by Julian Miles | May 31, 2013 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The moonlight is cut off by drifting clouds as I hurdle the wall and drop into the shadowed mess that comprises the unfinished foundations of what will be the Chibakan headquarters when they finally find some new backers.
Behind me I hear the too-rapid crunching of my pursuers using assault speed, trying and failing to get me before I disappear down below and their advantages shrink again.
“There’s no use running, you little puke! Flesh can’t outrun cyber!”
Nice mister cyberpsychosis is technically correct, but all the adverts show hapless escapees running through open malls and down streets. Of course they get taken down by the cheetah-like cybergoons.
I used infra-dense smoke to waste their heatsight and pepper-fleck to trash their sensors. Personally I thought the ten litres of used motor oil was a genius touch on the fire escape, but the screaming profanities as they skidded and in some cases failed to stop before the eight storey drop let me know my talents were unappreciated yet again.
I scoot down the unfinished stairwell and drop further into darkness, sticking another infrasmoke bomb to the crossbeam I pass just before I land. Its little beep as it sets itself for massed circuitry is reassuring. I run left and drop off another ledge into what I presume will be the sub-sub-basement and grab the aerosol I left behind a couple of days ago.
I spray the freespace-rated instabond generously across where they have to land, then do the nearest uprights and scaffolding too. Never know when someone’s going to brace themselves to get the ultraglue off their shiny cyberfeet or boots. As the crashing above indicates my fan club has arrived, I orient myself, take three steps backwards and jump up into the ducting that starts here and extends all the way to the storm drains on the other side. I leave a bodyheat radiator in there, swing out and grab the scaffolding as a pop and a hiss tells me the first winner is about to land.
Climbing the poles in pitch darkness validates my weeks of practice. At the top is a workman’s sling and I wrap myself completely in the totastealth sheet before settling for a doze. Nothing to do until the cybersupermen discover they’re not so super after all.
The shouting and yelling lulls me into a light, refreshing sleep. The silence wakes me.
Sticking my arm out I scan for life using the specialised sensor built into my gauntlet; nothing.
The cyber and nano crazies have their uses, but the archtyptural ‘street samurai’ are a joke. While cybertech has advanced beyond belief, battery technology and similar energy sources have not. Most cybergoons have solar charger pads integrated into their armour and even their tattoos. Put them in the dark and make them angry enough to believe their own hype and they will literally kill themselves as the technology overwhelms the body’s ability to power it when stored energy is exhausted. It’s actually a very short time from out of juice to out of body potentials.
Half an hour later I have a floatrolley loaded with fifty kilos of tech and ten kilos of organs. The scavengers are already gathering beyond the circle of my guardfield.
By tomorrow I’ll be set for another couple of months and Chibakan will be down another four idiots. I’m doing them a favour and they pay me handsome scrap values for weeding out the fools.
by submission | May 30, 2013 | Story |
Author : W Hunter
“Where is everybody?” Enrico Fermi, 1950
The enormous space craft slid out of the hyper-dimensional matrix in the orbit of one of the gas-giant planets. It gravitated towards the inner planets smoothly, gathering data by the millisecond. Within a short time the thousands of remote detectors had transmitted a gargantuan amount of data to a massive computer network. The data was immediately analysed and collated into a report which was then arranged and organised into an executive report by an Assessment Officer.
Commander Xent was deeply engrossed in Interthought when Assessment Officer Hettel entered the chart room.
“Excuse my interruption, sir, but I need your opinion on my analysis of this planet.
It took a fraction of a minute for the Commander to adjust his attention. “I’m sorry Hettel, I was engrossed in an intriguing exploration of 11 dimensional topographies with two time dimensions with the Chent brothers.
“Sorry to intrude” said Hettel.
“Not at all, my Command duties take priority. How can I help?”
“Well,” said Hettel, “I have completed my analysis of the third planet in this system and I need your opinion on my conclusion. I will upload my report onto your Thoughtscreen now. May I talk you through it?”
“Go ahead” said the Commander.
Hettel resolved to be brief and to the point. ”As you see, we have a 96 % conformity with our own preferred physical environment: Atmosphere: 80 % Nitrogen, 20% oxygen, traces of carbon dioxide and Helium. Surface: Large areas of saline water and a variety of land masses, some extensive fresh water areas and tributaries. Suitable temperature zones. Biologically: Mammalian species, dominated by intelligent bipeds, somewhat aggressive but not dangerously so. Warm blooded avian species and numerous cold blooded reptiles etc. No surprises here”.
The Commander nodded.
“Cell nuclei contain coding molecules similar to ours, same bases, phosphate bridges and sugars only slightly different. Amino acids same or near identical with ours, two less in number. General conformity 97%.
Micro organisms of the single cell variety, coding chemistry types 2 and 3. Large variety of molecular cell invaders. Overall similarity rating 89%.
That’s more or less it, sir, unless you require more information?”
The Commander turned his penetrating gaze on Hettel. “So what’s your recommendation?”
