Lightspeed: Edited by John Joseph Adams

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Science Fiction

Empathetic Psychosis

Personality Disorder (Not Otherwise Specified)

My patients called me Dr. Holloway. My friends called me Jason. I won’t tell you what my three ex-wives called me but I’m sure you can guess. I was a psychiatrist (and a damn good one seventy percent of the time).

My adult life had been full of restarts, reinventions, and rehabilitations. This new beginning, though . . . this was supposed to be different. I’d taken a job at Margins Treatment Center in sunny Los Angeles as the Clinical Director.

Science Fiction

Update on Rules for the Spatiotemporal Use of Campus Spaces

Dear Members of the Community,

As we begin yet another fall semester in the throes of the rogue timestream unleashed on our campus, I cannot help but take a moment to marvel at just how vibrant our community has become. In addition to our current residents, our University’s campus grounds and buildings have come to support thousands of students, staff, affiliates, and visitors from past, future, as well as alternate Universities.

Science Fiction

Dad Died on Discord

When we moved Dad to the care facility, his only complaint was the Wi-Fi. “Laggy,” he called it when he was having a good day. “Fucking piece of shit,” he called it the rest of the time.

At first I was relieved. I’d been worried that he’d bristle at the cramped room, like a zoo animal pacing its enclosure in a sad documentary. But he never said a word about the bedsit quarters or the unfamiliar, ever-churning staff.

Science Fiction

Saint Zero of the Hollows and the Eagle Knight

The only sound Zero heard in their helmet was their own hyperventilating and the gentle pings from their pegasus.

> waiting . . .

> waiting . . .

> communication received

> confirmation of countdown initiation: 30 seconds

 

Science Fiction

Terms of Enlightenment

Jay found himself sitting across from a bearded old man in voluminous maroon robes. “Why are you here?” the robed man asked. “I was sentenced to VSIM rehabilitation by my judge-counselor.” “Yes,” replied the robed man. “You would choose the literal interpretation of the question, wouldn’t you?”

Science Fiction

An Encounter at the Dawn of the Time War

This was in August of 2019. A day-old newspaper reported civil wars in Somalia and Yemen. A gunman killed twenty-two people in an El Paso Walmart. Jeffrey Epstein had taken a plea deal, promising to name names, promising to name the name.

Science Fiction

Espie Droger Dreams of War

Espie Droger dreams of war. What else can he dream of? There is nothing left. He has dreamed of world travel and expensive Scotch and lithe young women and sudden uncontrollable laughter. But his vitality has seeped from him like fluid from a dying tree. Espie is old. And Espie is tired.

Science Fiction

Eat, Prey, Love: A Modest Proposal for Ensuring Gender Equality Through Selective Dietary Practices; or, a Geriatric Millennial’s Guide to #GirlDinner

The earliest videos went something like this: disembodied female voices singing strange intonations of the words “girl dinner” in a voice-over effect as the visuals of the video featured dozens of increasingly strange combinations of food. A handful of Cheez-It crackers, grapes, and a stick of string cheese with a line of sriracha along the top? Girl dinner.

Science Fiction

Warren’s Tentacle

The AI surgical bots that reconstruct Warren after the accident have no clearer a concept of human anatomy than AI has ever had. He emerges from anesthesia to discover, in stages, two extra fingers on his right hand, a tentacle emerging from the left side of his ribcage, and a third eye, gummed shut by mucus, in the back of his head. Also, one of his feet is backwards.

Science Fiction

Sensor Ghosts

Today, the hydrocarbon clouds of Titan had rolled back over Kraken Mare, rendering the waves of the methane sea impossibly blue as they lapped at the shore, gradually eroding sharp spires of ice into rounded pebbles. Beatriu Cardona shivered despite the warmth of the rover’s interior as the vehicle plowed along the frigid shore, tanklike treads crushing the ice sand into chevron-shaped tracks.

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