Orchestra

"They sing, you see."

Dana gestured at the immense spectacle before them.

"Every star vibrates with a primary frequency - a musical note - with natural harmonics superimposed. And each is different."

"I . . ." whispered Jared.

"To have gathered so many suns, to have arranged them perfectly . . ." Dana sighed. "I wish we knew who they were."

The music filled Jared utterly; a sanctuary for his soul. He stood now in timeless peace, one of a billion enraptured faces held in thrall. Dana would tend to his living needs - and those of the others in her care.

But, sometimes, she wished she could hear.

Exit Strategy

Shooting me is - at the very least - impolite of him. I can understand why he is doing it, though. Some guards are very protective of their banks.

“Have a nice day!” I bid him cheerfully, as I Select the closest probability-line in which he’ll miss (a beautiful sepia colour, like nostalgia). The bullet drills harmlessly into the wall as I stride out the doors. Straight into her.

“Going somewhere, darling?” she asks, with that infuriating smile.

The p-lines converge into a single strand as she Blocks my options; someone racks a gun to my left. Cassandra has caught me.

Again.

Choices

Every time I manage to pull back from the edge, I leave a small part of me inescapably there. That is the cost of it; the admission paid for each visit. I can keep doing this, I know, for some time yet - but there will come a point where more of me remains than returns.

And yet - it’s such a small loss. Like the barest scrape rubbing off an atomic layer. No one will notice; I can barely feel it myself. So what price is it really, in the end?

*      *      *

The boy watches sadly as the hollow man drifts past.

The Light of Other Days

Jace really missed the blue skies of home. She’d thought she’d never tire of the sight of the void dotted with a million tiny jewels of distant suns, but the monochromatic lightyears had taken their toll.

She gazed through her spacecraft’s shattered hull at the purple-azure dawn. Sunlight glinted on shards of exposed bone, and the cold air numbed her tattered flesh. The toxic atmosphere and her injuries raced to be the first to claim her.

Jace’s final sigh wavered between pain and contentment. The sky’s hues didn’t quite look like those of her childhood, but they were good enough.

Golden Rule

Drexel studied the tiny form intently. Creepy-crawlies had fascinated and repelled him in equal measure since childhood, and the years had not diminished these feelings.

With a deft movement of his tweezers, he plucked another limb off. Just two left! He loved this gradual imposition of stillness on the frantically wriggling chaos held between his fingers. The exercise of power, however petty, felt good.

A horribly loud clicking noise made him look up. Two huge, bristling...Insectoids...confronted him, clearly agitated. They moved fast, binding him tight.

Even before the aliens’ mandibles closed around his legs, Drexel began to scream.

Homo Machinus

Grabbing sticks and stones, they set about the prisoner with acceptable savagery. After a while they paused, puzzled by the strange noise bubbling from the bloodied form before them.

The round metal room echoed with the organic sound. Contained within layered concentric shells, cogs within cogs, the wheels of law turned. Justice as a concept long forgotten, this was purely a legal machine now for systematically enacting that particular inhumanity. Each a part of the process and its execution; not accountable.

And still the laughter came through shattered lungs.

"Your Honour," monotoned a guard. "You remain in contempt of court."

Whodunnit?

Only five of us made it to the escape pod. We peered through the viewports at the cataclysmic destruction of our spacecraft as we spun away into the Deep Black. It had been a deliberate, traitorous act - some mole undetected amongst the crew - and we knew that the saboteur had to be on board. We exchanged suspicious glances.

I studied the others closely. The second technician was looking particularly nervous - fidgeting and sweat-soaked. The navigator didn't meet anyone’s eyes for long.

I sat back, thinking hard. Which one of them would be the first to guess it had been me?

Fertile Land

"Gotta be careful with technology," warned Jameson. “Let me tell you about Tuonela."

The old pilot sipped his whiskey, then continued.

"They used these nanobots nicknamed 'undertakers'. The wee buggers disassembled decaying organic matter, then buried it in the ground. For farming, right? Except . . . something went wrong with their programming - they stopped distinguishing between living and dead. Most people didn’t make it off the planet. I swear I could hear the screaming from orbit."

I gaped in horror. "You serious?"

Jameson stared mournfully into his glass.

"Why do you think it’s famous for being the greenest world in the system?"

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.