by submission | Jun 20, 2010 | Story
Author : Liz Lafferty
I squatted to examine the crime scene. The woman was obviously dead. The alien? Well, there was a wet spot, a round sort of blobbish something lying next to the girl’s body.
“What happened here?”
“Doc says the girl was suffocated.”
“Not drowned?”
“No.”
“What about family?”
“The parents are waiting.”
“His or hers?”
“I guess his. They aren’t human.”
“Do we need a translator?”
My partner shrugged. The parents, such as they were, hovered a few inches off the floor. Thankfully, the department had sent over an United Galazies Interacter. Not exactly a translator, but someone familiar with customs and protocol.
The Interacter started the conversation with introductions and turned to me to start the questioning.
I shot him a blank stare.
“You touch them. Don’t you know anything?”
“No, I don’t.” U.G. spuds were all alike. Superior in their knowledge, condescending to their own race while basking in the knowledge they could communicate with hundreds of species in the galaxy.
The larger one was two foot from me. I liked the other one better. Not so fierce looking and with a shimmery silver color. This one was all black and murky. You know what they say, still waters and all that.
“What do I say?”
The Interacter rolled his eyes. “It’s all by touch. If you let your mind wander, it will know what you had for lunch yesterday. Think about the questions as you want them asked and the Aqua et Vita will answer in your mind.”
I reached for the water. It shaped and morphed as my hand touched the cool surface.
I felt the panic immediately. “Is it my son?”
My mind focused perfectly. “We don’t know. Do you know the girl?”
“Yes. We told him this was a bad idea. He wouldn’t listen. We’re only his parents after all. He said he loved her.”
“The girl died by suffocation. How would your son do that?”
“He did not kill her. He loved her.”
“But if he did, how would he kill her? Could he do it with his mind?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What about your son? What could kill him?” Call me ignorant, but how did one kill water?
“We are NOT water and you’re showing your ignorance by thinking it.”
“Sorry. Getting back to my question, what can kill your species?”
“Hungry, cold. Lack of will.”
“Thank you,” I said as I pulled my hand away.
Three days later, my partner burst into my office.
“We hacked her video logs. Want to watch some alien porn?”
“What do you have?”
“Our love birds in the act. Apparently, the first time for both to do the alien tango.”
The alien, Chrislos was his name, had taken a nearly human shape for the festivities.
The tragedy unfolded before our eyes. The alien lost his shape as the encounter progressed. Its water-like form had engulfed her, covering her face. Soon she stopped moving.
When the alien realized what it had done, it went insane. The normally spherical shape contracted and expanded in wild, grotesque agony. I wasn’t there, but I could feel the torture of realization. He’d killed the being he loved.
More research revealed that during the mating ritual, the life form loses its ability to mind connect. He didn’t know he was killing her.
An accidental death and a suicide. Not murder after all. I closed my file. I’d let the U.G. spud contact the family. I didn’t want the aliens to read my heartless thoughts on intergalactic race relationships.
A senseless waste. Worse, we’d have another case before you could say evaporation.
by submission | Jun 19, 2010 | Story
Author : Duncan MacLean
Her mistake was turning to the left. They always turned left. Well, the right-handed ones did. She took a swing at Finn near the Lev Station. Used her right hand. Caught Finn by surprise and he stumbled backwards. Actually stumbled. He would get crap about that later. If I told anyone.
I caught her square in the back and she flew forward about 2 meters then dropped. Finn caught up with me and swore.
“Hey! She was mine! You saw how she sucker-punched me?”
I didn’t say anything. It was one of those questions that you didn’t really want an answer to. School was where you learned about that. Don’t have to worry about that kinda thing now. Better to not think about those things.
“Welton 433. Validate. ” A pause. Three quick tones. “Cleaning. One. Half a kilometer north of the Lev on 12th.” Another pause. One long tone.
The new headsets were better. Just validate yourself and they get it. Whoever ‘they’ were. I had wanted to ask about that once, but not now. That kind of thing gets you on the street next to the woman who was going to get ‘cleaned’ in about 15 minutes. I never stayed for the cleaning. I’m not even sure what happens. Not supposed to.
A small crowd had gathered behind us. I could see Finn was going to lay into them, but they saw it too and were smart and walked away. I guess it wasn’t really a crowd. Crowds are not really a good idea anymore. ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd. ‘ People used to say that right? Three is probably safe though. Maybe four. I know I wouldn’t risk five.
