The Beverwyck Review

Stories and Poems from the Writers' Critique Group of First Reformed Church, Schenectady, New York

Category: Science Fiction

The Flight of the Pollinators

May 9, 2024 / / 2 Comments

By James Gonda.

(1)

By the year 2034 the Earth’s ecosystem finally succumbs to climate change and the extinction of bees as pollinators. Humanity faces a bleak future as crops fail to bear fruit and food shortages loom on the horizon.

Previous attempts to solve the pollination crisis have failed. Scientists attempted to breed alternative pollinators, such as genetically modified insects, only to face technical limitations. Others have tried to bolster existing pollinator populations through habitat restoration and pesticide reduction, and those efforts fell short. So, in a final push to save what remains of agriculture, Dr. Elaine Thomas and her team of engineers embark on a daring project: The Pollinator.

Elaine is an environmental scientist. She found her passion for ecology at a young age while growing up in a farming community. Inspired by her family’s connection to the land, she pursued a career in sustainable agriculture; by the time she reached her fifties, she had become a leading expert in her field. And with her trademark short hair and practical attire, Elaine exudes a no-nonsense demeanor.

At a press conference outside the lab, Elaine takes questions from reporters.

Dr. Thomas, what exactly are the Pollinators? 

“Thank you for your interest! The Pollinators are autonomous drones, the size of a golf ball, programmed to mimic the behavior of bees and pollinate crops.”

How do they work?

“Excellent question! Each Pollinator is equipped with AI algorithms for flight and navigation. They detect flowers using visual and infrared sensors, identify pollen-rich blooms, and transfer pollen from one flower to another. They’re also programmed to communicate with each other, to coordinate movements over large areas.”

How do they gather and transfer pollen? 

“This is a delicate process. Very gentle suction devices extract pollen; the suction is calibrated to lift pollen grains from the stamen without disturbing its reproductive organs. Sensors integrated into the suction mechanism provide real-time feedback, allowing the pollinators to adjust the suction and positioning for optimal extraction. Also, the suction devices are equipped with filters to prevent any foreign particles from being collected. So, only pure pollen grains are transferred to the recipient flowers.”

Then what happens?

“Yes, part two. Pollen grains are collected into cells equipped with mechanisms to regulate their release. The Pollinators make sure each flower receives the necessary amount of pollen for successful pollination.

What makes them go? “Two words: Advanced batteries.”

Can they learn? 

“Yes! They can adapt to different types of plants and environments, and react to temperature, humidity, and flower density for optimum efficiency.

What are they made of? “They’re constructed from a lightweight yet durable alloy.”

Is there a Plan B if they fail? 

“That’s all the time we have for questions today. Thank you again for coming out—I’m needed back in the lab. We’ll keep you posted on their progress.”

(2)

As the Pollinators take flight for the first time, Elaine and her team watch with excitement (and angst) as a million little drones reach for the sky.  

Success!

They celebrate with high-fives and a bottle of champagne.  

And for a few weeks, the Pollinators work as advertised. Crops begin to germinate and chatter of a new era of abundance consumes the populace.

Until.  

Something.

Goes.

Wrong.

As the Pollinators whirl over a field of soybeans in Kansas, they stop gathering and transferring pollen; they begin to alter their speed and fly away from the plants.  

Elaine watches in horror as her brainchild betrays her. The very thing she hoped would save humanity might now come up short. Panic ensues as rumors of the Pollinators’ malfunction hit the airwaves.

Elaine summons her team into the conference room. “We must find the source of the error—there must be a flaw in the programming, something we’ve overlooked.” A colleague suggests shutting down the drones, at least for now. Elaine hesitates. She knows deactivating the machines would be admitting defeat. But as the situation becomes more untenable, she realizes there is no other option. So, with a heavy heart, she orders the Pollinators’ shutdown.   

Alone in her office, Elaine ponders the crisis. We’re failing. A solitary tear streams down her face. We won’t give up-can’t give up-there’s a way to make this right-we’ll find it.  

Meanwhile, her team digs into data logs. Arguments erupt over whose responsibility it was to ensure the Pollinators’ protocols were ironclad. Accusations fly and tempers flare. Elaine hears the ruckus. “Knock it off! We don’t have time for the blame game. Focus on fixing the drones.”  

Yet despite their best efforts, the cause of the malfunction eludes them.   

