THE UBYSSEY’S 2020 SCI-FI COMPETITION
TABLE OF CONTENTS 3
editor’s note
4
east to west
7
bitcoin and nihilism
8
solace
12
game over
THE UBYSSEY MARCH 2020 | VOLUME CI| ISSUE XXV
EDITORIAL Coordinating Editor Alex Nguyen coordinating@ubyssey.ca Visuals Editor Lua Presidio visuals@ubyssey.ca News Editors Henry Anderson and Emma Livingstone news@ubyssey.ca
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STAFF Zubair Hirji, Moe Kirkpatrick, Fariha Khan, Sam Smart, Bill Huan, Brendan Smith, Diana Hong, Jordan-Elizabeth Liddell, Ryan Neale, Sarah Zhao, Charlotte Alden, Andrew Ha, Jasmyne Eastmond, Tianne Jensen-DesJardins, Maya Rodrigo-Abdi, Chimedum Ohaegbu, Riya Talitha, Sophie Galloway, Kevin Jiang, Bailey Martens, Sonia Pathak, Thea Udwadia, Kaila Johnson, Diego Lozano, Keegan Landrigan, Kaila Johnson, Maneevak Bajaj, Tait Gamble, Andy Phung,
Mike Liu, Anupriya Dasgupta, Danni Olusanya, Campbell Speedy, Marissa Birnie, Aman Sridhar, Negin Nia, Alex Vanderput, Tanner McGrath, Tara Osler, Zohrah Khalili, Jonathan Harris, Harshit Kohli, Alex Wang, Lisa Basil, Myla White, Zhi Wen Teh, Zachary Tharpe, Patrick Richards, Paige Mayo, Isaac You, Sara Arora, Ethen Chen, Robert Ford, Oliver Zhang, Kyle Delgatty, Jane Diokpo, Rachel Cheang, Akshay Khandelwal
LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
We would like to acknowledge that this paper and the land on which we study and work is the traditional, occupied, unceded territory of the Coast Salish peoples, including the territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓ əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), Stó:lō and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nation. LEGAL The Ubyssey is the official student newspaper of the University of British Columbia. It is published every Tuesday by The Ubyssey Publications Society. We are an autonomous, democratically run student organization and all students are encouraged to participate. Editorials are chosen and written by the Ubyssey staff. They are the expresse opinion of the staff, and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Ubyssey Publications Society or the University of British Columbia. All editorial content appearing in The Ubyssey is the property of The Ubyssey Publications Society. Stories, opinions, photographs and artwork contained herein cannot be reproduced without the expressed, written permission of The Ubyssey Publications Society. The Ubyssey is a founding member of Canadian University Press (CUP) and adheres to CUP’s guiding principles. The Ubyssey accepts opinion articles on any topic related to the University of British Columbia (UBC) and/or topics relevant to students attending UBC. Submissions must be written by UBC students, professors, alumni, or those in a suitable position (as determined by the
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EDITOR’S NOTE Why science fiction? Why now, as the world outside seems ever weirder and more stressful? Because it is stressful out there! I’m stressed! You’re probably stressed! At least in science fiction, it’s stressful in space. Or there are aliens who are also stressed out. Or everyone’s still stressed, but we have cool space boots. Okay, I can’t promise you boots. But I can promise you that the four stories here, the best of our 2020 Science Fiction Contest, contain a wide breadth of new mysterious, mundane, terrifying and existential worlds. From gravity play to VR headsets to Bitcoins and body-swaps, these pieces had the weirdest and most realist takes on how technology, science and capitalism will intersect with and stress out our days to come. So, thank you so much to everyone who submitted! Even if you don’t see your piece here, please know that I deeply enjoyed reading it — yes, you specifically, take the compliment, steal the compliment, don’t look back—and I look forward to whatever you send next year!
