Thirty by thirty, with an inner ring taking up most of the space. Little to no light, save the soft blue of the birthing room’s floor. The midwives worked slowly, directly, moving from station to station and helping the little mothers bring to the world the new young. There are cries of bliss, joy, pain, and disappointment as the day continues.
Each new life is given a quick rinse to clear it of the birthing. They are weighted, checked for vitals, and have their metal count, type, and parts per verified for identification and genetic heritage. Their limbs are handled, tested, measured, and eventually cleared for initial action. They are allowed to attach themselves to their little mothers and conjoin suction onto the feeding nipple while until their energy payload is full.
With full reserves the new lives are ready. Just minutes after birth they are taken from the little mothers by a midwife. Never will the new life see their little mother again, save for the few per cycle assigned to the midwife quota. The new life is not surprised by this and their is no grief or tear shed. Part of the payload includes knowledge as well as nutrients. Information, databases, and the latest software and hardware patches are given by the little mother’s milk.
The new life is delivered to the cycler next. They know only a little about this. Enough to understand how it fits into their own life cycle, and how it will determine their place for the next established series of events. They are unaware that should they not pass the cycler’s inspection, or they are built too efficient for a role whose numbers have gone beyond quota, they will not be allowed to continue. Recycling is a common thing.
Should they pass, they will only be at the cycler briefly before moving on to any number of stations. Midwives no longer carry them, unless they have been assigned as midwife, or as little mother. Here they are taken by those who are of similar charges. There will be more uploads, and memory wipes as no established lives outside of midwives, mothers, and cyclers, need know where the new units come from. Within an hour, their will be physical modifications and limbs covered or replaced as the established life is fitted to their role.
The efficiency the ranks are filled as quickly as they receive more raw material, more raw life to break into their own numbers. From metal to bone, each unit is created, assigned, broken, and reused endlessly.
Filling The Invoice’s Quota by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
“No, I’m not really super happy about this either,” Ariel muttered into the phone. She knocked another high-tech piece of trash to the ground around the other bits of the PILC-DI. The machine looked like it had been nuked, and from the inside.
“Look, Batey, I was here as soon as I could after you rang. The big guy’s the one who could travel at will remember?”
She kicked over some debris as the phone squawked it’s reply. “Yeah, from the inside, like I said. Almost like their travel beams.” She turned over another stone with her heel and sighed when she spotted a mostly burned picture showing her with her father, Wesley. She picked it up and looked at the reflection of herself from six years ago. The pre-teen floating in the image seemed like such a dream.
“He’s going to do what?” Ariel let go of the picture and snapped her attention back towards the burst PILC-DI. “When? Now? Hell!” She moved fast, leaping over and behind one of the overturned pieces of lab equipment. The PILC-DI had already started to glow by the time she peaked over. The mass forming was humanoid, but metallic. One of her father’s ancient robots.
The mass seemed to ripple like water, before solidifying in the heart of the remains of the PILC-DI. And then there was a star where it had been. She covered her eyes fast and ducked down to make sure she wasn’t caught in the travel beam. They were common enough these days that even a normal person knew not to look directly at them unless they wanted to risk blindness, being pulled into the beam, or both. She wasn’t interested in either.
When the light died down, Ariel peaked over at the PILC-DI, or the dust cloud that was left of it. The robot was gone, left only with cough inducing flecks of matter hovering in the air where it had just been. A sound came from her left hand and she pulled the phone back up to her ear.
“Yeah, as soon as the teleport finished. Now we know they have Theo.” There was a pause, a longer one than she was comfortable with.
“Well yeah, of course we’re gonna go get him.”
There Was A Time by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
He flicked the wand again but the hat remained an empty hat. Jeremy groaned as he started twisting the top off the wand and dumped out the batteries. Giving them a quick glance, he then hesitantly licked the positive side. He twitched and jerked the battery away. Still a charge in there. He gave the wand another shake and there was only the slight noise of the ball bearing inside moving and clicking against the switch. The wand was working so maybe the hat was the issue.
He leaned over and checked the latch on the inside of the hat. It was secure and when he shook the wand, batteries now back inside, the latch opened briefly, yet the trap door inside of the prop hat didn’t open. It had to be stuck. He set the wand down and started to move his fingers along the rim of the trap door, sliding open the latch in the process. He held the hat up as he started to pull on the trap door and was surprised with how easily it sprung open and out slide a small wade of fur.
