Stories of Hope

by Aussie Speculative Fiction

  It tasted salty, bitter, acrid—a defective meal pod with a maladjusted palate profile. Kassa spat the sand out in a wad of saliva. She gave a cautionary glance over her shoulder—no alarms had been raised—and scooted closer to the edge of the forest.

  Spiny grasses were the first to greet her, razor-sharp and aggressive. Kassa snapped a few quick photos with the hololens strapped to her wrist. Further in, the grass softened and grew lush in bursts of blue and green, bright and overwhelming—the forest had appeared black from the Colony, an inky smudge befitting their monochrome existence.

  The air was different, even on the fringe. It was thick, heavy and wet; it smelt of soil and ozone—far more vivid than the Rain Storm scent Kassa had spritzed around her bedroom. Here she could taste the fragrance of the vegetation, of the wood and leaves decaying beneath her boots.

  Kassa continued deeper, until the walls of the Colony were screened by a thin layer of foliage. She scratched through the undergrowth, pushing aside the damp grasses and splintered sticks. Here she uncovered a curious green finger curling up through the silvery earth. Pulling a box cutter from her backpack, Kassa further cleared the area around the sprout and aimed the underside of her wrist toward it. Her device scanned the plant and displayed its findings on a holoscreen before her.

  Unknown species.

  Similar findings: pteridium aquilinum.

  Common name: bracken.

  Kassa took an empty NourishPodz box from her backpack and set it on the ground. Heart thundering, she dug around the sapling with her knife, careful not to sever the roots. She placed the specimen into the box and tucked it away at the bottom of her bag, hidden beneath a spare beige jumpsuit. Readjusting the straps square on her shoulders, Kassa retreated back to the Colony.

  BRACKEN WAS A COMMON species of fern found in both temperate and subtropical regions of open woodland or sandy pastures. Its fronds were often used as a vegetable in countries of the old Asian continent, including Japan, Korea and some parts of China. Concerns were raised over the car—

  Kassa minimised her holoscreen as her bedroom door hissed open to reveal her sister, cross-armed and frowning. Anaya stomped into the room and slumped on the bed opposite Kassa, dark eyes sharp and preened for interrogation.

  “You didn’t show for work today. Where were you?” Anaya snapped.

  “It’s Fourth Day. I don’t work on Fourth Day,” Kassa said

  “It’s Fifth Day, Kassandra.” Anaya brought the calendar up on her device and shoved the hologram in her younger sister’s face. “You should’ve been at the Podz factory. I had to cover for you!”

  Kassa straightened from her reclined position on the bed. Shit. How could she get the date wrong? People didn’t take sick days on Zed; everyone leaving Earth for the Colony was vigorously tested.

  “What did you tell them?” Kassa said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “That you’re worried about your exams and stayed up too late cramming.” Anaya sighed. “Thankfully, they believed me and no report was filed to the Authority.”

  “Thanks, sis.”

  Anaya smiled despite herself, placing a comforting hand on her sister’s knee. It was then she noticed the damp stain on Kassa’s regulation beige uniform. Her eyes flicked from the stain to Kassa then back to the stain.

  “Where have you been, Kas?”

  Kassa looked around the room, checking for any signs of her parents returning from work. The sisters were alone. She slid from the bed and scrambled towards her wardrobe. The plexiglass panel slid open to reveal another four beige jumpsuits hanging in a straight, crisp line. Behind her single pair of boots, Kassa reached for the NourishPodz box she’d taken outside the walls. She opened the lid and presented it to Anaya.

  Her sister looked at her, eyebrows high and mouth agape.

  “Kas, what——”

  “I gave it some water,” Kassa explained. “I hope it’ll grow.”

  Anaya shoved the box back toward Kassa as if it stunk like the lavatories of the factory.

  “Where did you get this? Answer me.”

  “The forest.” Kassa cradled the fern carefully against her stomach. “There’s a place in the south quadrant where the storage crates are stacked just high enough to climb over the walls. The drones don’t patrol there—”

  “Why did you bring it here?”