MOE KIRKPATRICK guest editor
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WINNER
E AS T T O W E S T words by Dawna Shim illustration by Rachel Cheang
“M
rs. Kim! Mrs. Kim!” People were screaming at me, shaking me wildly. I thought to myself, ‘Did something happen?’ “Mrs. Kim, your body switch with Ms. Park has been successful. You have full access and authority over the body of Park Mirae. Do you understand?” “Yes, I understand.” There wasn’t a single drop of saliva left in my mouth after the eight-hour-long operation. I stood up from the bed for the first time. Soon, I was walking. All by myself ! As I filled my cup with fresh water, I saw myself in the mirror. A beautiful young lady with black hair, full lips and impeccable skin. I thought of how lucky I was to find a person like Mirae who was willing to switch bodies with an 80-year-old woman. I was sure I could live her life to the fullest. The first place I visited was a department store. There, I bought a beautiful pair of red high heels, an elegant dress and a makeup kit. They were all the things that I wanted to have when I was 20 years old. Back then, I was busy saving what little money I had, but now I had a whole stash of money that I had to use before I died. Mirae had no taste in clothes anyway and she needed a change in style. Then I took the subway for the first time in 40 years. There were tall buildings blo-
cking sun lights everywhere. After a long, dark tunnel the train crossed the Han River that glinted in the bright sunlight. The river was the only thing that seemed to still welcome me after all these years. Mirae had told me that I need to have a coffee chat with her high school friends from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. By the time I arrived at the coffee shop, there were three girls waiting for me. They began to scream and yelp at me, “Oh my god, Mirae!” “What did you do with your face?” “Since when did you wear a skirt?” I simply sat down and let them admire my beauty, “I know, I know.” “You look like a grandma with that blue eyeshadow,” a girl with black lipstick and a nose piercing said to me. “Wait... Something’s wrong with you today,” this girl was barely wearing anything except for a bra and a skirt. I felt nervous, so I started to gulp down the tea that was in front of me. “Mirae hates that drink,” a girl with bangs and black eyes stared at me. “I... I...” My hands began to sweat. I stood up and hurried out. Next, I had to visit Mirae’s mom at the Severance hospital. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking forward to do, but I had to follow the rules. The very smell of the hospital made me want to run back to the doors and never return. As I walked throu-
— 5 —
gh the hallway, I passed by a middle-aged man who was cleaning up his father’s feces smudged on the wall. I couldn’t believe that just two days ago, I lived here. “You came again! We missed you last time!” A nurse grabbed my arm and grinned. As I passed by the rooms in the corridor, I saw a name that was so familiar. I went back and read it carefully. It said, “Eunhye Kim.” A familiar pain pounded against my chest. I looked up to see the room number. It was 234. I dug into my pockets and pulled out Mirae’s memo that said the exact same number. I slowly opened the door. The room was barely lit and there was an old woman lying on the bed with a huge needle in her arm. She was wearing a beanie similar to what I wore when I had chemotherapy 20 years ago. She turned her head towards me and broke into a huge smile. Her grin, which revealed her pink gum, reminded me of my baby. Then I knew who she was. My heart ached all over like I was 80 again. “Mirae?” her voice trembled weakly. “Where were you last week? Why couldn’t you call me?” “I... I was sick.” I couldn’t look up. “Sick? Where?” The flowers beside her were all wilted and smelled like rotten milk. I saw her chapped lips with a speck of seaweed at the edge. “It’s nothing... I’m okay now...” The small wrinkles around her eyes folded and unfolded as she bit her lips and put her hands through my hair. “Did I...did I visit you every week like this?” I asked her. “What is this? Are you teasing me? Yes, yes you are the good daughter,” she laughed between her raspy breaths. “You really are the best daughter in the whole world. I wasn’t half as good a daughter to your grandma,” “Don’t say that,” I whispered into her ear. “Your mother was always proud of you and she loved you very much.” I couldn’t resist the tears and hurried out.
