A science fiction story about genetic modification by David Tombale: Strays

Strays

Dogs may never disobey the masters; that is the first law. Smasher remembered when they’d taught it to him after he’d endured the gene splicing procedure; it hadn’t seemed like such a hard rule to follow at the time. Dashing across the street while avoiding the yellow pools of light created by the cast iron streetlights he remembered a time when everything seemed so much simpler. He leapt at the wall using his enhanced strength to get one sneaker on it then somersaulted over the electric fence and onto the grounds.

Smasher landed noisily in the mud around the wall but was up and moving before the nearest dog warrior could respond. He ran at full speed over the wet lawn, the water soaking his jean legs to the ankle. He made it onto the stairs fronting the pool before he encountered the first guard. The dog warrior only had time enough to turn his yellow eyes on a dark blur that struck him on the side of the head before losing consciousness.

Smasher grabbed the dog warrior before he could make a sound, wrinkling his nose at his pungent scent and dragged him some distance until he could find a store room to toss him in. He got a handhold on a pipe connected to the rain gutters and climbed up the walls until he reached the roof. After that he padded silently over the tiles until he found the right balcony. He dropped down onto it hearing soft moans coming from inside.

Smasher pulled a gun from his jeans’ waistband and screwed on a silencer he took from his pocket. As quietly as possible he slid the balcony doors open and walked through pushing aside the thin white curtains that hid the interior room. Smasher raised his gun taking in the sight of the woman weakly trying to crawl across the carpet with a man standing shirtless above her a bloody whip in his hands.

The man in front of Smasher had been on the cover of Time magazine three times and was one of the most recognizable figures in the whole country. He was a man Smasher had learnt to see for the monster he was and looking at him now with his face crazed and drool dripping from his lips he wondered if his beloved constituents could accept this hidden side of Senator Cal Rodham.

Cal turned when a breeze that blew past the open balcony doors brushed across his naked chest. His eyes widened when he saw Smasher, his mouth working to form the words to deny the phantom that stood fearlessly in his room.

‘You…’ Cal finally managed to say.

Smasher considered all the things he’d imagined he’d say to this man, the years he’d spent relearning to walk and talk and function. He touched a finger to the long scar that ran over his missing eye and realized that no words would ever change what had happened. The price he’d already paid for getting in this man’s way, for trying to prevent the torture of a warrior he’d respected had been high. Cal had had him beaten to within an inch of his life and Roper had still died anyway.

‘What are you planning to do with that gun you dumb mutt?’ Cal asked regaining his composure.

He knew the law as well as Smasher; no dog could ever disobey their master. ‘Go on, put it down dog. Right now.’

Smasher regarded his old master and then glanced down at the woman on the carpet, her black hair falling over her sweat soaked brow, and bloody wounds crisscrossing her back. Smasher lifted his head, his vision narrowing to a spot right between Cal’s ribs and pulled the trigger. The gun spat out two bullets that spun the Cal around and dropped him to the floor where he lay still and quite dead.

‘I have no masters,’ Smasher said to the room.

He knew he should leave but then he saw the tears sparkling in the woman’s eyes. Smasher put away his gun and reached down, picking the woman up in his arms. Walking out on the balcony he could see dark clouds converging around the white crescent moon and took it as a good omen.

‘You’re going to have to be quiet if I’m going to get us out of here,’ he told the woman.

Her back was on fire but she stuck her hand in her mouth to stifle any further cries of pain.

A dog may never disobey its master but not every dog has a master to call his own, we call such dogs strays.

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 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 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 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.

A science fiction story about war by David Tombale: Invasion

Invasion

There was still a sun in the sky when Doyle awoke. For some reason he’d imagined there wouldn’t be, not after last night. Not after those damn aliens had dropped bombs on their heads. He’d hidden in his foxhole listening to their boys fly past in their fighter jets while all around him explosions had torn up the hill they’d claimed just a day ago.

Doyle struggled out of his single man tent and saw a bunch of the boys sitting by a fire cooking up something so rancid that he was sure everyone in camp had already had a whiff.  Nunez looked up from the pan and raised his arm in greeting. Doyle waved back before walking off in the direction of the medical tents.

