Shrouded in darkness, I wait for the Egg to release me. After what seems like an eternity, a coin of creamy light appears before my eyes. A familiar voice whispers in my ear, urging me onwards. I focus on the disk; try to grasp it with my mind. It flows towards me, expanding all the while, until I am enveloped in a panorama of black, white and grey. At first the wrap-around image fails to keep pace with my movements, but within seconds the drugs fed to me by the Egg begin to mitigate the effects of irreducible distance. Prediction

Boredom was killing Prism. Not literally though. To die, one must be alive. So when he captured the thought inviting him to attend the School, he became exited. Other young ethereals captured the same thought, and most of them transmitted their responses in the same resonance as that of the caller. Like Prism did. “When did you capture the thought?” Prism thought in the same resonance as Maze and Infinitesium, his two acquaintances who had also accepted the invitation. “Just a few teirons ago,” Maze thought. “Same here!” Infinitesium added. “What’s this about?” “I don’t know,” Prism thought. “But I’m

I. Networking Opportunity “How much to be my date to this party?” Paul asked. “Why do you need a date?” Jan countered. “This crowd is so anxiety provoking! Look, not as a real date. On-site stress management companion. Very innovative! Could even be a good networking opportunity for you.” “Not as a real date,” Jan said. She named a number. The party was a silent auction at a modern art gallery in Little Five Points. Paul offered to pick her up, but Jan wasn’t telling him where she lived. Instead she bussed into downtown Atlanta, picked up a dress from...

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Damon Waltz stood in the field across from his mother’s one-bedroom apartment. He stared at his small, brown dog as it paced back and forth through the sopping-wet grass. It was raining, and Damon’s clothes were soaked down to his skin. He shook his hand free from the clenches of his sleeve and adjusted his hood so he could still see without being blasted in the face by raindrops. He adjusted his headphones under his hood and looked down to the shaking dog. “Would you poop already?” Damon shouted at the little brown dog. The dog didn’t care, turned away...

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“I’m Harry Meers.” A simple answer to a simple question: “Which of you is Mr. Meers?” Kendra Wilk glanced up and scanned the reception area outside of Mr. Reber’s office. She’d hung up the phone as she’d asked the question, eyes downcast after her boss had berated her for making Mr. Meers wait. She scolded herself for her carelessness. Everyone thought her just a pretty face, and in her drive to prove them wrong, Kendra bungled. Again and again she bungled. Repeatedly. Certainly she could manage to identify Mr. Reber’s next appointment. Certainly she could identify Mr. Meers without a

Day One “Who is your Original?” asks the doctor, shining a bright light in your eyes. You blink, glancing left and right. Either side of you are others, blank, damp and hairless like you. Doctors take their temperatures, their blood, their heart-rates. “…I — ” Your tongue feels thick and clumsy in your mouth, like you’ve never used it before. “Who is your Original?” he asks again, lowering his flashlight and peering intensely into your face instead. You feel ashamed for some reason, aware of your paper gown and scrawny forearms. You avert your eyes and shake your head, taking

The exchange took place in a dark alley. The woman watched from the tinted windows of her stretch limousine, licking her lips involuntarily as the package passed from the hands of the dealer to those of her driver. Once it was in his possession, he walked backwards to the limo, in case the man might try something underhanded. The woman willed her driver to walk faster, impatience tugging at her. She’d waited long enough already, bribing and blackmailing and spending a fortune, all to get her hands on that package. Her mouth watered just thinking of it. She didn’t even...

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Stravinsky’s Les Augures printaniers wasn’t as mad as he came off. It was more disappointment that made him protest to Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F Major BWV 1047 (First Movement) that they should scrub the whole meeting and head for home. Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F Major BWV 1047 (First Movement) insisted however they give Earth a chance to make up for its disappointing first impression, a motion she was backed up on by “Der Hölle Rache” from Mozart’s The Magic Flute and “Chanson du Toréador” from Bizet’s Carmen. These weren’t actually the names of The Diplomats from

The Westbrooks could not help but feel a little intimidated as they stepped out of the elevator. The home of the CFO of TransSolar was verging on the palatial. Yet, inside, it was understated. Hussein Fars and his wife had good taste, and lacked the insecurities that plagued so many top executives. Darius Westbrook was a geologist and his wife, Paula, a theoretical physicist, both with the prestigious Lunar University. Fars had handpicked them for the expedition he had been planning, overcoming their every objection, even allowing them to bring their daughter along. “I’m still not sure about this,” Paula...

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“Listen to what the moles say and you should be fine.” Dieter nodded his head and tried to look like he was paying attention. He was, with that part of his brain that also listened to his wife and stored the information away in case he was put on the spot. Mostly, though, he was looking out the window as the pod descended down the space elevator to the planet’s surface. He hadn’t had time to study the complete histories – just skimmed them on his way to the station. Now, he wished he had read more. He couldn’t remember...

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