A short story about a long distance relationship by David Tombale: The distance between

The distance between

Jerome had grown to love watching the sun come over the Boston skyline. Its mix of yellows and reds reminded him of autumn, and made him grateful for the view. His office was on the eight floor of their Boston branch and was suitably large, almost large enough to have space for his ego as Laura would say.

He hadn’t seen her in a while, almost a full month if he remembered right. The distance had been hard on her, hell it had been hard on him and he wondered how she filled the hours in-between. He could imagine, and the writhing images of her tangled in their bed sheets with another man had been enough to cause a cold sweat to break out all over his body.

He was thinking of calling her but it was around six and she’d probably still be at the hospital. He’d been so proud of her when she finally finished her residency and became Dr. Laura Roberts; he could picture her smiling in her white doctor’s coat causing the male patients’ heartbeats to spiral into insanity. She had that effect on the male gender and he was living proof of it.

Jerome loosened his tie and pulled off his blazer placing it on the shoulders of his chair. He couldn’t wait for the trial to end so that he could go back to his Laura, if she was still waiting. The trek back and forth between Boston and Chicago had only shown them how much they’d come to rely on each other, how a separation could wreak havoc on even the best relationships. Maybe he should call; she could be in the apartment right now wearing his Lakers’ jersey and nothing else desperate for the sound of his voice.

What would he do if he did and some other guy answered? Would it be over? Would that be how she told him that she’d grown too tired of missing him? That their busy schedules were no excuse for leaving her in the dark silence of an apartment they’d rented together. It was silly but he’d hoped Big Humphrey, the large brown furred teddy bear he’d bought her on Valentines’ might have helped ease the ache but teddy bear arms could never replace the warmth of real ones.

So maybe it was over or damn it should he call? He kept glancing down at the dark blue telephone on his desk agonizing over it. He needed to hear her voice but he’d probably end up sounding lonely over the phone. He couldn’t afford that. He sighed and looked back out the window as the sun slowly died and darkness began to rise like a wave over the city. Ring, ring, ring. The phone was vibrating and he reached out his hand and answered it.

‘Hello,’ he said softly.

‘Hey G,’ Laura said huskily, ‘are you busy?’

A funny science fiction story by David Tombale: Interruption

Interruption

Sam had decided that he was never leaving the house again, and the robot butler had fully agreed with him. Not that it had a lot of choice, but Sam wouldn’t let a little thing like a lack of free will deprive it of an opinion. That only made the pounding at his door that much more annoying.

‘What?!’ he yelled yanking the door open.

Standing there with his hand still poised to knock again was the landlord. He lowered his hand, his face flushing red with embarrassment before he drew himself up, ‘Mr. Weiss I do not allow robots in my building, not that I know why someone like you needs one.’

‘Someone like me?’ Sam quirked an eyebrow.

‘You know someone who clearly just sits on his butt all day. You probably get all your money from your parents or the government. Look at you still in your boxers.’

Sam quite openly reached under his white vest and scratched his stomach. ‘You’re boring me here Mr. Samuels, and there’s nothing in the lease that mentions robots.’

‘Forget the lease. I make the rules here you little punk,’ he shot back.

‘Goodbye Mr. Samuels,” Sam said slamming the door in the landlord’s face.

He was just sitting down in front of his computer, when the door startled rattling again under someone’s knuckles.

‘Unbelievable,’ he muttered under his breath.

He opened the door again, and this time found himself looking down the barrel of a sawed off shotgun. He raised his head and met a crazy pair of eyes; they were red with huge pupils like they couldn’t get enough light but the hallway outside was well lit.

‘Where… is.. it?’ the face behind those eyes stuttered.

‘Where..is..what?’

‘The merch….the drugs….the rock.’

Sam ran a hand through his hair and yawned, ‘Oh, you want the apartment down the hall, 305.’

The man holding the gun looked confused for a second, then nodded his head, ‘Th..anks.’

‘No problem,’ Sam said closing the door again.

He returned to his chair, and began loading a single player war game, when his door started vibrating again. He turned to look at it, then at his computer screen then back at the door before sighing and getting to his feet.

‘What?’ he asked, opening the door.

A middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard and wearing a blue suit waited outside. ‘Hey Sam get dressed we got a case. Apparently there’s some junkie running around offing dealers for their drugs.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, the boss wants us on it,’ the man answered trying to peek past Sam into his dark apartment.

‘Give me a second, I’ll be right out,’ Sam told him before closing the door. ‘Giles get my clothes out,’ he called out to his butler.