Hettel was confident. “I had high hopes for the suitability of this planet when we made our long distance assessment. Now that we have this detailed data I have no hesitation in rejecting contact totally.”
“I agree entirely” said the Commander. Far too close a match. Early contact with planets like this were disastrous- invasion of all our life systems by micro organisms, nothing on the planet digestible, 100% mortality.”
“I find it quite depressing. We seem to be stuck with finding planets with barely developed life forms, very different from ours and then completely sterilising them before colonisation. Co-existence with other species would be so stimulating if we could just find the right non-invasive systems.”
“I share your sentiments” said Hettel, morosely.
“OK, then” said the Commander heavily, “I’ll direct that we leave this system forthwith and continue our exploration on the planned route. For the record, Hettel, what does the intelligent species call their planet?”
“They call it Earth, sir” said Hettel.
by Desmond Hussey | May 29, 2013 | Story |
Author : Desmond Hussey
The Climber clings to the base escarpment of Olympus Mons’. Freezing zephyrs tug at his dusty, ocher robes as he scales, hand over fist, the sheer face of ruddy basalt.
“What is the nameless name?” Master Su-gee asked him once, long ago. His voice soft as a Martian spring breeze.
“Everything has a name, Master.”
“Does it?”
“We call the sea, Sea, the air, Air. Mars – Mars! Everything has a name. You’re Master Su-gee. I am –
The Master brought his hands together in a violent clap, stirring thick incence smoke into esoteric coils, which languished in the thin air.
“But Master, a name is power!“
The Master closed his eyes and whispered, “A name is weakness.”
The Watcher gazes from the mountain’s bass over Lycus Sulci, a rough, corrugated terrain where the massive volcano has buckled the Martian surface. Far-seeing eyes penetrate the tawny atmosphere glimpsing the distant aqua-blue shimmer of the Amazonis Ocean. Moist ocean winds carry precious water to the variegated lichen forests of Lycus Sulci. Promises of life.
Above, coriolis winds spin white cirrus into hypnotic, Fibinocci spirals, whispering secrets most do not hear.
“Names can be named, but named name is not the Eternal Name.”
The Traveler follows the gentle slope leading inexorably upward, the Mons’ zenith ever beyond the horizon. The destination ever beyond sight.
He moves through an endless forest of Serendipity Cactus rising from sandy hillocks. Their single, enormous leaf is held aloft by plump hydrogen nodules anchored to the lava field, resembling a vast, organic net cast high into to the sky; ever reaching to the heavens, yet bound to the material.
The plant’s wispy, pink cilia suck moisture from air-born dust, depositing grains of sand at the stem’s bass in gentle red mounds, like carefully harvested thoughts.
“Master, without names, without words, how can anything be known?”
“Words are dangerous, slippery, magnetic, filled with prejudices. Do not get caught studying the finger.”
The cinder of Earth glows dim on the horizon. Twin moons rule the star-studded firmament above the colossal Buddha carved into the Caldera’s wall. One hand reaches heaven-ward, the other lightly touches the ground. Behind a massive finger a narrow tunnel descends into the heart of the sleeping volcano. The Dreamer enters.
“Go deeper, young Dreamer. Whether you go, stay, sit, lay down, the whole world is your own self. You must discover whether the mountains, rivers, grass and forest exist in your own mind or exist outside it. Observe the ten-thousand things. Dissect them minutely. When you have reached the limitless, you come to the end of your search, where thinking goes no further and distinctions vanish. Go. Find the nameless name. Smash the citadel of doubt.”
The young monk bowed once, then left the mountain monastery.
The Seeker returns, walking an endless, oppressive night through the volcano’s twisting catacombs, deep into the bowels of the planet. The labyrinthine tunnels are dizzying, misleading, filled with false hopes, eager to devour lost seekers in a maze of dead ends.
The Seeker is patient. He listens.
The path knows the way.
A shaft of pale light falls on Master Su-gee who sits atop a broad cone of tan basalt, a microcosm of Olympus Mons.
“You have returned. Tell me: What is the nameless name?”
The Monk looks deep into the infinite cosmos of Su-gee’s ancient eyes, then he slaps his Master’s sand-carved face.
Su-gee smiles, nods. “How reluctantly the bee emerges from deep within the peony.”
The Monk bows low. “When the clouds have cleared the moons appear.”
by submission | May 28, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ray Daley
The Misthkthos had been on Earth over a year when I talked to my first one. They’d come in peace, landed in a quiet region and strolled out of their ship into the night to check out our planet.
Easy enough to spot them as aliens you’d think? Then you’d be thinking wrong because they look just like me and you. Admittedly with subtle differences but you could have sex with one of them and never know it. Don’t worry, no chance of them getting you pregnant or leaving you with a nasty alien STD. Our blood chemistry differed slightly.
But that slight difference was enough to mean we couldn’t catch their diseases and they couldn’t catch ours.
So how did I spot him?
Sitting at a table in the truck stop diner wearing a faded red plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. He looked like every other wanna-be cowboy in the joint.
“Mind if I sit here?” I asked, gesturing to the empty seats opposite him.
