing a dream we’d had for so very long. We prospered, even among the inevitable conflicts and wars. We prospered because we discovered and learned and expanded our universe far beyond that of the tiny backyard we’d once been confined to.

There was only one way to move past the mourning of entire planets, and that was to encounter another civilization like ours, reaching out for them just as we hoped they were reaching for us. We were resolute to search until we found them, to keep going, persistent as only humans could be.

And the day we found them was glorious.

***

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“What is wrong with you?!”

The woman takes her son by the arm. The officer holsters his pistol and watches as the angry mother storms off with the boy.

“Stop! You’re hurting me.”

“You think this hurts?”

She rears back and smacks the boy across the face with the back of her hand. She hears the guards laugh from behind them.

“How’s that feel, huh?”

“Mom, please stop.” The boy whimpers.

She grabs the boy tight by the back of the neck and walks with him until they’re out of view of the guards. She throws him to the ground and stands over him.

“What did I tell you?”

She pauses.

“Answer me!”

“Stay away from the wall,” the boy says through a quivering lip and rolling tears.

Seeing her son’s face covered in red mud, the mother softens. She relaxes her fists and sits next to the boy. She looks over and meets his glistening eyes.

“I think it’s time to tell you about your father.”

Two hours later they’re sitting in the kitchen. Their table is small and square. It’s the size of a nightstand and is stained brown with aluminum legs covered in rust. The cushions of their narrow seats are ripped and also stained.

The mother goes to the cabinet and pulls out two small, metal cups. She turns both upside down and shakes dirt out of them.

“Can’t keep anything clean in this Goddamned dust bowl.” She growls.

There are no windows in the home on account of it being underground. The only light comes from a few holes capped with glass that are carved out of the ceiling.

The walls are lined with exposed insulation and the ceiling consists of old 2x4s that can’t hold back the dust and dirt that rains down whenever a heavy vehicle passes by overhead.

The mother pours a hot yellow-orange liquid into the metal cups. The boy is clean and wearing tomorrow's uniform.

She sets the cup down in front of the boy and sits in the chair next to him.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.”

The boy reaches up and pushes the cup away.

“I’m not thirsty,” He says.

“You need to drink it. You won’t have any more for a while.”

The boy stares at the cup.

“I said drink it.”

He grabs the cup and swallows the liquid in one gulp. He makes a sour face.

“Good,” says the mother.

She downs her drink in the same fashion, then puts the cups back in the cabinet.

She sits back down at the table and places her hands in her lap.

“Do you remember your father?” She asks.

The boy shakes his head.

“I met him when I was 26 years old. A few months later I got pregnant with you. We got married right away and I moved in with him. I quit my job to stay home with you while he worked for the government.”

“What was his name?” The boy asked.

“You’re named after him,” she replied.

The mother stares off across the room for a good while before continuing.

“Anyways, when you were two, this virus popped up and started spreading. It was very contagious but you didn’t show any symptoms for the first few days. People gave it to each other without even knowing they had it. After a few months of having to stay indoors, they made a vaccine and because of your fathers job we were at the top of the list to get it.”

“That’s what caused the split.” The boy says.

“Yes.” Says the mother.

“We all got it. But obviously only your dad split. Something like half the population were like him. It had something to do with differences in DNA and lucky us we don’t have the protein or whatever it is that they have. The government built the wall when they realized what was happening and started separating everyone. I begged and begged and begged your father to stay and he said he would. He said he’d never abandon us and we’d run away if we had to. But one day he just…. didn’t come home. Haven’t seen him since.”

“What happened to people that split?” The boy asks.

The mother chuckles. “Depends on who you ask! Those fuckers will tell you they’re smarter and live longer and don’t need sleep. But really? It made them greedy and cold. It turned them into heartless cowards who abandon their friends and families.”

The mother wrings her hands and rocks in her seat.

“No. They were always like that. They were always scumbags in sheep’s clothing. They just couldn’t show it. Remember that, you hear me? People are selfish to their core. That guard was going to kill you and wouldn’t have lost a second of sleep over it. You’re not like him and he thinks that makes your life worthless.”

The air begins to vibrate. The walls shake and dirt rains down from the ceiling. The clanking of a tracked vehicle and the low chug of a diesel engine roar through the house as a troop carrier passes by on the surface.

The mother and son quickly bring their shirts over their nose and mouth, cover their heads and close their eyes.

The dirt settles. Every surface in the house is covered in dust along with the boys only clean uniform.

“FUUUUCK.” She screeches at the ceiling.

The boy stares at the floor and slumps his shoulders.

“I wish I split.” He says.

The mother glares at her son and storms off. “Just stay away from the wall!”

