by Duncan Shields | Dec 21, 2010 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
This planet’s dominant life was insectile and large. A special breed of ranch-hand was needed.
Jake was a milliboy.
The millipede was as big around as a tree trunk, bright red and armoured. The saddle looked ridiculous on such a creature but it served its purpose. It kept Jake astride his steed.
Jake and a few hundred others worked this ranch. Breaking in the tranchlas, the kaydids, the scorps juners, skeeters, and the jackflies. Wasn’t one insect a body could trust, the earthers said. It just wasn’t in the creatures. They operated on a completely emotionless level. You couldn’t build up a rapport with them.
Jake and the other milliboys would beg to differ on that point.
“You spend enough time around the ‘sects,” Jake and the milliboys said, “you get to know the way they think, what the twitch of a leg means, the angle of one of those huge multifaceted eyes. The ‘sects know you’re watching. They learn to avoid pain.”
Jake’s mount was addicted to meth. It was easy to make around here. The millipedes were the easiest to hook, easiest to train, and damn near impossible to kill. Those pincers up front underneath that bulbous, eyeless face could cut a prayer in half or so they say. Slow movers but they never turned on their riders after they had been broken in and hooked on the drug.
Penelope was breaking in a mantis. Only the girls could work the mantii. The milliboys just got their heads nipped off when they tried. With the pheromones in the air, the female mantis could tell that it was a problem of dominance, not survival. A contest of will. There were dozens of species of mantis. They made up half of the planet’s population. Mantis-breaker girls were in demand. Prayers, they were called.
Penelope hadn’t lost one yet. She was there, hat in hand, whooping as the mantis bucked, kicking up fantails of brown dirt. Penelope had a hold of the wings with her legs and she was smiling from ear to ear, freckles dotted on her red cheeks.
After a long time, the mantis calmed down and knelt. The contest was over.
“Well, hell. I think this’ll be my new mount.” She said and slapped her knee after dismounting, laughing as she walked over to Jake.
“You always were a firecracker, Pen.” Jake said, smiling underneath the brim of his hat.
“How much money you got in that mouth of yours, Jake?” asked Pen. “I reckon I can break a hive queen before you can tomorrow.”
The other milliboys laughed. Jake stopped smiling. He squinted up at the two suns as if measuring something in the sky. He looked back at Penelope. Everyone around them went silent.
“You’re on” said Jake, smiling again. She smiled back.
Around them, money started changing hands.
by Patricia Stewart | Dec 20, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
The double doors whooshed open and an impeccably dressed elderly man strode into the conference room. He was instantly greeted by Sebastian Macy, who firmly gripped his outstretched hand. “Nickolas, you old dog,” said Macy with an affectionate smile. “You’re looking well.”
Nickolas returned the jovial smile. “Thank you, Sebastian. It’s been a good Season,” he said as he patted his round belly. “Perhaps too good,” he added with a hearty laugh.
“So, tell me old friend,” asked Sebastian, “are those contract laborers from Alpha Centauri everything I said they would be?”
“They’re absolutely a godsend, Sebastian. Inch for inch, they’re the finest craftsmen in the galaxy. In fact, before I leave, I’d like to extend their contract for another year, with a 30% increase in pay.”
“Excellent! I’ll have my assistant prepare the extension request. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Your message said that you were interested in buying eight adult Svev’hjorts.”
“That’s right, and I’m coming up against a hard deadline, so time is of the essence. Were you able to find a first-rate breeder?”
“I have,” replied Macy as he stepped to one side to reveal an attractive young woman with long blond hair, dazzling hazel eyes, and an endearing smile. “Let me introduce you to her. This is…” but Nickolas cut him off with an upheld hand.
The old man surveyed the young woman with the eye of a detective trying to match a name to a face. “No need, Sebastian,” he finally said. “This is Melanie Rider. I’ve known her since she was a child.”
Startled, the woman asked, “I’m sorry, sir, have we met?”
“Not officially, my dear. But in my business, you get to know a lot of people. But I thought your true love was Arabian horses, not Svev’hjorts.”
This kind of intimate personal knowledge would have alarmed most people, but the white haired man was so amiable and charming that she knew she had nothing to dread. “I consider Arabians my terrestrial favorite,” she replied coyly. “But there is nothing in the universe like a Svev’hjort. In the high gravity of their native planet, they can leap half a mile and land as gracefully as a ballet dancer. On a planet like Earth, they can practically fly.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Nickolas with a wide grin. “Well, then, I need eight of your finest animals. Can that be arranged?”
“Not a problem, sir. I maintain a stable on Pegasi V.”
“Ah, yes, Pegasi V. The ‘Galaxy’s Arctic Play World’. I’ve been there many times.”
“It is a beautiful planet,” conceded Rider. “The Svev’hjorts love the cold almost as much as I do.”
“Then I’m sure they’ll enjoy their new home. So, how soon can you deliver them?”