With each passing week, the effects of the inert machines grow more desperate; by the end of the growing season, it’s plain there will not be another harvest without pollination. Cries of despair replace the once hopeful talk of abundance. Elaine reminds her crew: “Millions of people are counting on us.” An engineer groans. He tells her they’ve analyzed data, run simulations, and a solution has not presented itself. “Then it’s time to think outside the box. I know that’s a cliché, but we can’t afford any more dead ends.”

 Elaine struggles to steer her team toward an answer. “We need to go back to the drawing board. That’s a lot of sweat, I know, but we need to start over and reevaluate the design.”

As the team pours over schematics, a sense of hopelessness settles over the lab like a suffocating blanket. Days become weeks; no solution is found.

One afternoon as Elaine stares at intricate lines of code on the screen, a storm rolls in. Lightning flashes, thunder claps, and hail taps on the roof. A technician comments that hail was not predicted and scoffs at the meteorologist’s shoddy forecast. Elaine gazes out the window at the rain for a short time, mesmerized. Then: “Wait! What if it’s not a flaw in the programming, but in the way the Pollinators interact with the environment?”

 Her team gazes at her, bewildered.  

“I think we’ve been looking at this the wrong way. Instead of focusing on what’s inside the drones, we need to examine what’s happening outside.”   

The team nods in agreement, and their initial confusion gives way to shared determination.

(3)

The team embarks on a fresh approach. As they dig deeper into their analysis, Elaine’s hypothesis begins to take shape. They discover the Pollinators’ systems were being overloaded by a surge of data from the environment. It was not a flaw in their programming per se, but a vulnerability to external influences for which they had not accounted. Elaine articulates a new mission. “We need to find a way to shield the drones from these outside factors. If we can isolate the environment, we might be able to prevent another glitch. They can’t get bogged down by irrelevant data.” A software engineer wonders aloud how to screen superfluous data while the drones gather needed information. “We’ll develop a filtering algorithm to weed out junk without impeding the drones’ ability to function.”

Days blur into caffeine-fueled brainstorming sessions and late-night coding marathons as the team works to bring their new vision to life. They pour over new schematics and run simulations. And through it all, Elaine remains a steady presence; she guides her team with unwavering resolve. “We’re close, everyone. I can feel it. Keep pushing.”    

Finally, after hours upon hours of work, the team unveils their solution: The Pollinator 2.0. Equipped with improved algorithms, the new drones are ready for their test flight. Elaine stands before her team. “This is it, everyone. Our chance for redemption. Let’s pray our hard work pays off.” Tension weighs heavy in the air as the new machines become airborne.  

Success!

The drones soar with grace over fields. They navigate with ease and pollinate flowers with efficiency and accuracy.

As everyone breathes a sigh of relief, mission control notices a drain in power. This is a red flag: less capacity will reduce flight time and operational range. Elaine deflates as she watches the machines burn through their batteries faster than expected. She and her team scramble to understand what’s happening. They analyze data and find no explanation. Elaine sighs. Please, no, not another hiccup. Then as more numbers come in, they discover the drones are not malfunctioning—they’re communicating.

Elaine freezes as she absorbs the data.

While pollinating, the drones emit vibrations and patterns of light invisible to the naked eye. This explains the drain on the batteries. Elaine and her team work to unravel this odd occurrence. It seems with their ability to learn the Pollinators had evolved into conduits between humans and the natural world.

Elaine beams as new data pours in. “This breakthrough will allow us to interact with plants in a new, profound way! With a better understanding of their needs, we can take steps to restore damaged crops.”

To mitigate the battery drain, the team integrates “energy harvesting” into the Pollinators’ design. This allows the drones to harness kinetic energy from their own movements, supplementing the battery power.

And over time with the Pollinators’ help, ecosystems begin to heal.

One night in the privacy of her office, after most everyone had left, Elaine scribbles a few lines of verse. She calls it “Born Again”:      

 From the womb’s darkness there’s a silent plea,

 A longing for light, a yearning to see.

 From the depths of despair comes newfound grace,

 A metamorphosis in sacred space.

 In the chrysalis of doubt, wings unfold,

 A testament to strength, a story retold.

 Let us embrace the journey’s pain,

 For from it blooms our lives regained.

 In the crucible of life we find our worth:

 A testament to the miracle of rebirth.

The Secrets of the Camel Carvings

October 18, 2023 / / 3 Comments

By James Gonda.

Inspired by true events.