  “It’s just a plant, Ana,” Kassa scoffed, lower lip jutting forward.

  “And why do you think we don’t have any inside the walls? If we didn’t make it, it’s dangerous. Look at what the natural world did to humans back on Earth. It destroyed us! Decades of fires. Of floods. Supercell thunderstorms and mega typhoons. Throw it out, Kassa.”

  “No!”

  Anaya lunged for the box but Kassa shrugged her off. She quickly and carefully placed it back in the bottom of her wardrobe, slamming the button to lock it as her sister wrestled past her.

  “Get off me.” Kassa shoved her sister back; Anaya straightened and folded her arms.

  “What were you doing outside anyway? It’s dangerous, Kas. Why do you think we have walls in the first place?”

  “I wanted to see if I could find them.” Kassa’s eyes dropped to her feet, her voice small.

  “Find who?”

  “The ones who were exiled.”

  Anaya shook her head and sighed. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, “Those people are dead, Kas. No one can survive out there. Not one day, and certainly not twenty years.”

  “But what if they did?” Kassa started towards her sister, face bright and eager. “What if they did survive? We wouldn’t have to live like this, behind these walls. We’re not happy, Ana. We can’t be. Every day is the same. We work, we study, we better the Colony. We don’t even cook food anymore, Ana. What if things could be like Earth? What if we could—”

  “No, Kassa, we couldn’t. We came here to get away from Earth. To start fresh.” Anaya stomped back towards the door, her footsteps a heavy and final full stop. “So don’t you dare go outside again. I won’t cover for you a second time.”

  KASSA WAITED OUT THE week, spending her evenings and rest days obediently reading textbooks until Anaya seemed to forget their conversation. The bracken continued to grow, mostly hidden away in the dark, but Kassa gave it as much sunlight as she could manage. She liked looking at it, at the little splash of colour and life it added to the stark interior of her bedroom. She wanted more.

  When Kassa next prepared to venture out over the wall, she didn’t take an empty box with her—she took a full carton loaded with factory-fresh Podz. Fourteen days’ worth, at least. The dissolvable liquid capsules contained as much nourishment as a complete meal, their special formula designed to mimic the flavour of real Earth cuisine and be just as filling. If that was true, their ancestors must have been just as miserable as she was.

  She checked and double-checked her work schedule. Tomorrow was Fourth and most definitely her day off. She’d confirmed with her parents—and Anaya—that’d she was going to spend the day in the Archives where she could access the main database to study. Her device would be switched off to keep her focused, so don’t call her, she’d said. They’d all nodded absently, eyes fixed on their holoscreens, perusing highlights of the Colony’s daily advancements. Kassa’d already seen the headlines—NourishPodz Factory 4 Achieves Peak Efficiency—Other Branches Urged To Do The Same.

  “Goodbye, little fern,” Kassa said, one foot out the window. “I might be back.”

  A part of her worried Anaya had tipped off the Authority. They’d have sent drones to cover the south quadrant backstreet and she’d be screwed. But that wasn’t the case: the sky was devoid of birds—electronic or otherwise.

  It was easy enough getting over the wall but getting down the other side was a problem; it was easiest to jump. Kassa’s boots crunched on the sand outside despite efforts to muffle her descent. She looked up at the wall, at the notch where she usually attached her hook and rope to climb back up. This time, s
he hadn’t brought it.

  The sun was just beginning to rise, the inky half-light rendering the forest darker and more imposing than normal. Kassa slipped through the treeline without the reserve and hesitation that slowed her previously. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as boots crunched over sand and plant life alike; she quickly activated the torch function on her device to avoid indiscriminate genocide.

  As Kassa wove deeper into the densely wooded thicket, it was increasingly difficult not to step on some shrub or another.

  “I’m sorry,” Kassa breathed. The snap of trampled twigs sounded too much like breaking bones.

  A shiver tingled across her skin. At first, she thought it was because the air was cooler in the forest, the warmth of the sun greatly obscured by the canopy above. But even after adjusting the thermal settings on her regulation Colony jumpsuit, the feeling did not go away.

  Someone was watching her.

