Sci Fi
Close Encounters at Taco Bell
It’s late at night. Nearly midnight, in fact. I’m tired. No. Exhausted. And I’m hungry as hell. There’s food at home, but I’d have to prepare that myself. I just want to shove something hot and edible in my mouth and make my stomach stop its infernal growling. As I muse on these thoughts, I see a Taco Bell sign glowing like a beacon through the bleak and endless night. The decision is made. I pull into the driveway, but I’m dismayed to find a line of cars packing the drive-thru like it’s the Exodus and rather than a column of flame by night, God sent a great luminous bell to guide us. Oh well. Even a little wait means I don’t have to put in the work of cooking.
By Jacob Fike5 years ago in Fiction
The Forest Mind
When I wake, I wake in a bed of fog. Cold fog, like my skin were made of steel, with ice frozen over the surface. Waiting to crack, to shatter away. The haze seeps into my skull, feeding the storm clouds which rage within. It’s lighting courses through my veins, leaving the metallic taste of adrenalin on my tongue. Do I dare open my eyes?
By Jasmine Duff5 years ago in Fiction
Apex
My wife’s face lifted as if a great weight had been relieved. It happened too quickly for me to react, so I froze instead. She was no longer looking at me in that guarded way she always did. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry...” Sarah said weakly. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t comprehend the words as she sheathed the wet, red scalpel back into the utility bag at her hip. I finally understood why her eyes never looked into mine with what I thought was love, what I thought my eyes were looking at her with, but could see now I recognized as pity. The same pity we extended to the poor Apes we relieved. “You’re an Apex, just like this one. It is not real. We are not real.” Sarah said.
By Sean O’Banion5 years ago in Fiction
Intelligentsor
The holographic image was that of a man, one who would have been tall and hefty even divested of the containment-suit which muffled him whole. A space-helmet with a one-way mirrored visor likewise hid his features, but Joe noted that for Flashtease there was no hiding the nostalgic pride that fairly beamed from him the minute this masked titan muscled into view.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Echoes of the Future
The reason remained a mystery, but whatever force it was that had been responsible, it did not discriminate. No form of life was spared, be it mammalian, reptilian, arboreal, gaseous, energy or mineral. Even the robots and androids succumbed, their artificial intelligences clogging with computer-viruses until they collapsed alongside their creators. The only machines that did not falter thus were the ones still busily slaughtering each other at the nucleus of a nightmare they heeded not.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The First and Final War
Long, long ago. It had started over territory, as it nearly always did when Toothfire was involved. What territory exactly, which worlds or systems, was as Flashtease had already stated lost to time. The ravages of the First and Final War had left only the barest scraps by way of official record. Even the dates and duration of this evil epoch were a matter of estimate.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Mayhem, Chapter Four
As Flashtease gaped uncomprehending, girl and robot sped by overhead and left the becalmed racer eating their dust. Dylan was already uncoupling the rig’s bulkhead door and hurrying down its collapsible entry-steps, while Phoenix with arms thrown out hollered joyous encouragement to the escapees as Joe wordlessly stood and took careful aim above his windshield. 4-H-N’s questing fingertips were enfolded in the gladsome hands of sister and friend and she was alighting from Micro-Mallet when Joe fired, a solitary needle-fine dart of flame dispatched with unflinching pinpoint exactitude. And all at once 4-H-N’s eyes opened wide.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Mayhem, Chapter Three
Four awesome Grindo war-vehicles, adapted by Dylan for humanoid use, were led by a gigantic mobile rig whose double-barrelled cannon still steamed from delivering the warning-blast. Dylan himself manned this one, while Phoenix was behind the wheel of a sleek streamlined sky-fighter. The Mini-Flashes meanwhile stood ready to supplement firepower and force with speed and manoeuvrability from their respective rocket-bikes, Flashlight’s a vivid green and Mini-Flash Bloomer’s in gaudy orange as they had hitherto agreed. In terms of combat potential it was an altogether more convincing line-up than Joe’s pair of space-rods and one single-seat racer.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Mayhem, Chapter Two
4-H-N turned out to be the fastest worker, at any rate. She and Micro-Mallet were skimming secretively through the street-market’s bustling crowds when all of a sudden they chanced upon Flashtease, busy with shopping-bags at a stand selling interplanetary provisions. On such a breezy draughty planet the Mini-Flash had no hope of hiding his bright yellow distinguishing features from 4-H-N. Although that said, she’d been in the Avion Girls Task Force so couldn’t exactly talk.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Prelude
Planet Grindotron was the Silicon Valley of the quadrant. Peopled by a race of small squashy life-forms that were to all intents and purposes defenceless, the culture that evolved there had predictably enough been one dependent on technology for physical tasks. Thus had Grindotron gradually established its present standing as a wonderland of gleaming megalopolises and meticulously-maintained expanses of outstanding natural beauty, famed the galaxy over. Grindo science was among the most advanced in the known universe, and its spongy exponents lived in contentment with super-intelligent robots catering to their every need.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Abduction of the Farns
Low over Eshcaton’s obsidian crust a blocklike juggernaut brooded, its hover-jets kicking up whirlwinds of synthetic ether which swirled in counterpoint to that planet’s perpetual storm. The Foretold One, stationed at middle-height by the north face of this paraphernalia, was flinging lance after lance of his twilight tint from one hand after the other in relentless bombardment upon the temple entrance. Eshcaton’s ancient sanctum was subterranean, and could not long withstand such a pounding. The quartet of venerable sages who studied there knew as much, and with all the inevitability on which Harbin had reckoned they were presently staggering up the rough-hewn spiral steps and out into the gale.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
