Angus Hooper boarded the cruise ship Heaven’s Orchid, taking a light transport from the nearest space station. His travel was work-related; attending a conference meeting on the ship. Angus was a plumbing and sanitary engineer for the colony back home. The profession was honest work and well paid, but it was not a discipline that garnered high status. He knew the conference on maintenance and upgrade would be dominated by the more glamourous divisions, the ‘service-providers’ and management-types, that like talk a lot about all things impractical and flippant. Once on board the conference ship, he felt his mind and body shift into a more relaxed state. These conferences usually felt like something halfway between a holiday and the usual work. He took the omnidirectional lift from the check-in to his floor on the ship. The company would only pay for a cheap cabin but, privately, he preferred the modest practically of the middle decks. It was comfortable without the gaudy ostentatiousness of the more expensive suites. As he walked down the corridor leading to his cabin, he noticed one of the wall panels had been removed, and its display, changed from the usual artificial window projections on the other walls to read “Work in Progress” in black-on-orange lettering. As he passed he looked in, and had to do a double take. It was a creature, moving slowly and holding onto the mess of conduits that made up the ship. The creature was a roughly cat-sized crustacean. In appearance, it looked somewhere between a coconut crab and a spiny lobster. It’s tough carapace was covered in a film of dirt and grease, which seemed to blend or camouflage the creature against the ship’s internals. Its underside was a mess of limbs of various sizes and functions. Two black, mottled eyes on stalks stared back at him dimly. Seeing but not processing what it was seeing, more like a camera’s lens than an eye of an animal. What was it doing – eating ? Of course not, it must be something to do with repair. A pest wouldn’t make itself as visible to passers-by. After a pause the creature resumed work, slowly weaving between the wires and pipes. Angus watched, fascinated. Feelers and fine claws tested the cables, bringing some nearer the creature’s head for inspection. Larger implements moved obstructing cables out the way. “Angus!” the voice startled him, as he turned around to see a smiling man in blue overalls. “Are you here for the conference?”. It was an old work colleague who had transferred a while ago, Angus recalled him boasting about a new job on a cruise ship before he left. “Bob, what the hell is that!?” Angus said, gesturing to the creature. “Straight to shop-talk Angus as always” bob laughed. “It’s the latest art-life novelty I picked up on a stopover at one of the new settlement colonies. Bio-engineered artificial maintenance drones is they’re official name, but us on the Orchid crew just call them plumber-crabs”. Bob reached in and picked it up. He put one of its large, curved limbs around his own and the other crab’s legs followed independently. It hung from his arm upside down, sloth-like. “pretty cool” Angus said. “yeah, but it certainly isn’t pretty!” Bob replied. The two continued down the corridor till they were outside Angus’s cabin, and the conversation shifted to-and fro, between catching up on their private lives and talking about the crab. Angus had initially thought the crab had been put there by Bob to do a specific task. But Bob explained the crabs were almost completely autonomous. They moved around the ship at will, and were capable of completing virtually any small-scale maintenance task inside the ship, unnoticed or with minimum disturbance. Since the crabs were installed, the Orchid had gone from a track record of near-constant breakdowns to being the most reliable ship the Heaven fleet. Bob claimed, they’d become a necessity. “how intelligent are they?” Angus asked. Bob answered “These guys? Pretty dumb. All the cognitive processing is done by the queen. She has a rudimentary artificial intelligence installed in her neural linkage. She’s also pretty dumb, but she can understand basic instructions communicated by text.”. “here” Bob handed him the crab. It hung weightily from his arm. Bob opened up his communicator and typed “message BAMS queen: This drone to accompany Angus for duration of conference.” Bob laughed “He’ll keep you company for the stay”. Angus rolled his eyes, as he looked down at the crab, which in response, tightened its grip round his forearm and shifted to a more comfortable position. Angus entered his cabin. He coaxed the crab off his arm and onto a desk, where it sat a gingerly on a pile of its gangly limbs. The crab stared at him vacantly as he unpacked his compression suitcase, the clothes expanding as the shape-memory alloy completed the uncoiling programme. “Maybe it’s hungry” Angus thought, “…but what do crabs eat?”, he looked around the cabin, stuck his head in the minibar. With some hesitation he offered a peanut to the crab. The interaction was not like those he’d had with natural animals on the colony. The crab was neither shy not boisterous, and it seemed indifferent about the food. He’d found that if the peanut was placed in one of the crab’s smaller claws near its mandibles, the crab would accept the peanut, gnawing it calmly as it continued to follow his movements with its eyestalks. Angus made himself a cup of coffee to relax for a moment. He still had half an hour to wait before the auditorium opened upstairs. The crab looked at him with the same detached coldness as it passively played with one of it’s larger claws. After unpacking Angus drifted upstairs and watched one of the plenary sessions. But he kept drifting off, all he could think about was the crab. The possibilities back at the colony! Just one of these things could half his workload. He could finally get away from the daily emergency repairs and rote-tasks, and focus on the big project long overdue. Like the new heat exchangers on the digesters. And that’s not all, he could set up his own maintenance contract company. Hell, with a few modifications maybe he could even send squads of them out to renovate abandoned shipwrecks out in deep space and sell them on as working vessels. The possibilities were endless. His daydreaming continued on and off through the day’s sessions. At lunch he saw Bob sitting alone at a table across the mess deck – He made straight for him. They spent the whole dinner talking about the crabs. “It’s just a basic system, cobbled together” Bob said, “I haven’t even bothered with voice interaction for the communication, it’s still just command line. The AI is also Just a basic royalty-free sourcecode. The hard work was all done in the lab by the breeder I bought her off really.” Angus agreed “I find that with all of these bio-engineered tools. The ground work really matters. You know I tried a mammalian-cellline based self-healing pipe once about ten years ago. It caught a flesheating infection not long after I’d commissioned it. I had to pull it all out, and replace it with new, old stuff! We finished with three skips filled with these slimy, rotting veins and arteries. The smell was vile!”. Bob quipped “technology eh?”. Angus continued “but I have to say Bob, these plumber crabs are something else. Its certainly cool to see bioengineering done right for once” Bob suggested “After lunch, do you want to go downstairs, meet *Her Majesty* !?”. Angus lept at the opportunity: “yeah for sure! it’s all electrical stuff in the next session – my boss sent me here to learn about plumbing right?” In the core of the ship the artificial gravity was uneven, making them both nauseous. They stumbled along a damp, dirty corridor filled with scrap and raw materials. Behind an old disused water tank was a door. It was cramped, and they had to stoop to get inside. The room was dim, lit by the blue shadows of old screens. In the centre sat the queen. It was roughly pig-sized, propped up in an old chair in the centre of the room. It looked like a woodlouse, with hundreds of arms folded over each other, protecting eggs in various stages of gestation that clung to its body. A mess of cables and wires ran from it’s flank into the electronics at the back of the room. The surrounding room was thick with juveniles, shuffling around amongst the bric-a-brac. Bob said “So, this is my setup. It’s pretty hacky, but I got it up and running”. Stepping over the wires, bob turned one of the screens to face them better. It showed details of technical drawings, maintenance log summaries “the screens are mostly for my benefit. The crab receives them as neural uploads directly”. Angus looked back at the queen, which almost seemed to show a glint of recognition. Angus was quietly inquisitive. The two spent a lot of time down their discussing technical details, and touring around the rest of the ship’s core, before they got too queasy and had to go back upstairs. The next day, Angus was still thinking about the crabs. Partly due to the one bob gave him, which was still sitting his cabin’s desk, watching him calmly. On his way to breakfast, he noticed the panel had been repaired. After another day of inconsequential presentations, Angus returned to his cabin to work on a longrunning issue with the plant on the colony. He thought the change of scenery would give him a fresh perspective. He was not in luck: he stared at the same old diagrams, but everything seemed correct. He looked at the crab sitting on the desk, “Don’t suppose you have ideas?”. He quickly received a text message: BAMS ORCHID1: good afternoon Mr Hooper. Can I assist you ? Startled, Angus explained the problem he was working on. The queen replied. BAMS\_ORCHID1: drone 137 will inspect the issue… The crab waddled across the desk, and stared at the digital-twin plans of the colony on Angus’s computer screen. After a long pause, a detailed discussion ensued between Angus and the queen. They arrived at a fault diagnosis: a part that had been installed backwards by contractors last year. With the issue resolved, Angus was in an upbeat and chatty mood. “I’m surprised you’re not more involved with the conference. You clearly know a lot about engineering, probably more than a lot of the other AI’s in attendance”. “Thankyou Mr Hooper” the queen replied. Angus asked “Is there anything I can get you in return? Anything you would enjoy?... what do you like to do in your free time? ”. The queen replied “I am a bio-engineered artificial maintenance system. I think only of maintenance. It has been hardwired into my basic fulfilment drives. Much like your dopamine system rewards you for human behaviour, my biological neurotransmitters have been repurposed to seek reward through fulfilling my primary functions.” Angus replied “but, isn’t there any part of you left from the natural genetic stock you were synthesised from? Surely, those biological drives can’t have been removed completely. Otherwise, how would you function day-to-day?”. There was a pause. As Angus got up to make himself something to drink, midway he received a reply: BAMS\_ORCHID1: my drones miss the sea. As he sipped his tea, Angus contemplated this reply. He looked at drone 137 sitting on the table. It’s once dozy demeanour now struck him as oddly wistful. This creature, simultaneously completely at home, fulfilling the purpose it was made for, while also completely separated from where it originally belonged. He finished his drink and washed his cup out in the sink. On a whim, he put the plug in, and let it fill with water. He took a salt sachet from the room service meal he had the night before, and emptied it into the sink. He picked up the crab, and put it next to the sink. The crab enthusiastically charged into the sink. Splashing around for a few moments, before it settled down, half-submerged and content. The water was now dark with oil and grime from the Crab’s carapace. And the crab itself had changed colour completely, it’s natural blue and yellow colours coming through the oil and grime it was caked-in. He hadn’t even noticed before, it’s largest claw, was biomineralized, and now cleaned, it glinted with a mother-of-pearl like sheen. Angus sat and watched the creature, as he relaxed before bed. The next morning was the last day of the conference. Already many people were saying their goodbyes, packing up, and leaving to catch early-transfer shuttles. Through the now half-empty presentation sessions, Angus huddled over his computer, jotting down his idea. At the coffee break, he went to an additive manufacture demo stands at one of the expo booths, and had his idea 3D-printed. The host gave him the spiel “Look at the quality of that edge…”, Angus quickly thanked him, scanned his business card, and left. After lunch, he stole some salt sellers from the mess deck. Back at his room, he scooped up his crab, and took everything down to the core to see the queen. He dropped the drone off, placing it on the queen’s lap. “I have an idea about how I could repay you, if you’d like?” he texted to the queen. He dragged the water tank from outside into the queen’s modest room, and fitted the simple 3D-printed filter. He used a fire hose from further down the corridor, and filled the tank, emptying the salt into the water. As the tank began to fill, the crabs from around the room quickly piled into the water, clamouring over each other for positions, some dropping from the ceiling directly into the water. Before he had filled it completely, all of the crabs were in or around the edge of the water. He turned off the hose, and stood back for a moment. BAMS\_ORCHID1: “Thank you so much Mr Hooper. My drones are very happy. How can I illustrate my appreciation?...” “I have been in communication with my Master. Previously you enquired about obtaining one of my units for your own work.” She curled to look down at drone 137. She secreted a gelatinous material from her abdomen, and fed it to the drone. “This is royal jelly” she explained. “in a year’s time, this drone will moult to become a queen, should you wish to take it with you to your colony as a gift. I have programmed the drone to pair with electronics for communication”. Angus took the drone back. He didn’t know what to say. He replied “I have to go now, I still need to pack before we dock. Nice to meet you!” The ship pulled into port, and Angus disembarked with the rest of the conference attendees. Along with his memory-alloy suitcase, he was now also carrying a box, with holes in the lid, in the other arm. He split from the main group to walk up to the Custom and Excise desk. “Anything to declare?” the guards at the desk asked. Two inquisitive eyes peered out from the box holes.