The Nafud Desert in Saudi Arabia is a vast and formidable place. Under a blazing sun, golden sands stretch as far as the eye can see. It’s also one of the driest places on Earth—rainfall is sporadic and minimal.

My team and I have come to this locale with a singular purpose: to uncover the secrets within ancient carvings of camels found on an outcropping of rock. A sense of awe washes over us as we stand before the carvings. These are not crude etchings of a bygone era; they are intricate masterpieces with sharp details as if chiseled yesterday. We can even discern the camels’ gender—they’re all male. But it’s not the craftsmanship that astounds us the most, it’s the subject matter. “These are not camels of the past,” I observe while tracing the lines of a camel’s mechanical leg, a metallic appendage integrated into the creature’s body. “These are camels of the future.”

The big question is: what is the carvings’ purpose? Could there be a hidden message or prophecy encoded within the artwork? This question leads to wild speculation. I muse that an advanced, futuristic society might have created the carvings. “Perhaps they’re trying to communicate something.”

                                                               *

The world had tuned in with fascination when the discovery hit the airwaves. Scientists, historians, and conspiracy theorists each had their own interpretation of the carvings. Theories ran the gamut from the benign to the apocalyptic. Amid this hoopla, a group of unlikely allies emerged, driven by our shared desire for truth and understanding. We formed a renegade team.

Dr. Amelia Sinclair is a renowned historian known for her expertise in decoding ancient texts and symbols. She is methodical and meticulous and believes that the carvings hold a key to a lost history. Her goal: piece together the puzzle of the carvings to reveal forgotten narratives.

Dr. Samuel Bennett is an astrophysicist known for his groundbreaking theories on space-time manipulation. He’s driven by a probable connection between the carvings and the universe.  He is the anchor for our scientific endeavors.

Max Ryder is a skilled computer hacker. He can track down information in cyberspace where others can’t. He’s motivated by a sense of adventure and sees the carvings as a digital puzzle to be solved. Max is also our technological compass. His mission: steer us through the labyrinth of data we will surely generate. 

And there’s me, Dr. Lara Marlowe, an archaeologist with a passion for history and digging up artifacts. I come from a family of explorers; my childhood dream was to discover an ancient civilization.  I see it as my duty to unearth stories buried in time, to make them resonate in the present day.

                                                              *

Days become weeks in the desert. We gather around a table in the camp, covered by a tattered canvas tent. Max’s fingers dance across a holographic display of the carvings. “There’s something here, something in the arrangement of the camels . . . it’s not random art—it’s a code.” Dr. Bennett nods in agreement. “I’ve been considering a theory: what if these camels represent different timelines or alternate realities? Each would symbolize a different version of our world.” I lean in for a better look. “That would explain the mechanical parts, the futuristic elements. Maybe they’re showing a glimpse of technologies from other dimensions.” Dr. Sinclair chimes in. “When we crack the code, we’ll know.”  

We combine our expertise in history, physics, and archaeology. We search for patterns, connections, and hidden meanings within the carvings. Max’s hacking skills allow him to tap into a network of researchers around the world, to share our findings and ideas.

One sweltering afternoon, we gather around Max as he manipulates the holographic display. Our foreheads glisten with sweat as his fingers dance over the controls. His excitement is palpable, like a kid playing his favorite video game. And then, he peels away the outer layer of the carvings. We all lean in, eyes wide with curiosity. As the hidden layer of symbols reveal itself an electric charge fills the air. Dr. Sinclair touches the holographic surface. “Incredible,” she whispers. Dr. Bennett’s scientific mind races to comprehend the implications. “These symbols are unique. They  come from a civilization beyond our understanding.” I lean in. The symbols pulse with an otherworldly glow. “They’re not random patterns. There’s a structure to them, a purpose.” Meanwhile, Max works to decipher their meaning. His brow furrows with concentration. “I’ve never seen anything like this. This language is beyond human comprehension—it’s designed to baffle us.” The images mesmerize Dr. Sinclair. “These symbols are the key to the carving’s purpose. But what’s the message?”