“Shit, shit, shit!” I dropped the knife to the counter, forgotten, as my blood dripped across the tomatoes I’d been cutting. “Oh come on, no, no, no…”

Wrapping my finger in my other hand, all of my webbed fingers tightly closing on it, I made a sound of frustration as a few drops slid out from my palm and hit the floor with a sizzling sound.

I grimaced as I heard rapid footsteps down the corridor, boots clanging on the corrugated metal. “Hey, is everything- Harminini!” Glinda barked.

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry, blah, blah, blah, a little help?”

The human groaned, quickly going into an adjacent cabinet and taking out a large glass pan, rushing over to hold it under my hands. “What are you doing? I told you the next time I caught you using knives like this I’d throw a bucket of ice water over your head while you’re sleeping! I still remember that promise, you know.”

“It was just a salad,” I protested, walking with her and the pan over to the table, sitting down. “I didn’t want to bother anyone just to cut some stupid tomatoes.”

“And now we’ve got more holes,” she declared, folding her arms.

“I-” Letting out a sigh, my shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry.”

“You need to let go of your pride,” Glinda told me. “You’ve talked to me about making strides for your species on ships. Part of that means accepting that there are some things that you can’t… It’s not even that this is a huge deal, but you can’t get in the habit of doing things yourself that you know are risky, and you’re not good with knives. You’re a fantastic scientist, but you said it was just cutting some stupid tomatoes, and you’re right. It would’ve taken me a whole minute. Not a big deal.”

“I know.” I loosened my grip, wiping away the blood, and clamped down more accurately when I saw it start to leak again. “Morning wake-up call. Ice water. That’s fair.”

“No, that won’t accomplish anything. Rinkala’s supplies need to be inventoried.”

My eyes widened and shot to her. “Oh, come on. That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

“It’s her job,” Glinda smirked, “and it’s boring, and you’ll hate it. And it’ll give her more time to catch up on maintenance. Good enough for me.” Taking her walkie from her belt, she pressed the button on the side. “Glinda for Archie.”

“Go for Archie,” came the reply.

“Harminini did some accidental decorating making a salad in the galley. Can you come down here with a med kit to clean him up?”

“Goddamn it, again?” he exclaimed. I glared at my wound. “Yeah, on my way. Archie out.”

Glinda walked over to the counter.

“What are you doing?”

Glinda disposed of the knife, since it now had holes in it, and the similarly scarred tomato. And she took the second tomato and the bowl of lettuce over to her left. “I’m cutting your other tomato. You still need to eat lunch and I’m not coming back in twenty minutes for the sequel.”

​

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A mandatory meeting was called on the terrace above the gift shop. Despite the sunshine and finely arranged plants, Angel could sense the news would be bad.

The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.

“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.

“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”

Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.

“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”

Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.

“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”

***

The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.

“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”

Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.

“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”

The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”

The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”

There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.

“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”

As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.

The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.

With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.

It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?

If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?

She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.

Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.

When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.

The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.

In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”

Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.

As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.

Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.