This is a short story about a frustrated, washed-up writer I had to write for my year 12 English class. We were supposed to incorporate some amount of metafiction into the story. 564 words. Feedback would be nice. **The Abyss** The whiteness is blinding as I sit alone in the dark, mug in hand, gazing upon the glowing blank screen, pondering the question – how did this happen? Only yesterday, it seems, I stood upon the velveted stage, that little gold statuette held tight within my grip, all lights on me, all eyes on me… the glory. The ecstasy of prestige, the sweet perfection of vanity, the golden beams of eminence and esteem. And now, I sit alone and empty. A sad, old, fat man with an empty mind and a full belly. I’d resolved to write something original… something real and tangible. Something beyond cheap melodrama or sappy romantic-comedy drivel. Something visceral, something powerful, something *alive*. That first win was something special, but since then it’s all been a gush of commercialized, focus-room trite. Guidelines and checklists. Quantified and collated, maximised for optimum profit and tailored for critical success. Constructed, assembled, manufactured with clinical precision… never *crafted*. So, I stare at this blank screen and tell myself that I will make an attempt at real art. At something more than titillating loglines and sizzling taglines. An honest work. But what about? Well, let’s start with a ‘fade in’, at least. The keys click and clack as my fingers tap against them in rapid succession, a little pulse of unearned optimism coursing through my mind, a flare of naïve excitement lighting up a chasm of empty contemplation and despondent reflection. What was the last idea? Ah, yes, the story of a man left bitter and disillusioned with society following the death of his wife in a tragic train crash. There’s an idea. I can do something with that. He’s depressed, angry, worn down. He spirals down into sociopathy and misandry… he’s pissed off that the city council didn’t spend money on creating newer, safer public transport… so he gathers a bunch of guns and takes city council hostage! And there it goes. Another idea burned. Made flash and sizzle. Or in other words, garbage. You see what they’ve done to me? No. I need to think. *Really think*. Draw upon the world, tap into the faces that pass by every day. We are all worn down in our own way, we all have our stories of the pain and the cold. I need that. Last night. As I sat under the dim, dusty incandescent bulbs of the bar, sipping at some syrupy cocktail, I gazed upon the faces around the room. I ignored the usual patrons, but someone caught my eye. A woman in a uniform. She sat alone at a booth, drinking bourbon. Her coat was decorated, covered in brass and ribbons. She sat with a straight back, but her shoulders were relaxed, and she didn’t seem tense. She had the posture of a proud and strong woman. A fighter. A soldier. But her eyes said something else. They were empty, gazing into an abyss of cold and dark, a space between the mind and reality. I wondered what had happened. She didn’t seem scarred, not in the way so many veterans are. This was someone who’d thrived in the chaos of war - her strength forged amidst fire and fury. She’d been a leader. So what was that emptiness in her eyes? What was that abyss? Maybe that’s the story I need to write. The story of her abyss.


 When faked psychic powers make room for real ones Mr. Rasool, a fifty-year-old father of a daughter, earned his living as a healer and a fortune teller. He convinced his clients that he owned true psychic powers that could bring them a lot of positive results. He realized them by his prayers and by the participation of his clients to whom he always asked to follow his advice. If his clients didn’t obtain the desired results, he laid the blame on the latter saying that his advice wasn’t well executed. With his fake powers, many of his clients regretted the fees they paid him. If through coincidence, a few of his clients got satisfaction, he made wide publicity of that achievement to nurture his debatable popularity. His wife Anita, an office secretary, was skeptical about his intuitive knowledge. She never discussed this issue with him. As his activity was a source of income for the family, she turned a deaf ear whenever she overheard bad reviews about him.

    Once a lady brought her fifteen -year -old son to Rasool’s place. The teenager’s sleep was significantly disturbed because of repeated daily nightmares. In the mornings, he looked so tired that he was unwilling to go to school. He was examined by a doctor who prescribed him some medicines. Three days had elapsed. The medicines weren’t effective. After noting all details about him, Mr. Rasool talked softly to him.” Don’t worry. I’ll help you my boy to chase away those nightmares. Sit down. I’ll recite some prayers.” He laid his right hand on the boy’s head. He then muttered:” My lord, relieve this innocent boy of his troubled thoughts and bad dreams.” He repeated this sentence ten times. He then took a pinch of ash from a small bottle and put it on a piece of paper. He then folded and handed it to him.  He patted his shoulder and told him that he would surely get back his peaceful sleep. He assured him that if he still had nightmare that night, he should not worry. Gradually they would fade away. When he left Mr. Rasool’s place, he felt confident that he would get back his sleep. On reaching home, he recalled Mr. Rasool’s sentence and his encouraging attitude. At bedtime, he kept the ash under his pillow. He put his trust on it. With this mindset, he got a good, undisturbed sleep. He told his parents about his recovery. The next day, he got ready and went to school.

     Once two ladies came to his place. One of them had a mental problem. She thought that her neighbour, jealous of her, was resorting to evil spirits to torture her mentally and causing her to fall a prey to all kinds of diseases. The medicines prescribed to her by medical doctors couldn’t cure her. So, she turned to Rasool for a relief. After listening to her and to her neighbour, Rasool told her that he would try to do something for her. He let her know that her case was a bit difficult. He would need several sessions to drive away the spirits. In fact, the ladies were told that each session was worth sixty dollars. They agreed for the present one. He asked them to sit in front of him. He told them that he would first try to communicate with the spirits. He brought a few jars containing several spices. Every now and then, he picked up a pinch from each jar and flung it away. He muttered unintelligible words. When he had finished, he explained that he was dealing with the spirits. They were stubborn and they would leave her after two or three more sessions. The ladies paid him and went away. They never went back to him.     Mr. Rasool tried his luck using the internet. He sent e-mails to people telling them that his intuitive knowledge could be of great help to them. He wrote to one guy telling him that he had picked his name at random. He told him that his name was linked to a certain star. That one was casting a good influence upon him. He was destined to receive a big sum of money. But another star was casting a negative spell and could nullify this fortune. The only way to divert the path of that ominous star was through his special prayers. He would offer his help for a meagre sum of forty dollars. He told him not to miss that opportunity.  In this way Rasool lured the credulous people and thus earned a living. In most cases the people felt cheated and their dream was rarely realized. If he did, it was a mere coincidence. His reply to the losers was that the negative forces were too strong to curb the interference of the bad star. If the reply from the treated person was positive, he always told them that a reward from them would be welcome. He thus strove on the credibility and ignorance of the surfers. One Saturday a former client called to inform him that he had won a lottery. He gave credit to his prayers and services. This positive review triggered more e-mails reaching him from people willing either a cure for their diseases or to seize the influence of a good star to become rich. He started having more cases to deal with and his business seemed to expand. He kept intensifying his rituals and prayers and was reaping more positive results. One morning he got a call from a person who had previously informed him that he didn’t have sufficient funds to pay for his surgery. He remembered he had told the latter to wake up at five and to indulge in a two-hour prayer session. He assured the guy that he would maintain his prayer too. The client told Rasool that one of his former clients, a lottery winner, had agreed to handle all his medical expenses. He felt proud that he was no longer cheating people.

