The Creationists rejoiced: the theory of Evolution was dead. Buried in sediments seventy million years deep--the time of the dinosaurs--the unmistakable fossil of a human being. Studied, tested, corroborated, error-corrected, it was confirmed by fifty-four renowned academic institutions and counting. The finding was not disputed.
Ultraman enters the room slowly, pausing in the doorway for effect. He has purposely kept us waiting for ten minutes. A smile tugs briefly at the corners of his mouth as he steps ponderously over to the dark green chair at the center of all the lights and cameras. This is the final interview. All the safe and simple questions have been asked and answered. It's time for the tough ones. That's why the network hired me. Our viewers want to know.
The chair is especially designed to accommodate his bulk and support his weight. Hyperdeveloped muscles are evident even beneath the fabric of his suit coat. They bunch and shift beneath his skin with every movement he makes. Together with his granitic features and the brow ridge that canopies his eyes, they turn him into a caricature of physical strength. The white rat looks forlorn, sitting on a pile of empty clothes. Professor Talbot rolls her eyes. Apparently, Jeremy Turn, her assistant, was carrying the rodent snug in his breast pocket. It's a tradition among postgraduate wise-asses. But why did he strip, and where did he go, leaving his mascot behind? Turn never parts with his pet, which he calls "Lavoisier."
Despite her aching knees, Professor Talbot chases the rat across the lab. Finally, she closes her hand around the squirming beast, carries it to the maze, and drops it where it belongs. After your death, everyone's so ready to move on. They offer to help me pack up your things, and then, to pack up my things. It's only weeks and my father's talking about cleaning out his guest room for me. Honey, he says, you can't sleep in the same room where Gemma passed on.
That's how they say it. Passed on. At the funeral, the priest talks about heaven, about God welcoming his daughter home. He talks about all the good you did, and how you deserve your rest. From my mobile station on the shifting border of the Mutant Rain Forest, I watch them come from the Northern Domes, from the slums and ghettos and the failed farms of the Wastelands, the lost ones eager to surrender to the Forest's compulsions and the ones who tremble as if they are harboring a fear they must conquer. Then there are the religious ones, fanatics who come in groups. They think they are going to convert the creatures once-human who survive beyond the border, most of them already animal or vegetable in inclination and form. They think they are going to convince them to worship Jesus or Allah or Joseph Smith. Or the latest holovangelist.
I sell them satellite links that offer up-to-the-minute maps and weather forecasts for their implants and devices. How do I know if such maps and forecasts are accurate? I suspect the most accurate are far from reality. How can topographical maps on a holographic screen, shapes and lines and dots of color, even in three dimensions, portray the reality of crossing that same terrain? The searing climbs of steep hills with muscles aching in calves and thighs, or the descent into valleys so deep and thick with growth you are plunged into a shadow world where you are enveloped in a chill dark that your lanterns can't penetrate. And you have to guard your life every step of the way.
by Rhys Thomas
Published on Aug 31, 2015
by Arlene F. Marks
Published on Aug 28, 2015
by Gio Clairval
Published on Aug 26, 2015
by M. M. De Voe
1) They can't be housebroken. Who is going to clean up after him? Fifty pounds of dung per day. Hadley has his hands full with the unicorns. You can't expect him to go chasing around after a rhinoceros. Not even a baby. 2) They are loud. We can hardly stand the sirens and the succubus. When rhinos are happy they make a loud "mmwonk" sound. And a hungry rhino, whining for his meals? No thank you.
Published on Aug 25, 2015
by Kelly M Sandoval
Published on Aug 24, 2015
by Bruce Boston
Published on Aug 20, 2015