A science fiction short story about genetic manipulation by David Tombale: Unnatural selection

Unnatural Selection

Victor could see the streetlights from his window, their yellow glow picking out a white cat that ran out between two houses and quickly out of sight. He rolled over until his feet hit his carpeted floor and he could pull out the back pack he’d hidden under his bed. Grabbing his favorite blue sneakers from the wardrobe he put them on as silently as he could.

With bag in tow, he snuck out of his room into the hallway outside, listening carefully for any sounds. The house was quiet. Charles’ door was the second on the right and as he passed it Victor paused. Some nameless urge forced his hand to turn the knob. He opened the door as quietly as he could and looked in on his younger brother. He could hear him breathing softly in his sleep with a blanket laid over his head. Charles was his younger brother and had been perfect since the day he was born, as perfect as modern genetics could make a child. He stood at six foot two with a chiseled jaw and a three digit IQ. All of which explained why he’d become the star of the track team and student body president while his older brother’s successes on the chess team had barely drawn their parents’ attention.

Victor couldn’t even blame them for calling the Proctors to take away a failure like him. After all he could only manage to get in the way of their perfect son. Victor closed his brother’s door as quietly as he could and turned around. When he was in the living room, he grabbed a framed picture off the mantel and put it in his bag. It was the only thing he was taking with him aside from a change of clothes and some money he’d saved up from working a job at the mall. Grinding his teeth together, he slowly punched in the alarm code, each beep shaving off a year off his life and when it finally flashed from red to green Victor opened the front door and walked out. He picked Charles’ red mountain bike off the lawn. Standing by the house’s chain link fence he paused and took one last look at the house he’d grown up in. He turned his back on it and opened the gate wheeling the bike out into the street.

The roads were usually deserted around midnight so there was no one around to see the sixteen year old ride his bike all the way to Mountain View High School where the others were waiting. Victor saw Laurie’s eyes nearly bulge with terror behind the silver frames of her glasses when he rode up. She visibly relaxed when she recognized him and standing next to her was Chase, his freckles invisible in the darkness but Victor knew they were there. The last one was Roger who shared the same red hair as Laurie, which made sense since they were brother and sister and who probably had an inhaler somewhere in his clothes and that was the entire crew. Each one of them had a reason to be despised by their families and each one of them was in danger of being erased from existence by the all powerful Black Proctors.

The others had brought their own bikes and carried a bag with them.

“Is it time to go?” Victor asked.

“Yeah. The people from the shelter said they’d pick us up in the next town,” Chase said.

“Laurie, you okay?” Victor asked noting the way she was hugging herself.

“Are we really going to do this?” she asked.

“Well me and Victor are but if you two want to wait for the Proctors to come get you that’s fine by me,” Chase said.

“No way, we’re going,” Roger said looking at Laurie.

Laurie wouldn’t meet his eyes letting her hair fall in front of her face. Laurie had never been able to say no to her brother so Victor wasn’t surprised when she eventually nodded her head and got on her bike. Chase took off first and one by one they joined him. They had no idea where they’d end up but Victor knew, they all knew that they could never go home again.

A short story about time travel and death by David Tombale: Overtime

Overtime

Dallas, November 22 1963 James Mayer had just put Oswald against a corner to sleep off the effects of the drug while he opened his department issue pocket watch. The watch always reminded him of the pitted timepiece that used to sit on his grandparents’ mantelshelf in their house in Austria.  It was nearly 12.30 and Mayer peeked out the window and saw the presidential motorcade turn a corner on their way into Dealey Plaza.

Mayer took a deep breath before cradling Oswald’s rifle in his hands and sighting down the scope. He looked down at the man most of the world would idolize for generations and pulled the trigger. They didn’t start screaming at first though one or two heads began turning in confusion, then he fired the rifle again and again before pulling an old rag from his jacket pocket and wiping his prints off. He placed the gun in Oswald’s hands and considered that the lunatic should probably thank him. He never would have managed to hit the target with his poor skills.

Mayer was half a block from the scene of the shooting by the time they had Oswald in custody. He walked into a little bar on 42^nd and ignored the tense silence that practically screamed fear and panic. Everyone’s eyes were stuck to the tv which probably explained why the bartender didn’t hassle him about reaching behind the bar and grabbing a mug which he promptly filled with one of the beers on tap. Mayer dropped a ten dollar bill on the counter and found himself a booth in the back.