His best friend Mark Roberts had been hit by one of the Monoterrans’ plasma shells and he’d had a bad feeling all night about Mark’s wounds. As he moved through the camp he noted that there were a lot more empty tents than there’d been when they’d started advancing through Europe. Hell the living didn’t look much better, with plenty of soldiers carrying bandages around their heads and slings dangling from their slumped shoulders. It wasn’t supposed to have turned out like this, with half the regular army dead and farm boys like Doyle and Mark and these other poor souls left to pick up the slack. The recruiter in Doyle’s hometown had told him they were beating back the invaders.

When he finally found the medical tents Doyle could only think he’d been lied to. The screaming he heard didn’t sound like victory. No one should ever have to scream like that, like they were going to tear their throats apart and then there was the amount of activity he could see around the tents! Figures draped in white aprons and masks ran from one to the other blood covering them from head to toe.

Doyle had to push past one of these frantic figures just to get inside a tent. When he did he just stood there shocked at the chaos that confronted him. There were countless men and women jammed into that tiny tent, their narrow cots barely able to support their writhing bodies. One of the veiled figures turned around and grabbed him with a bloody mitt. They pulled down their mask and screamed into his face.

It took Doyle several seconds to make out her words. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” she yelled.

“I..I’m looking for Private Mark Roberts,” Doyle mumbled.

She didn’t waste a second and roughly pulled him to the back of the tent. She finally stopped beside a cot with a sheet pulled over what could only be a body. She turned to him with an impatient look on her face that vanished once she saw his expression.

He’d known; in his heart he’d known when the medics carried Mark from their foxhole that there was no saving him. The plasma fires had leaped hungrily at Mark quickly engulfing his entire body before their shocked unit had managed to snuff them out. Doyle reached out a shaking hand and grabbed a corner of the sheet. The nurse or maybe she was a doctor gently put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Don’t. You don’t want to see him like that,” she said softly.

“I do. He was my friend,” Doyle said.

She nodded her head and stood aside. Doyle pulled the sheet back to uncover Mark’s burnt body. Half his face was disfigured and the burns continued down to his chest. Looking at him Doyle could still remember how excited he’d been when they joined up. Mark had been such a natural during basic training, so eager to be a hero and protect his country. Doyle could feel the tears run down his cheeks and they just wouldn’t stop. The woman who’d decided to stay with him placed her hand on his shoulder.

While they stood there a siren began ringing somewhere in the camp. They both looked at each other in alarm. The woman promptly took off running, probably to prepare more sheets or cots for the boys who’d soon have them busier than they already were. Doyle studied Mark’s face and couldn’t help observing how peaceful he appeared even with all the damage to his body.

Who knows maybe that meant something? What Doyle did know for certain was that the war was calling.

“I’ll see you soon buddy,” Doyle said draping the sheet over his friend’s head.

A science fiction short story about happiness by David Tombale: A helping hand

A helping hand

The taxi was a standard model T3, except they’d exchanged the usual humorless nav guide computer Chuck was used to for an annoying new interactive version. Chuck had had just about as much as he was going to take from the little AI. It kept droning on and on about how he was boring and even complained about the classic rock he liked to play on his down time.

When Chuck pulled up to the curb at exactly ten p.m. he was just about ready to rip it out of the dashboard and toss it out the window. It could probably read his mind because its screen started flashing red as he reached out to grab it.

A second before he could commit robot homicide somebody started pounding on his window. He looked up and found a woman with long brown hair standing pathetically under an umbrella while the skies were pouring rain on her head.

“Unlock the doors Stevie,” Chuck growled.

The locks popped open and the woman literally jumped in the cab.

“Oh thank you. God it’s raining so hard out there,” she said.

Chuck mumbled something like I’m sorry but he couldn’t tell if she heard him. She was probably giving him an odd look.

“I’m going to Lexington and 24th,” she continued.

Chuck nodded his head and started the engine, slowly pulling away from the curb and joining the traffic headed south.

“Hello miss I’m Stevie and my driver here is Chuck. What’s your name?” the annoying little robot asked her.

“I’m Eve Stevie and it’s very nice to meet you both,” she said.

Chuck glanced at her in the rearview mirror and was surprised to see a smile on her face, and what a face it was! She reminded him of one of those models that were on all the billboards.

“Hey Eve if you don’t mind me asking what were you doing out in such crappy weather?” Stevie asked her.

What was wrong with the little moron? Did it really think someone like her would talk to them?”

