CREATORS SWITCH - short story by Iain Richmond

"One hundred twenty-two degrees, zero chance of precipitation."

Dr. Ann Wheatley waited as the A.I. system in her hovercraft continued to sift through thousands of data feeds.

"Two minutes, 32 seconds to secure zone."

Dust whirled and scattered behind its sleek form. The electric engine pulled the craft along the arrow-straight terrain towards an unremarkable mound centered among a field of solar collectors.

"Incoming call, Dr. David Crossly, marked URGENT."

Forward jet fans came to life, slowing the craft to ensure Ann had enough time to finish the call. Chasing dust and debris engulfed the hovercraft for a moment then dispersed.

"Manual mode. Computer off." She patiently waited a few seconds.

"The line is clean," stated the computer then shut itself down. Ann grabbed the yoke and felt the rush of adrenaline as she took control.

Ann knew the protocol and the INFINITY project was full blackout, not even the President of the United Republic knew of its existence.

"Dr. Crossly, what can I do for you?" Ann knew what this call was about.

"Dr. Wheatley... Test Subject F89 expired during last night's shift."

Something was troubling him; Ann could hear it in David's voice.

"It's OK David, no bugs, no trackers, line is secure, just you and me. How did it happen?" Ann barely pushed the words out.

"Natural causes are all the printout said. Fine one moment and dead the next. Still," emotion flooded his voice, "One hundred and forty-four years to the nanosecond." David cleared his throat, "Nice knowing your voice Ann, but warm toxic beaches and thirty billion people await my retirement."

A lasting silence played out as Ann and David let the number sink in. 140 years old to the nanosecond, and poof... you're dead.

Ann broke the quiet, "One subject lives to exactly 140? On its own is incredible. Ten subjects? Highly unlikely..." David cut her off.

"But forty out of one hundred? Forty expire precisely at 140 years to the nanosecond? That is by design," he whispered. Ann interrupted him before he could continue down the rabbit hole. No such thing as a secure line, she thought.

"We'll know for sure today. The twins turn 140 mid-shift," Ann stated with more hope than she felt.

David cleared his throat, "Does it ever bother you that we've never actually seen our test subjects? Just printouts, numbers, ratios."

"It bothers me more that we had forty test subjects living in perfect environments, passing at exactly the same age." Ann felt like she was trying to explain the beginning of the creation of the universe.

"God? A higher power or force?" David was thinking out loud, "If the human body lives long enough..."

Ann cuts him off, "It has an expiration date."

"More like...," David felt ice enter his veins, "more like a kill switch."

Again the oppressive silence fills the hovercraft, Ann hopes for a new subject or a merciful goodbye and then decides to evade the dangerous conversation and take control.

"Enjoy your loss of anonymity David, wherever you find yourself." Ann is flooded with hope. "And David, I will miss hearing your voice." But look forward to sharing our bodies, she thought. They would find each other on a far away beach as soon as their final shift was over.