An alert came through on his mini tablet congratulating him on his recent success. A woman suddenly cried out as they showed Kennedy being pulled out of an ambulance, she turned to what might have been her husband or a boyfriend. He was a no nonsense looking guy with stubble on his jaw and shovel size hands but when he took the woman in his arms Mayer observed fat tears fall down his cheeks.

They weren’t the only ones who gave in to their emotions, soon the whole bar began a chorus of sobs and gasps and Mayer could imagine that the whole nation was already joining them in their grief. That grief would soon become a long period of mourning when the president finally died.

Another alert came through to his tablet as Mayer sipped his beer. They wanted him to go to Memphis, April 4^th 1968. Ahhh, the King assassination. Another amateur with bad hand eye coordination was waiting to be replaced with a competent shooter. Mayer considered putting in for overtime, he hadn’t seen the 23^rd century in two months and gallivanting from one time period to another hadn’t left him with a lot of time to check on his cat.

He grumbled a little under his breath before upending his mug and finishing off his beer. He stood up and moved towards the exit as invisible as a ghost, everyone still caught up by the events on the screen. The shooting of the president was being played on a loop as if somehow by doing that they could rewind everything and change what had happened. Mayer could understand the feeling, when his dad died he’d often dreamt of breaking regulations and maybe going back to the day of his car accident. It had been his mom who’d helped him realize that some things just happened and death wasn’t something you could avoid.

A short story about grief and revenge: Ghosts

Ghosts

The house hadn’t been maintained in a long time, its floors were covered with dust and the wood beneath had warped with time. Lyle had been happy in this house for three long years and had raised two little boys with his wife Lynda; even now looking at a framed picture of them he could still remember what that felt like. He’d made space by the house’s fireplace and left his gun right by his feet while he gazed around at the torn curtains and the couch hanging open like an empty mouth, its cushions missing and rusty springs poking through.

It had been so beautiful once. There’d been a table right by the entrance where they’d placed a bowl that was always filled with little mints for their guests and there’d been so many guests. Not for Lyle, no he was the more introverted of the two, no they always came for his fair haired Lynda who could put together a three course meal in seconds. Lyle had always been a terrible cook and his dear wife had often shoved him out of the kitchen because he was always getting underfoot.

It was here that he could still remember her like that, not in the hospital with those jagged scars on her wrists. She’d fallen apart so quickly after the boys…his beautiful wife had morphed into a shadow that floated about in a permanent daze that no therapy had ever managed to penetrate.

Lyle put their picture down and picked up the gun. Getting to his feet and ignoring the dust that clung to his khaki pants he approached the man he’d tied to a chair. Sweat had plastered the man’s greasy black hair to his head and his eyes had dark circles under them. He weakly raised his head and gave Lyle a look that promised retribution for the state he was in.

“Here we both are where it all started. I wonder when you broke into our house that night if you ever considered that things might turn out this way?” Lyle said.

He reached out and removed the strip of clothing he’d gagged the man with.

“You should have known I’d never let a punk like you put me in jail,” the man spat out.

“You’re a scumbag. Sooner or later someone was going to prosecute you for your crimes but you broke into my house and killed my..” Lyle choked on the words.

“I wasn’t going to let you put me in jail,” the man repeated.

“Well congratulations, you’re not in jail,” Lyle said raising the gun.

There was a loud bang that woke the neighbors on either side of that tragic house. The first to reach for their phone was Mrs. Carla Mitchell who’d had a lot of trouble sleeping lately ever since her husband passed away. Her white cat meowed in protest as she shifted it reaching for the phone she kept by the bedside before dialing 911.

Lyle hobbled back to the fireplace picking up the gold framed picture of his family. They’d taken it on their last vacation down to Florida to visit Lyle’s folks. They’d been on the beach and James had worn the green trunks he’d loved while Sean had been hugging his parents’ little terrier. There standing in the back in a green shirt with blue trunks was Lynda laughing and sticking her tongue out at the camera.

How quickly things had changed and now there was nothing left for Lyle. No wife or kids, just a house full of objects and ghosts that would forever weigh him down. Another loud bang startled Mrs. Mitchell causing her to draw the covers over her head as she pleaded with the 911 operator to send help quickly. 

A science fiction short story about fate by David Tombale: The System

The System

SK5113 or John Block was only a minute old when he realized he wasn’t like all the other officer worker models. He wasn’t an alcoholic, he wasn’t constantly depressed or prone to random acts of petty theft, in fact he was downright the opposite of what the programmers had been going for. Looking down at the time piece on his wrist which was actually a decade older than him he stood up from his little cubicle carefully keeping a smile off his face.