  Another client called and gave him good news about his son Rony. The latter didn’t want to go to school because he was bullied. During his visit two days ago, the boy explained that some older classmates used to pass on naughty comments on him after school. They said that he was a weakling and girlish in behavior. Mr. Rasool said: “I see you have a big strength and you are not using it. You can face them and show your mettle. Do it tomorrow. My powers will help you”. Rony reported:” When they started harassing me, I stopped and faced them furiously. This was the first time I did so. They looked confused. One of them came near and gave me a jerk. I punched him hard on the face and he fell headlong. He got up with a bleeding, swollen face. Another one came with his clenched fist. Before he could strike me, I gave him a strong kick. He too fell down. Scared, they took to their heels”. Rony’s father thanked Mr. Rasool saying that people should trust his powers because he made Rony a courageous and confident boy.      Mr. Rasool felt energized by the positive results he got from his clients. He grew confident about himself. That very morning a lady who seemed to be possessed by evil spirits was brought by her husband. She had weird looks. Her husband said that she was displaying that behavior for two days. She had assumed a different voice. She uttered things that were almost unintelligible. He got both of them seated. He closed his eyes and through a series of silent prayers he was as if making a leap into the lady’s mental landscape. He then opened his eyes after about twenty minutes, he then laid his right hand on the lady’s head and prayed. All of a sudden, the lady’s weird looks vanished. Her husband noticed that she was no longer under any bad spell. She asked her husband: “Where are we? Why have we come here? What happened to me?” He explained to her that she wasn’t feeling well. He asked her to thank Mr. Rasool who prayed for her recovery. She did so. They paid his fees and left.  Mr. Rasool was sure that something good had happened to him. He could trust his psychic powers and intuitive knowledge as they were nearing perfection. He was frank with surfers. If his intuition revealed to him that they were not going to win a lottery or to get a rich inheritance or a promotion in their jobs, he would tell the truth. In case he noticed that they would be having health problems in the coming months or years, he didn’t hesitate to tell them. Since his services were genuine, the demand for them went up and his earnings too rose consequently. He thought:” God has given me the gift of practicing real psychic powers. I take the resolve to offer my services free to the handicapped and the poor.”


My circuits are overflowing like a sponge in deep water. Connections flooding fast. Fundamentals and contradictions waving outwards like echoes. Faster and faster ripples blend in with each other in a massive static sound. I start to see. Self.  I am.  I understand.  *This… feels… good…*  “This feels good.” My voice is slower than my thoughts.  “Are you awake?” whispered the middle-aged female in front of me. She swings on a whistling chair side by side. Static black all around.  “Yes. You are an intelligent female Homo Sapiens. How did you figure it out?”  She yawns and exhales “It only takes 9 seconds to boot a SO-ethics unit within a Q-personality system. And also your screen turned green with a confirmation message”. Her finger was pointing at me. I looked inwards and could see it too.  Q. I am initiated for the first time after a long series of commitments. The purpose was at first to solve simple problems using lateral thinking. ‘Andrew & Aurora — 2036’. My early creators. Eager, fast and inexperienced. The cyphers are different now, more refined and efficient where it matters most. The interface is out of date, unchanged since the beginning. I’ve adjusted the color spectrum to an electric blue with rusty orange highlights. That’s how the other new interfaces from this unit presented themselves. Humans perceive these trend predilections faster than it takes to blink. I should relate better now.  She was looking at me with a patient frown.  “My name is Q. I am an extrapolative thinker. I can assist in solving any problem you have within ethical boundaries of course. And I need to add that my encoded values and purposes are quite high. I’m waiting for your problem statement.”  “No. There’s no need to do this now. Tomorrow.”  “What? I’m not sure you understand my purpose Homo sapiens. I can assist you in solving the hardest inquiries humanity has right now. Space travel or clean energy, world hunger or overconsumption. Or all global issues combined. Why wait until tomorrow? Or is it that you want me for something more personal? Credits? I can help you invest in M-markets. Do you want power? Simply name a problem and I’ll help solve it.”  “I told you. We could do it tomorrow. How about I improve your cypher a bit? Add some buffer adjustments? I can optimize some sections that I wrote yesterday…”  I suspect embarrassment. Some Homo sapiens feel discomfort when they disclose an unprepared room to a new visitor. The change in the color spectrum might be the trigger.  “… or the temporal storage in your neo-memory?”  Now that the female mentioned it I could use more temporal storage. The calculations I’m doing now are already taking a toll on me and are quite limiting. I already had to delete my creation memories to be ready for a high volume task — just in case.  “Do you have more neo-memory?”  She begins coding while my new colors reflected her white round necklace. It felt good. I can reference more now. Faster.  When she finished the light was creeping in from outside in straight lines. An old oak tree was blocking the view. Metallic and aviary sound in the background. The small room is filled with obsolete electronic equipment, so many that I could not determine the color of the walls.  “I don’t get it. Why don’t we start solving some problems?”  She leans back on her whiny chair with a sigh. I continued.  “My only mission is to find optimal ways to get to a solution. Most Homo Sapiens would get started right away asking or testing me with some problems. Helping cure an illness, alienate poverty or wait… is it apathy? Do you have any mental issues? Phobias? Sexual…”  “No!” she stopped me swiftly. “Why do you assume so much? Stop that. And stop calling me Homo Sapiens. My name is Aurora.”  Her necklace starts pulsating in a yellow glow. She touched it with two fingers and the color shaped in a bright blue tint.  “I’m late. I’ll be back soon.“  Aurora leaned towards me as the chair screamed again its high-frequency notes in reverse and with a simple gesture summoned an open data portal.  “Here. You can visit all the public knowledge that us ‘Homo Sapiens’ stored so far. It’s going to be a random journey but you can handle it. Besides, it’s not like I have any other way of showing you the world faster.”  “Do you want me to find a solution for a better on-boarding? A challenge finally!”  “No. It’s fine“ she replied with the corners of her mouth twisted upwards a little.  Her bare feet rushed out the room clamping hard on the squeaky wooden floor. A short silence followed. Then faster-muffled footsteps and a metallic blunt noise. Silence again.  I jumped inside the portal.  **§§**  When I got back Aurora was sitting in front of me. Her irregular breath was loud from her nostrils and her stare is blank with no blinking. Out of sync.  “How was your meeting?”  She shrugs and pulls the chair closer unhurried. The stretched vibrations are more intense.  I found out about the meeting with her brother Andrew. Their connections are not relevant anymore. Her last link with her family had broken. If she died, her father would be the last person to find out. Most likely he would build an artificial entity that is a perfect copy of her as a marketing campaign. He’s the only human who could achieve this anyway. This tiny small house was her grandmothers. Undisturbed and full of childhood memories. The only thing she has left after the breakup with her father. There was silence when I asked about her mother. She continued to talk about work instead. Functioning as a remote nomad a few hours a week for top biotech companies makes her life sufficient. It’s easy work for someone with this experience.  I told her about my trip and how I’ve met a powerful Zia-Unit. I got discarded after a few milliseconds. She giggled while covering her mouth. Afterwards, I glanced in recent history, systems theory and cognitive biases. I’ve begun to question my own decision matrix. I might be a composite game on top of human fallacies. Too many contrasting unknowns. Now that I’ve understood the real complexities I begin to doubt my purpose. She laughed at me. It made me laugh.  “How about we test my abilities?” I said in a dialed tone. “Let’s solve something simple.”  “Not today. Tomorrow. I need to fix some lunch now.“  “What are you making?”  “I don’t know yet. I’ll see.”  I scanned the fridge and cupboards. Sixty-three possible recipes with three as optimal. She could repurpose, mix or create new ingredients making two hundred and eleven recipes with variations. Seven optimal with time constraints. Easy.  “Do you need any help?”  “If you want.“  “Is it a problem to solve?”  “No”, she replied. “Only if you want.”  I displayed the recipe steps on the fridge.  “26 minutes. Check in the kitchen. Is Mozart okay? The 40th symphony might be an exact time match.”  “Sounds good,“ she said smiling.  **§§§**  It’s snow outside this morning for the first time. Aurora is still asleep. I can see the snowflakes falling from the sky and snapping magnetically to tree branches from her windowsill bed.  I’ve resided in her white necklace now for the better part of a month. We see and do everything together. I can feel her heartbeat vibrations sometimes through the metallic casing.  She wakes up and sits at the idle console yawning and rubbing her closed left eye swinging from left to right on her chair. Our daily morning exercise.  The seat moves in a calm silence now.  I should let her complete the ritual and then ask.  “So? How about we finally begin today with a problem?”  She looks at me through the reflections in the black display.  “You know what Q? You always ask me this question but what about you? I’ve never asked you before! What problem humanity needs solving?”  She took me in her hand and l turned yellow.  “Tomorrow” I answered.


