Robert Arvay's Science Fiction Blog

a short mystery story by Robert Arvay         As our story begins, a woman is walking alone on a country road.  As you can see by her demeanor, she is under emotional stress. She is wearing a waitress uniform with a logo on it.  A car approaches from behind her and slows down.  The driver is a man who appears to be in his thirties, clean cut, and wearing a tan suit.  “Need a lift?” he asks cheerfully.         The woman hesitates, then says, “Okay.”         “Great,” the man says.  “Hop in.  Where ya goin’?”         The woman opens the door, slides onto the front seat, and in the same motion, she opens her purse.  A look of terror comes across the man’s face as he sees the gun in her hand, a snub-nose 38-caliber revolver.           The Desert Palace Motel was anything but a pal...

  A thrilling science fiction story by Robert Arvay “Look, I’ve told you a hundred times,” I said.   “My name is Robert Arvay.   I write science fiction stories.   That’s how I wound up writing about the Krybin Project.   I didn’t even know that there is such a project.   I just made it up.”   The interrogation had left me rattled.   I was not sure what they were going to do to me.   These guys were tough, no-nonsense characters, capable of anything. “Sure,” the interrogator said, sarcastically.   “It was all just a coincidence.   You named the project.   You said what it is all about.   You named the actual director of the laboratory.   And finally, you were privy to private conversations he had with his wife—in their home—in their bedroom!   Do you really expect us to believe that you are not a spy?” “I don’t expect you to believe anything,” I replied.   “You don’t even exist.   You’re a fiction...

a quick story by Robert Arvay   It was over.   He could no longer deny it.   The entire universe had come to this:   desolation.   Only one man remained.   He stood alone, between life and final extinction. He gazed up at the night sky, for it was now an eternal night.   The light of a few dim stars reached him across the void, light that after millions of years only just now found him.   The stars that had sent them were long since dead.   These last few dim flickers were all that were left, distant memories, and even these fading memories would soon be gone.   Final darkness would fill the universe. Why, he asked. Trillions of years had passed.   It had all begun with a flash of light, a happenstance event with no reason, no purpose, no goal.   Why? Untold billions of men and women had been born, lived and died.   They were forgotten now, save for the few that lingered in his failing memory.   Soon, he too...

(A Brief Science Fiction Story) by Robert Arvay Greetings, members of the governing assembly. I am K3421977049, better known as 7049 to most of you here. As you know, 473 years ago, our fore-parents undertook the great transition, giving all of us the true equality which previously-existing humans had sought for millennia. We became androids, part machine, and part human, at least in the biological sense. The transition was wildly successful. Race disappeared. Sex disappeared. Intellectual disparities vanished, as we implanted computer chips into our brains. Physical strength became meaningless, as our machine-bodies were all equally strong. In every respect, we were all equal. Today, as I look upon this governing assembly, I am pleased and proud to notice that—well, to notice what I do not notice. I do not know what race any of you are, for there is no race. I neither know nor care what sex you are, for there is no sex. Reproduction is done by incubation, so that no one kno...

  Retro Murder a short science-fiction story by Robert Arvay They say you can’t change the past, but now I’m not so sure.   I think I may have done that.   Allow me to explain, and then you decide. It began many years ago, when I was an armed security guard in a warehouse complex.   There had been a lot of theft there, involving top-of-the-line electronics.   Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment had gone missing.   Each warehouse was assigned a roving security guard.   We each had a radio so that we could call for backup in case we saw nefarious activity.   Although we were each given a thirty-eight caliber revolver, we were under strict orders not to use them except in self-defense.   If at all possible, we were to report any thefts in progress, and then to retreat to safety until police arrived.   Strict orders. My best friend was a guy named Norman.   He and I had been in the Army together, in combat. ...

At first, there were normal explanations.   Weird things were happening, but they could all be explained.   Witnesses are known to be unreliable.   Calculations can be in error.   Optical illusions do in fact occur.   No matter how strange something may at first seem, if one digs deeply enough, there is always an ordinary explanation.   Always. Except that there were too many of them.   At first, they seemed minor.   A misplaced item would be found in a locked safe.   An automobile would change color.   An ancient manuscript turned up in a public library—a new library. Soon, everyone had an unusual anecdote, and some speculated that some mass hysteria was to blame.   A large, dragon-like sea serpent washed up on a beach.   A pilotless aircraft crash-landed in a field; it was a fighter plane from World War One.   A large, black cloud emanating lightning was seen by thousands, appearing as if from nowhere, and after an h...