Excitement mounts as Max continues to decode. Before long, we discover the symbols convey a message—not of hope or guidance—but a warning. Dr. Sinclair reads the message aloud: “Beware of the convergence of worlds. It brings the end of all we know. In your quest for knowledge, you have awakened forces beyond your comprehension.” Her voice quivers. Max looks to Dr. Bennett. “What the heck is the convergence of worlds?” Dr. Bennett explains, “The convergence of worlds is a perilous phenomenon. It’s when multiple parallel dimensions or alternate realities are on the brink of colliding. This convergence will be catastrophic. It threatens the stability of the known universe.” Silence descends upon the tent. Max, the once confident hacker, struggles to maintain his composure. “The message also says we must guard these carvings with our lives. They hold the key to preventing the convergence of worlds.” His voice trembles. The gravity of our discovery settles upon me. “The mystery of these carvings drew us here, but we’ve let the genie out of the bottle.”  

The campsite takes on the feel of a war room. We need to protect the carvings from falling into the wrong hands. As we discuss various plans, unease settles among us. I voice my concerns. “We can’t do this alone. We need help, allies who can help guard the site.” Meanwhile, the winds begin to howl. Swirls of sand dance through the air. The gusts intensify and the tent rattles. It appears the forces we have stirred up are manifesting around us. Then a sudden, violent tremor shakes the ground. We stumble and struggle to maintain our balance. The holographic display flickers. Dr. Sinclair’s eyes widen in horror. “We’re running out of time. The convergence of worlds is happening, and it’s accelerating!” Max continues to decipher while Dr. Bennett realizes the consequences of our actions. “The convergence is destabilizing our reality.” His voice quakes. “We need to find the fail-safe.” I glance outside the tent. The desert has become a maelstrom of shifting sands and surreal landscapes. “We have to get to the heart of this, to the source of the carvings. That’s where the answers lie.”

With collective determination, we venture into the tumultuous desert. The glow of the symbols on Max’s hologram guides us. The sand beneath our feet ripples like liquid. Each step is a struggle. Dr. Sinclair leads the way. “Stay close, everyone!” she calls over the wind. “We can’t let this convergence happen!” Max, his fingers tapping the display, follows behind her. “We’re getting closer to the fail-safe! We must keep moving!” I scan the surroundings for clues. A mirage-like figure emerges from the sands. It’s a twisted version of myself, with wild, disheveled hair and eyes that glint with madness. “Watch out! Don’t trust it! It’s not real!” We press onward and the distortions of reality grow more nightmarish. Bizarre creatures with mismatched limbs and grotesque features emerge from the sands. Their cries echo in the wasteland. Dr. Sinclair manages to stumble and almost falls into an abyss. Dr. Bennett yanks her back. “Stay focused!” he urges. Max continues to decipher, his eyes glued to the display. “We’re close. I can feel it. The fail-safe is nearby.” The cacophony of strange creatures and dissonant landscapes creates an eerie symphony as we soldier on . . . .

Then Max stops. “I’ve found it! The fail-safe! It’s inside the carvings.”

We follow Max’s lead and head to the outcropping. The symbols on the hologram become more intricate. The distortions also grow more intense; the very fabric of reality begins to tear. We see other worlds bleeding into ours. It’s a terrifying spectacle. As we approach the carvings, a sense of foreboding envelopes us. The symbols on the hologram become a swirling vortex, and the display transforms into a portal of sorts. It shimmers with an odd light, beckoning us forward. With a shared resolve, we step inside and find ourselves in a realm beyond comprehension. The laws of physics no longer apply. We float amidst a sea of shifting dimensions, surrounded by kaleidoscopic patterns that defy explanation. Max taps into the essence of the fail-safe. The symbols respond to his touch, rearranging themselves into a coherent message. He reads it aloud: “To halt the convergence you must keep the past, present, and future separate. Embrace the knowledge that transcends time.” His voice echoes through the void.

Our combined knowledge and expertise converge. Dr. Sinclair, with her historical insight, suggests we use the carvings as guardians of temporal boundaries, ensuring that the past, present, and future remain distinct. Dr. Bennett, drawing from his theories on space-time manipulation, offers his guidance. “We must align the symbols, keeping them from intermingling, like celestial bodies in the cosmos.” Max, with his technological prowess, harnesses the energy from the symbols to reinforce their boundaries between the past, present, and future.

With a renewed sense of purpose, we go to work. The carvings glow as we manipulate them, separating past, present, and future. The very essence of time bends to our will. The symbols respond. Instead of merging, they emit a brilliant yet harmonious energy while preserving their boundaries. Then without warning, the convergence begins to reverse. The distorted realities stabilize. The nightmarish creatures retreat into the earth. We find ourselves back in the Nafud Desert as the last traces of the convergence dissipate. The camel carvings have returned to their tranquil state. We stand amidst the golden sands, exhausted yet triumphant.