“I can have them here in three days. Will that be satisfactory?”
“Perfect,” he replied. “But, tell me dear,” he added as though he suddenly remembered another task. “Is it true that some Svev’hjorts are, what’s the word, bioluminescent?”
“Actually, that’s only partly true. The entire animal is not bioluminescent; the characteristic is limited to a few body parts, and the trait vanishes around the age of three.”
“That will work out just fine,” he said with a nod and a twinkle in his eye. “I shall only need his ability for one night. They’re predicting a particularly thick fog later this week, you know. So, in addition to the eight adults, please include one young Svev’hjort. And be sure that he has a bright shiny red nose.”
by submission | Dec 19, 2010 | Story
Author : Mark Wallace
Charles walked in holding a couple of loose pages of manuscript, written in his small, precise hand.
“What ya got for me?” said the agent.
Charles handed him the manuscript.
“Handwriting, dude. Why didn’t you type this up. You’ve got a laptop in your room, right?”
“I am not familiar with the workings of computers.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me, right?”
“No.”
“Dude, get with the program. We need to get you online fast. That’s what it’s all about today. Look, don’t worry, I’ll send one of the IT guys up with you later on. It’s simple. Ten minutes max.”
The agent fell silent as he read Charles’ manuscript slowly. Finally, he looked up:
“Hey, you know, this isn’t bad. I like it.”
Charles bowed slightly: “Thank you.”
“Bit old-fashioned, but hey. Let me just run it through our LitCrit program to see if it passes the test.”
The agent quickly typed up Charles’ story and watched the screen while the LitCrit program performed an analysis. Finally, he said:
“Ok, this is good. LitCrit just has a couple of issues.”
“Yes.”
“Well, first of all, there’s no sex scene.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“How about you show us a bit of the action. I mean, Edwin and Helena are getting it on, right?”
Charles grew pale, and spoke in a strained but steady voice: “Excuse me, but if you are referring to what I think you are referring to –“
“Ha! You Victorian guys. You were all about covers on piano legs and stuff, right? But I know you guys –“
“Sir, I beg you to refrain from indecencies if you wish this conversation to continue.”
“Ok, ok,” the agent raised his hands, palms out. “Let’s move on. Second thing is, no graphic violence. I mean, our readers love all this literary stuff, but violence is where it’s at. You know, it’s fine, literary stuff, blahdy blah, but then you’ve gotta hit ‘em with the violence. Kind of like a reward for making it through.”
Charles’ face wore a sad, tired expression: “Very well. I will bear it in mind.”
“That’s the spirit, Charlie. As I said, we want to renew your contract, and we’re totally happy to pay your mind reactivation and maintanence like we’ve been doing, but you’ve gotta help us out. You’ve got the chops, it’s just a matter of using them in the right way. And I’m here to help you do that. It’s all about the bottom line, right?”
Charles was silent.
“Ha! Yeah I’m right. But, no, this is good. I like it. We’re gonna put it out Friday. How’s that?”
“Very well.”
“Can’t do it tomorrow. Tomorrow’s Franzen. The guy’s washed up, but whatever. And Thursday’s Lindsay Lohan. She just did 90 days for possession. Again. Exclusive inside look. Flash factual. That’s why we’re the best. And then Friday: ‘First new work from Charles Dickens in 160 years.’ How do you like that?”
“Thank you. I am most honoured.”
“You should meet Lindsay. Actually, she’s just out in the corridor now. I’ll introduce you. She’s awesome, and let me tell you, Lindsay Lohan is what the 21st century is all about. You could learn a thing or two from her. It’s not enough to be good at what you do, you gotta sell yourself. Can you sell yourself, Charles?”
“I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Lindsay. She’ll show you the ropes. I think you two will really get along.”
by submission | Dec 18, 2010 | Story
Author : Martin Berka
Captain Mu Wharton peered over the rocky outcropping, and was rewarded with humanity’s first glimpse of an alien species. Certainly, the Eurasian Union’s Mira 17 telescope had been the first to notice activity, but in terms of “first contact,” this was hopefully it.
It was fairly anticlimactic due to the fact that the individuals of interest were several kilometers distant. The suit had to triple its radiation representation spectrum before Wharton saw the faint shapes moving towards the human scout group, and signaled for the others to remain hidden while he and Lieutenant Damiana Zeitzev left cover.
The figures, four in all, stopped about 50 meters away. Several minutes passed, and Wharton was consulting his crew about approaching, when two more figures appeared in the distance behind the first group, carrying between them a featureless sphere, perhaps a meter in diameter. They rolled it across the uneven wasteland; hovered several centimeters above the ground, and stopped halfway between the two groups.
The floating sphere emitted a series of brief, low-intensity bursts on a variety of wavelengths, with slight variations, and kept this up for several minutes. Wharton concluded that if the aliens meant harm, they could already have done so, and radioed the five remaining party members to join him. The emissions from the sphere briefly intensified, and then settled into a gentle wave; Ensign Branislav Adani guessed that they represented some form of rapid scanning.