“That’s right! Friggin A!” Finn was yelling at the people as they moved away. “Shoulda popped one of ‘em,” he said to me.
He was trying too hard now. Making up for getting punched by that woman. I guess I won’t say anything. She did look like she was going to let him put her in the restraints, but at the last second she turned and took that swing. Maybe she knew she was dead either way. Now or later. Me with the Hot Rifle in the street or someone else with a needle in a room somewhere. Not that I think about where that somewhere is. Or the someone.
We walked back to the Lev Station. People moved away from us as we walked. They never want to look you in the eye when you’re wearing the uniform. She had looked at me though – had seen Finn there too.
Bright red uniforms. Hot Rifles. Nerve Restraints. She shouted anyway. I had recorded the whole thing on the headset’s camera. For them.
Finn went to talk to two girls in white medic uniforms who had just gotten off the southbound Lev when I played the vid back. The now dead (and cleaned?) woman appeared on my heads-up display. I clicked it back to the point where she turned and looked at me… her words (last words) were clear and surprisingly loud on the vid playback…
“…any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty…”
Old words. From before I suppose. They would know what it all means… ‘nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty…’
Finn had a smile on his face. He was walking back with an arm around each medic girl. They were cute. I forgot about the woman. And the old words.
by Patricia Stewart | Jun 18, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
The debate was over; it was time for action. Peter Scott grasped the thruster controls and pushed them to their stops. The massive cargo vessel started its slow, terminal, decent toward its target in the southwest quadrant of the moon. As the SS Clymer descended toward the newly constructed Rodenberry Teleportation Facility in Mare Nubiun, Peter manned the navigation console in case he needed to make any last minute course corrections to keep the ship on its collision course.
“This is Lieutenant Ferguson at Rodenberry Base, modify your course immediately, or you will be destroyed.”
“You can try,” replied Peter. “I have nothing to lose. If that Teleportation Facility goes on-line, it will mean the end of my livelihood. There will be no use for transport ships once it becomes possible to beam cargo directly from the Earth to the moon.”
“Earth will always need transport ships,” interrupted Jon Franklin, the Base’s chief engineer. “My teleportor can’t reach beyond the moon. As we expand into the solar system, we’ll need you and the other pilots to replenish the bases on Mars and the asteroid belt. Your ships can be refitted.”
“That’s almost exactly what you told us when the geosynchronous teleportors were built. There had been hundreds of pilots ferrying supplies from Earth to the orbiting stations. Now, there are less than a dozen of us left running cargo from the stations to the moon. If that station goes on-line, we’re through, and you know it.”
“Mr. Scott,” interrupted Lieutenant Ferguson, “you can’t stop progress. This base will go operational. Don’t throw your life away. You can’t reach us. We will destroy you before you can get within a thousand kilometers the base. Reverse your course before it’s too late.”
There was no reply. The Clymer continued to accelerate toward the base. Apparently, Scott was willing to martyr himself for the cause. Lieutenant Ferguson turned toward the chief engineer, “I’m sorry, Dr. Franklin, you’ve had your chance to talk him out of it. He’s intent on committing suicide. I have no option, but to shoot him down.”
“Please Lieutenant, he’s distraught. He needs medical help. Give me a few more minutes.”
“No, Doctor. There isn’t enough time. The automatic defense grid will destroy his ship in thirty seconds.”
“Okay, Lieutenant. I guess I’ll have to try plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Yes, Plan B,” Franklin replied. “I’ve never tried it, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. Franklin’s fingers were a blur as he entered commands into the console in front of him. Seconds after he pressed the “execute” key, the base laser cannons opened fire on the Clymer, vaporizing it in a blinding flash of ionized atoms. However, on the elevated platform a few meters in front of Lieutenant Ferguson and Doctor Franklin was Peter Scott, still crouched in a sitting position, but there was no chair to support him. His confused expression turned into anger as he fell over backwards, screaming “Noooooooo!”
“Well,” said Franklin with a satisfied grin, “at least we’ve answers the question concerning whether or not you can teleport a living person. Come Lieutenant, let’s help him up, and get him to the infirmary.”
by submission | Jun 17, 2010 | Story
Author : Frank Ruiz
“We got a call. Yates again,” said a voice from the black. Gear clicked, clanked, and rustled as someone dressed. When he hummed, I knew it was Tim because he mumbled the lyrics to Move, Bitch. He gave that old song soul. “Lights?” he asked.
“Nah.” I sighed. “You know I sleep in my gear.” Tim grunted assent.