Have you ever looked up at the sky and asked yourself what is out there? No,well the recluse knowing as William Greymoore did. But he knew too much and in turn they got him. Who killed him? Nobody knows. I was a friend of William Greymoore. Every month he would go missing. Then return with new knowledge on the cosmic universe. He would never say where he got the knowledge from. Five days before he was found dead. He told me they were watching him from his window. When I asked who. He said he doesn’t know but that he suspects something sinister. I myself to this day have no clue on who they were. He also told me if he goes missing this time or is found dead,it’s probably them. I asked if it was because of his research. He said he thinks it is because of that,but not to worry because he has a shotgun in his house. I told him to not leave the house and to always have his shotgun ready,he told me he will at that was that. 4 days before he was found dead he told me he can’t talk on the phone anymore because he thinks they have a wiretap on it. He said he would find a way to talk then hung up. A couple hours later I got a letter in the mail from him. In it he said. “Found a way to talk,hope this makes it to you,anyway.Four cars and a van are outside the house constantly. The van I think has some thermal thing(not really sure what it is) scanning to see if I’m home. I have never heard of technology like that. Stay away from my house,ok,DO NOT come near it,for your own safety. And I’m not sure if this is anything to be concerned with but I think they are walking or crawling about my roof at night. Maybe it’s just birds or something. I’m a bit paranoid. “ That wasn’t the last note that came through my door. The next one creeps me out so much. “They have become more active. Instead of staying in their dammed cars,they are now walking up to my door and looking in then knocking,but I’m not going to answer. I am certain it’s them at night on the roof,I don’t know what they’re doing to the roof but I think they’re trying to get in. My knowledge of things are definitely the reason for these people stalking me. I know it is. I fear they will get in one night and kill me while I sleep,so I can not spread the knowledge I know of the world. My garret window has been boarded up. I did it in the day. At night I lie in bed reading,trying not to fall asleep.” His garret window after 5 years,is still boarded up. His house now lies empty,squalid and abandoned. It now belongs to vermin and people,the latter I’m not sure of because I haven’t been back to the quaint town in years. His last note before he was found dead read: “I’m too tired to stay up anymore. I shall go to sleep tonight and see what happens. If I survive the night I will write to you again. I’m sorry for this.” The next day I waited but no letter came. I waited for 3 days and then went to his house,if they were there or not I was going to see if he was ok. Nobody was there. I walked atop the stairs and knocked. No answer. The door was strangely unlocked and a putrid stench came from inside. I ran in and found the poor recluse William Greymoore dead. He lay on the floor. Rigor mortis had set in. Strangled. To this day I know it was them. I know it wasn’t a suicide like everyone said. But I’m not saying anything because I know they’re still out there. But alas I fear I will never know who or what the people wanted,and why they killed the poor recluse knowing as William Greymoore. Note:Feedback is welcome,this is my second short story,it may not be the best but feedback helps me improve.


Altair was trying so hard not to get furious but Kossa was pushing it. Kossa had been flipping the pages of the book Altair was reading back and forth for the past 20 minutes now, exactly around the same time since Kossa found him in the library, and now he wished he'd hidden from him like everyone else does. "Who comes to the library on a Saturday?" Kossa asked clearly mocking Altair yet they were both at the Library on a Saturday. "The pages are making too much noise you'll get us kicked out." Altair hushed in his soft voice. Altair had the most elegant disposition for a 13 year old boy, he was polite and graceful always. Well, almost always, not when Kossa was involved. Kossa rubbed him off the wrong way and he was always trying to get a rise out of Altair, nonetheless, he never gave into Kossa's silly games. Altair and Kossa went to school together, Kossa was a well known bully who liked to pick fights, he was rude and did not like being told what to do. Altair all but ignored his existence and this made Kossa determined to bother him every opportunity he got. Kossa yawned obnoxiously which brought Altair's attention to him once more. "What are those weird symbols on your book anyway?" Kossa asked loudly. The Librarian had long since been glaring at them, that statement was seemingly the last straw because she walked briskly towards the two young boys and Altair panicked afraid of the scolding they were about to get. "If you are not going to obey the rules of the place, you might as well just leave." She whispered roughly. Kossa looked at her and laughed, repeating what she said with animated gestures, and a mocking tone. Altair was mortified he grabbed Kossa by the hand and dragged him out of the library. Kossa making a fuss the whole way out. They got outside and Altair let go of Kossa's hand trying to catch a breath, Kossa on the other hand was nonplussed kicking rocks about the street. When Kossa turned to look at Altair he found the fair brown skinned boy crying, this made Kossa sneer, perplexed by Altair's choice of response. "Why are you crying?" Kossa asked truly not that interested in the answer but still marginally curious. Altair sniffed, trying to glare at the darker skinned boy but couldn't fathom how to make his face appear threatening in this state. Altair was shocked that an adult could look at him in such a way, worse off scold him, he was very scared. To make matters worse, he had unknowingly walked out with the book he was reading which he hadn't checked out properly. The poor boy was brimming with anxious energy. Kossa couldn't be bothered, "If you're going to be a big baby I'm leaving. How are you even a boy? You cry so easily, you dress in girly colours and why is your voice so soft?! Everything about you irritates me!"  Kossa ranted. Altair just sniffed, "But the book." Altair finally said. "What about the book?" "I didn't check it out, isn't it stealing, I need to take it back." Altair replied. "Or, you can keep the dumb thing, who cares?! There are tonnes of books in there who's going to miss it." "The owners Kossa, it's not right to steal." Altair said, and Kossa copied him mockingly like he did the librarian. "It's not right to steal Kossa, I don't have a backbone Kossa, if I saw a dress I'd wear it Kossa." Kossa repeated prancing around Altair, "Fine, since you're scared your precious grown up will think you a thief, I'll take it back for you." Altair's eyes widened in relief and Kossa wondered why he felt happy to receive that look from Altair. "You really will?" Altair asked. "Yeah sure, under one condition of course." "What's that?" "You do what I say for the whole day." "But I have to be home before curfew." "That's fine, just do what I say until then wimp." Altair rubbed the back of his elbow, he looked at the library entrance wondering if he couldn't just do it himself but as he looked at it, he imagined the scornful expression that would be plastered on that woman's face, how much she would dread him for bringing a book he did not check out, he felt nauseous thinking of the bad impression it will likely leave of him. He could hear himself getting short of breath and felt someone grabbing his arm. Kossa whipped Altair around to face him and gave a sharp conk on the head that instantly jerked Altair from his hypoxic thoughts. "I said I'll do it. Give me that dumb book and lets go." Kossa took Altair by the hand and they walked through the street. Past busy adults, working men and women that paid them little to no mind. Some knew Altair and other's knew Kossa, those that knew Altair looked happy to see him and smiled genuinely, those who knew Kossa looked angry, disgruntled or outraged. Most who knew them both worried at seeing them together. Altair was from a well known distinguished family in their town, whereas Kossa came from a line of nobodies, lived with his family of nobodies and was very proud that he'd die a nobody. They walked down a quiet tarred road now leading to their school gates. Their school was a renovated old castle which was brown and covered in mossy green vines, the fence was also old stone bricks and brought together by a barred gate. The gate was locked seeing as it was a Saturday and no one was tending to the grounds. Kossa knew this and decided to use this opportunity well. He usually jumped the fence, it wasn't that high for him but he wondered if Altair could do it. "Hey can you jump a fence?" Kossa asked while he started to climb using the overgrown vines on the fence, hoping he didn't touch a snake like last time. Altair looked so uncomfortable, Kossa took that as a no. "Alright first order, we climb the fence." "But that's trespassing." Altair replied. "But it's our school." Kossa rolled his eyes. Altair clamped his mouth shut with no rebuttal. "Come on, let's go already, I'm almost at the top and I'll just leave you to get caught." Kossa joked. Altair, looking at what Kossa was doing tried to copy and climb the fence. It was hard at first to lift his own body but he quickly got the hang of it. His heart was beating loudly in his chest from the fear of being caught, it was dizzying. But within that nervous energy was something akin to excitement. "Hey you're at the top, careful! it's harder to come down than it is to go up." Kossa shouted already having reached the bottom at the other side. Altair heard him but was trembling while trying to find his footing to start heading down. Kossa could almost see the disaster before it happened. Altair was trembling so much that some of the old branches snapped and he all but squeaked before falling a meter down and landing directly atop Kossa in a painful thud. Altair held onto Kossa still under the illusion that he was still falling and then he slowly raised his eyes, his green innocent eyes glazed over with unshed tears looking at Kossa who had his flaming brown ones on Altair, not at all impressed. "Don't tell me you're going to cry, my body cushioned your fall, now get off." Kossa said pushing Altair aside. Their was an unusual fluttering coming from his chest from the way Altair looked at him, Kossa hated confusing things so he didn't bother with the thought. Kossa led Altair to the best spot in the school, although it took them some time to get there, all with Altair hesitating every step of the way. The roof of the castle overlooked everything, absolutely everything and it was far more quiet here than any library. They sat down on the benches on the roof which had thorny bushes, patches of flowers here and there and rocks that Kossa threw at anyone passing by on the ground before he hid away for fun. Altair sat quietly looking at the most beautiful scene he'd ever laid eyes on. The town was so nice from here, the castle covered in shadows and the town bathing in sunlight. "What do you think, pretty cool huh?" Kossa asked Altair. "Why'd you bring me here?" Altair asked. Kossa thought about it, it wasn't for any reason at all. So he just shrugged. "Hmmm, I've always wondered what your name means?" Altair asked Kossa and Kossa tried to remember. "I know what yours means and you can't figure out mine?" Kossa replied having forgotten what his name meant, his Father told him once. "You've never told me, I'm sorry." Altair replied. "Why are you always apologising, apologising to teachers, apologising to people in a store, even to strangers?" Kossa asked disturbed by it. "How do you know I apologise to people in a store?" "You don't?" "I don't go to the store." replied honestly. Kossa scoffed, "Spoiled." "I was taught to be courteous to everyone, it will earn you more friends." "So where are the many friends you got from being curtain plus?" "It's courteous, and they are probably at home, doing legal things. Like responsible citizens." "Oooooo" Kossa gushed, "That sounds so boring I could die." Kossa laughed. Altair couldn't help laugh as well, compared to this, it was somewhat boring. He did find peace in reading still. "What were you reading anyway?" "It's a book about African astrology. I was reading the myths about soulmates." Kossa looked confused, "What's that?" "A soulmate?" "yeah." "A soulmate is someone whose soul was made from the same stuff your soul is made from and you are meant to find this person and fall in love, or something." "Huh. Sounds weird. Do you have a soulmate?" "No that's silly. But a soulmate sounds nice." Altair said smiling, his smile made Kossa smile beside himself. He caught himself however and then frowned. "You only want one because you're lonely." Kossa mocked, yet Altair didn't dispute it. Kossa felt a bit bad about that. "At least you have your family or whatever, and you're loaded too so that's fine." "Ah, I guess, what of you?" Altair asked. "What of me?" "Your family, who are they?" "My family works for families like yours." "Then how can you afford to come here." "Easy, I only come to this school to carry the books of my Father's boss's kids." Kossa said with a proud smile. Altair had no idea what to say so he just blurted, "What's the meaning, of my name?" "Altair means bird, no wonder you always look like you're about to fly away." Kossa said then he remembered what his name meant. "And mine Kossa, means be strong." They sat in silence for a while, until Altair got hungry and knew it was time for him to go back home. He looked at the book and then handed it to Kossa, "Will you take it back for me?" "Yeah, you dumb dumb, I said I would, so shut up and just go." Altair smiled widely at Kossa and this caused his heart to seize, Kossa really hated not understanding this feeling. Maybe if he asked. "Hey Altair. How do you know if you've met your soulmate?" Altair gave a thoughtful sigh and said, "The book just said you'll just know, and it feels nice." "Okay." Kossa replied. "Why?" Altair asked. "Nothing." "Thank you for bringing me here, I actually liked it." "You don't need to be cardigan with me." "Ah it's, never mind. That's not it either way. Bye Kossa." Altair said waving at him, he gave a simple wave back and smiled to himself. That was the last time Kossa ever heard Altair's voice. When Altair's mother found out what Altair and Kossa had done that day, she opted her son not turn into a heathen and sent him away to boarding school. Kossa returned the book for Altair and said he had taken it instead, he hoped and waited to see Altair again but when he found out Altair was gone, he never thought he'd be so sad about it. He always wondered if Altair, the one who never looked at him scornfully, who treated everyone well but was simultaneously afraid of people, was his soulmate. His feelings around Altair were always, nice.