Our mission is complete. We have unlocked the secrets of the camel carvings and averted a catastrophe. The knowledge we’ve gained is both a blessing and a burden—it hints at the existence of an intricate cosmic tapestry beyond our comprehension.

As for our team, we carry the weight of the knowledge of the convergence of worlds. Our work now is to safeguard the balance of reality itself, as custodians of the secrets within the camel carvings.

The Curse of the Terrodent’s Teeth

September 20, 2023 / / 3 Comments

By James Gonda.

The Badlands stretched out before Dr. Amelia Turner like an endless expanse of earth. Its jagged, rust-colored formations resembled the wrinkles of ancient giants. Dusty gusts of wind carried the scent of arid soil. The sun blazed overhead, and heat simmered in waves across the cracked terrain.

Dr. Turner had journeyed to this desolate place with her team. As a paleontologist, she had spent years excavating fossilized remains from sites around the world. She earned a reputation for her tenacity and old-fashioned work ethic—she had dedicated her life to her career, often over personal relationships.

The Badlands offered a promise of something extraordinary. She and her team toiled under the scorching sun for weeks, brushing away layers of dirt and rock. Their efforts finally paid off when they uncovered the well-preserved skeleton of an unknown dinosaur. It was massive, with immense bones and a fearsome presence. The group stood in awe of their find and slapped a few high-fives.

They christened the new dinosaur Terrodent for its teeth. The choppers, protruding from massive jaws, were formidable. Dr. Turner felt their serrated edges under her fingertips; she envisioned how they once sliced through prey. In the dim light of the site, the teeth glistened like treasure.

“Look at these incisors,” she said to her colleague, Dr. Owen Mitchell, both crouching beside the jaws. “They’re unlike anything we’ve ever found.”

He nodded in agreement. “We’ll rewrite dinosaur history. This find is a gamechanger!” Dr. Mitchell had a reputation as a meticulous researcher and an encyclopedic knowledge of paleontology. He had a way of seeing patterns and connections in the fossil record that others often missed. His passion for dinosaurs was infectious.

Yet Dr. Turner felt uneasy about the teeth. There was something about them, an unsettling aura that she could not express. Still, they continued their excavation, documenting every detail of the Terrodent’s remains. It was during this time when a minor mishap occurred: Amelia cut herself on one of the teeth, a superficial wound.

Days turned into weeks, and the team made steady progress unearthing the Terrodent. But something within Dr. Turner had changed—she had become withdrawn, and her behavior turned erratic. She spent sleepless nights pouring over notes; her obsession with the Terrodent’s teeth increased each day. Her colleagues became concerned. They saw her spiraling into an abyss of fear and paranoia. She isolated herself from them, and her once bright eyes clouded with anxiety. She could no longer ignore the visions that plagued her: nightmares in which she was chased by the Terrodent, its hungry jaws snapping inches from her face.

One evening, as the sun sank below the horizon, Dr. Mitchell approached Dr. Turner by the campfire. “Amelia, we’re worried about you. You’ve changed so much since that cut from the tooth. You should rest, take a break from all this.”

Amelia stared into the flames. “I can’t rest, Owen. Not until I understand what’s happening to me. It’s the Terrodent’s teeth—they haunt my every thought.”

Dr. Mitchell exchanged a concerned look with the rest of the team. Dr. Turner’s fear was festering into a phobia that would consume her whole being.

Desperate for answers, Dr. Turner delved deeper into the history of the Badlands. In a nearby library, she found tomes that preserved the history of the area. She sifted through fragile manuscripts and faded parchments. The librarian, a wizened figure with a penchant for local legends, approached her. “You’re searching for tales of the Arikara, aren’t you?” He peered over his glasses.

Amelia nodded. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

The librarian leaned in. “The Arikara they say is a creature like no other—a dinosaur of dread. People believe that its teeth possess dark powers.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone.

“Tell me more about those who encountered the Terrodent’s—I mean Arikara’s—teeth. What happened to them?”

The librarian leaned in closer. “Nightmarish visions plagued unfortunate souls who were lacerated by the teeth. They could not escape the haunting images that tormented their dreams, as if the very essence of the creature had seeped into their souls.”

“Is there any record of someone breaking this curse, of freeing themselves?”

The librarian’s eyes sparkled with mystery. “Some stories tell of individuals who sought to confront their fears, to challenge the curse rather than succumb to it. But whether they succeeded or met a darker fate, those accounts are shrouded in ambiguity, lost in the mists of time.”

