by submission | Aug 26, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
I slowly wake up. I’m in a hospital bed. An IV in my left antecubital vein slowly infuses normal saline. I feel like I need to urinate, but I have a suspicion. I look. Yep, Foley catheter in place. I smile. “One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind,” I say aloud.
I hear a knock at the door. A man wearing blue surgical scrubs walks in.
“Hello. I’m Dr. Waples. Was that Neil Armstrong you were quoting right before I walked in?”
“Yes,” I say. “I assume I’m not the first guy to use that line to appear wittily ironic under the circumstances?”
“I’ve had two other patients in the past do the same,” the doctor says with a smile. “How do you feel?”
I look at my hands. They’re perfect right down to the scar on my left index finger. Cut myself slicing an orange when I was a kid. I run my tongue across the interior surface of my teeth. The left maxillary central incisor protrudes slightly compared to the right just as it always has.
“I feel fine. Except I could do without…” I gesture at the Foley catheter.
“Nurse will be in in a minute to remove that,” the doctor says.
“You know,” I say, “I thought I’d be…different. I mean, at least a little.”
The doctor nods. “Everyone says that. I said it myself when I ‘arrived’. The scanners back on Earth image all the way down to the atomic level and the fabricators on this end synthesize cells and tissues and organs with the same precision. A few months ago I had a new arrival who had the same cold she — or rather her original — had back at the time she was scanned. Fabricators reconstituted the rhinovirus.
“I need to ask you a few simple questions just to check your orientation,” the doctor continues. “What is your name?”
“Kenji Herrera.”
“And what is the current date, by which I mean last date you recall from a few subjective minutes ago on Earth before you woke up here?”
“February 3rd, 2452.”
“That’s correct, although the current date is in fact October 23rd, 2456. Travel time for your scan data to get here plus time for fabrication. Could you tell me where we are right now? What is this place we’re in?”
“The Niven Reconstitution Station orbiting Alpha Centauri B.”
The doctor nods. “Alert and oriented times three,” he says.
Another knock at the door. A robot walks in and stands next to the doctor.
“I’ll step out and let the nurse take care of your catheter and IV. I’ll be back to do a complete exam in a few minutes. Then we can let you start a liquid diet and advance you up to solids if you handle the liquids okay.”
“Sounds good, doc,” I say with a laugh.
“Something funny?” the doctor asks as he’s turning to leave.
“Just this,” I respond sweeping my hands over my trunk and legs and extending them out at the room. “It took a hundred years for this station to travel here from Earth orbit so we could start replicating scanned copies of people. No mighty starships with magical faster-than-light drives. No dramatic teleporting down to ‘explore strange new worlds’. And this is how space explorers make their entrance into the final frontier: an IV in an arm, an oxygen mask, and a tube running from one’s bladder to a plastic bag.”
The doctor smiles and nods and leaves the room as the machine nurse walks toward my bed.
by submission | Aug 25, 2013 | Story |
Author : Sevanaka
It is an unnatural sensation. A man is meant to know – thoughts firmly grasped in hand. Oh, for the sweetness of emotion, the joy and sorrow and bubbling laughter and the deepest pits of despair. For the solid stoicism, the reassuring taste of logic and math and the ever-expanding pursuit of knowledge. Instead there is the noise – the gutteral, deafening howl of the wind screaming its objection.
Someone here is yelling, too. The sheer terror of this step, this short launch from atmosphere as the craft is slung towards space at a frigtening pace. His fists balled, knuckles stark white as he braces against the vibrations. Once upon a time, it was much worse, he knew. Strapped to the back of what amounted summarily to a large, directed bomb; a tin can with tiny windows peering out into the blackness of night. Still, every fiber of his being protested furiously at the transit.
His hands ache, his head pounds. Fleeting memories distract him: the clearest blue of sky and an open field. Wildflowers and swaying grass brushing his knees, and her smile. He’s leaving her now. He loves her. He remembers their first kiss, stolen under a full moon. The sweaty nights tangled in sheets and the whispered words and autumn and the stained oak writing desk and winter and magnificent carosels with tufts of colored sugar and spring again. The brilliant glint of light as he knelt and asked the words.
