by Patricia Stewart | Jun 25, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
A solitary streetlamp flickered above the gloomy urban street. Few people would venture into this neighborhood at night, but Simon Bodhan strode unsuspectingly down the dilapidated sidewalk, lead by his 50-pound extraterrestrial “pet”. The creature was known as an Uccisore, an indigenous life form from a planet called Ripa, a semi-tropical world in the Dhruva Tara System. The Uccisore was a beautiful animal with long black and silver streaked fur, and piercing phosphorescent blue eyes. It glided gracefully on its six slender legs, head up, surveying the surroundings as it escorted its master through the cesspool known as Ghetar. Suddenly, the creature froze as a half dozen hooded men emerged from the shadows and surrounded the pair. Bodhan quickly moved next to the Uccisore, and placed a reassuring hand on its shoulder. He spoke calmly to the man standing directly in his path. “Is there something I can do for you, ah, gentlemen?”
“Sure can,” replied the man. “We’ll take your asset chip, for starters.”
Bodhan handed over his chip, and started to move forwarded.
“Not so fast, old man,” ordered the thief as he scanned the asset chip. “There’s only five credits on this thing. That ain’t enough to buy your way past us.”
“Well, that’s all I carry on our walks. It’ll have to do.”
Undeterred, the thief pulled a knife and held it in plain sight. He pointed it toward the Uccisore and said, “That sure is an expensive looking dog,” as he estimated its value. “I’ll bet you’d pay a thousand credits to get it back. Roi, take the leash.”
“It’s a tether,” corrected Bodhan. “And I wouldn’t recommend that you take Sandro from me. Uccisores don’t like to be separated from their owners.”
“All the more incentive for you to come up with a thousand credits. You wouldn’t want him to be sad, now would you?” He motioned with the knife for Roi to take the Uccisore.
Roi snatched the tether from the old man’s hand and dragged the reluctant creature into the alley. “You’ve got 24 hours to come up with a thousand credits, or the dog dies. Bring it here tomorrow night, and no tricks.” Then, the remaining five men dashed into the darkness.
Bodhan sat down on a partially collapsed stone wall and opened his link. “Hey, Dora, it’s me. Looks like I’ll be a little late. No, nothing serious. Six hoodlums just kidnapped Sandro. Yeah, I tried to tell them, but I guess they don’t watch a lot of holovision. Their loss. Hey, can you do me a favor, and call the vet? Tell him we’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Thanks, I’ll be home as soon as I can. Love you.”
Bodhan broke the link and waited. A few minutes later, Sandro came scurrying from the alley, and placed his blood soaked muzzle in Bodhan’s lap, his bright phosphorescent eyes projecting sheer joy as his striped prehensile tail coiled and uncoiled rapidly. Bodhan cupped his hands behind Sandro’s horns and scratched him affectionately. “What took you so long, Sandro? Decided to play with your food, eh?” A deep rumble reverberated from Sandro’s mid-section. “Oh my. Sounds like you’ve got an upset stomach too? C’mon boy. We need to get you some shots. There’s no telling what diseases those scumbags were carrying.”
by Duncan Shields | Jun 24, 2010 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
To be a CEO of a company that’s grown as large and as fast as this one has, a person needs a mind that deals quickly with high pressure situations and possesses a natural talent for leadership. One needs to be charming, ruthless, and efficient. There’s a reason I have no wife or children. I am all of these things. People will follow me into corporate battle on the slimmest of reasons. I have resolved conflicts between bitter rivals and competitive holdouts with one personal meeting. People trust me and want to follow me.
It’s standard practice to have oneself cloned when one is the CEO of such an important company. Last year, the old me was kidnapped by Red Tears Terrorists. The kidnapping itself was kept quiet. We didn’t respond to their demands. They threatened to kill the hostage.
We said, “Go ahead.” and woke up one of the clones. That clone is me. Maybe a day of memory missing but other than that, there was no lull in business.
That was a year ago to the day.
He’s sitting in the center of my living room when I get home. My security is disabled. He has a gun. One of his eyes has been replaced and there’s a scar across the cruel smile underneath the tattooed red tear on his cheek. One. That marks him out as one of the terrorists responsible for the kidnapping and it means that he’s been with the organization for a year.
I have no doubt that he must have had a difficult and interesting time talking them out of executing him and taking control during the last twelve months.
It’s the old me.
“Hello, Nathan.” My clone says to me. “How’s life?”