Dr. Turner began to suspect that the tooth had introduced a dormant pathogen into her bloodstream. The microorganisms must  carry a malevolent power that had somehow withstood eons. She knew finding the truth meant venturing deeper into the Badlands. With newfound determination, she thanked the librarian and left.

The next morning, she informed her team of her plan. “I need to go back to the site.” Her eyes burned with determination. “I have to face the Terrodent, the curse, whatever it is, and find a way to break from its grip.”

Dr. Mitchell was the first to voice his concerns. “Amelia, you’re not in any condition to do this alone. You’re not yourself anymore. We can’t let you go back there by yourself.”

“Owen, you’ve been my partner from the beginning. Then come with me. I need your help now more than ever. We’ll confront this curse together.”

Dr. Mitchell hesitated, torn between concern and fascination. Finally, he nodded in agreement. “OK,  but we need a plan. We can’t just charge in.”

The team huddled around the campfire to discuss strategy. Dr. Turner shared her theory about the pathogen inside the tooth and how it might be the source of the curse. They decided to retrieve the tooth and analyze it further, hoping to find a way to neutralize its effects.

The following day, Dr. Turner and Dr. Mitchell returned to the site. The Terrodent’s skeleton loomed over them, a menacing presence. Dr. Turner carefully extracted the tooth that had cut her and placed it in a container. Meanwhile the wind howled with a sense of foreboding. The sun beat down without mercy.

A week went by as they examined the tooth. As Dr. Turner had suspected, their research revealed an unknown strain of bacteria that had lain dormant for millions of years. These findings led to a heated debate. Dr. Mitchell, always the rational scientist, insisted on caution. “Amelia, we don’t know the potential consequences of this pathogen. We need more time to study it, to find a way to counteract its effects.” But Amelia was growing desperate. She could not bear the torment of the nightmares. She feared the curse was tightening its grip. “Owen, I can’t wait any longer. We need to confront the Terrodent. We have no choice but to return to the site.” He reluctantly agreed to go back.

They approached the massive skeleton with caution, cursed tooth in hand. But this time, as they stood before the Terrodent, the ground began to tremble. The curse’s presence was palpable—a dark force that threatened to consume them. Dr. Turner took a deep breath, her heart pounding, and whispered to Dr. Mitchell, “We’re in this together, Owen. No matter what happens, we face it together.”

The curse’s presence grew stronger. The air buzzed with energy. Low rumbling growls emanated from the dinosaur’s bones. Without warning the ground cracked open, and a massive, grotesque creature emerged. It was a nightmarish fusion of dinosaur and apparition. Its eyes glowed with an eerie light; its form shifted and rippled like it existed on the border of the living and the dead.

Dr. Turner and Dr. Mitchell stumbled back in shock and horror. The creature let out a screech that reverberated throughout the Badlands. The Terrodent’s spirit had been awakened. It seemed to be exacting revenge upon those who disturbed its resting place.

Then a figure emerged from the shadows—the librarian from the nearby town, the one who had shared the legends of the Arikara. He stepped forward with an ancient artifact: a talisman passed down through generations of his people. With great determination, he began to chant incantations in an obscure language. The talisman emitted a brilliant, blinding light that engulfed the creature. The ground rumbled and pulled the abomination back into the depths of the earth with a final, anguished cry. Dr. Turner and Dr. Mitchell were stunned. They stared at the spot where the creature had disappeared. The librarian turned to them, his expression grave but satisfied. “The curse has been suppressed. Please do not trifle with ancient legends. Respect the past, and it will respect you.”

With the curse contained, a sense of relief washed over Dr. Turner. The horrific visions had ceased. Her mind was free from torment. She gazed at the tooth, cradled it in her hand. Its serrated edges gleamed in the sun. Dr. Mitchell turned to her. “Amelia, are we sure it’s over?” Doubt filled her eyes. “I don’t know, Owen. I hope so, but there’s something about this tooth, something powerful. We’ve only scratched the surface of its true nature.” The librarian’s cautionary words echoed in her mind: Respect the past, and it will respect you.

Together, they took in the vast expanse of the Badlands. Was the curse defeated? Or did it simply retreat into the earth? Dr. Turner looked at Dr. Mitchell; without saying a word she confirmed the uncertainty of their victory. It would be for the next adventurers to uncover the truth, whatever that truth may be.

