Xavier couldn’t help his body language. Just standing there, directing meditrans and clearance procedures, that was enough to focus on. Hell, keeping his voice steady was enough to drain the strength from two sturdy legs.
Grime and muck stuck to his skin. Was that dirt in his teeth or powdered flesh? It doesn’t matter, they both taste like the harsh reality of what his eyes just had to drink in.
At first, it sounded like a menacing hum. At first… Next the front third of his infantry line was sucked towards the GDB ’s (Gravity Distortion Bomb) center and spat back out into the night sky.
You think a shrapnel mine is bad? Imagine a device that randomly alters gravity inside a bubble of death. Pulling bones from joints, flesh from skin, teeth from mouths, and finally using all that absorbed energy to launch a radial blast; spewing out those same human elements as oddly-shaped, organic projectiles of death.
The visual shock never left him or his fighting force, yet they marched on towards Theta Camp.
by Alex Labbett
Join an ongoing and archived conversation about BurstFic.
Go here to do the super simple sign up. Its the easiest and most nonprying form ever. We respect your privacy as much as our own.
Then you’ll be prompted for the BurstFic Room’s passcode which is burstfic
After that just pick your favorite interface to keep updated in real time no matter where you are.
The first incoming torpedo destroyed Cruiser Chanuk’s main engine. Inertial dampers went down seconds later. The second hit slammed everyone who wasn’t strapped down into a wall. 90% casualties, including all bridge officers. The Chanuk would likely sit out the battle. Ensign Sook took command. She didn’t have to like it.
“Private Rod, why haven’t you reported to sick bay?” asked acting Captain Sook.
“I’m fine, uhm, Captain. Sir! And I have no biological parts.”
“You’re an android? Your dossier says human.”
“Yes, but my body rejects transplants. So as bits fail, they’re replaced by prosthetics.”
“Not everything can be replaced, can it?”
“I suffered brain death two months before signing up for Earth Defense Fleet. No big deal. Most of it had been replaced already.”
“Cyborg, then. Why doesn’t it say Cyborg?”
“There’s been no enhancement. Certified prothestics.”
“Well, when did you first start getting replacements.”
“At about seven, my dentist put in two fillings.”
Erik Was Interviewed: Bite-Sized Publishing from Burst Fiction -
Just sharing some info about Burst Fiction and the Trajectory Festival with Chris Webb.
Nikola Tesla was finally back in control of his space-time machine and all alone, no androids, authors or plot devices to get in the way. He was finally able to use the machine for it’s intended purpose, picking up girls.
He’d been astonishingly drunk when he’d sold it to Mark Twain. Looking down at the controls he wondered why they were so similar those of a riverboat, it made no sense, he must of been drunk when he designed that bit.
He checked the static modulator fluid, he didn’t know what the point of it was, but it seemed important that it was checked, possibly so it didn’t feel neglected. He wished he hadn’t been so drunk when he’d built the machine, he might know more about how it worked.
The noise of the space-time engine subsided as Tesla reached his destination and stepped outside. Battle sounds were drifting over a high wall. Tesla accosted a passer by and gave her what he probably thought was a winning smile. “Excuse me madam, but could you tell me where I might find Helen?”
Well it seems people are catching on and the analytics for BurstFic are seeing a bit of a spike. We were mentioned positively on Futurismic this morning and new submissions have started popping up in my inbox. After only being around for a few weeks, as of today we’ve been read in 21 different US states and by 2 readers in Australia. Welcome! Now send in some Bursts and join the convo channel!
“My ex-wife gave me this arm.”
“And you still want to keep it?” Kendal’s got him by the wrist joint, one foot on his thigh, and she’s pulling.
“That’s not,” his voice breaks into a shriek as his elbow port disconnects, “funny!” He’s panting. Something drips out of the joint. A bit of conductor fluid, a dab of blood.
“The worm’s in your wrist now, for sure. You’re about ten seconds from losing your shoulder. You want I should wait?”
“No,” he says. “Yes. Wait.” He looks at the ceiling. Yellow tiles, used to be white. He swore he’d never let her do this again. He smells the electric burn of his elbow grinding itself, out of place. If the virus gets into his myokinetic interface, into the flat ribbons under his shoulder muscles, leading to his spine, it could mess with the signals that run from brain to arm in a game of bioelectric telephone.
Permanent damage.
And yet.
“Don’t do it,” he says. Almost crying.
“Screw that,” Kendal says, leaning back into it, pushing off thigh until his arm’s off its threads.
“Do you remember the first time you were badly hurt?”
“Not really. Don’t we all experience our share of scrapes and bruises in childhood?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Have you ever suffered an injury of such severity that you were left less capable than you were before? One that took weeks or months to heal?”
“Oh, I see. Yes. I broke my leg once, back in college. We were drunk and where we shouldn’t’ve been. I fell off our dorm roof.”
“Do you take risks like that anymore, just for fun?”
“No, I’m too old for that sort of thing these days.”
“When did you first think of yourself as too old?”
“Hmm. I can’t really say—though, I think I see your point.”
“Do you? Tell me, then: Why are we not drunk on a rooftop tonight?”
“Because I’ve been diminished that way before and I fear repeating the experience.”
“Surely you realize that, though ancient, we are no longer so frail and easily harmed?”
“Yes, but the lesson remains a part of me and informs my decisions.”
“Just so. Thus are we rendered unadventurous.”