There wasn’t a moment to waste, so I ran. I ran as soon as I got out of the hospital and ran like it was the last time until I arrived at the centre. Mirae was lying there on my old couch watching the sunset. She didn’t seem startled when she learned that I was her grandmother. When I told her I wanted to switch the bodies again, she said, “I told you my life is boring.” I knelt down in front of her and held her hands. “No, no, Mirae. Your life is beautiful.” She looked at me with a startled look in her eyes, “Then why are you here?” “Mirae, do you know why Han River never dries up?” “What kind of question is that?” “It’s because it goes along the current. It never stops running from east to west.” “I don’t get it Mrs... Grandma,” she raised her body up to face me. “This body, your friends, your mother, they belong to you and you have to hold onto it while you have them so that one day, you don’t regret like I did.” “Mom...” Mirae opened her mouth. “How is she?” “She’s waiting for you.” “I miss her every day,” Mirae looked at me. “What happens to you if we switch back?” “I’ll find my own current,” I smiled and hugged her. I could feel her heart beating fast. The next day, I was in the same operation room I was in three days ago. They erased all the manicure on my nails. I laid there naked on a hard-plastic bed and I had nothing to hold onto, just as when I was born. It was so cold that my teeth clattered. Then they turned on the music: loud K-pop. I felt cold to my bones, but the doctors and nurses were singing together preparing for the surgery. An anesthesiologist came in and asked me to say my name and date of birth, just like they did last time. I did as I was told. Then they said, “Count to three.” “One, two, ...” I always can’t say three. U
— 6 —
B I T C O I N AND NIHILISM words by Chance Plomp-Schweitzer illustration by Lua Presidio
I
let the cigarette smoke billow away. I can’t stop it at all, of course I can’t. And I don’t even mean this in some storybook way. Literally the air is just so bad, there’s no point in trying to make it better now. We gave up... I tap it, letting the ash fly off, doesn’t matter where it lands or goes, not anymore. The duties they put on traditional cigarettes in ’23 were just for show. $100 for a pack now? Pfft, that’s nothing on my salary. They thought the heavy taxation of little things like this was going to amount to a lot. A lot of nothing, that’s what. And everyone is smoking those vapes now. They’re the de facto mandatory accessory. Some say that there’s some filter mechanism that boils the air, blah blah blah, and “purified flavoured air” comes out. What a load of shit. People say they can feel it, like it’s a high. It still doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change the feeling of getting off an airplane and going through the doors... that first hit of fresh air was one of the most incredible things that would happen. It’s only a little moment, but goddamn, it was like heroin. And then of course you’d light up and drag one away before the luggage came spilling down from the ceiling. I’m almost done. This world’s almost done. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t do more. I tried. I told people to do this and do that. I followed along as best as I could and others did too. But beyond my trying, there was ignorance
and there was malice. I went from an optimist to a nihilist. None of it matters anymore. I flick the butt off into the distance. It’s just past 2 a.m. and I can see it smash against the ground, spraying its burning detritus like a solar flare. They say that what I’m doing now is just making everything worse. They say I’m working at a giant ‘Earth oven,’ purposefully burning the land and boiling the ocean. That’s ridiculous. I turn around after one last deep breath, hoping to get that ‘fresh’ rush, even though it doesn’t come — and probably does more damage than good. I slide my mask up over my face and enter the building through the front doors because they care about their ‘security.’ Empty my pockets, through the scanners, etc... etc... etc... A whole bunch of bullshit that’s going to make me late getting back to my shift. And what sucks most is that I got the worst job today. It’s my turn to use the canned air to blow the dust out of the Bitcoin machines. U