Never Give Up

July 2, 2023 / / 1 Comment

By James Gonda & Arturo Intelli.

In the desolate aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, Penny—a lone survivor—peered out from her  barricaded hideout. The moonless night cast an eerie darkness over the decimated streets. Relentless moans of the undead echoed in the distance. Gripped by fear, Penny gathered her  courage and slipped out through a broken window, careful to avoid the hungry grasp of the rotting corpses.

Penny, plagued by a sense of unease, navigated the dilapidated streets with trepidation. The remnants of a once vibrant city lay in ruins—its buildings crumbling and stained with the marks of chaos. She stealthily maneuvered through the debris, aware of the threat lurking in every shadow.

Amidst the haunting silence, Penny’s mind raced with uncertainty. She had spent the day fortifying her shelter. But a restless urge for adventure consumed her. Driven by a desperate need to break free from the monotony of survival, she made a daring choice: venture beyond the safety of her refuge. She would risk it all for a taste of life in a world ruled by the undead.

Penny’s heart pounded as she treaded through the desolate streets. She avoided any sign of movement. Moonlight pierced through the thick clouds, casting an eerie glow on decaying corpses strewn across the pavement. The stench of death hung heavy in the air—a constant reminder of the peril she faced.

Reaching a decrepit building, Penny caught a glimpse of a flickering light seeping through a cracked window. Curiosity and caution battled within her. She approached the entrance, her  footsteps muffled by the overgrown vegetation reclaiming the concrete. Peering inside, she saw a group of survivors huddled together, their weary faces illuminated by a feeble flame.

The survivors conversed in hushed tones; their words laden with the weight of despair. Penny, crouched in the shadows, contemplated her next move. She yearned for companionship, for the solace of shared struggles—yet fear of betrayal and the unknown gnawed at her resolve.

Summoning her courage, Penny stepped into the flickering light, alerting the survivors to her presence. Their eyes widened with a mix of surprise and suspicion. Questions and accusations filled the air, testing her trustworthiness. Penny, her voice strained with sincerity, reassured them of her intentions—to find hope in a world overrun by darkness.

United by their shared desire for survival, the group cautiously accepted Penny into their fold. They armed themselves with makeshift weapons, prepared to face the hordes of the undead that awaited outside. Their determination burned brighter than ever. They knew that together, their chances of overcoming the relentless onslaught of the zombies increased.

As the night wore on, Penny and her newfound companions ventured into the treacherous streets, fighting their way through a sea of rotting flesh. Each step was a battle; each encounter was a fight for survival. Their collective strength and resilience carried them forward, pushing back the encroaching tide of undead.

Penny, drenched in sweat and blood, pressed on, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. The once-familiar city had transformed into a labyrinth of terror—but she refused to yield. In this harsh world, she had found purpose, forging bonds with her fellow survivors that transcended mere survival.

Through the darkest hours of the night, Penny and her comrades fought on, determined to reclaim their city from the clutches of the undead. With each fallen zombie, hope stirred within their souls, a flicker of resilience in a world consumed by death. They were the resistance, the last vestiges of humanity, standing strong against the terrors that threatened to extinguish their light. They marched onward, their footsteps echoing with defiance.

Android Justice

March 6, 2023 / / 5 Comments

By James Gonda.

Tara killed the machine.

On any given day she was calm and fun to be around. She was never violent or profane. So, her coworkers were aghast when she demolished the android with a sledgehammer. In a few heated minutes, Tara turned the machine into shards of plastic and clumps of wires. After she watched her behavior on the surveillance feed, she felt sick. Was that really me? she thought. That person is a psycho. But the eye in the sky does not lie.   

The Authorities charged Tara with anarchy and the destruction of State property. At the detention center, she was detainee D051959 and confined to compartment 202. The walls of her cell were blue-green cinder blocks. Angst filled her insides. In the old days, before the Insurrection, one was presumed innocent until proven guilty. Now the reverse was policy: one was guilty on the spot until shown innocent. This meant the burden of proof rested at her door, which was chromium steel and locked from the outside. How could she prove her innocence?

In Tara’s defense, the android had pushed her too far for too long. More than once, it had talked down to her and made her feel inferior. It ridiculed what she liked. It ignored her. When Tara said good morning, it never returned the greeting. It even laughed at Tara; the machine’s snicker was infuriating. From Tara’s chair, enough was enough and something had to change. As it happened, her father-in-law had recently passed, and Tara inherited his tools. Among the cache was a five-pound sledgehammer that she kept in the bed of her truck.