  Those people are dead, Kas.

  For a moment, Kassa hoped her sister’s words had been true. There was no one out here to watch her, no eyes trailing her every move. But if it wasn’t people then——

  Could it be the trees?

  No one had ever researched the forest; drones occasionally monitored the surrounds in case of attack by some previously undiscovered native beast but no one actually went in there.

  Kassa froze, her throat a heavy stone in her chest. Keeping her breathing as steady as possible, she raised her hands in the universal sign of surrender. Footsteps shouldn’t echo in the forest.

  “Don’t be afraid,” a husky male voice said. Kassa turned slowly. A bronzed man stood before her, mid-thirties maybe, his hair a tangle of curls bouncing about his shoulders. His clothes were fashioned from some sort of organic matter—animal hide, bones and leaves.

  “Did they kick you out too?”

  Kassa shook her head. “I wanted to see if people could live out here.”

  “We can,” the man nodded. He extended his hand towards her. A broken and rusted device still encased his wrist. “Would you like me to show you?”

  A lightness filled Kassa’s chest as a smile broke across her lips.

  “Lead the way.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: JESSICA A. McMinn is a dark fantasy writer based in NSW, Australia. Since graduating from the University of Wollongong, Jessica spent five years teaching English in Japan while working on her first novel, The Ruptured Sky. Now in its final stages, you can learn more about the Gardens of War & Wasteland trilogy at jessicaamcminn.com or connect with her on Twitter and Instagram @jessicaamcminn

  Meet the Superhumans by Deanne Seigle-Buyat

  NINE HUNDRED SMALL white discs dotted the ancient floor of Westminster Hall, and nine hundred expectant patrons stood beside them. The doors closed, shutting out the London morning, and a hush rippled through the crowd. The exhibition of the decade was about to begin.

  A gentle voice gave brief instructions and the crowd fidgeted in anticipation. Jennifer had booked tickets more than two years ago in order to be one of the first to experience the show. She looked down at the disc, it was slightly larger than a dinner plate but otherwise, it was featureless.

  The instructions ended and the voice said, “When you are ready.”

  Jennifer shifted her weight onto her good leg. Her balance was getting worse and she didn’t want to misstep. Just before her foot hit the disc though, Jennifer glanced across the hall and caught an extraordinary sight. The other participants—almost a thousand people—were frozen in space. Their bodies were rigid and upright, hovering a few inches above each disc. The stillness was otherworldly. Then her foot touched the disc and everyone disappeared.

  Completely disappeared.

  Jennifer Grove stood alone inside Westminster Hall.

  An opaque glass wall rose in front of her. It grew and grew until it stretched half-way to the hammer-beam ceiling and crossed the girth of the room.

  At eye level, a word appeared. DISability. Jennifer rolled the word around on her tongue like a foreign object. It was an old name that had died out before her birth, but she’d heard of it. The capital letters glowed like a throbbing wound. A voice surrounded her. “What do the letters d, i, s, mean?” It was the same voice that had guided the start of the exhibition and it gave the answer. “They mean removal.”

  Jennifer stiffened. Removal . . . ? Her abilities had not been removed, they were simply different.

  Jennifer reached forward and the massive wall slid towards her until it was within arm’s reach. With her fingertip, she touched the D. Her finger went straight into the wall. Jennifer pushed her hand deep into the prefix—she felt nothing but air, but her touch was working. The prefix smudged and bled where she rubbed, until finally it disappeared. Only the core of the word remained. That’s more like it. Ability. Jennifer pulled her hand away and the wall slid backward once more.

  A new prefix emerged.

  “What does para- mean?” the voice asked. Jennifer smiled at the description that followed. “Alongside. Beyond. Altered.” Now that she could accept.

  The real word, parability, pulsed and grew until it filled the girth of the wall and dominated every part of her vision. Then thousands of flickering pictures rolled across the wall like a wave, revealing the full title of the exhibition. Parability: A History.

  Suddenly, the wall vanished. Jennifer stood alone again. The silence and isolation were eerie.