“Help yourself, free country or at least that’s what they say.” He had the twang of the accent and the world-weary cynicism down to a tee.
I started eating my burger and fries. “Damn good food here.” I said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he replied “I always stop in here when I’m in these parts.”
He hadn’t blinked, his poker face was near perfect. His one mistake, the subtle tell that gave him away.
I figured I’d see if I was right.
I lowered my voice. “Hello Space Boy.”
He said nothing. He took another gulp of his coffee with his right hand.
“Tell me I’m wrong then.” I said quietly.
Again he said nothing.
I fixed him with a gaze. “I could repeat it, only louder if you want? Or you can tell me I’m wrong?”
He put his coffee cup down onto the table and looked me right in the eyes. “What was it?”
“What gave you away, you mean?” I said.
“Yeah. I thought I had this whole routine perfected. No-one ever noticed before.” he said.
I glanced toward at his left hand. “Pass me the salt.”
He was probably unaware he’d been fiddling with the salt cellar from the moment I’d walked in and almost certainly from the second he’d taken his seat.
His people had a glut of many of things on their planet. Salt however was in very short supply. They’d seen our oceans full of the stuff and made their way across the stars to trade with us. But as they’d learnt our many languages from TV and radio transmissions they thought they had a good idea how visiting aliens were received.
IE:- very badly and with deadly force.
So they’d chosen to hide amongst us until the time to trade was right.
“Damn. Was it that obvious?” he asked me nervously.
“Only if you know what to look for. And I did.” I replied.
“So what’s it going to cost me to keep you quiet? You know we hate violence. I’ve got plenty of great technology I can trade?” he asked me.
I smiled at him. “I guess that ship of yours is pretty well hidden?”
He nodded.
“Good,” I replied “then you can give me a lift home. I’ve been stuck here ever since I crashed in Roswell a few decades back. I promise I won’t tell if you don’t?”
He smiled at me. “When do you want to leave?” he asked.
I looked over to the counter and called to our waitress. “Miss, can I have this to go please? I think I just got a ride home.”
by Duncan Shields | May 27, 2013 | Story |
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
I’m with the XIA. The Xenomorph Intelligence Agency. I’m undercover. This is a soft war; more of an intelligence-gathering mission to discover weak points and destabilization technique hypotheses in case they’re needed.
It’s the pin-striped skin that’s hard on the eyes. What works as camouflage on their world stands out on ours. They’re roughly humanoid in appearance. That makes it a little easier to accept them. Some of our teenagers have been getting full-body tattoos to look like them. Idiots.
The aliens from Karnasis have sixty tiny, bright pink eyes spaced around their heads like seeds on a strawberry. That creeps me out, both the lack of pupils and the 360-degree vision. Somewhere between insectile and mammalian and I can’t decide which. And the eyes are spaced randomly, differing from Karnian to Karnian like Rorschach blots, like a paintbrush-flick of glittering pink nail polish. It’s part of how they recognize each other. They have thick, furred hides like zebras.
The other disturbing thing is that they’re a very direct race with no sense of downtime or relaxation. Their evolutionary path seems to have lasted about ten thousand years compared to our millions. If this keeps up they’ll ‘pass’ us on the evolutionary race track sometime in the next few centuries. We’ve made friends with them because of this.
They have no art. That’s also disturbing to me.
They have five-partner sexual relationships that we’re still trying to figure out. There are encyclopedias about the ‘non-mating versus viably fertile’ hookups between their five sexes that contribute to social strata and byzantine caste system etiquette. There seems to be no enjoyment in what they get up to sexually, though. It’s instinct-driven but not in the same lust-crazy way ours is.
There are some long-term strategies in my department for dealing with the eventuality that there might be a battle between our races. Recently, however there has been a new social trend popping up with them that gives us hope.
The Karnians are fascinated by the concept of ‘fun’. Laughter and playing are totally insane activities to them. They want to understand these things and they’re impressionable. Like logical, curious children. It’s the younger ones that are picking it up fastest. It’s a fad that is sweeping through their adolescents. They have ‘earth parties’ where the whole point is to ‘enjoy’ time without doing anything.
It’s a little creepy. They’re adopting all of the affectations of having a good time without actually having a good time. Their laughs sound recorded. Their teenage rebellions seem empty. They’re starting to have orgies but all they’re doing is robotically parroting the actions of porn films. It should be hot but it’s like watching mannequins get it on. Creepy and soulless. I can’t tell if ‘fun’ is there.
Most of our recreational drugs don’t work with them but we’re trying to synthesize ones that do. I’m helping with that research as well. Every party I go to, I bring something new.
If this trend catches on, it could slow down their whole society to our speed. By teaching them to relax and have fun, we could quadruple the time it would take them to surpass us in terms of developing higher intelligence and cognitive skills. Lucky we caught them when we did.
Hopefully, all we’ll have to do is party with them for a few generations to stick a pole through their evolutionary wheel spokes.
I’m going to one of their parties now. I’m bringing some Absinthe and the Kama Sutra.
I’ll see what kind of trouble I can get into.