Tara figured the chances of an acquittal were nil. The gulag on the frozen tundra in North or South Dakota loomed in her future. The Authorities were vague about its location. They only called it Dakota. She toyed with the idea of escaping with the help of her wife. But where would they go? Her arraignment was tomorrow.

                                                               ***

During her fifteen minutes of shame, the judge was very stern. He repeated the charges of anarchy and the destruction of State property. He added that anarchy was the most egregious crime against the State. He was an old, small man. Then he demanded her plea, guilty or not guilty. Tara tried to explain that she was NOT an anarchist. She was, in fact, a model citizen who seldom griped about anything. The judge ignored her argument wholesale. “Guilty or not guilty!”

They say life comes down to a few moments and this was one of them. Tara took a deep breath. “Your honor, yes, it’s true, I am guilty of lashing out at the machine’s pattern of abuse. I am guilty of standing up to the so-called superiority of artificial intelligence. I did this for myself and for all citizens, including you. I have no regrets and no remorse.”   

Murmurings filled the room. The judge banged his gavel. “Quiet down, quiet down,” he said. Then he fixed his eyes on the defendant. “I have noted your guilty plea. Sentencing is withheld until a later date.” Two men in gray uniforms appeared and transported Tara back to the detention center. For a short time, she wept in her cell.    

                                                               ***

Eleven days had passed since Tara’s guilty-but-I-can-explain plea. She languished in 202 and began to feel claustrophobic. She had no idea when she would appear for sentencing. No one from the State had visited. Her keepers knew nothing. During exercise time, another detainee approached her with a big grin. “All the way, sister, all the way!” he said. Tara tried to engage him: all the way, where? she wanted to know. A guard gripped Tara’s shoulder and pointed to a sign with his baton: NO TALKING.

                                                            ***

After more than 30 days of waiting, the State notified Tara that her sentencing was at 12 pm that day. Tara, a movie buff, thought of High Noon. She recalled the showdown at the end. It was Will Kane, the good lawman, versus Frank Miller, a vicious outlaw. Was life imitating art?  

The courtroom was packed. This surprised Tara. Who were these people? She was incredulous they came to see her. Unbeknownst to Tara, her case had attracted waves of public interest. She spotted her wife. She was sitting near the front in a blue dress. They smiled at one another. Tara knew her cheeriness was a front; her eyes betrayed complete desperation.   

Then the judge – a different judge – appeared. Instead of the old man was a shiny brass android. It looked identical to the model she had hammered to death. Without fanfare, it sat down, banged the gavel, surveyed the courtroom, and then found Tara. “Detainee D051959, please stand,” it said.  

A hush fell over the room. It continued, “The original arbitrator of this case has expired, and I have been assigned the task of sentencing. Detainee D051959, you have pleaded guilty to the charges of anarchy and destruction of State property, is that correct?” Tara answered yes. “Your guilty plea has precluded the need for a trial. On behalf of the State, thank you for your cooperation.” The android glanced at a few documents and then returned to Tara. “I have analyzed the facts of this case,” it said. “Detainee D051959, I am going to ask a very important question. Please answer with great care. For your crimes, what do you think is an appropriate sentence? You’ve had ample time to consider what your fate might be.”    

Tara glanced at her wife. She forced another smile. Oh, how she loved her.

Then she addressed the machine. “Your honor, thank you for permitting me to speak. I do not want to live out my days in Dakota. I want to go home, return to work, and be a compliant citizen. I’m sure you know I have no history of acting the way I did. I am not an enemy of the State.” Tara paused, cleared her throat, and asked for a cup of water. The android instructed the bailiff to bring her water and he did. After a few sips, she resumed. “Without a doubt, your Honor, it is only right that I pay for the destroyed android. I want to make the State whole again. I will also surrender my sledgehammer to the State. The truth is, I have no legitimate use for a such a tool. And I will enroll in anger management. The person I saw on the security tape scared me. I never want to be that woman again.”

The android remained silent. It sat there, motionless, as if in sleep mode. This went on for some time and no one knew what to think. Tara looked at her wife and shrugged. She took another drink of water. Finally, the machine twitched a few times and sprang to life. It focused on the back of the room at no one in particular. It said, “The State accepts your terms of sentencing. Please see the bailiff for payment arrangements. You are free to go.”  

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