by submission | Dec 29, 2011 | Story |
Author : Ian Rennie
It’s not really time travel. Not how that expression is traditionally meant, anyway.
It has long been a maxim of those involved in my kind of research that you can look back and travel forward, but never the other way round. In a way, everything we know about forensic science is a way of looking into the past with slowly increasing resolution. My work is just another step down that road. A bloody big step, but a step nonetheless.
Every movement leaves a trace. Some leave more of a trace than others, most leave a trace so small as to be beyond invisibility. Theoretically, if you had a completely closed environment, you could infer everything that happened within that environment from an accurate enough look at its current state. In practice, that’s nonsense. The world is much too complex, too many variables need to be accounted for. Plus, once you look at things closely enough, you can’t be entirely sure of exactly where everything is, let alone where it was.
Electromagnetic signals are a lot simpler, comparatively speaking. With enough computing power and enough time, it becomes only really really difficult to figure out what a signal was, rather than impossible.
The Hartnell Array has made it even less difficult than that. I won’t go into details about how it works: every time I try to explain it to the chiefs of staff I can see their eyes glaze over. Instead, I try to talk about what it can do.
With enough time, and enough energy, any signal that was ever broadcast can be recovered.
Obviously, the implications are considerable. I’ve had scientists from every field asking for time on the Hartnell Array once its up and running. Even before it was finished it was booked up for the next decade. However, the British Army paid for it, so the British Army get first use.
Well, second use. Officially we’re testing its capabilities for another two months. Unofficially I’m enjoying the major reason why I agreed to build the thing.
“Everything in order?” I ask Dr Patel. She doesn’t understand my enthusiasm, but she humours me.
“Signal reconstruction is complete. Playback is ready whenever you want.”
I settle into my chair, and hit play. The music starts at once, as does the image, blurrier than I remember from my childhood yet no less magical. In awed silence I become the first person in more than half a century to see these images.
Recovering television isn’t difficult compared to some things. There were so many broadcasts at such a strength that you can pick and choose. The only real decision was what to recover first, and for me there was no question.
106 lost episodes, of which I was now watching the nineteenth. We were getting them at a rate of four a day. We’d have every one within the month. I sent the pristine recordings to the BBC within the day, but that first viewing was mine alone.
Dr Patel walks in as the episode finishes and smiles indulgently. She never liked the show, but I think she’s happy that I’m happy.
“Everything in order?” she says, handing my words back to me.
“Perfect.” I say “I think we should go after The Daleks’ Master Plan next.”
by submission | Dec 17, 2011 | Story |
Author : Ian Rennie
Dear Tony, Amanda, Vladimir, and Manami,
If I set this right, then this message has appeared just as you lost radio contact with Earth, alongside the real figures for how little fuel there actually is on your ship.
The first thing I want to do is apologize. You don’t deserve this. Nobody would deserve this. You deserve much more than an explanation, but an explanation is all I can give you.
Ultimately, this has come down to money. For decades NASA, ESA, and JAEA have been asked to do even more with even less, and as a result we’ve been forced to be a little more creative than we would have liked with our budget.
One of the largest costs of any Mars mission is the cost of bringing the ship back. All the way there, you have to lug the fuel to bring you all the way home again, meaning that the mass of the craft turns out to be more fuel than anything else. However we span it, a return trip to Mars costs exponentially more than a one way. We looked at sending the fuel first for you to collect when you got there, we looked at sending means of manufacturing the fuel for your return journey. Nothing worked. We could afford a one way but not a round trip.
We could have been open about it, recruited specifically for people who wouldn’t have objected to spending the rest of their life on the red planet. It would have been a bigger trip, but it would also have been a bargain rate for multiple years of data collection. This wasn’t possible politically. No elected representative would sign off on people going to Mars to die there.
So, we’re left with this, and I’m sorry. Your instruments have been lying to you the whole time, telling carefully constructed untruths, making sure you and everyone else believed you would be coming back.
You will be remembered, and honoured, and loved. The news will call this a noble sacrifice and they will be closer to the truth than they know. We’ll come back to Mars sooner, and in greater numbers, to honour the four brave souls who died on the takeoff of their return trip.
The countdown on the explosives should be nearing zero now.
Godspeed.
by submission | May 31, 2011 | Story
Author : Ian Rennie
The trader frowned. The translation device, never superbly reliable, had been acting up ever since he had arrived on Cygnus 1.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “What did you say?”
“I said, what are you selling?”
Veloth, the trader, relaxed. For just a moment, he thought the pink figure in front of him has said something inappropriate and biologically impossible about one of his mothers. To be frank, he wasn’t expecting much from a colony this small, but sometimes colonies from newly spacefaring races made for good markets.
“Medicines,” Veloth said, “the majority are for silicate life forms, but we have a few appropriate to your species.”
“What kind of medicines?”
“Mostly remedies. We have headache pills, cancer pills, asthma pills, immortality pills, athritis-”
“Hold on a second, did you say immortality pills?”
“Yes, and arthritis, senility, scale rot-”
“Are we meaning the same thing by immortality? Like, not being able to die, not getting older, that kind of thing?”
“Oh yes, immortality, living forever, I sell a pill for that.”
