Sacrifice

Treyghin held the bright-edged knife with a clenched fist as he looked upon the offering. Its face was pale, lips tight, breath rasping quickly. Clearly scared, but trying to hide it.

"Rejoice!" cried Treyghin, "For your life's essence is truly a divine gift for the Goddess."

The man's throat was stretched taut; Treyghin could see the arteries pulsing fast and strong as blood hammered through them. He slashed deeply with the blade, opening the neck. The figure instantly disappeared behind a crimson curtain.

Treyghin was surprised at just how much blood was washing over the mirror. The Goddess . . . would . . . reward . . .

A Welcome Visit

The soft sodium light that edged its way through the half-open blinds was a perfect metaphor for his life, thought Nigel. It was mercilessly unchanging, day after mind-numbing day.

The background susurration outside, unnoticed till now, became loud enough to get him out of bed. Huge bristling shapes ringed with lights were descending from the sky. Dazzling streaks lanced down on the cityscape, shattering buildings. A cacophony of sirens and human suffering began wailing into the night.

Nigel stared, electrified. It was a Goddamned. Alien. Invasion.

The hardest part about this apocalypse, he figured, would be pretending he wasn't excited.

The Last Drop

I activate the holopad and cherish the minute forms of my family one more time. The roar of the plasma cannons is fading. If they have done their work, much of the population of the planet below has been obliterated. This will make our job easier - but still not without danger.

If I survive this mission, I go home. The Great Expansion can continue without me; I just want to hold my children again.

A jolt signals the release of the clamps holding my dropship. Sol-3, soon to be bereft of its strange bipedal primary species, grows majestically beneath me.

The Artist

From the right distance, the devastation looks suitably picturesque. The smoke lies like a vast steel-gray blanket, gently billowed and softened by the miles, over the city that now lies forever beyond purpose.

Jagged spires of tormented metal claw despairingly into the burning sky, black on red - the frozen death throes of a majestic leviathan in a blood-frothed sea.

The client is most satisfied with my latest delivery; his gratitude more valuable, in certain ways, than mere coin. Personally, I just feel that it is slovenly - degrading even - to carry out this job without due concern for the best aesthetics.

Thy Perfect Light

Shuddering horribly, the spaceliner launched from the doomed station and joined the mass exodus. Commander Haywood checked his ship's environmental systems. Every spare cubic meter was crammed with people; the air purifiers were redlining.

Ahead, wormhole openings flashed like blazing baubles. Behind, the sun's treacherous core continued its irreversible collapse. They had just minutes left before the supernova would consume the system.

As Haywood initiated the hyperspace sequence, he thought about the cataclysm's light that would, in time, shine throughout the galaxy. On what undiscovered worlds would it be heralded by infant civilisations as a beacon above their newborn saviours?

Hunt

It was a Thursday afternoon when the sun went out. The world was immediately plunged into darkness, although the street lights around Harper flicked on a moment later.

"Dammit!" he swore. It was quickly becoming cold, and Harper knew that much of the planet's life would die out in a matter of weeks. Of course, the star had actually extinguished eight minutes earlier - they were only just now seeing the effects.

Not that it mattered.

Harper gazed up at the night (day!) sky, and sighed wearily. Ten days of expensive simulation time wasted, and no closer to finding the bug.

Remembrance

The skullcap interface of the Time Machine is tight and cold; I try to relax and form the scene correctly in my mind. It had been a clear night, with the aerocity's buildings floating around us like incandescent bubbles. Emma, still giggly from the wine, nestled in my arm.

"That one!" She pointed, bouncing on her toes. "We'll live there."

The Machine's humming reaches a crescendo, then unexpectedly declines.

<< Error: worldline match failed. >>

<< Unable to locate spacetime event. >>

My last hope dies. I am left in the present with hazy nostalgia - that changes on each recollection - my only solace now.

Homecoming

“Promise me you’ll come back,” his wife had pleaded, “whatever it takes.”

Captain Baker studied the viewscreen image of the Celestia asteroid base. Over fifty thousand men, women and children called it home. The military called it ‘strategically vital to the war effort.’ 

At Baker’s terse command, the antimatter missiles were unleashed. Rock and flesh alike boiled into space as, briefly, the light of two suns burned in the system.

*   *   *

She ran forward as her husband – at last – walked through the door. He’d survived! But when she saw his eyes she stopped, for who had returned she did not know.

Adherence

A small break in the relentless drizzle allowed a spear of sunlight through, splintering on the rain-lashed carriage window. If it hadn't been for that brief scintillation rousing him from his melancholy, he would have missed her. Emily was, like him, alone and preoccupied. And as beautiful as she had always been.

He watched as the locomotive started to move, taking her away from him again. He couldn't follow; the cold stone of the platform anchored his spirit, and she was unable to perceive him in any case.

The clouds of steam billowed, more substantial than he would ever be.

Arena

A sudden sprint, crouch just so, leap into an inverted pirouette, and voila! Deft hands found their mark - a double slap that blurred into one motion. Her opponent slumped and the crowd roared their appreciation. Unbelievable! She was the underdog; money changed hands frantically.

Turn, tuck-jump over the clumsy battering-ram of its arm swung blindly behind it, and then a series of gouging, twisting knuckles up its back. The huge form went prostrate, its groan a rich bass that reverberated through the wildly-cheering spectators.

The fight of the year: the Combat Masseuse versus The Stone Golem . . . and they were there!

_____________________________________
[Thanks to Tim Whitten for the idea.]

Inchoate Love

As he glances in her direction she looks away quickly, her eyes hiding behind the swirl of black hair. She has gazed at him for too long again, and curses herself.

Wait.

She bites her lip, summoning courage, and peeks out gingerly. He isn't watching. His hangers-on - all girls, of course - have finally gone.

Deep breath.

Move.

He turns to look at her as she reaches him, a quizzical half-smile lighting his face. The knife enters his chest more easily than she expects, sliding between his ribs and opening his heart.

She marvels as those beautiful eyes turn to glass.

Solitary Confinement

Blackness. Silence. I can’t feel anything either. Or move. So - they think that mere sensory deprivation will break me? My resolve far outstrips theirs. We’ll see who lasts the longest...

*   *   *

Bill paused in his cleaning, right by the heavy door that was always locked. Except, today it wasn’t. He’d always wondered what lay behind it, the ominous sign stating ‘Indefinite Detention’ serving only to pique his curiosity.

Daringly, he peeked into the chamber. The sight of rows of glass cylinders containing fluid and, clearly, human brains bristling with wires sent him hastily away. After all, curiosity could kill the cat.