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— 8 —
SO L A C E words by Ethan Wescoatt illustration by Maya Rodrigo-Abdi
C
old fluorescent lights beat down unsteadily on the rickety, rust-bitten balcony. I bit back a string of curses as I fought with the door’s stubborn lock, walked to the door at the end of the hall and saw a small, delicate figure sitting upright on the rosy bed. Anastasia looked at me and lit up with a warm smile. “Ty!” I put a finger to my lips, but couldn’t help smiling myself. I let my bag down gingerly. She threw her arms around me, thin wispy little things, and I gave her a tight hug. “You don’t need to shout, don’t strain yourself,” I replied quietly. If she was energetic enough for a bear hug, she had a good day. I released her. “Did you go to school?” She smiled, “Yeah! The stream kept glitching, but I was there for most of math and all of history.” She patted a bulky VR headset fondly on her nightstand. “How did you feel today? “Okay. I was able to get up and walk around the house!” “That’s wonderful!” “A couple days ago, it was bad though,” she said. “I got another fever and I couldn’t fall asleep.” That stung like a knife to the gut. She must’ve kept that to herself; I had no idea. “Oh Ana, I’m so—”
“No, you don’t apologize.” She smiled again, a bright true smile. “I know you’re working hard, you always get home so late. At least Mum and Dad keep sending medicine, even though they’re away.” I inhaled through my nose and forced a clay smile. “It is thoughtful of them. Oh, speaking of which,” I rummaged through my bag, “Here. This will last two weeks.” “Thaaank you.” She accepted the small pristine vials lined up on their little white rack and placed it beside her headset. “They’re always so pretty, how do they make them like that?” “That’s Sector One for you,” I sneered. The cutting edge of science and humanity. “They’ve got the best brains in the system on that Bridge,” I replied. “Manufacturing these is probably a piece of cake.” “When I grow up, I wanna move to Sector One,” she reclined into her pillows, suddenly looking very tired. “Can we, Ty? I promise I’ll study hard so I can get a good job,” she gave a big yawn. “Then... We can see... Mum and Dad...” I gave her forehead a goodnight kiss and she drifted off to sleep. Good thing too; she couldn’t see the guilty tears scalding my eyes. ...
— 9 —
Two weeks later, I found myself in the
cramped metal gutter of the maintenance road that ran from Sector One’s main pharmaceutical facility to the rest of the Haven. I lurked just ahead of the security checkpoint, waiting for my target. When the armored truck left the guards and automated turrets behind, I attacked the government vehicle. Again. With practiced efficiency, I used a plasma cutter I ‘borrowed’ from work to open it up. Soon, I found it: crates full of little white racks holding delicate glass vials that twinkled in the moving streetlight. I breathed a sigh of relief I didn’t know I’d been holding: Anastasia could live off these for years. I began stuffing the racks into my bag when a shadow passed over the twinkling glass. I whipped around as I felt a hot line draw itself across my stomach. In front of me stood a Sentinel holding a knife dripping with blood. My blood. “Unknown thief, you are sentenced to death fo—” With an animal scream, I tackled them, raised the cutter to their chest and flipped the on switch. The visor howled as we rolled to a stop along the road. I stood. My head was getting fuzzy and static teased the corners of my eyes. I felt my stomach and it came back wet and red. I covered the wound with my arm and focused on one thing: getting home. ...
I tried to steady myself against the heavy front door, but my wet hand slipped and I collapsed to the ground. There was a pitter-patter from down the hall. I looked up to see Ana, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the wall, her hand covering a horror-stricken mouth. “T-Ty?...” I was losing too much blood to be gentle. “Ana, grab me a towel and a knife.” I could feel my breathing becoming ragged. “And some hot water. In a bowl. Quickly.”