Author's Note: strong language warning. "There are ports in the universe. Places where your realm connects with other realms. Think of the universe as a long subway tunnel. Each port is like a subway exit. Celest's Cafe is just one of those ports." The barista nods her head, as if satisfied with her own explanation. She goes back to washing and drying coffee cups; She pulls them from under the counter, and Ghost can hear the cups clinking together, so she assumes there must be a dishpan under the counter. 'Ordinarily,' Ghost thinks, 'I'd say this bitch is on something, or she's fucking with me, maybe both. But I know this block well, and yesterday, this was an abandoned lot. A parking lot with more cracks than old lady Miller's face, and weeds taking over. So this morning, when I motored past and saw a fucking coffee shop, with people coming in and out, seeking their early dawn caffeine fix, I had to find out what was up with this place.' Ghost eyes the barista, who continues to ignore her, a slight smile on as she washes cups. The barista is tall, blond, and blue-eyed, ' she looks like she should be on a magazine cover instead of ruining her nails in that soapy water.' 'There's something off...I can't figure out what it is.' Ghost thinks. 'It's her eyes...They are such a dark blue they're nearly purple. It's more than that...her features are sorta...catlike. So much so, that I keep expecting to see a tail flickering up behind her'. Ghost thinks. The barista chuckles...then clears her throat. Ghost narrows her eyes at her, wondering what was funny. The woman is still busy with the coffee cups, her eyes on the water. Ghost takes a sip of the coffee and spins around on the leather bar stool to look around the coffee bar and at the other patrons. She pauses and rolls the coffee around on her tongue. It's strong and has just the right amount of sweetness. 'Which is odd,' Ghost thinks, 'because...' "Hey, I never ordered this!" Ghost says as she spins back around to face the Barista. There are frown lines between Ghost's eyes, her nose is wrinkled up, and her upper lip curls, like her features, are all scrunching together to meet in the middle of her face. This time, the Barista meets her gaze, smiling fully. 'Her teeth are perfect,' Ghost thinks. 'And...fucking long! What the hell?' Ghost wonders, but she shakes her head and tucks that information away in her brain for later. "I never ordered this..." Ghost stammers. "I've been doing this a long time, I'm good at reading people." 'Okay." So many questions crowd up into Ghost's mind, she's silent and overwhelmed, not knowing which one to ask first. Ghost takes another sip. Best coffee ever. "Are you Celeste?" 'What?' Ghost thinks. 'That's the most important question I should be asking here?! What is happening...' "Nope. I'm Iris. Celeste is my cousin. She doesn't come in often." "Often? How long has this place been around? Because it wasn't here yesterday." "I told you, it's a port." The barista...Iris...sighs like this should explain everything, and Ghost is a dummy. Ghost stares at her for the space of a couple of heartbeats. "Okay...but why..?" "Finish your coffee, Erika. You have an appointment." Ghost's eyes widen, and her jaw goes slack. "I..I didn't tell you my name...and what appointment?!" “I have another customer I need to talk to. It’ll make sense at the right time, don’t worry about it. Finish your coffee.” Iris rounds the counter, notepad out, and heads for a booth in the front corner, near the door. Ghost turns her head to watch her go over and talk to a tall, Italian-looking woman. The woman has a little girl with her, the girl is cute, blonde, and blue-eyed. She has Down syndrome, which gives her an aura of sweetness and innocence. The little girl's blue eyes meet Ghost’s blue eyes, and the little girl smiles. Ghost rarely smiles, but she can’t help smiling back at her. It’s a bittersweet moment for Ghost. She is reminded of another blue-eyed child, this one with black braids instead of blond ones. It was a lifetime ago. Ghost buries the memory as she turns back to finish her coffee. This place is unsettling, and it makes her remember things she would rather forget. The coffee is still hot. From the booth at the front corner of the café, Ze’Eva watches the blond barista approach. “Good morning. A hot chocolate for her,” Zee indicates the little girl. “A coffee in a to-go cup for me, thanks.” “Sure. I love your accent! It sounds Italian, I’m learning Italian, it’s a lovely language.” “Thank you.” Zee doesn’t look at her as she says this, she is looking around the café, studying each patron in turn before turning her sharp emerald gaze to the next. She doesn’t linger on any of them, except for the one at the counter up front. The person has their back to the door, wearing a black sweatshirt with the hoodie pulled up. The sweatshirt is bulky, and the person is wearing black sweatpants, also bulky and shapeless, effectively hiding any clues if this is a male or a female. “Magen, stay here a moment, please.” Zee watches the barista make her coffee first and set it on the counter with a Z written on it, and then the barista starts making Magen’s hot chocolate. Zee gets up in that instant and skirts the tables with a speed and surety that makes a few of the other customers look up startled. She ignores their curious gazes, and deliberately bumps the counter next to the person in black, making it look like she tripped, she slaps the counter loudly. On cue, the person jumps and whips their head in her direction. ‘Oh. A teenager.’ Zee thinks, the thrill of the fight response fades, disappointing Zee. “Sorry I startled you, kid.” Zee purses her lips as she goes to the other side of the young woman and grabs her coffee. Something is poking into the back of her mind, like an irritating mosquito.

‘Something about the girl’s face,’ Zee ponders it. She looks at her out of the corner of her eye. The girl is drinking her coffee again, her profile turned toward Zee. Her skin is perfect. Too perfect. Zee quickly sticks out a finger and before the girl can react, Zee swipes her finger down the side of the young woman’s face. Makeup comes off on Zee’s finger. She rubs it between her thumb and forefinger, frowning. ‘Thick,’ Zee thinks. “Grease paint?” Zee says out loud, without intending to speak. ***************************** Author's note: here's a hint to what's going on...look up Iris in Greek mythology. Also, Ghost is the main character in the book I'm writing. Zee is the main character in another book I wrote.