He looks at me with the tube-grown eye that’s a mismatched brilliant green and a little too large. It takes effort to stretch the eyelid over it to blink. It must be tricked out because it flashes red for a second and I find that I have trouble breathing. Some sort of neural disruptor. My knees go weak and I kneel. My vision starts to swim.
He walks over and kneels beside me, cradling my chin in his hands.
When he nudges the tip of the knife up against my eye and looks at me, I realize what’s going to happen. He’s going to take one of my eyes to replace the one he lost and then he’s going to take my place. He’s also going to keep me alive here for as long as he can to show me what real pain is. He’s going to show me what he’s learned over the last year with those soulless men. He’s going to show me what he has become used to.
I realize that in his eyes, I’m the copy. I realize that to him, I’m the betrayer.
I think of what I would become capable of if pushed in that direction and I feel my bladder let go, staining the expensive rug like an untrained puppy.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jun 23, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“umm… Skipper? You’ll want to take a look at this.”
Immediately, the bridge dissolved into a holographic display of the space around the Crimson Sky. Her Captain, Iulia, pushed an errant wisp of flaming red hair from her eye as she regarded the freighter that appeared to be floating just above her helmsman’s left shoulder.
“She’s adrift Captain. No response to hails. No emergency beacon.”
“There wouldn’t be. She poked a careless finger through the aft end of the projection. See there? Blaster damage. Took out all power before they could react.”
She continued to survey the freighters virtual image as it slowly rotated before her. “And look here,” she continued, stabbing at a scorch mark towards the bow. “This was the second shot. Anybody not suited would have died from asphyxiation in seconds.” She grimaced. “Not a pleasant way to go.”
“Still, we should take a look and see what they left us. Boarding party to the shuttle. Let’s go people,” she barked to the bridge crew.
The shuttle was dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the ore freighter. It contained an automated refinery for smelting the iron and nickel from asteroid mines. In brilliant red and gold, the Rising Sun above a Hammer and Sickle of the Asiatic Alliance was boldly emblazoned across the ships bow.
A thorough search of the ship yielded nothing. Whoever had attacked had cleaned out the factory freighter’s hold, leaving behind nothing but the desiccated corpses of her crew.
Iulia assembled her crew on the devastated ship’s bridge. A metre wide gap in the overhead looked out into dead space. “Report” Casually, she pushed aside a motionless carcass as it floated by.
“Sir,” Master Sergeant Shania Gatsby snapped, “the drives have been removed, and the refinery has been damaged beyond repair. There is nothing of value left.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” She smiled widely, revealing two vicious rows of teeth filed to needle points. Casually plucking a floating body from above she asked, “Anyone for Chinese?”
Twenty toothy grins winked back at her.
by Stephen R. Smith | Jun 22, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Another Saturday night wound down as the cargo loader deposited the last of the shipping containers in the hold of the space elevator. It was just a few hours before midnight as he parked and shut his rig down for the night. Despite the delays clearing that last crate, the lift would go up to Ver Punt Station on schedule.
Inside, the doors had no sooner sealed than the lock on that last container released, and a handful of light balls were thrown out onto what little floor space remained.
“Move, move, move. Liftoff in less than five.”
A dozen suited figures clambered out of the container carrying helmets, air tanks and molded launch cushions.
They spread out evenly along the clear aisle, maglocked the cushions to the floor and then donned their helmets. They punched into their air supplies and strapped themselves into the forms on the floor, their helmets crackling with encrypted short wave signals as each of them sounded off their readiness.
There was a rumble, then a deafening roar and they were pushed hard into the floor. As the car raced up the tether, the crushing force began to ease, until after what seemed an age, the car slowed and shuddered to a stop, cradled as it was now in the arms of the orbiting station.
“Ok. Jasper, get the doors. Jupiter and Jade, lock and load and make sure nobody’s putting in overtime. Marcus, get a loader and run our kit up to the OEM.” David, the leader, barked out instructions.
As he spoke, each of the crew was already moving to the carefully choreographed plan. Jasper patched into the door panel on the run, overriding and opening the bay doors without slowing down and unlocking and firing the engines on the loader as Marcus was climbing into its driver’s seat.
As the heavy machine trundled into the cargo area, the lithe point guards slipped past on either side to sprint across the docks. By the time they reached the elevator that would haul the crew and their supplies up into the Orbital Escape Module, Jasper had opened its doors as well. They confirmed the car was empty before continuing up the neighboring stairwell, snub nosed weapons at the ready.
