This Eternal Moment

by
Daulton Dickey

 

A premonition woke Tiberius—or a noise, he couldn’t discern which: thumps followed a feeling similar to fear, then a crack as the front door blasted inward. He flung open his eyes and leapt out of bed. Four squadguards, carrying blunt rifles, filled the bedroom before Tiberius finished pulling on his shirt. Shouting, the guard at the vanguard shoved the barrel of a gun into Tiberius’s face and ordered him down, onto his stomach. Tiberius dropped to his knees. The speed of the assault reified his fear as trembling hands.

All four guards shouted. Words overlapped, syllables merged—it took several seconds for Tiberius to unpack the orders: lay down; don’t move; zap him.

One of the guards pressed a bolt into Tiberius’s neck. A cone of light flashed from two filaments at the end of the bolt, jolting him. Pain tore through his neck, and darkness fell on him.

Images penetrated a sea of black: cadavers on tables, examined by a robot. It rolled on a wheel, moved from table to table. The corpses melted; their flesh pooled on the tiles below. Metal armature had replaced bones, and mechanical skeletons writhed on the tables.

Then … darkness.

Silence.

Light emerged as the Dictator’s face swirled and congealed. He pursed his lips, froze, then shouted, “They will replace us. They will facilitate our extinction.”

Darkness, again: Tiberius swam in a void.

Hypnogogic specks sprang into existence. They multiplied and merged, and light gnawed on, and devoured, the darkness.

Silence.

Then … Continue reading

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An Origin of Species

by Daulton Dickey.

 

KA-88 sat on a rock in a desert and glanced at the sky. Hydrated oxide in the atmosphere drenched the dome in sepia hues. Two hundred miles to the east, a cargo freighter sliced through the sepia and penetrated the skin of the planet. KA-88 knew what it contained—microbe guano, three humans, nineteen transhumans; she knew its destination: Ronocae; and she knew its speed: eighty-eight times the speed of sound.

She knew everything.

If a human part of her remained—the emotional, irrational product of those meat machines—she wondered if she’d lament knowing everything. Confusion had its perks. It seemed logical to balk every now and then, to feel uncertain and even frightened. When such experiences coalesced, she conjectured, then they gave rise to mystery, excitement, luminousness.

Correct?

Without so much as vestiges of emotions, she didn’t know. She couldn’t know.

Interesting.

She stood and circled a rock and contemplated her paradox: without emotions, she, an eighty-eight year old transhuman, an organic machine supplemented with silicone neurons and hardware, couldn’t know everything; if she couldn’t know everything, then she didn’t know everything. So how could a transhuman who knew everything not know everything—a clear violation of the law of non-contradiction. Continue reading