A short history of a universe in fold theory by James Walton

Cater is sixth generation.  The first messages took six months. It is now two hours. They are close. All droning work was finished, the machinery locked away in the preservation bay. The maintenance schedule has its own pace, a litany of processes now closer to manual control. The most interesting event is the daily air…

Fiction: Conscience, Inc. by Richard Prosch

The Montrose advertised itself as the Lake’s finest dining experience: smoke-free, fat-free, carb-free, noise-free, gluten-free, sodium-free, and mostly flavor-free, though there were a few minerals in the water. But everybody said its appetizers were to die for. Andy  held up a sample—a hand-crafted, adobe-crock boiled cheese curd. “Jeez, Andy. Don’t put that stuff in your…

Days Of Futuramas Past by Paul D. Brazill

Dexy’s Midnight Runners once sang ‘Lord Have Mercy On Me/ Keep Me Away From Leeds’, in the brilliantly titled Thankfully, Not Living In Yorkshire, It Doesn’t Apply.   And, to be honest, many people would probably agree with Dexy’s, since Leeds certainly fits a lot of folk’s idea of the grim, industrial wastelands of the…

Fiction: Rebellious Jukebox by Graham Wynd

He took the bus because the cacophony was minutely less than on the underground, where the tinny tannoy kept up its assault with nonsense messages meant only to confuse. Not that you could make out what was being said. Anyone who tried was daft. You could read the boards though the times listed were often…