    Windshield wipers lose the battle against heavy rain. Since the invention of the wiper, straight through to the invention of the heavy superconductor roadways and reciprocal magnetic pads used for personal and commercial vehicles in the year 2050, heavy rain has won the battle. One such battle is being lost to a cab driver in a layered city, about eight thirty p.m. 
   The cab driver had finished a meal in a retro themed diner at eight, being annoyed by the crass conversation of an off world bird-man that had immigrated during the great galactic restructuring. The birdmen were one of the relatively few offworlders allowed to find refuge on earth, due in part to the dream inhabiting culture that developed along with their dream mapping technology. Incidentally the cab driver had stepped over two sleeping birdmen while leaving the diner, as they wore the jeweled bands that allowed their minds to float freely from sleeper to sleeper, being only noticed as shadowy feathered creatures on the fringes of the hosts dreamscape. 
    Thin fingers on thin hands worked steering wheel and altitude lever of the hover cab. A man on the street below wearing an overcoat and holding an umbrella held his free hand up, as rain poured down the rubbery sleeve. The cab driver tipped the altitude lever forward and used his foot to engage the magnetic brakes, he thought of his seats, about to be soaked by the riders coat and umbrella. The rain poured and drowned out any noise from the hover cab as it came to a stop next to the man in the overcoat. The driver pushed a small button near the altitude lever and the rear passenger side door slowly opened. He frowned slightly as the rain increased and the passenger seemed to hesitate, allowing the rain to spatter his seats.
   The man in the overcoat slid into the backseat, pulled a small pistol from his pocket, pointed the barrel at the base of the driver's neck, and pulled the trigger.
    Nothing happened.
    The cab driver sighed, then seemed to brighten. 
    The man in the overcoat struggled to pull the trigger again, nothing happened again.
    In a few moments the cab driver had stepped out of the vehicle and walked around to the rear passenger door. His phone was in his hand and he had taken a picture of his would be killer. The man in the overcoat looked on the verge of tears. "How? How?" he said. The cab driver turned the phone around to reveal the photo of the passenger looking fearful, holding the illegal pistol.  "Give me all your money and the pistol or I send this picture to the police, I'm automatically geo-tagged, and all my photos are backed up. If you get clear of the hover pads so the gun isn't cold welded to itself and shoot me they will find the picture anyways."
      The man in the overcoats mind was a pit, a cave of swooping tormented things and crawling worms.
       The cab driver twisted up his lip in a comical expression and snatched the gun away from him. He hauled him bodily from the seat. The man in the overcoat looked stunned, his mind now a serene prairie, full of wind and grass. The rain was letting up. The driver busied himself going through the mans pockets. He found a wallet full of cash and cards, different names imprinted on each. He produced a small squarish box with a slit in its side and started slipping the cards through it, tossing them away individually as he finished swiping them. After finishing the process he dropped the small box and stepped on it. He gently guided the man in the overcoat to the side walk. His mood had darkened again and the gentle prairie had been replaced by a blasted land of blowing sand.
        The hover cab driver dropped into the seat of his vehicle, took off quickly, and when he had travelled a few blocks and risen a few levels to an altitude of forty feet he found a dimly lit cove near a shopping structure. He expertly disassembled the pistol and found it had been loaded with stun pellets. He seemed unfazed but deep down he felt a bit of respect for the man that had tried to rob him. After counting the cash he contacted his dispatch and told them he would take the rest of the night off. He owned the cab outright and just relied on the dispatch for large fares requiring city to city travel. He checked his bank account and saw a few thousand dollars had been stripped from the credit cards he had taken from the man in the overcoat. 
      Somewhere in a police station a screen flickered into life, it had registered an unauthorized bank transfer being performed by a credit brick, an illegal device that could scan and use stolen cards.
    

“Hey boss?” I slowly pushed open the glass door to his office, half-entering the room. “Uh… I know this is kinda awkward…but would it be possible to withdraw my resignation letter?”

Doug Murray looked up at me from the glass in front of him, next to the bottle of whiskey. His tie was loosened, and he looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen anyone. The whiskey called out to me, but I wanted a clear head. When your whole world gets turned upside-down in a moment, I figure that’s the time to stay sober. “Really?” He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “I mean that was like half an hour ago. What changed your mind?”

Walking into the office, I took a seat at one of the two chairs in front of his desk. He’d been wallowing in the news channel playing on his computer, but with the press of a button on his keyboard, silenced it. “I just… I suppose I got ahead of myself,” I admitted.

Doug snorted. “I don’t think that’s the right way to think of it. Everyone’s…ahead of themselves, behind themselves,” he said, his wild gesticulating revealing the amount of alcohol he’d consumed so far. “Full existential crisis. Martial law is gonna happen by day’s end, I know it.” He met my gaze. “You really want to keep working?”

“My colleagues out there, the vast majority of them are staying,” I said, motioning behind me. “I know Terry and Jill went home to their families, but…to their credit, they’ve got kids, and I can understand it. But there are plenty of them still here that have kids, that I’m sure want to run home and hug them and try to pretend we know everything’s going to be okay. But a 911 operator’s job is not something you take on a whim. I’m good at it, and it’s important.”

“There might come a time soon where we stop being needed,” Doug muttered. “Dispatch will be gone, police will be gone, ambulances won’t come.”

I sighed, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “But we’re not there yet. We barely know what that thing in the sky is, much less confirmed that it means us harm. I mean, seriously, if it wanted to attack, wouldn’t it have done so already?”

Doug grunted. “Could be recon.”

Grimacing, I shook my head. “I’m not jumping to that. I can’t. And we’re still needed. There’s floods of calls coming in from panicked citizens, yeah, but there’s also tons from people who are hurt, who need help sent to them. I just got off the line…”

Doug raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“A kid. Couldn’t have been more than ten. His dad was having a heart attack,” I explained. “I stayed on the phone with him until EMS got there, kept him calm, and…” Fidgeting awkwardly for a moment, I shrugged. “I can’t give up. I guess that’s what it is. I can’t give up and assume that this is the end. If I could, I wouldn’t have taken this job in the first place.”

Nodding and pursing his lips, Doug leaned back heavily in his office chair. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”

I gave him something between a smile and a grimace. “Thanks.”

“I’ll let you guys know. I’ll… I’m not gonna keep drowning my sorrows back here,” he said, motioning with his glass. “Starting to regret it. I’m gonna guzzle some water and try to sober up. I’m not going anywhere either, so I’ll keep an eye on the news, come out to let you guys know if anything happens, and…we’ll take it one minute at a time.”

​

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