The truck’s familiar creaking almost rocked me back to sleep as we drove. We picked up pirate stations as we bounced across the cracked roads, the radio fizzling as it scanned and found…
-We have any time travelers out there? If you’re a visitor to the blasted past, don’t be afraid to give us a call…-
-So one day I’m out playing in the rain, and my father says, ‘Dammit, will you come inside!’ and I said, ‘Dad, I’m Jesus Christ!’-
Bank Officer Yates met us at the Dusty Wood gated community, gave us the address to check for squatters, and retracted the barrier poles. “Good hunting!” A smile and a wave. He lived off our arrests.
I squinted as we went. Dusty Wood’s dark made me think of outer space and stars. Constellations of solar powered LEDs lined the gutters and roof lines, barely illuminating the abandoned middle class community. Every so often, a tower broke the foreclosed town’s skyline and the red tip of guards’ lit cigarettes paced back and forth like small clones of Mars. On major streets, tracker lights followed us until we cleared the sector, then another light would pick us up.
We opened the door of Seventeen Fifteen and threw in a S.E.I.Z.U.R.E. ball. Five minutes later, we walked through, safeties off, gun lights on. We found a father and son shaking under a red swiss cheese comforter. The father’s Rolex clattered as he shook. Tim reached down, yanked, and pocketed the watch.
“It’s a good night. There were no weapons,” said Tim. “Look, a toy.”
A few feet from the boy, a yellow construction crane reached up. I grabbed it, showed it to Tim, and squinted as his gun light hit my eyes.
“Nah. That’s the Big Dipper.” I said.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jun 16, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“Son of a bitch. I’m getting too old for this,” Sergeant First Class Ron Walker groaned as he hit the ground after a fast rope out of the hovering SSL. Fortunately he was the last to drop from the lifter. As he looked up to wave the craft off, he saw a thin trail of white smoke zeroing in on the boat.
“Aw, just fucking great.” He scrambled for cover as a SAM impacted and the remains of the Ship to Shore Lifter rained down where he had stood only moments before.
He beat feet to the edge of the forest where his men, mostly FNG’s (fucking new guys), waited in urine soaked battle armour. “Allright ladies, as you may have noticed, we have lost our ride and as usual the intel is shit. The area is HOT. Lock and load. There are no friendlies around. If it moves, shoot it. If it keeps moving, frag it. Most of the critters are naturally armoured, and the natives, well, they have developed a taste for long pig. MOVE OUT!”
The 24 men of 2nd Plt. Charlie Co, unslung their plasma rifles and pushed through the all pervasive Venusian jungle. There were no large bodies of water anywhere on the planet, just the monotony of the dense jungle broken only by the occasional marsh or sluggish stream.
They advanced in a ranger file. Ten meters between, five side to side. They moved at a slow but steady clip with Walker bringing up the rear. A scream broke out from the front, quickly followed by the crackle of plasma fire from the linear acceleration rifles.
Everything went silent.
A flurry of chatter exploded on the platoon comm freq.
“Who was it?”
“Zalar, a giant fucking snake pulled him under.”
“A HUGE fuckin’ snake,” someone added.
The comm went silent again. Then just as quickly burst back to life.
“Holy fucking shit, they’re every where.”
From his position in the rear, SFC Walker couldn’t see what was happening through the foliage. His only link to his men was the comm, transmitting the bursts of their plasma rifles and their screams as they died.
He pushed forward as hard as he could to emerge into a small marshy clearing. From his position, he could see a group of huge writhing green snakes. He levelled his rifle and burned them down, but they reappeared just as fast.
All at once he noticed that they originated from the same central point that his men were being drawn to. As his rifle spat green tongues of death, he saw Danvers disappear into what looked like…, “A mouth. It’s eating them alive. Concentrate fire on the bush in the centre of… of the snakes.”
Where there were previously 25 plasma flames, only five were left as the men were pulled into the leafy maw. The plasma had minimal effect on the water gorged carnivorous plant.
One by one, the remaining men were entangled by sentient vines, and pulled toward their death.
Sergeant First Class Walker, late of Ore City Texas, held down the trigger of his rifle and continued to shear off the squirming tendrils. He watched as the charge meter reached 0.
As the creepers wrapped around his ankles, he pulled out his bowie and hacked in vain at the muscular green ropes.
As he was pulled into the ravenous plants mouth, he remarked to himself, “Smells like Momma’s okra.”