With briefcase in tow he exited one of the many office buildings on their block keeping his eyes off the burnt sky in case today of all days it actually managed to ruin his mood. It was a rather long walk to the subway and the crowds of RX4s and NT6s always forced him to move at a snail’s pace. He wasn’t concerned really, watching the sharply dressed lawyer models and the teenage models with their torn jeans and pierced ears walking the streets was meant to be soothing; it meant the system was still operating smoothly.

In the subterranean expanse of the subway while holo ads for colognes and junk food jumped off the screens on the walls John found himself looking at his watch again as he waited for the six o’clock train. Going back to the watch was a habit he’d formed a month after he’d been removed from his pod and was actually useless since his internal clock always kept him well apprised of the time. No one had complained of course, it all fit the programming even if John was unusually aware of the exact parameters of his code.

While he stood there surrounded by the odd silence that usually accumulated around their kind whenever they left whatever jobs they’d been created for he spotted a female model standing perilously close to the edge of the platform. The female had begun to lean back and forth and John quickly took note of her ring less hands and with his superior eyesight spotted a single grey hair on her head. She must have been approaching the mandatory 30 year limit and had probably failed to find a life partner necessary to building a family unit.

Models like that were programmed to do only one thing when they failed. John could already hear the train coming and could spot its bright lights coming down the tunnel. He began pushing through the crowd drawing confused stares from the others unused to this sort of behavior especially from an SK5; he wasn’t even a violent WG40 with their leather jackets and cowboy boots.

As the train pulled in the female kicked off from the platform with her eyes closed only to be yanked back out of its path. She whirled around in anger to confront an SK5 and had to stop when she saw the concern in its eyes. It appeared like the rest of the SK5s; there was the blond hair and slim build but there was something odd in its blue eyes that threw her off balance.

“What’re you doing?” John breathlessly asked her.

“I’m completing my programming,” she replied.

John reached out his hand and without any warning plucked out the single grey hair showing it to her, “Because of this?”

“Of course, I have no family unit therefore I must immediately terminate my existence,” she said.

John smiled and she could only marvel at what was a clear violation of his programming. SK5’s never smiled. As colorless cogs that drove the economy such a thing was not to be tolerated.

“It’s just a grey hair. If you like I can buy you some hair dye in case another ever crops up,” he told her.

She stood there with her mouth open and sensing she’d received as many shocks as she could tolerate in one day John took her by the arm and pulled her on the train. They were soon squeezed against a window as the train pulled out of the station. The female could only stare at the strange SK5 and glanced at the hand he placed on her cheek. Someone bumped into John from behind pushing them closer together and without hesitation he reached out and took a hold of her waist.

“I’m John by the way,” he finally said before they passed into the tunnel plunging the entire car into darkness.

 

A short story about freedom and the open road by David Tombale: The Great Escape

The Great Escape

The bar smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke and was floating in some sort of haze in front of Craig Marshall’s eyes. High off beer and a pack of peanuts he’d kept by his side the whole night he’d somehow forgotten to cry. For a sixth straight night Margie had refused his calls and now there she was standing next to Freddie by the pool tables.

Craig looked down at the scars on his knuckles and tried to breathe deeply but not too deeply through the stitches and bandages that were keeping his chest together. Walden stood by the door to the back room trying to signal him. He probably wanted to fleece Craig out of the rest of his money in their weekly card game.

Craig waved him off as he looked at what was now his ex-girlfriend, looking oh so good in a pair of tight jeans that showed off her strong legs. She ran a hand through her thick black hair while constantly caressing Freddie’s neck. To think he’d meant to surprise her that night. Looked like there was no point to that now.

Craig put down a bunch of bills and coins to pay for his beer and pushed back from the counter. He was glad he’d stuck to two beers; he wasn’t in the mood to call a taxi tonight not that he knew where he’d direct it to. Ignoring his former girlfriend who glared in his direction while hanging off his former best friend he winded through the crowd until he could push open the exit door.

Outside in the snow he found the owner’s Rottweiler chained to the front steps. The dog raised its head and met his eyes. Running all over its fur were cuts and scrapes some of which looked new. Craig had heard the owner ran some kind of underground fight ring for dogs. Poor mutt looked like it had it worse than him. Spurred on by the beer Craig took hold of the dog’s chain and planting his foot against the wall pulled until he tore the wooden railing on the stairs. The chain fell to the snow and the dog was free.

“Enjoy you freedom you damn mutt,” Craig said.