I closed my eyes and hauled myself up to sit against the wall, trying to get my breathing under control. She returned with the supplies and then scurried to the sink. Gritting my teeth, I began slicing the fabric into strips. Ana placed a metal bowl of steaming water beside me and sat in silent terror. I cut my shirt open and she gasped at the ugly red slash across my stomach. “It... It’ll be fine,” she whimpered, “I’ll call the Bridge. I’ll call Mom and Dad They’ll-they’ll fix you!” She bolted. “Ana, no!” I shouted after her. Sweat was leaking into my eyes and I blinked the stinging back. Not like this, it couldn’t be this. “Come back! Don’t call the Bridge!” She melted from the dark hallway. “... Yes, Anastasia and Tiger Lawson from Sector Seventeen. We’re in Block Three, Unit Twenty-Two-Eleven... Huh? What do you mean—” “Ana, stop!” I was losing myself. The static in my eyes encroached on my window to the world. I pressed the blue towel to my gut and it instantly turned an ugly purple. “—unregistered residents? My brother works for... A-Anyway, nevermind that! I need Dr. Lawson on the line, her children need—” “ANA PUT THE PHONE DOWN!” There was no helping it now. She needed to know. She abruptly dropped the phone, retreating from me with wide, quivering eyes. She looked like a frightened baby animal. Her small, shaking hands crumpled against her mouth in an expression of raw fear that rent my slowing heart. I don’t yell at my sister, I don’t. “Ana, listen to me...” I took a ragged breath. “I lied. About our parents. The truth is... we never had any.” Her face stiffened into a ceramic mask. “What are you talking about, Ty?” “Ana, I’m sorry...” This wasn’t supposed to happen. This would break her. But it
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was too late now. “What are you saying?” The ceramic started cracking and leaking. “They wanted to get a roof over their kids’ heads...” “No, it was me.” I could barely see the mask anymore, it became a blurry spider web of cracks. The Bridge would send more Sentinels soon. It was illegal for orphans to occupy property, much less ones in possession of contraband Grade-A medicine. If they caught her, they would take her back. Back to their shitty public orphanage that provided their children nothing but loneliness. Back to the hellhole that leaked too many heavy metals into their water. Back to the place that poisoned my sister. “Ana, listen. I have an envelope of money under my bed, take it. You need to pack a bag... The biggest you can carry. Pack your school headset and some food and clothes and—” I pushed my own bag forward, igno-
ring the fact that my fingers barely felt my bag at all. “Here’s your medicine. It’s everything I could grab — it’ll last you a while...” My hearing was fading. Her wide eyes crept closer. “Everything you could grab?” She gasped. “The medicine... It was you, Ty? It wasn’t sent from the Bridge? It was you all this time?” “I’m sorry you had to find out this way...” My tongue slowed. I was out of time. “Keep yourself safe...” “Ty? Tiger!?” I felt a hand jostle my shoulder. I blinked and saw my sister for the last time kneeling next to me, tear-stained and bone-white with shock. I looked her full in the face, the one person I truly loved. “I’m sorry, Ana. I’m—I’m sorry...” Darkness as deep as space itself, but devoid of starlight, swallowed me as I left my family behind. U
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GAM E O V E R words by Milleny Kwan illustration by Lua Presidio
I
wake up and my head is pounding, my body is aching and my stomach is turning. I attempt to roll over onto my right side and use what is left of my body strength to push myself up. Unsuccessful, I collapse on the wooden floor and a cloud of dust explodes into the musty air, consuming me. My stomach contracts violently and while lying on the floor desperate for help, I lurch forward and forcefully begin dry heaving. The acid of my vomit claws at my throat and I try to swallow the bile, but my guts need to expel what was within me. The vomit surges up from my esophagus and comes out my mouth looking like greenish-yellow congealed contents. The warm bile covers the dirty floor and oozes down my neck. I throw my body up against a wall and lean on it, desperately trying to breathe. With my mouth coated with a pungent smell, I say with a shaky and raspy voice, “Water.” I fall to my knees and clench my sore throat. Beads of sweat roll down the side of my face and find its way to the corner of my mouth, salty. My eyes are heavy and I can barely keep them open. Each blink feels like a fight to keep myself awake. Suddenly, a deafening, thunderous sound cracks through the atmosphere’s sound barrier. I quickly limp toward the shattered window in front of me and stick my head out, careful not to cut myself on the jagged
edges. Looking up towards the dark and black beyond, I gasp. A startling sight forces my jaw to drop. The night sky is illuminated in a deep green and blue hue by an enormous hole that stretches over a kilometre in length! I observe it and immediately, I know that this is a wormhole. A jet plane speeds in its direction and the silver object disappears. It was three years ago. I remember it so clearly. August 7, 4080. The event that would change human history forever happened during one normal summer evening. The residual heat from earlier in the afternoon lingered in the air and made it uncomfortably hard to breathe. Colours of yellow, orange and red married together in the sky, creating a piece of art so breathtaking, I thought I was living in a painting. I remember looking out the window when I saw the earth beneath me moving up and down like the waves of the ocean. It all happened so quickly. I heard and felt the earth come alive; rumbling and shaking, making noises that sounded like I was in the belly of a whale. Behind me, glass dishes shattered all over the hardwood floor. I attempted to take cover, but the ground was shaking so violently that it was difficult to move. I fell over and attempted to crawl to my fragile desk. The ceiling lights were swaying from side to side, then one by one, the light bulbs exploded into a million pieces.