Jeremy dropped the hat as he caught the little fuzz ball. The magician was surprised as he looked at the bunny. He hadn’t loaded the hat with a live animal. In fact the only thing inside was some playing cards and he looked around the stage to see if any of them had dropped to the floor.
No, just the rabbit in his hands.
Puzzled, he went back over to the hat, scooped it up, and set it back on the table. He looked from it to the rabbit and wondered. The rabbit found itself back in the hat and Jeremy grabbed the wand. With a wave, the rabbit vanished, looking as if it had been sucked down. Jeremy turned the hat over, flipped the wand, and then picked the hat back up. The rabbit had returned.
Looking down at the hat, he decided to try and pry the trap door open again. On the table next to him the rabbit sniffing at the wand and started to try and bite into it. A gentle nudge and the wand rolled, falling off the table, knocking onto the floor, and the slight sound of the ball bearing knocking against the switch clicked.
He tried to get it off him, but the hat pulled against his arm. Up to his arm an observer would say as his entire left arm was sucked into the hat when the hatch opened. Jeremy pulled against the stage but couldn’t find a grip. The pain against his shoulder was agonizing. Then he heard and felt the snap as bones gave way to the suction.
It was over quickly after that, as the hat seemed to work harder at consuming it’s new rabbit.
Jeremy The Magnificent and the Rabbit Crown by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Raw vacuum pulled and twisted everything that wasn’t latched, bolted, or welded down in the docking bay as the Glorious Anger lifted into launch position. My grip tightened around the slightly rusty pipe, thank Gaia for that. Anything smoother wouldn’t have given me the anchor I needed to keep from being sucked into the big empty beyond the hanger doors. I gave a quick thank you for ineffective maintenance drones.
It had been getting colder as the pressure in the hanger subsided while air was being sucked into space. It had been at least until a moment ago. Now, now it was extremely warm as the Anger’s engine exhaust washed over me. Any more time spent like this and the vacuum wouldn’t kill me before the radiation I was being exposed to did. I had to get aboard, and it had to be now.
Releasing the pipe, my body jerked forward as I fought to keep control against the vacuum’s suction. The Glorious Anger was powering up and in less than a minute it would be in dead air. So would I if I wasn’t inside. I started to slide against the ship’s hull to slow me down, when a latch struck my left arm. My arm flailed for it and took hold, but that hand couldn’t get the grip. I managed to pull my right hand and could feel the grip hydraulics screaming against the strain. Space still wanted me, and I really preferred a more open relationship.
The airlock attached to the latch wouldn’t open by a mere twist. The ship’s crew were wise on local pirating habits to allow such a simple entrance. Go figure that slavers would know pirate habits. My free hand slipped up to my forehead and peeled back my data port. Pulling the cord as far it would extend, I started feeling around for the likely plug. This hole? Nope. That one? Not a port. Oh oops, this one is a camera. Crap. Ah here we go.
Click.
The world tore away. My senses died as the interface took over. Infinite reality took over as I dove into the ship’s brain. Polygon architecture shot by in waves with no verification needed. I wanted to get inside and the system was leading me right to the command. Past locked grids and log in stations, past the link from the ship to the port, my mind raced like a comet across the sky. A simple control, simple activation; something blipped. I flipped a mental switch.
Click
The airlock peeled back and I slipped inside. I slammed the standard emergency close valve and the doors closed behind me. I was aboard. I was ready to save the day. I really need to take a nap.
This was the point I passed out by the way. Funny that lack of oxygen will do that to a guy.
Hanger Bay Echo One Nine Eight Three by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
“Zero-point-zero-two metrics and closing,” the tower speakers sounded, only slightly louder than the exhaust from the galley. At the distance the ship was from port, the formality of giving the range to arrival was lost in a hurricane of wind. The harbor banked for a moment as it took on the extra weight of the transport, corrected itself, and the system went clear.
With the ship’s bulk blocking the bay’s view, the travelers were adjusting to the dim lights of the dock. Everything was a soft green except for a pair of flashing yellow strobes near the ship’s entrance. Normal routine would have the travelers waiting on the side of the harbor, as people disembarking from an arriving Galley would be given priority to move. Not this run.