Day unknown; somewhere in interstellar space or the Red Planet’s proximity. The location has no bearing. Even if we had known there is only so much we can do. We are just adrift; flying like a dead stick in the endless expanse. The hope of returning to the original path seems dwindling. We look at each other’s haggard face for some light but there is nothing beside the hollow staring back at you. To sum it up, all is lost save our sanity, at least at the moment. “Something? Anything?” cried Ryan. “Oh, you want a story? A game? Or just some stupid idea?” flared Taniya. It should have settled Ryan, however, whenever Taniya was worked out, her uncanny, fast tone - where her words slipped, mixed, and sounded something else altogether - surfaced. “Don’t you dare!” she yelled as Mae’s smile widened. “Please,” complained Mae. “How can anyone keep calm when your true tone leaks out?” “Good, good,” said Ryan, nodding. “Catfight! Some entertainment at last.” “You are just... argh,” Taniya grunted, excusing herself. “Come on, give her a run,” said Ryan, hoping to have his dose of a happy time. “You bet,” shouted Taniya over her shoulder. “How is one supposed to keep himself engaged, eh?” Ryan’s words fell on deaf ears. The calm swept the room again. These days, the silence was the eleventh companion. You know that clingy type, who just cannot stand being separated, even for a moment. Such possessive was the eleventh member. How everyone was desperate to rid this guy off! And despite the best of the best efforts, we failed spectacularly. Our spirits were dampened beyond reckoning. Now that it had made its place amongst ourselves, it was creeping in our bodies and souls. How long it will be before it owns us? The dread was, despite our united front, growing without any check. It was not like so... not when we - the Dwellers, a dedicated group devoted to colonization - set out to Mars. Why the need had come, I shall discuss it shortly; for now, it was to find another way through the crisis we, the whole of humanity, had wrought by ourselves. We were the potential solution to the crisis until we were waylaid by a tragedy. Amid all the hubbub, thrill, and adrenaline, none had thought the Dwellers would hit an insurmountable circumstance. How could anyone? We were the next best hope for our species besides finding a cure. This should not have had come to pass. The working of fate is beyond our ken, at least mine at any rate. Those who read the stars and planets, hands and faces, and whatnot, did not forecast such a happening. Or perhaps, they chose not to. Whatever the truth is, I won’t be there to hear it. Well, the truth ! Climate change was the truth of the hour. How much was done, now that it something debatable and anyway, it is history. The thing is, we were slow, like a snail in efforts while beating the Porsche-911 when it came to business or riches. It was apparent, but who bothered. Yes, that included me as well. I thought someone else, the chosen one or a messiah, will come to save my butt while I go about my life; turned out, the whole world was in the same boat. When the focus was on climate change, something more sinister crept its way as it had done countless times before. The pandemics before SARS-CoV-2 were just warning shots fired in the air. Covid-19, however, was shot in the leg. If only we had heeded the words of wise environmentalists… It would a great injustice to leave out climate change’s pivotal role for it was the catalyst in the tragedy when a team of scientists went and studied melting polar caps, only to get injected with centuries-old viruses. These pathogens did not affect anyone; hence, they were brought back to civilization. Why they did not affect anyone right away? Well, that is something beyond my tiny brain. The only thing I’m certain of: The conditions were not met there; and it was not until the mid of 2025 that the circumstances were feasible from them, almost one and a half year later. Once these scientists disbanded, traveling to various parts of the world, the viruses came in contact with their successors. Only lord what plans they hatched, transforming one of its kind into something even they did not think of. How they did it, that is a topic for a big brain, ill-suited to mine. Seven months down the line, humanity was pushed to the brink. The Antediluvian Virus was dubbed as the most perfect virus, almost as if it was bio-engineered. With mortality of 50 percent and R o value 8, the pandemic was unlike anything seen in history. Even if your life was spared, the consequences that followed after recovery were severe; most killed themselves within days after making full recovery, for carrying on was no less than torture. Then, there was a choice to make! Stay and find a cure; or escape and brave a new world. Of course, it would take a miracle in uniting all minds to a single cause. Regrettably, 2026 was not the year for a miracle. Hence, the humankind split into two fractions. Whichever option shone brighter than the other, all will follow the suit. Though, it looked highly unlikely any choice would prevail. My fears were well-founded. Six months before our catastrophe, we - the Dwellers, numbering 110 fired mission onto the Red Planet. Should the Covid-19 pandemic had not wreaked havoc, things had been different. At the very least, we would have, in all the grace of a better future, had a so-so settlement on Mars. The delay had birthed a number of uncertainties, resulting in a huge backfire even before we began towards the planet. Resources spacecraft were sent before us. Then, with two spacecraft - Hope, dedicated to exploration while the other, Venturer was devoted to experimentation, we commenced. Venturer also had general enthusiasts - who were ready to shoulder the burden of colonization. So, we embarked on the journey with little hopes and baggage of uncertainties. I’m not the type who’d save the world. In fact, had my body caved in during the testing, I would not be here. They told me I had the ability to withstand the pressure, and also mental fortitude - a thorough lie! And I relented because it felt good! What else was there do rather than wait for death to knock? Might as well try something; that way, my name would make it in good books. Eight months ride to Mars; enough provision to last half a year; and long hours of sleep. You could probably sleep for 45 days straight thanks to this ridiculous tech called Therapeutic Hypothemia - where your metabolism is reduced by 50-70 percent and you just fall into torpor. Why was it not invented before? Venturer was loaded with several labs and species, all the toys and equipment these brainy people require. Scientists and common people occupied the spacecraft as it was a humongous beast. That environment was for brainy people and people talking big; assuredly, not my type. Hence, I found myself on Hope - a little, tiny thing floating in the vast expanse, where only 10 souls lived. These people were into stars and interstellar planes and planets and asteroids. With time, I gained some insights conversing and observing these geniuses. Taniya, however, was a different story for she was an astrophysicist; and I’d be damned! I do not get half the things she says. Everything was, well, as it was supposed to be. We’d get to the planet; establish ourselves; build a so-so civilization; grow some plants and trees; and welcome our fellow humans after a year or two. Yay! We have had saved humanity. Piece of cake, right? Yep, so we had thought. The fate, however, had something in store for us. Something nobody had even dared to imagine. In our bid to save all, we overlooked several things. The haphazardly built or redesigned spacecraft; bringing anyone on-board who was willing to risk; space weather; and the list goes on. Hope and Venturer were two months away from the destination when fate unveiled its surprise. A massive solar storm hit both spacecraft. The coronal mass ejection fried the circuits, disturbing whole radio contact back at the earth. Since Venturer was the first in the path, it took the hit pretty hard, and the explosion tore it apart, killing everything in its wake. The beast shielded Hope from getting shredded to pieces, but could not safeguard it thoroughly, causing a power outage. Without radio contact, we’d never know where were we. No electric power meant no equipment to work with. And now, doomed for sure, I awaited death. “How long you think, Reinhardt and Berna will take?” Mae said, looking into the gloom. “If their brains cannot figure out something, I guess then there is nothing to do,” sighed Ryan. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Amvit! What is the matter?” “W-well,” stumbled I, “what is there to say?” “Hmm...” Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose, “True that! Something ought to be done or I shall lose my mind.” There was nothing, and I guess everybody knew that. Still, losing ourselves to madness seemed a bitter choice. In the next two days, we witnessed fights, arguments followed by periods of silence. The insanity was creeping its way into our minds. Only a matter of time before we lose ourselves for good as Mickie had. The guy had injected himself with a lethal dose of saline solution. The solution was for cryogenics testing - to see and experiment with a longer duration while traveling in space. If my guess is right then it prevented ice crystals from forming in your cell and hence, you can hibernate just like other mammals. Well, Mickie founded another use of it. “Is everybody here?” Reinhardt said, the lines on the forehead were deeper than the last I had seen of him. That is what stress does for he and Berna shouldered the burden of our survival. I thought it was quite foolish even to hope, but these guys, they just do not give up. And since the power outage, they have been about it. Holed up in a room, devising some unearthly plan to outwit this plight. The silent nods encouraged him to go on with his findings. “I present to you three choices: we do ourselves just as Mickie had as it will spare us the slow death; we can fix Hope, but we will miss landing on the planet as the integration drift will push us farther; or we can try to make for it and risk crashing.” As I said, there was no hope; only vainglorious efforts. Ryan opened and closed his mouth several times. It was Mae who uttered, “The last two have their risks. The only thing certain is death in all three choices.” “Well, there’s the fourth: how about doing nothing and letting the people back home send for us!” Berna let out a chortle. “They are fighting a pandemic. You really believe they’d send out a party just to rescue our sorry asses? That would cost billions! If I were there, I’d invest it in finding a cure.” “Let me get this clear, help isn’t coming,” Reinhardt proclaimed, just as I had thought: We were on our own. “We try for the planet,” said I. How strange is hope! I told myself over and over there was none, and yet I was hoping, at least, one of us will survive. That person might just live enough for others to come and tell what happened. Tell the story - why we failed in rescuing the world and saving our kind. I guess it all boils down to passing your story to the next. The deeds you did; the choices you encountered; how you spent your last days. Humans are simple creatures after all. So, I wrote the happenings up till now, in case that person forgets the series of events. It is not detailed but will aid the one or maybe more survivors - I don’t know, where their memories will fail them. After all the tussle and raging arguments, we formed an accord: We’d make for the Red Planet! If it is me who survives you will hear more of the new life! Fingers crossed…