He walked over to his Chevy but checked the trunk before he jumped in. Amidst the spare wheel and the jack there sat a black duffel bag. Craig opened it up and inside he found stacks of bills. Counting quickly he estimated it came to 250 large. He knew Wiley would bring him his cut from the jewellery heist. Now he could finally get out of this town.

Craig got behind the wheel but just as he was about to pull out he heard a low whine coming from below his window. Rolling it down he saw the Rottweiler looking plaintively at him. Craig shook his head. The dog had to be out of its mind. It whined again and gave him a long slow look.

Craig shook his head again and opened the back door.

“Well what are you waiting for? Jump in already.”

The dog got its paws on the seat and jumped up into the back seat.

“Stupid mutt,” Craig said, closing the door.

He revved the Chevy then pulled out of the parking lot. Joining the few cars that were on the road at midnight he decided it was as good a time as any to leave. He’d buy whatever clothes he needed on the way, and maybe some dog food.

“Hey mutt, I hear Alaska is nice this time of year, what do you think?”

The dog looked at him then barked once.

“Yeah that’s what I thought.”

A science fiction story about solitude by David Tombale: The Intrepid

The Intrepid

The vastness of space had slowly worked its dark magic on Kevin’s brain, filling it with permanent shadows that the bright lights of the spaceship could never completely dispel. It was his fifth year standing at the helm of the Intrepid and there were as many as another eight left before he could awaken another crew member to take over his shift. Not that he’d let them. There was no way he’d trust his fate to a bunch of clones.

Suffice it to say the many years of solitude Kevin had endured with only the ship’s AI for company had left him a little paranoid. Another opinion might be that he’d been driven completely insane by the lack of conversation with another breathing human.

Kevin took one of the lifts down to the cryo chambers. It was a Thursday by his count and this was when he usually went down to check on the others and read to the crew member in POD 00187. The doors opened for him letting him into a huge room covered by clouds of cold air that tried to suck the warmth out of his insulated uniform. He walked from pod to pod checking their diagnostics and the status of their inhabitants.

He went through five rows of them before finally stopping by her pod. She looked like Ophelia from the book, suspended there in the cushioned bed of the plastic pod, her thick brown hair falling around her. Kevin placed his hand on the transparent plastic lid that protected her and was grateful for the black glove he’d chosen to wear. Otherwise his skin might have gotten stuck to the cold surface.

He showed her his gift, it was Alice in Wonderland this time, they’d read it four times but he was certain that it was a favorite of hers. He sat in front of her pod and started reading in a loud voice. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know her name or that she might be a clone like the rest of them. He knew she was special and that they were meant to be so he told her all about Alice again, Alice and the white rabbit and when he finally stood up he was so sure that she looked happier.

Kevin finished his inspection then returned to the helm. He had just sat down in front of the flight controls when she walked out of the shadows.

“Kevin?” she said softly.

Kevin looked up at her and even now was astonished at how closely he’d gotten her to resemble the woman in the pod. The android walked further into the room, the vented air blowing through the flimsy night gown she was wearing. The sound of her heels was loud in the silence of the pressurized room.

“Did you go to see her?” the android asked.

“Yes,” Kevin replied turning his attention back to the navigational charts.

She reached out and placed her arms on his shoulders. Kevin shook her off and glared.

“That’s enough Celeste. I’m very busy right now,” he said firmly.

“Oh but you weren’t too busy to visit her? To read to her? Why don’t you ever read to me?” she complained.

He’d made a mistake by tampering with her neural chip; androids weren’t meant to be so emotional. “You’re a robot Celeste; you don’t need me to read to you.” The instrument panel in front of him began to flash with green lights and when he hit a button an asteroid field jumped up on the screen.

“Well maybe you’ll read to me when she’s gone?” Celeste continued.

“What are you talking about now?” he asked her, annoyed by their whole conversation.

“I’m talking about opening the airlock in the cryo chamber and ejecting all those clones you hate out into space, including her.”

“What?” Kevin’s head spun around. He got to his feet, “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Celeste smirked.

“God, are you insane?” he yelled running for the lifts.

When the lift carried him to the lower decks he raced towards the doors to the cryo chamber but it was too late. She’d left the airlock doors open and he couldn’t get in to the now vacant chamber. He stared with horror at the area where 83 souls had once rested.

“I told you she’s gone,” Celeste said happily.

Kevin turned to look at her and somewhere at the back of his mind resided the hope that he could use the ship to get them all back on board but then he remembered the asteroids and he knew he’d never make it in time. She’d killed them or rather he’d killed them. There was no way they’d ever convict a robot for this. It was all over.