The ship’s gangplank uncurled like a lotus, petals of metal and wood revealing sharp white light. The travelers didn’t wait for formalities. There wasn’t time. There was some semblance of order and tradition as children, elderly, and families climbed on first. The remaining men and women closed and locked the gate to the harbor before hurrying aboard. As delicately as it had opened, the gangplank door sealed itself.
The harbor seemed to sigh as the ship pulled itself free. Sails and small fans directed the ship higher and further away. The ship rose, its mast pointing east towards the rendezvous. Below, the harbor appeared to have relaxed after the travelers had left.
And at its base the darkness was already consuming it.
It was spread far beyond just the harbor. Every building of the metropolis was half consumed, each structure like a rotting tree, its bark charred and insides turned to pulp. The parasite had spread and there wasn’t anything to do to save this city. The last ship was now heading to the new host of the people, and there they would plan for the inevitable arrival of the hunger.
Last One Out Closes The Door by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
“Here again. Did it bring food, or is it food?” it hissed at Anselm. He tried to pick out what tree the serpent spoke from, but the myriad of swamp sounds distorted the source. The haruspex waded forward in the water, holding the offering pouch at arm’s length.
“I have what you seek, serpent. Do you have what was promised?” As his words echoed through the murk and fog of the swamp, he dropped the pouch. It barely made a splash in the water.
Something fell behind him. He spun and saw a piece of meat and bone half submerged. He stepped forward and lifted it from its hair, the man’s face staring at him as Anselm inspected it. Another splash behind him and he turned in time to see a long scaled tentacle pulling up the charm pouch. He could barely hear the heated breath of the creature as it looked at his trade.
He started to hear the sound of branches shift, and he asked, “How do I know this is a Weaver’s head and not some murdered fool?”
“How does it know you are not giving it a cursed charm? Doubt again and it will take your head for trade! It is Augur Lucian, serpent hunter, slayer with God’s Charms. Did come to slay. Many rose and slayed him. It is lucky to have the entire head.” The creature left then, and Anselm didn’t bother saying a word or moving until he was sure it was gone. When he was certain it was outside of its great listening range he sighed in relief.
He started his trek out of the swamp, but focused on examining the head. It was not the type of weaver he expected the snake to bring him, but then the snake worked in its own way. An augur’s mysticism would still work for the divining he needed. He just hoped whatever demons the snake had dealt with hadn’t damaged the brain of this Augur Lucian too much.
Weaver Heads by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Jeremy gasped. The air burned but he grabbed as much as he could before he was smashed back under the water. Something bright and golden crossed his vision before his submersion and nearly caused him to lose his lungful of breath. He tried to pull himself to the surface, but something strong and sharp grabbed his ankle. It pulled hard and he found himself being drawn to the bottom of the tank.
The grip loosened and he kicked to the surface with the spent air escaping him like survivors jumping out of a sinking ship. He spun around, trying to find his assailant on the water’s surface. Nothing, just the calming waters around him. The water itself was too dark with the stage lighting off, and he didn’t turn on the tank’s inner lighting yet. Something brushed his leg and he screamed. He kicked at the water until his back pressed against the glass wall closest to the audience. Something moved on the other side of the water.
Her hair was a golden weave, coming out of the water in waves, hiding her face. Jeremy’s breath was calming as the woman’s shoulders breached the surface. His pulse quickened when he noticed the woman’s exposed breasts just over the water. When he glanced at her eyes, he was unable to look away from the purple orbs stared at him from behind the mask of blond hair. He felt himself calming, relaxing after the little game this beautiful visitor had played with him.
The magician started to slide himself over to the woman’s side of the pool. Her finger curled, beckoning him closer and a moment later he was beside her. Her hair parted and she smiled at him, and a goofy smile crossed his face. He dared and pressed his hand towards the middle of her back and was rewarded as she slide into his chest. Past fears forgotten; he felt his arousal grow as she pushed bare skin against him. His hands slipped down as the woman’s body rose slightly in the water.