A sharp bounce throws him from the thoughts and his eyes catch sight of the viewport. She couldn’t come with him. No place for children, were the words from Command. Her picture, her smile, happily gazing up at him from the console. Yet he can’t see her, eyes barely focusing on the scrolling readouts.
Some of the crew can be heard, barking commands or laughing that nervous, jittery shallow chuckle. Expectation. Congratulation. Careful, measuered excitement. She won’t know the feeling, being thrown, tossed gracelessly, flung aimlessly into the blackness of night.
The shouting is getting louder. Screams, really. Gut-wrenching. Loud. Louder. Mote by mote the stars wink into existance. The noise rises in pitch and slowly, steadily, abates. The deafening roar collapses down to a mewling thrum. The great expanse of blackness looms ahead, dotted with the radiance of a trillion suns. He’s leaving her. Already the smile in the photograph looks like a distant memory. Yet the feeling that grips his chest, securing him against the noise, the thrum, the growl, reminds him what the greatest expanses of infinity could never give him. He’ll be back in a year.
The man’s throat protests: raw, dry, hoarse.
The screaming stops.
Space beckons.
by submission | Aug 24, 2013 | Story |
Author : Rob Sharp
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. This is the greatest moment in human history and I’m missing it. I need to be let through!’
‘I’m sorry sir, but you can’t come in,’ the Security Guard said. He stood firmly in front of a pair of heavy oak doors into the conference room.
‘But I’m the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, I brokered this deal! The Filiansal wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my intervention on Mars.’
The Prime Minister’s eyes softened and his voice shifted into the same jolly tone that won him a landslide victory and ever decreasing majorities in parliament over the last ten years.
‘I know why you won’t let me in. The protocol is clear: it’s designed to stop us spooking our guests. But I’ve already spoken with them, they know me,’ The Prime Minister closed his hands into fists and made a series of movements that, if one were generous, could be described as sparring at the man in front of him. ‘So what do you say?’
The Security Officer flexed his fingers on the butt of his steel, spring coil extendable baton.
‘My superiors have made it quite clear that I’m to let no-one in to the meeting once the formal introductions have been made,’ he said.
‘Perhaps I could speak to your superior,’ the Prime Minster moved in closer to whisper. ‘I happen to know Sir Marcus personally.’
‘My boss is a man called Barry, sir. I could call him on my walkie-talkie, but I believe he’s on the other side of the door and it may cause our guests some distress.’
‘Good point,’ The Prime Minister replied. He took a step back and hopped from toe to toe as he strained to look through the frosted glass above the doors into the conference room. His bulky frame wobbled slightly when he stopped and a bead of sweat had formed on his brow. ‘I’m sure he’s busy.’
‘Yes, sir.’
A low pitched, musical stop-start hum, the first sound from an alien tongue spoken on Earth, was barely audible through the door. Several voices joined together to form a chorus. There was a gasp.
‘Look it’s all just a misunderstanding…’
A young, feminine voice pierced through the door like a javelin. After a moment of absolute silence, the room erupted in terrified cries and shouts, quickly followed by heavy thumps against the door. The Security Officer didn’t flinch.
‘Let them out man!’ The Prime Minister moved to the conference room, but the Security Officer stood in his way and pushed him to the ground. The door creaked as the screaming and dying desperately pushed against it, but the ancient wood held firm. A splash of red liquid struck the frosted transom, turning the light in the antechamber a shade of sanguine pink. Blood began to trickle through the gaps of the door and a rapidly spreading pool flowed around, and then enveloped, the Security Officer’s heavy boots. The Prime Minister tried to scramble to his feet, tripping and falling in the wet mess, before finally resting on all fours.
‘My God, what have I done?’
‘Don’t worry, sir. You won’t have to think about it for much longer.’
The screams became quieter and the Prime Minister could hear the singing again, except there was no harmony in the voices now, it was a discordant dirge of hate and violence.
‘They’ll be coming out soon. You’ll see for yourself.’
by Julian Miles | Aug 23, 2013 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The post-incident review was in closed session and after the presiding officer read the first line of the bonded testimony, the session was restricted to herself and Brevet Captain Danyls alone.
“We are in complete privacy, Danyls. Having read your report and the recommendations of those with reputations to protect, I’d like you to take me through the end of the Vigilance’s last mission.”
With a nod, the frowning young woman stared at the blue fluctuations in the anti-snoop field and started to tell all in a calm voice.
