Monthly Archives: March 2017

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The Dragon’s Teeth

Master Sergeant Jacobs arose in his tomb, ready for duty. He scanned the inside of the subterranean bunker with radar, lidar and IR, noting the lack of any intruder or breach in the wall’s integrity. Chemical analysis indicated the presence of no foreign gasses, and the standard neon-argon gas mixture was uncontaminated by any rogue microbes or nanotech. Standing up in the armored stasis coffin he mentally gave the signal to bring the bunker tomb fully online.

He looked around with his new eyes. Infra-red, light amplification, full spectrum analysis, X-ray, radar, and range tracking and direction finding were all available with full telescopic detail. It would have been overwhelming were it not identical to the neural overlays of his reconnaissance old helmet with which he had trained, back when he was still alive. Now, he was able to able to take in the information faster with his quantum brain. Rather than it seeming to be less dense information, the rest of the world simply seemed to move slower, though.

While the bunker powered up around him, he reviewed his own internal diagnostic information. The  quantum computer that composed his brain was functioning at several times the speed his mind had in his former life, and the full archive of planetary maps as well as tactical battle data were intact. His micro-fusion torus in his chest was running flawlessly, and should function for centuries of normal activity, and weeks of combat. Already, it was diverting extra energy to superconducting loops to provide extra hours of energy in case his fusion “heart” shut down. His bones were each a single super-covalent molecule with interlocking orbitals, the same material used in armor-plating. That structural strength was needed to anchor the nano-scale superconducting magnetic strands of his muscles each with the speed and power of a rail gun accelerator. He could break the speed of sound with ease, and strike faster than a shock-wave could propagate though metal, shattering most armors.

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The Dreaming Wounds

It was a game when we were children. “Your Grandmother has the Third Eye,” Mum used to confide, when we young enough to believe that all her words were gospel. “She can see ghosts.”

“Everywhere?” my brother would always ask, already sceptical. He would grow up to become a scientist, to my Chinese parents’ veiled disappointment, a doctor in qualification only.

“Sometimes people leave the world with unfinished business,” Mum would reply, pitching her voice low, pretending to look left and right. We would shiver in delighted horror.

“I don’t have the Third Eye,” I would murmur, forever made resentful at having been born normal. Thanks to our childhood fascination with ghost stories, I spent nearly a decade of my life pathologically afraid of sleeping against a window with my neck exposed, after our oldest cousin told us a ‘true story’ about a cursed strangler’s hand that crept through open windows to murder the unsuspecting.

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