And then he felt the scales and recoiled. He panicked and then dropped the woman back into the water. Then he heard the hiss of anger mixed with water splashing. Then the scales wrapped around his leg and pulled him under. His mind had snapped to the thought of mermaid, but the scales wrapping his legs together changed his mind. His lungs were already starting to hurt when his head hit bottom, and he felt a click through his skull. The tank’s lights flashed on and he could see her now, a muscular woman from above where the navel should be and a strange finned serpent below, easily twelve feet of scaled length. And it was crushing him under the water.
He found his breath escaping him, but through bubbles and broken water, he could see her looking at him with disappointment on her face.
Jeremy The Magnificent and the Waters of Love by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Another slap across the face. This kid’s got a good back hand, good enough to knock a tooth loose. He practices, I can tell that kind of thing.
“It’s now or never, Abyss. You tell us how you are resisting, or we break you forever.”
He was a scrawny runt, despite the back handing. Probably all his exercise done on blow up dolls and tricks from the street who don’t know his reputation. I tell him as much and he gives me another good back hand. I think I felt metal that time under that glove. Maybe he’s cheating.
“I dunno, I just do.” I smile a one-less-tooth grin at him. He doesn’t seem to be as amused as I am.
“Look you idiotic piece of shit, I’m done toying with you. When the captain gets here…”
“I’ll be sorry. Yeah, I get it junior. You’re not that young that you forget that we had villains before your rag tag gang.”
This time it’s the full knuckle salute.
“We’re not the villains. You’re the criminals, Abyss. You’re breaking interplanetary law, or are you old enough to forget that?”
“So you keep saying, but I’m not the one slapping someone like an eight-year-old little girl.” No offense to eight-year-old girls, by the by. Although if you are eight, why are you listening to my thoughts? Run along now.
Oh, and he didn’t like that comment, not sure if it was the little girl or eight-year-old bit though. Either way, it did hurt when the back of my head hit the cement.
Captain girly fists let me lay for a minute before coming over to give me the final threat of the evening. “You will talk, one way…”
“Or another. Great. I give this performance a nine point five, but the Russian judge give you a,” And with that he kicked me in the ribs. Upgrade that name to Captain Rude Girly Fists.
Took me a minute to stop seeing stars from that last kick, but didn’t matter because they left me in the room with the lights off. Again. This was getting boring and I was starting to wonder how much longer I’d actually be able to hold out.
I still didn’t know how I was able to do my vanishing act if what they were telling is truth. Not like I knew they had a disabling field on the city, nor that I had somehow managed to side track it. Seemed to work fine in this room, but well what do I know. Super science smarts wasn’t my power.
Funny Thing About Plans by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
The spear seemed to be leaning against the throne, and shaking violently at the same time. Its presence could be felt even this far away and it was frightening Yueern. Such a thing shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t exist, and this close to it, Yueern could feel the goddess Phaion leave her. She made the sign of the rising moon and setting sun, calling on Phaions sisters moon and sun to guide her through the blinding night sure to come.
Yueern approached, fearful that the spear would move on its own accord. It was hard to look at, and the steps toward it sent pain throughout her form. She continued through the ancient chamber until she was at the first step up to the throne. She could no longer feel her goddess. The shield she prayed for was not there. There was only the painful and intoxicating aura of the spear.
She found herself whispering a name heard only in legends, but as she heard the syllables, she knew it was truth. “Ijka.”
“Ijka”.
God Slayer.
This was the spear. The weapon of the first emperor that let him slay the goddess Fgoja. The weapon that let the mad emperor Renx slay Esulan, Teronfan, Asgainoe, and the unnamed goddess. Here it was, ushered away in the corpse of a great black dragon. It shouldn’t be here. It should be deep in the heart of the dragon’s lands guarded against all mortal hands. Yet it stood against the throne, the dragon lord’s throne.
There was a footstep and she saw him, her son rise to the first step. With each step he aged two years, going from a fresh hatchling to an adult in thirteen steps. She knew not his name, only his title as Dragon lord, as the new Parren. He clutched the spear, and suddenly there was only darkness.
Yueern awoke, her husband sleeping next to her. There was dawn approaching in the sky and its soft blue highlighted Yueern’s scales. She blinked her eyes from the vision, and whispered into the dawn.
“My son will be dragon lord. And he will be a god slayer.”
Ijka by Justin Diehl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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