“I had a performance Stevie. I’m an actress on the Alice in Wonderland production,” Eve said.

“Wow an actress. Did you hear that Chuck? She’s an actress. Chuck here also acts,” Stevie told her.

What was he telling her? This AI had one serious death wish and once he’d dropped Eve off he was planning to do dismantle it with the spanner he had in the trunk.

“Really? Is that true Chuck?” she asked.

Chuck could feel his heart beating wildly. “Ah yeah,” he said gruffly, “but I’ve only had bit parts so far but only in minor plays, not on Broadway or anything.”

“Hey maybe I can come see you on stage sometime?”

Chuck was stunned and was having a hard time finding his voice.

“That sounds like a plan so Chuck here will get your number,” Stevie cut in.

They finally pulled up to a nice looking apartment complex, complete with its own doorman. The uniformed doorman brought up an umbrella and rushed forward to open Eve’s door.

“Well I hope to hear from you Chuck,” she said.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ll call you,” Chuck said turning around.

She gave him a last smile as she stepped out of his car. He sat there watching her walk into the building and admired the easy grace of her movements. Stevie gave a little hoot and when Chuck studied his screen he felt there was something smug in the way the little maniac was displaying flashes of red and green.

A short story about science fiction and revenge by David Tombale: Inferno

Inferno

The factory smelled of rust and decay with nothing left in it but abandoned humanoid VX3’s standing around dead machine belts like at any moment someone would hit a switch and they’d go back to assembling whatever this place had assembled when things were better. Blue had been staring at them for hours.

Fingering the locket with Violet’s singed hairs in it Blue was thinking about how his rations would probably only one more night. Maybe Arthur’s old friend had been wrong about the location of the meeting or maybe he’d just lied to him. Well he was too dead to give Blue any more answers so he’d just have to be patient.

Suddenly the warehouse doors began to shake and as he watched were forced open to allow a black limousine and two SUVS to drive in. With their hands on the new TECHNA light machine guns the two men in suits who’d pried open the door moved to take up positions around the limousine.

Blue’s heart grew lighter. Finally tonight he could give Violet’s ghost the peace it deserved.

Armed men began to pile out of the vans and faced outward. Blue could read the arrogance in them by the way they handled their guns. A man in a long fur coat stepped out of the car to join them. He had pure white hair and stood at a towering six foot two. The giant made a tempting target but he wasn’t the reason why Blue had come.

“Damn I hate the boondocks. When did you say this clown is getting here?” the giant asked a thinner man in glasses who was struggling out of the limousine.

He got unsteadily to his feet, his fingers working to fix the crooked angle of his tie. “He said nine so I’m sure he’ll be here.”

“He better be and if this all turns out to be some joke I’m going to be very upset with you Toby.”

The thinner man appeared to be sweating a lot and was still tugging at his tie, “Trust me boss, I got good intel that this guy is on the level.”

“Oh I am,” a new arrival called out walking casually into the factory with a large silver briefcase.

The burns of Blue’s face began to throb. It was him, after all these months of searching he’d finally found Professor Arthur Mackie, his creator and his personal demon. Violet’s screaming face as the fire inside her took over flashed into Blue’s mind. His precious Violet had been destroyed that day along with the lab and all the other test subjects, everyone but him and Professor Mackie.

Dressed in a mustard yellow leather jacket his pitch black hair slicked back Arthur confidently approached the giant ignoring the guns that swung his way. “I’m very much on the level and you must be Mr. Wynn?”

The giant inclined his head then gestured at the case, “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied patting the case, “in here lie the only vials of the miraculous ZenaMaxx in existence.”

“And it can really do everything you say it can?”

Laughter erupted from behind them. Wynn whirled around, “Who’s laughing? Which one of you thinks this is funny?” he roared.

“Oh that would be me,” Blue called out stepping out of the shadows with his hand raised.

Wynn was bewildered. Who the hell was this?

“No, no that’s impossible. You can’t be here..”

Wynn turned around and saw that yellow jacket was backpedaling. His face had turned white as a sheet. “Do you know this fool?”

“Of course he does. Arthur and I are old friends, aren’t we Arthur?” Blue paused by Wynn’s side.

Wynn pulled out a bulky TECHNA FH31 pistol and pointed it at Blue’s head. “Somebody better explain what’s going on before I get very upset.”