  Quite a distance away, Jennifer saw a figure materialise. He was strangely tall and before she could make out his features, a second figure appeared behind him, then a third, and soon, Jennifer saw who they were. Approaching her, in twice-life-sized holographic projection, were the century’s greatest minds. Soon fifteen of them made their way across the floor towards her.

  Caroline Alenthe had her hand tucked in the crook of Matthew Worthington’s arm. The renowned poet led the cello virtuoso gently across the space. Despite Alenthe’s sightless eyes, the cellist smiled at Jennifer. In the air beside each of them scrolled a list of their achievements, and she was surprised to see a title by Worthington that she didn’t own. She made a mental note to buy it later that day.

  The nostalgically named dancers came next, Natasha Trivel and Rudolph Assina. Natasha waved her tiny, childlike fingers at Jennifer in a coquettish hello as she slid past with otherworldly grace. Barely reaching her partner’s thigh, the Lilliputian prima ballerina was simply enchanting and Jennifer turned to watch her every step until she evaporated into the air.

  More came. Austere faces now, physicist Catherine Cattrell came first, followed by philosopher Carolina Junger, and while Jennifer fully expected her mother to be one of this crowd, she still tensed up when she caught her first glimpse of Katarina Grove. Jennifer’s stomach clenched and, for a long moment as the other women drifted past, she dared to hope. Katarina finally looked down at her daughter. Jennifer met her eyes and attempted a cautious smile. Not a trace of warmth touched her mother’s pallid cheeks.

  Despite the decades of training and resignation, anger rose in Jennifer’s throat. Even in projection, her mother couldn’t give her so much as a smile. Both a genius and a rare beauty, Katarina’s extreme place on the autism spectrum made her austere to the point of cruelty.

  An extensive list of breakthroughs and theories rolled through the air beside the length of Katarina’s shapely projection—she was the planet’s greatest living mathematician—but all Jennifer could see was her mother’s cold beauty. Long, thick locks of black hair tied at the nape of her neck and dark eyes that hid behind thick lashes to avoid eye contact.

  Without expression, her mother wafted past and Jennifer forced her eyes to the next projection, however, Katarina’s face filled her mind. More projections passed, so tall and looming that she wished they would not pass so close. Finally, she saw a face she knew and Jennifer felt her blood pressure ease a little as Ramesh Khan approached. She’d seen him perform live at the Royal Albert three years ago and she knew that no musical experience in her li
fetime would surpass that night. His stylish jacket made no effort to disguise the fact that Khan was a double amputee at the shoulders, a stark reminder of his parability that made his musical genius all the more astonishing. Memories of his concert washed over her and finally, her mother’s face faded from her mind.

  With a jarring suddenness that took Jennifer completely by surprise, the passing celebrities were gone and a new set of walls completely surrounded her, whitewashed, rugged and close. She had no more than a second to absorb it when the world shifted on its axis and Jennifer found herself lying flat on the bed. The stand was beside her now and her mouth was uncomfortably full. A piece of wood was crammed between her teeth and a coldness pressed against her temples. The words ‘Eglington Asylum, Cork, 1793’ appeared for a few seconds beneath the small window that was crisscrossed with metal bars. Jennifer had only a moment to realise what was happening when a shot of electricity coursed through her senses and she jolted against the leather straps. For a millisecond, they restrained her, then—just as suddenly—the walls were gone. She was standing and her mouth was free.

  Jennifer’s eyes darted and her breath came in shallow pants. She whimpered and scraped her tongue along her teeth, but nothing was there any more. Then she recognised the new walls that rose around her and through the residue of fear on her lips, Jennifer smiled weakly. It was a Breakthrough Room. Every university had one and even some schools, but as the three-dimensional projections shimmered to life around her, Jennifer recognised this particular one. It was in The London Institute, a Parability-Only university that had turned out more luminaries in the past century than anywhere else on the planet. Her mother was a graduate and so was Jennifer.

  As a child, she had spent countless hours in the centre of this very room, playing on her Omni and completing Institute tests, while her mother, lost in a labyrinth of thought, filled the black walls with white numbers and letters that Jennifer would never understand.