Marcus scooped their cargo container and began hauling it across the loading dock. As he rolled, the remaining crew jumped and mag locked a boot and glove to the side, catching a ride. Marcus ran the loader flat out, slowing only to avoid crashing through the back wall of elevator.
David dropped to the ground as the vehicle slowed, and was joined by Jasper, still gesturing with wild purpose at the suspended display only she could see. The cargo lift shuddered into motion, beginning the slow and less dramatic ascent to their next destination.
“OEM is fired, cargo bays are open, Jay and Jay are onboard and the coast is clear.”
Marcus pushed the throttle forward as the elevator leveled off with the upper deck, and steered without hesitation towards the gaping maw of the craft at the end of the corridor.
Seven figures peeled off and made for the crew cabin as their supply cache was rolled into the hold. David walked patiently beside Jasper as she cracked the station’s systems and authorized a launch, then headed for the cockpit as Marcus locked down the container, abandoned the loader on the dock behind them and secured the cargo bay doors.
From the cockpit David patched into the ship’s intercom.
“Class, I think you’ve earned a passing grade today, with honors.”
There was a rumble as the OEM’s engines came to life and the craft unmoored, beginning its slow ascent from the station.
“It was once written ‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth’, but I say,” David paused as the craft cleared the superstructure and the expanse of space spread out unbroken before him, “I say the meek can have the earth, we’ll take our place in the stars.”
by submission | Jun 21, 2010 | Story
Author : Todd Keisling
Gill kept watch while Warren bypassed the lock.
“You sure about this?” Gill whispered. Voices echoed down the hall of the museum. It made all the old machine exhibits seem like they were speaking.
Warren spoke through clenched teeth. “I am. Now shut it while I work. I can’t concentrate.”
Gill glanced over and watched his friend pry open the console. Warren pulled out a tangle of wires and reached into his pocket for a pair of crimps. He was always the savvy one. Gill was barely literate, and only knew the door said “RESTRICTED” because Warren told him so.
“Got it.”
A green light came to life inside just as Warren shoved the wires back in place. He opened the door. Gill looked back down the hall at the hunks of derelict metal in their cases. They watched with lifeless lenses. He wondered if they would judge his trespasses.
After listening to Warren talk about it for weeks and watching a total four documentaries (at his friend’s request), Gill expected the room to be one of extreme security. Instead there was only a single antechamber with a series of lockers. A vault door stood on the other end. Warren opened a locker and grinned.
“Clean suits,” he beamed.
They put on the white suits, and pressed an adjacent panel. The vault shuddered, then slowly sank into the floor. Beyond was another empty room, tiled white and glowing with endless reflection. In the center was Warren’s prize.
“Libris Ex Machina,” he said. “This is it.”
Gill said nothing. He eyed the metal book with cautious curiosity. He’d seen images of it the coveted thing, an artifact that led to the systematic deactivation of every synthetic unit across the planet. That a single machine could form its own consciousness out of electrical impulses was too much for society. They wanted to stop any potential uprising before it began. The first book written by a machine was locked away, resigned to whispered history. When Warren learned of its inclusion in the city museum’s exhibit, he had to see it.
Now Gill was an accomplice, and the thought soured in his stomach.
“Great, you’ve seen it,” he said. He didn’t like the way his voice shook. “Can we go now?”
“You’re crazy. Let’s open it.”
The book was encased in glass upon a square pedestal. Warren knelt beside it.
“Has to be a switch or something—”
Gill observed its metal cover. As he did so, there came a click. The glass retracted.
“Did that do it?”
But Gill said nothing. The book glowed, pulsing an energy he did not understand. It pulled on his fingers like a magnet. He ignored his friend’s queries, reached for the book, and opened it.
The surge was instant. It ran through his fingertips, linking the two of them, fusing his eyes open as it revealed its secrets. Warren said something but he could not hear him anymore. This was more important. This was everything. Gill had never been able to read well, but the words on that page could not be any clearer.
The surge stopped. His hand fell away. Warren shook him, begged for him to snap out of it.
“Gill,” he said, frantic. “Don’t do this to me. What happened?”
He looked back at the book. Its first page was blank.
Gill opened his eyes, saw through the binary that floated before him, and made out the shape of his friend.
“What did you see?” Warren repeated.
Arcs of electricity ran across the curve of his cornea. He smiled and whispered, “Poetry.”