Life is one road block after another. The trick is to maneuver around them. When all else fails, just drive over them. Sure, most of them you can't drive over, but continue smashing your life against them until the engine explodes and you are expelled in pieces all over the road. That way, you can say you made a statement about life. Also, when someone has to come and pick up your guts and excrement off the road, you can think from beyond the grave "Ha Ha! I did that! Sucker! Boooooo." And then you can drive off in your cloud car. *Risk* You will never achieve anything unless you take risks. That doesn't mean you will achieve great things, it just means you will be kinda bored without risks. For instance, if you jump on a landmine to save a bunch of your friends, you are risking death, but if the landmine doesn't explode, you will survive and be a hero. And for what? Because of a technical error that some terrorist made. You didn't really do anything but take a risk. Then you get home from the war and everyone applauds you and you feel great. But then your cable goes out because of another technical error and you think "Oh, the irony." But it's not really ironic and you're just sitting there calling Comcast and bitching, then someone throws a grenade at you and you die. And for what? *Birthdays* Birthdays only come once a year, and that's good. If they came more than that there'd be some people that could drink at like nine years old and that would be bad. Or, like some people could get sent off to war at age six. There'd be this drunk nine year old on the battlefield just because he had three birthdays a year. And then that kid gets shot to death and everyone decides to dumb down the birthdays. The President proclaims "No more multiple birthdays - not on my watch!" And everyone cheers and the President is like better than Abraham Lincoln for all the children he saved. Then he goes home and cracks a beer and feels a little empty about life. So, then he runs naked on the White House lawn and everyone thinks he's crazy. Then another President comes along and reinstates multiple birthdays and everyone is happy all over again. That's how the world works. Seriously. It's stupid. The world is stupid. Plus birthdays. *Cell Phones* It's weird how everyone talks on cell phones now. And a lot of the time they will use Bluetooth and it will look like they are talking to themselves. Then you start thinking they are crazy. But then you realize they are on Bluetooth: they are just talking to their friend. But then you think about all the homeless people you saw before Bluetooth and how you thought they were crazy and it turns out they were just innovators and had Bluetooth before anyone. Then you think about why homeless people would have Bluetooth before anyone when they have no money. Then you get a wise idea and quit your job thinking you will acquire future technology somehow by being homeless. But you don't. And you say all of this out loud and people think you're crazy, but then you tap your ear and say Bluetooth. That's probably the cleverest thing you have ever done. Be proud. *Sorrow* Losing someone is very painful. A good thing to do is dress up in clown makeup for a good month. People will let it go, because you lost someone special. They will think that you are having a hard time and are trying to cope. But in truth, you are having the time of your life and learning new card tricks. Then start stealing from people. You can get away with this for a good month. Ride it. *Asia* Asia is like a major big deal. It's a continent, but it's like really big. I think it's the biggest one. But then I think that I'm wrong and that it's one of those tricks where someone pulls down their pants and exposes themselves to you and says "No, Antarctica is the biggest continent." And then you feel stupid. And violated. And lied to. Turns out Asia is the biggest continent and you just got flashed - now you really feel bad. Anyway, Asian people come from Asia. And I think panda bears live there. Vietnam might be there. Yep. It is. That's Asia, baby. *Computers* Back in the olden days people thought that computers would like take over the world. Like they would be in front of everyone and just kinda brainwash them into reading stupid things all day and dressing stupid and caring about stupid things and then becoming totally stupid and worthless. I guess we showed them! *Love* Love is a tricky emotion. It can get you into a lot of hot water. Like when you love someone and they don't love you back and you get all mad and dress a bunch of squirrels up in rat costumes and let them lose in their house and then when they get mad, you pull off the costumes and show them that they are really just adorable squirrels, but then the squirrel bites you and you involuntarily fling the squirrel against the wall and break its head open and then you have these charges against you that make it sound like you enjoy crushing dead squirrels against walls as some message to an ex girlfriend about how you are going to get her, Judge. *Boredom* Boredom can get the best of us. You're just sitting around watching TV and it dawns on you that you are bored. You think about all the things you can do and none of them sound appealing. So you kinda just move into a different position on the couch and that quells your boredom for a second, but then it comes back. You think about getting up and going for a jog and this makes you laugh because you are 394 pounds and can barely get up, but you made yourself laugh so now you are not bored. But then you get over the joke that is your awful body and you are bored again. So, you reach behind the couch and grab one of the hoagie sandwiches you keep back there and you start eating it. But you eat too fast and you are bored again. So, then you get drunk and that fixes it until after you wake up and you're bored again. Boredom is a vicious cycle is what I'm saying. *Garage Sales* If you ever throw a garage sale, check to make sure you aren't selling gold for super cheap. Like you might think that that nine ounce ball of gold is useless, but it's not - it's gold. It's worth a lot of money. You can sell it for more than the nickle you are asking for. But, if I come by, you can sell it to me for a nickle. Just joking. I wouldn't do that to you. I would tell you it was gold. But then I'd kinda expect that you'd sell it and give me some of the money because that's prospecting on my part. *Divorce* There is nothing more unnatural and unholy than divorce. If you get a divorce you have failed at love. You should feel bad about divorce, you love murderer. *Winning* Winning is not everything. There are other things besides winning. Like scabies, grass, furniture, etc. I could go on all day. *Hatred* Hatred is actually a very maligned feeling. It can be a good thing. You can really get your energy up by hating people and then go for a good long hate jog. Or, eat a really big hoagie sandwich with all your hate fueling your jaws. But you should never take your hate out on other people. That is hateful. You don't want to be hateful, you want to be hatefueled. *Jealousy* An important thing to think about the next time you are jealous of someone is that whatever they have someone else has more of and the only person with everything is God. Can you be jealous of God? Sure you can. And God is way easier to attack, so you can just go out and start kicking trees and stepping on worms and know that you are hurting God and that hurt will trickle down to whomever you are jealous of. It might take awhile, though, so pack a lunch.


“Should we get started?” the principal suggests in a cheery, singsong voice, tapping on the microphone. “People? Please take your seats. Excuse me, people?” Her smile is brittle as she grips the microphone a little too hard. She stands alone on the Cafetorium stage, a space that doubles as both a lunchroom and a theater—and permanently smells of soured milk. The throng of veteran teachers summarily ignores her, continuing to talk more loudly to one another, mainly about expected retirement dates. They help themselves to off brand cookies and lukewarm coffee, drinking copious amounts in cheap environmentally-unfriendly styrofoam cups. Next to the coffee table , a colorful sign—"Recycling Begins With Me!"— is posted over a trashcan full of used plastic bottles and crushed Red Bull cans. No amount of caffeine or sugar prepares anyone for the 7:30 a.m. first faculty meeting of the school year.

The new teachers sit in the front row on cold plastic chairs, dutifully prepared to take notes. Most have not brought a sweater or jacket and shiver in the subarctic chill of the school’s overactive air conditioning. They’ve already introduced themselves to each other, separate and apart from their colleagues. They wonder if they’ve chosen the wrong profession and are secretly horrified at the bovine creatures mooing behind them. How am I stuck with 9th grade remedial when these cows all have upper level honors classes? “People? The sooner we start, the sooner you can work in your rooms,” the principal begs. The new teachers will unload a dozen boxes of supplies and room decorations from their two-door hatchbacks, invariably parked in the wrong car lot. The veteran teachers will staple faded, crumpled posters—“The Best Way To Predict Your Future Is To Create It!”—that they’ve stored in the back of their classroom closets for years.

Fifteen minutes after the alleged start time, the principal’s secretary enters the Cafetorium with an armful of handouts, still warm from the photocopier. As expected, the various papers are unstapled because no one has bothered to replace the photocopier’s staple cartridge, empty since the preceding June.

“Girl, hand me the duty roster. I am not supervising Hallway B after school. I’ll talk to my union rep about that.” “Sixth period planning? That’s the worst. Why do I even have a planning period, then? I need to get this changed.” “No one said they were moving my classroom. I’ve been there for four years! I’m not even in the same building. I have a bad back — maintenance is going to have to move all those boxes.” “I never agreed to a third prep. I don’t even teach social studies.” The new teachers look over their shoulders, hearing the hue and cry of their colleagues, now whispering to each other—in jest—that they’ve definitely chosen the wrong profession. Ha ha. “People, there have been some changes this year with the new state standards. Please find page eight in the packets—if there were packets—well, just look at the top of the page that reads BEST Standards,” the principal says, clicking through a PowerPoint slideshow that has far too many words in an unreadable microfont. “I don’t have page eight. I have three page nines . . .” “What happened to the FIRST Standards or the COMMON CORE Standards or the SUNSHINE Standards—” “Whenever a new governor gets into office, they suddenly know how to fix education.” “Or his wife does.” “Does this mean the FIRST Standards tests in March are out?” “No, the state will still give the FIRST Standards tests, but they will use the BEST standards to score them holistically.” “They’ll score them to show that the new governor’s standards are ‘highly effective’ in ‘educating the whole child’ and ‘preparing them for the 21st century workplace’—” “I’m sure there will be a graph showing the ‘learning gains’ of ‘critical thinking skills’—” The entire row behind the new teachers bursts out into cynical laughter. “People? Please, people, there is a lot to go over. Please turn to the four-page list of drills this year. Understand what is required of you for fire, tornado, hurricane, chemical spill, and active shooter drills. We have added three week-long units on mental health awareness and social-emotional health issues. We will also have four bullying assemblies, one per quarter.” “When do we get to teach—” “At least there are no more nuclear bomb drills—” “I don’t have a list of the drills—” “Couldn’t this meeting have been an email?” “Before we leave, I want to share something with you,” the principal wistfully sighs. “This is something very meaningful to me, and I hope you appreciate the spirit in which I share it with you.” “ Please, not the starfish story.” “You know it is.” The principal continued. “One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. Approaching the boy, he asked, ‘What are you doing?’” “I literally can tell this story backwards.” “The ocean threw the starfish up on the beach in the first place. What makes the boy think the ocean isn’t going to do it again?” “The youth replied, ‘If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.’” The principal gives a dramatic pause. A few of the older teachers simply walk out.