About fifteen minutes passed, during which the six aliens barely moved, and the humans experimented with flashing lights and sending radio messages. Suddenly, the sphere settled on the ground and extended a large screen towards the humans. It displayed the words “For English, wave 1 appendage. For Chinese, wave 2. For Russian, wave 3…” with each language represented in its own alphabet. Every language spoken by a human present, was listed. Glancing at the others for confirmation, the captain raised his right arm up in the nonexistent air.
Immediately, the screen was filled by a closeup of one of the aliens. It resembled a crocodile, assuming that crocodiles were six-legged, eight-armed cubes without facial features, and were in the habit of plugging wires into their chests. An unfamiliar voice appeared on the humans’ communications channel.
“That took a while. Still, you people are pretty normal, and the psych-bio profile’s done. We’ve finished refueling, so we’ve got to be on our way. Nice meeting you!”
The screen began to fold up, or perhaps melt, into the sphere, two of the aliens were already walking back toward their ship, and Wharton quickly broadcast a message in the visitors’ direction.
“Wait! We represent the six inhabited bodies of this solar system, and are honored to have the opportunity…”
“Oh, we’re your first?” the voice replied. “Okay. Our government will send you some representatives in a few orbits. In the meantime, work on filling out this application to the Spacefaring Nations Organization. It should be compatible with your tech. We’ll leave a relay here; the app will tell you how to send the data once everything’s filled out. We’d love to stay and chat, but corporate will be ticked if we don’t reach the Norma arm in a few days.”
The sphere spit out a small rectangle and flew after the aliens, who were already skittering away. The parting gift, reminiscent of the old memory cards, glided into Zeitzev’s hand. Wharton turned back to the select crew handpicked for the mission.
“The media will not be pleased.”
by submission | Dec 17, 2010 | Story
Author : CJ Bergin
Mathius was a watcher. Simply put, he watched; if it happened within the 22nd district of Virginia, he knew about it. Beyond his assigned territory, it was up to the other watchers on Uncle Sam’s payroll. But here, in a godless era, Mathius was God. Lights flared up on the computer screen:
17 Photos tagged of Jessie Ambler, Grace Peterson, and Emily Rothschild from a security camera on Colombia drive.
Mathius’ eyebrow crept upward. The snapping sounds of plastic keys filled the room, while the sound of monitors hummed all around him. He looked down at his keyboard as he typed, away from his cocoon of computer screens. He was surrounded on three sides by dozens of monitors, humming and flashing in rhythm like choreographed fireflies. Behind him stood a single ominous screen connected to a separate keyboard and another similar object with several large buttons on top in the place of traditional keyboard keys. When the humming stopped, Mathius looked up. A picture of a young woman holding a kitten filled the one of the screens.
Jessie Ambler
Age: 18
Relationship Status: Single
Location: Maryland 54th District
“Pedigree”
Father: George Ambler
Mother: Mary Ann Ambler, Maiden Name: Ziebarth.
The list continued and contained all of the girl’s information: bank statements, social security number, body weight, and of course, a photo album filled with thousands of photos from her entire life. With the ease of public surveillance and instant face-tagging technology, Uncle Sam kept a complete photo album of all his children.
“Maryland…” he mumbled to himself. That explains a lot. Virginia had recently lowered the legal age for alcohol consumption back down to 18. Of course, purchasing alcohol here wasn’t illegal. Neither was transporting the booze across state borders, thanks to the full faith and credit clause. But the minute she imbibed back in her hometown, she had better be indoors with the lights out. And she had better remain coherent when it was time for her mandatory citizen status update. If her local watcher thought he saw anything suspicious it would lead to a civil servant investigator on her tail, in person. This would most likely lead to a series of state punishments, and a serious black mark on her record.
Of course, Mathius could start such an investigation on her too, if he wanted.
Casually, he turned to the single computer screen behind him. Without any hesitation, he typed out Jessie’s full name and social security number. Then he looked down at the black box of large buttons.
Those beautiful buttons. He had one for every occasion, murder, domestic violence, armed robbery, driving violations, sedition, and of course, drug and alcohol abuse. He hand hovered over the buttons, as a smile crawled onto his face.
Divine.
Pushing one button up here causes someone’s demise down there. Of course, this divinity did have its limits. America was still free after all. Mathius only had the power to punish the legal indiscretions of man; punishing the social indiscretions was left up to the masses. After all, its not like Mathius had a monopoly on the social network, everyone was logged in, everyone could watch. Mathius was just the government employed whistleblower. Husbands could legally cheat on their wives, but the collective conscious of the masses manifest in the web would discover their infidelity, and the resulting civil unrest would be worse than any government mandated punishment. Of course this was all a product of a civilian achievement. The sheep easily lined up willing to put their lives on display. All Uncle Sam had to do, was log on.