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What happened was that the Earth’s magnetic field had flipped. I remember reading about this in my tenth-grade science textbook. It happened 72 million years ago and it was bound to happen again; we just didn’t know when. Because of this global cataclysm, massive earthquakes were triggered, rapid climate change occurred and species were quickly becoming extinct. Billions died and those who fled alive were the aristocrats who had the money and technology to leave the Earth. I do not know where they went, but it is suspected they found refuge on Planet 8043X9, where the conditions are similar enough to Earth to sustain life. There was talk about scientists working on new technology for space travel by bending the space-time continuum. This could allow you to theoretically jump the million light years between point A to point B in milliseconds. Snapping out of that memory, I come back to the harsh reality of where I am. I do not even know how I survived. I do not even remember a single thing. The last memory I had was feeling a sharp pain crawl up my spine when the desk collapsed, then a darkness consumed me. I look up at the anomaly in the sky and noticed that I had to escape. I cannot die here. The wormhole was noticeably reducing in size and this meant I had limited time to reach it. I begin breathing more rapidly as I realize that I cannot waste any more seconds. I run out of the torn-up building and I get an urge to head towards the open field in front of me. I follow my gut. In the distance, I see a large object that is toppled over. The closer I get, the harder my heart pounds. Finally, when I’m close enough, I notice that it is a jet. I sprint, using every muscle in my body to get to it as fast as possible. I crawl into the structure and desperately start punching all the buttons. Soon enough, the entire control system ignites and the switches light up in colours of red and green. My fingernails dig into the leather lever and my
grip tightens as I pull it toward my body. The jet begins lifting off the ground and I sigh with relief. I look down on the floor of the earth and suddenly, I feel dizzy. A flash of memories fills my brain. “Is this déjà vu? Why do I remember flying this exact same jet?” I think to myself. But I shake that thought out of my head and focus on maneuvering the jet. I move toward the direction of the wormhole and as I get closer, excitement fills me. A blaring alarm forces my body to jolt up. Flashes of red light blind my vision, forcing me to squint. I look at the gas gauge and notice that I am low on fuel. I begin hyperventilating. “I am so close,” I think to myself. With the last bit of desperation and hope, I jerk the lever up and the jet accelerates toward the giant beast. The brightness from the sight of it makes it extremely hard to open my eyes so I fly blind, praying to whatever higher being that is out there — even though I’m not religious — that I escape. GAME OVER.
“Damn, I was so close! You wanna try, Matt?” “What are you even playing, Jake? You’ve been sitting here for over three hours.” Matt hands over the light-weight silver helmet to Jake. “It’s supposed to be like a real-life simulation of a global cataclysm back in year 4080 on a planet called Earth. This was way before we were born, but my dad just gave it to me to play and learn about some history I guess.” “Oh, sweet, that sounds kinda sick! Let me try it out,” Jake said excitedly. He put on the helmet and pushed the red button that was just above his right ear. I wake up and my head is pounding, my body is aching and my stomach is turning. I attempt to roll over onto my right side and use what is left of my body strength to push myself up. U
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LOOKING UP TOWARDS THE DARK AND BLACK BEYOND, I GASP. A STARTLING SIGHT FORCES MY JAW TO DROP.
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