For some reason the colony leader started to get excited, and then did a dreadful pantomime of hiding it. The trader had dealt with carbonates before. None of them were particularly good at disguising emotions.
“We, uh,” the colony leader started, “We might have a use for that. How many do you have?”
“Not many, a few hundred. There’s not much demand for them, really.”
“Not much demand for-” the colony leader started in shock, then checked himself, “Well, if they’re just taking up space in your inventory, we’d be happy to take them off your hands.”
Veloth shrugged. it was a complex gesture on one with as many limbs as he had, but it got the point across.
They haggled for a while. The pink colonists were moderately skilled miners, and the trader soon arranged a vaguely extortionate price for the pills. The colony leader was almost salivating when they struck the deal, and stuck out a limb to shake. Veloth took it, making a mental note to sanitize that particular appendage.
The deal struck, Veloth prepared his ship for takeoff. If he could get a price like that for what he was selling, he’d definitely add this colony to his rounds, despite their odd tastes.
If they’d pay that much for a cure for immortality, who knew what else they’d buy?
by submission | May 14, 2011 | Story
Author : Ian Rennie
The first thing he noticed was her neck.
She had a certain way about her when she laughed, like she had to throw her whole head back, like this laugh was something bigger than she could easily contain that emerged from her like Venus from a seashell, and when she laughed, it exposed her neck.
Joey was out on the pull when he saw her, not in a sleazy way, but looking for a girl he could really get to know. When he saw her at the bar, he plucked up the courage to go up to her and…
…they were talking, and it was so easy, they’d only known each other a few minutes and it was so natural, like their aims were the same in life. He was listening to her talk, not like he sometimes listened to girls, waiting for an opportunity to get a good line in and slowly persuade them he was a good catch. No, this time he really wanted to know about her. Already after only a moment she mattered to him, and…
…they were kissing almost before the cab door closed. he had to break away from her to give the driver his address, and when the cab got to his flat he left way too much of a tip, but he just didn’t care. She was amazing, he was crazy about her, she was crazy about him, and…
…afterwards they cuddled, sharing each other’s post orgasmic glow. This is where he’d be smoking a cigarette, if he smoked. Instead, he looked at her and she looked at him, and he couldn’t think of two people in the world who were happier. And then…
…she opened her eyes, saw the ring, and she knew. She said yes before he could even ask. She saw the ring, and she knew, and that in itself said everything he needed to know. They would be getting married on the eve of midsummer, and…
…he realized it had been half an hour since either of them had said anything. There was a TV on that neither of them was watching. He looked over at her and tried to think of something to say. She looked up, and his eyes went back to the book he wasn’t reading. Silence, never broken, descended again, and…
…she was leaving him. The bitch was leaving him. She’d met someone who made him happy, she said. Joey wondered how it was possible for anyone to make that cold woman happy. God knows he had tried, for years. Without knowing he was doing it, he broke the seal on the second bottle of whiskey, and…
A slight buzzing sound let him know the simulation had finished. He realized, self consciously, that he had been staring straight ahead for a minute or so. The woman at the bar saw him, met his eyes, and smiled. The smile was so familiar to him and he didn’t even know her name.
He shook his head very slightly.
“Sorry,” he said, “I thought you were someone else.”
by submission | Mar 20, 2011 | Story
Author : Ian Rennie
The sky is bright, not noonday bright but rather like the flickering of old fluorescent tubes. You can make out clouds against the light, a sort of dirty grey, but nothing beyond them. No stars any more.
Everyone’s panicking, and I’m not sure why I’m not. I’m just sat on the roof to watch the end. Nothing I can do now, really.
It’s strange how quick everything changed and the end came. This time last year we were happy and ignorant at the bottom of our gravity well, not knowing about the universe we lived in. Then, all of a sudden we detected signals from alien life forms. Not one, but multiple ones.
This provoked the panic you might expect, but not as much as what these aliens had to say.
See, when I said signals from alien life forms, I was trying to be precise. Not alien worlds, just their inhabitants, their refugees. Over the last few decades, their planets had been destroyed at an ever increasing pace. Only those with FTL drives had made it out as something ate up entire solar systems and replaced them with nothing. They pointed out their former worlds to us. Their stars still shone in our sky, as they had outpaced the light of their own destruction.
From all over the galaxy and beyond, we saw refugees, all heading towards Earth, for one simple and horrible reason: Whatever was happening was focused on us: the universe was a contracting sphere around our solar system, and eventually around our planet.
The strangest part was that one group of refugees claimed to know why. They were a technomystic sect from the opposite spiral arm to our own, and they claimed to have had a vision of the cause of all this.
It was a man called Ambrose Jones. He was born to middle class parents, had an unremarkable time at school, got a job as a supermarket manager, married a girl who grew up two streets away from him, and died twenty years ago of pancreatic cancer. One small, utterly unremarkable life.
According to the technomystics, whatever had created the universe created it to see this one life, and having seen it, they were shutting everything down.
The sun went last month. The hard radiation from its death would probably have killed us all, except that, as the whiteness took it over, the radiation went with it. At some level I think something wanted us around for the end.
The last cloud I could see just drifted upwards, hit the whiteness, and vanished. As I lie here and wait, something funny just crossed my mind.
Everything happened for a reason.