Blue looked at him then reached up his to grab the gun’s barrel. Wynn’s eyes widened and then got bigger when Blue’s hand caught fire.

“What the hell?” Wynn shouted just as Blue grabbed his shirt with his other hand. Flames erupted around his hand and spread quickly to engulf Wynn.

Wynn dropped his gun and started screaming as the fires consumed his clothes and raced up to his body to his head. He grabbed the man with glasses who yelled and futilely tried to push him off. The flames spread until they had them both and they fell together in burning heap of clothes and flesh.

Arthur started gibbering, “You’re not here, this can’t be happening.”

Wynn’s men gaped in horror at the sight of the boss turning to charred meat in front of them.

“Kill him,” one of them muttered then raised his gun at Blue, “come on let’s kill him already.”

They all shook off their stupor and started shooting at Blue. His body was struck from all sides puffs of blood sprouting from each bullet and his body jerking around in a crazy dance. They fired until their guns were empty.

Arthur looked up from his crouched position on the floor and saw Blue still standing bleeding from various wounds. Blue met Arthur’s eyes and smiled. Fire leapt up from his feet until it covered him completely.

“Now we’ll die together,” the abomination wheezed.

Fire poured from him like hungry wolves running across the floor. They quickly caught hold of Wynn’s men who started beating at their clothes. The flames were too strong to fight and spread further as they claimed fresh victims. Arthur got to his feet and tried to run but Blue grabbed from behind. Blue held on tightly as Arthur fought vainly for his life.

In minutes only small fires were left behind as the seared remains of men and machines lay abandoned in the scorched factory. 

A science fiction short story about time travel by David Tombale: The only girl

The only girl

 

 

Jeremy realized that his father had been right to banish him from their spaceship though it pissed him off that he’d had to come all the way to this gods’ forsaken century.

 

 He couldn’t believe that this is what passed for entertainment in this era. This strange gold painted idiot in a top hat had been making odd poses all day as Jeremy sat on a park bench watching him.

 

 He’d just made up his mind to drag the fool into an alley and shoot him when she showed up. Jeremy couldn’t believe his eyes. She looked like his Emily. The same fair skin, the same ash brown hair and that way Emily had about her that drew everyone’s attention without demanding it.

 

 He knew he’d be breaking the rules but Jeremy got to his feet almost in a trance and walked right up to her while she continued watching the ridiculous robot performer. He stepped up right next to her shoulder and she turned to look at him.

 

 Jeremy had had his doubts about this next part. He’d thought all Cassandra’s talk of reincarnation and fate was absolute rubbish but then their eyes met. The girl’s eyes widened in an instant of recognition then clouded over with confusion.

 

“Hi,” Jeremy said.

 

“Hi,” the girl replied smiling uncertainly.

 

“Come here often?” he asked her.

 

 The girl laughed breaking the tension between them. “Oh come on, is that really the best line you could come up with?”

 

Jeremy smiled, his gray eyes lighting up with amusement. “No but then you laughed right? That means my plan was a success.”

 

 “So your plan was to make me laugh?” she asked pulling a strand of hair back behind her ear.

 

“Absolutely,” Jeremy offered her his hand, “I’m Jeremy, Jeremy Tanner.”

 

 “How formal,” she said shaking hands with him, “Rachel, Rachel Crisp.”

 

 “So Rachel Crisp, would you like to get a cup of coffee? I know this great place just around the corner,” he said.

 

“I don’t know,” she said, getting a little nervous. She’d just met the guy and while he was cute and funny she didn’t know anything about him. Still there was something so familiar about Jeremy.

 

“Rachel I would really like to buy you a cup of coffee. If it helps I promise you can skip out the minute you get an odd vibe from me. Deal?”

 

She searched his eyes for a long moment but found only attraction and humor staring back at her. “Okay, but just one.”

 

 “Fair enough.”

 

They started walking away from the street performer but Jeremy spared him one last glance. He was glad they didn’t have any of these morons back home and if things went well within the next few days he would finally be able to leave.

 

 Jeremy fell in on Rachel’s left and while making small talk with her he wondered how he’d convince her to come with him. How would he be able to convince her that his Emily would die without her bone marrow?

 

 Jeremy Tanner bumped shoulders with his wife’s ancestor and saw the need he knew he could exploit in the way she looked at him.