Photographs [Sci-Fi Short|Contest Entry]

Apollo ducked into an alleyway. Gasping for air, he propped himself against a steel wall. Rain pelted down, his translucent coat and hood evaporating the water on impact. He wiped the sweat off his face and peeked out onto the street. Two officers were snaking their way through a crowd of people. Apollo took a deep breath and ran down the alley.

“Get out of the craft!” He pounded on the dome-window of a ship parked at the end of the alley.

“Fuck off!” The lady inside flipped him the bird.

Apollo pulled out a phaser-gun and slammed it against the window. The doors swooshed open as the woman stumbled out. Apollo jumped inside and quickly dialed in quadrants on the digital display, engaging full speed.

He slunk down in the seat, his hand automatically going for his coat pocket. He fished out three photographs and a small book. As he flipped through the photos he felt his gut grumble. Leaning over to the passenger side he threw up his breakfast.

Apollo thought back on the last few days. Being chief data scientist for The Corporation had its perks. He had more access to data than most. There were protocols forbidding deep dissection of data; he mainly drafted up models, guiding the AI as needed. Then a few days ago he had found old artifacts hidden well within a wall in his old retrofitted apartment, objects undiscovered by routine scans. It was very rare to find analog media and it had to be reported immediately for observation.

He stared at the first photograph: himself as a boy, playing at one of those old outdoor playgrounds you never saw anymore. But the sky. Blue. Everyone knew the sky had always been grey.

Flipping to the second photo: tall vegetation. He had looked up data identifying them as trees. Everyone knew vegetation was only grown for food in labs.

He checked the ETA on the ship’s digital display; only a few minutes away. He knew they were on his tail.

The third photo was the one that had captivated him most, another forgotten childhood memory. He was laying in strands of green vegetation, eyes closed, a silly grin on his face. His hands were wrapped around a white four-legged creature that was licking his cheek. He felt a sharp pain in his gut.

Tucking the photos back in his pocket he clasped the remaining artifact. He held the book up to his nose and breathed in deep. He tried his best to make sense of the text the last few days, digging up as much data as he could. A story about a boy and his dog. The bond the two shared he couldn’t really understand but it just felt… right. Looking up data on dogs, forests, a blue sky; then they began to revoke his access. He was given a mandatory vacation confined to his apartment. Before he was denied all access he had discovered that The Corporation was broadcasting packets to people’s cybernetic implants during sleep. Usually nothing out of the ordinary, but these specific packets had an effect on memory.

The ship began its descent. Apollo tucked the book in his pocket and jumped out of the craft. Outside city limits in an abandoned junkyard, rain slicked the ground. He had heard of this place and always dismissed the conspiracy theories surrounding it. Among the rusted steel lay a bunker, an antenna protruding from its dome. The antenna broadcast on ancient AM frequency. He wasn’t sure why The Corporation hadn’t destroyed this place. Maybe it was a reminder to city dwellers of the crazy people living on the outskirts; the jobless and unidentifiables listening to their insane conspiracies on AM radio.

Apollo looked up at the sky, rain hitting his face. He saw ships closing in. He ran till he reached the bunker and pounded his fist on a steel door. A slit in the rusty door creaked open, eyes looking back at him.

“What do you want?”

Apollo held up a photo. The door swung open. Inside, an old man hurried him along a dimly lit corridor. Reaching a room lined with old equipment the man pointed to an object. “Talk.”

“This is data scientist Apollo, identification number 48523373-4. As you probably already know, they are lying to us. Wiping our memories of the past. Constructing a fiction. There used to be blue skies. Forests. Dogs. I have proof…” Apollo heard yelling and phaser-gun blasts from outside. “…Please, whoever hears this transmission, we must band together. They must be stopped.”

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This is my entry for the Mandela Effect writing contest.

Special thanks to @authorofthings from the Writers' Block for making some last minute editing suggestions.

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