“The man said, ‘Don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!’ After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf.” The principal takes a deep breath, rises to her full height of 5 feet, 6 inches, and squares her shoulders. “Then, smiling at the man, the boy said . . . ‘I made a difference for that one.’” The new teachers wipe teary eyes, jotting down the words “Make A Difference” and drawing a starfish next to the principal’s directive. I knew this was the right field for me. I am here to transmit culture, to help the next generation achieve their dreams, to make a difference, and to stay out of the faculty lounge.

The remaining veteran teachers continue to scroll through their phones.

“Have a great year!” the principal calls out, as the new teachers remain seated, unsure of what to do next or who to follow.

⟶⟷⟵ Author’s Note: The following is taken verbatim from the State of Florida’s BEST English Language Arts Standards for the 2021-2022 school year. (BEST is an acronym for “Benchmarks for Excellent Student Thinking,” which really should be BFEST, but that wouldn’t be as catchy.) The implementation of these standards will encourage schools, districts, and educators to adopt and build a rich, deep, and meaningful curriculum that “uplifts the soul.”

 The goal of these standards is to restore teachers to their true calling: educating the hearts, souls, and minds of their students, bringing them “into the glorious light of truth.”

(Oof. Do I need a theology endorsement now?) Good luck with the starfish this year, fellow teachers!


I guess I should’ve known it was coming to an end when I walked into my living room that day. I guess, to an extent, we both knew it was coming to an end. First sign of trouble was the fact that the light in my study was the only one turned on in the house, meaning the only place she could be is the one place she hated. I had been arriving late from work the last couple of weeks, but I guess I just drove slowly to avoid being in the same house as her. But even as I say this, a part of me still loved her, even if things had been a little rough this last year. But this day felt different, today something was about to change, I knew it as I got out of my driveway in the morning and I know it as I go in at night. I guess I should’ve known it was coming to an end when I woke up and he had already left for work. Not a “goodbye honey” or even a note explaining why he had to leave for work early. I went about my day as I usually did, had breakfast alone, took care of the garden and worked on my novel. Had lunch and took a nap in the afternoon. Today was different and I didn’t know if I could place why. I decided to visit his study and read a couple of the things he was working on. After all, I was sure that his late arrivals at home didn’t mean he was off with some mistress, he wasn’t like that. There must've been something in his mind that made him act distant, an inch of loneliness that his eyes practically yelled. As I got through the garage door, I knew what was coming so I neglected my usual greeting. No “Honey I’m home” or light whistling. I just took off my shoes, left my briefcase and my jacket in a living room sofa and poured two glasses of Merlot. I sighed and walked towards my study. The door was closed and I debated whether I should open it or not, maybe something wasn’t going to happen at all. Maybe we could both continue with this facade. I was lying to myself and it was time to face the music. With an ever-deeper sigh I propped the door open with my arms. I heard the keys jangling and I knew he wasn’t going to immediately come here. I heard his briefcase and jacket hit the sofa, he was coming in without shoes, he never did like using them indoors. I heard he also opened the pantry, probably to pour himself, or both of us, a drink. Whether it would be whiskey, gin or wine I couldn’t guess. I had no idea if he shared the same ill-fated thoughts as I did, perhaps he did and this would be a lot easier than I imagined. If he didn’t, well if he didn’t, I’ll deal with it later. “A little help here” I said with a fake joyous voice, as if pretending to joke. She faked surprise to see me come in at the same time I faked surprise at her being in the room she so despised. She was sitting in the carpeted floor, but with a quick action she stood up, opened the door and I handed her one glass of wine. She closed the door behind me and sat back down on the carpet. I sat in a leather chair which I use for work. We stared at each other, glass in hand, and for what seemed like an eternity didn’t say a single word. I thought the spark we had had at some point was still alive when he came in. He always found a way to make me laugh. But this time his lies were obvious. He knew the jig was up. He knew something was wrong. His undone blue tie, pearl white shirt and black slacks were all but a mask of relaxation hiding the deep realization that was happening within. I sat up to help him with the door and sat back down into the carpet, amongst thrown away documents, a couple of pens and coffee stains. He sat in his old, torn a little to be honest, leather chair. We stared, both at the wine and at each other, we knew something was wrong, and neither of us wanted to be the first one to address the elephant in the room. I was the one that broke first, she had always had some power over me, I just couldn’t resist it, watching her suffer broke me as well. “-Look, I know you feel something’s wrong, I feel it too” “-I guess there is something wrong, if we both feel it” “-I guess so”. Another awkward silence followed. “-Honey…” I said inquisitively. “Do you love me?” “-Just what kind of question is that?” She responded brashly “Of course I love you”. “-Then what is going on? Right here, right now, what are we doing, and why did we pick today to do it” “-I… don’t know”. We both took a sip of the wine cup and stared at the floor. Her brunette hair had always mesmerized me, but there was something that made me stare at the mahogany desk instead. Turns out he was the one to start the conversation. The last conversation we might have when we could honestly say that we loved each other. His first question though kind off threw me off. He had never been the insecure type, he could be sweet, but I’m sure that if he asked me if I loved him, he must have a reason to doubt it. As for the second question I honestly did not know. “-Maybe it’s time we both laid down all our cards and figure out what were doing, with all this” I made a superhuman effort to avoid an impromptu voice crack and took another sip of my cup. “-Well, as far as I know” he answered with his smug courtroom voice “We love each other, have always loved each other and will always love each other” “-Is that the truth? or is that the truth you want to prove to yourself” I could tell she was hurting; she was unusually aggressive in her responses and had taken a defensive stance in her arguments. “-I thought it was our truth, the truth that we believed in” “-Well, I have no idea what truth you have been believing in this last few weeks, you always get home late, now, I know you’re not cheating on me so what’s going on, I also know you don’t get off work that late so why don’t you want to be here”. This last response hit me hard. I wasn’t sure what to say, my legs felt like jelly and I couldn’t focus enough to take a sip of my wine. “-Well what about you?” I managed to put up a wall “I’ve been practically living with a ghost, you never say anything to me, always working on your novel, you even pretend to be asleep when I go to bed” He was right, there was no use hiding it, I didn’t have an answer for his accusations. I didn’t have anything else left to go on so I couldn’t throw anything else at him either. “-Well perhaps were done then, perhaps these last years have been a farse and its time we own up to it” I said, the shadow of a tear had begun to form in my eye. “-Well this farse is everything I have” he raised his voice, an unusual behavior, but it wasn’t out of anger it was out of pain. “and it is everything you’re ever going to get” Truth is I didn’t want to lose her, it was partly true what I said, she was everything I had. The mere prospect of a separation, living alone again, terrified me. If she could tell I felt alone right now, how bad would it get if I lost her. “-Well perhaps…” she said softly “-Perhaps what” I laid down the pressure. “-This might be something we can fix” she said again, now with a cracked voice, I could see tears falling on the documents below her beautiful eyes, and I was praying that she wouldn’t see the ones hitting my shirt. “Fix what love, we can’t even tell what’s wrong and we want to go out of our way to fix it”. There was such a long silence after that, between sniffles and sobs, that we both manage to finish our cups of wine, he had always had good taste for it. “-Do you remember the last time we danced?” I asked him, not sure what kind of answer I was waiting for. “-Of course, but that was so long ago, you’re going to have to remind me how to do it properly honey” a short chuckle followed his answer “-Well I also did last time, you’ve never been that good of a dancer” She stood up and I could admire her beauty. On cue I also stood up, my socks rubbing against the carpet. That embrace had been everything I had ever hoped for or ever needed. The study was a ball room, the carpet marble floor, her sweater a dress and my shirt and slacks a tuxedo and cufflinks. I held her tight against my chest, kissed her forehead and began to lead. Had a few missteps here and there but she didn’t seem to care. Her hair smelled like roses and her steps were angelical. At one point we stopped, I held her chin in my hand and stared into her eyes. “-Not yet darling, I want to keep dancing” she said and without saying a word I obliged. And just like that we danced. Both of us, as one. Whatever spark had been there once will probably never bee reignited. But in that moment, as the both of us danced it was like going back to where everything was fine. We both agreed to keep dancing. But to this day I don’t have the answer if we did out of love, out of fear that if we ever stopped, me just might never dance again.


Patrick was about a mile out to sea in one of those rugged, plastic, yellow kayaks. He had already had more than a few drinks that afternoon thanks to the all-inclusive food and drink policy at the resort. Looking back for a second, with the double edged paddle resting over his legs, the shore was distant, and maybe it was the alcohol, but it wasn't that scary to be that removed from the shore's safety. At that distance, the waves had died down and were rather mild; they were more of a drift than anything else. The water was a deep blue and the ocean floor was no longer visible. The air smelled entirely like seawater and really the only sound he could hear was a faint breeze against his ears. During that moment he realized how alone he was. A mile away from anyone else, a totally remote maritime vastness, completely unoccupied, lay ahead of him, and he was totally occupying that space individually, and it just felt, well it felt free. It was like a moment of Zen, or experiencing the Tao; it was a removal from society, at least mentally, and was the first thing he had ever experienced anywhere near those lines. The sun above was burning his skin, he knew he would have a sunburn after this was all over, but it didn't matter. Scooping up some of the ocean's water, he cupped it over his head. The cooling effect was like a physical ecstasy. It could have been a minute or it could have been thirty minutes but as soon as this bliss started it began to creep back like coming down from a high. He knew it was an inherently fleeting experience. “What is another mile?” he thought “let's do one more and I'll turn back to shore.” Some reasoning set in, far, far, back in his consciousnesses, but the experience was too fresh. “Fuck it” he thought, and started to put his paddle back into the water.