*
She dived onto the bridge, heart hammering, smoke searing her lungs. Across all the port viewscreens, the impossible hulk they had hit hung like the gigantic headstone it was about to become. Her eyes were drawn to the video feed from Pinnace One, where Mike was buckling in.
Her hand slammed down on the intercom button. “Mike, what the hell are you doing?”
He looked up at her, guilt-faced “Sorry, Helen. It’s got to be done.”
“You don’t have to do this, Mike. What about us?”
“What I did with you was wrong and I admit my actions are tinged with relief in knowing you’ll never tell.”
Helen lurched back as if struck.
“I’m sorry, kiddo. You were great in the sack but in the end, I’m the irreplaceable asset on the Vigilance.”
“But Mike; Captain –“
“No time or interest in long goodbyes, Danyls. It was a pleasure having you.”
The screen went blank and the ‘clang’ of the departing pinnace shook the Vigilance.
*
Helen brought her eyes down from the blue.
“You have to understand that until his second sentence, I thought he was about to sacrifice himself to save us.”
The presiding officer nodded. “Go on.”
“After that, I suppose I could have interrupted him. Maybe I should have.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, ma’am. I let him launch from the occluded side of the Vigilance, straight into the hulk. The reaction to his launch combined with that from the explosion when the pinnace hit the hulk broke us free.”
“After which you stabilised your drift away from the planet while the hulk entered the atmosphere, eventually causing a Category Eight catastrophe when it hit.”
“Yes, ma’am. But it went down without taking the Vigilance with it.”
“Your recommendation?”
“Captain Michael Tiernan should be buried with full honours, a Captain who died saving his ship and crew. The data that he was a philanderer and a coward who didn’t know the way around his own vessel is of no relevance to history or to his family. The result displays the proper command attitude.”
“Agreed. Captain Tiernan will be a feted hero. You, Deputy Danyls, are offered command of the Vigilance Two. Your recommendation proves that you have learned a hard lesson.”
“I accept. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Very well. Captain Helen Danyls, you are dismissed.”
by submission | Aug 22, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
The policeman and his young partner crouched down by the doors of the warehouse. Their night-vision contact lenses allowed them to see perfectly in the darkness.
“You ready?” asked the older cop.
“Ready,” said the rookie.
The veteran officer considered his partner. The young fellow has the courage of ignorance, he thought. He recalled having had similar self-confidence just before his first raid. It’s easy to be brave when you’re up against an abstraction. It doesn’t look that bad in the pictures and videos. Encountering what’s on the other side of that door in real life is a substantially different experience. A few people can face it head-on and do just fine. Most need some measure of acclimation. And then there are those who just can’t take it. For the latter, their first raid is also their last. They have to find another line of work.
The older cop motioned for a robot to approach. The machine quietly padded over and began spraying a thin stream of solvent on the lock between the two doors. The metal started dissolving. The two flesh and blood policemen took up positions on either side of the robot. The senior cop nodded at the automaton. It pulled the doors open, the corroded bolt between them crumbling to the ground, and rushed in, its headlamps shining brightly, twin guns attached to either arm at the ready. The two officers followed it in.
“Get down on the floor, face down, put your hands behind your heads, and interlace your fingers!” the older cop barked at the six rough looking men in the warehouse. One of the men tried to go for a gun that was sitting on a counter. The robot’s left gun arm locked on to him and fired. A taser bullet struck the criminal in the left shoulder, the barbed, electrified slug dropped him to the floor.
“ON THE FLOOR!” screamed the officer. The remaining suspects complied. Lights shone in through the windows around the warehouse: additional police robots.
The rookie looked in stunned silence at the enormous room. The carcasses of cows hung upside down suspended by their hind legs in one part of the warehouse, blood from severed carotid arteries and jugular veins draining into large basins. In another section, pigs were in various stages of dismemberment. Over to the right, a door to a walk-in freezer was open, the raid having taken place just as one of the men was stepping out of it. Frozen chickens could be seen inside.
On a hot plate on a counter, bacon sizzled in a skillet. Testing the product. The scent filled the air. The rookie turned pale and promptly threw up. Two police robots walked in through the front doors and proceeded to restrain the suspects with plastic cable ties.
“You okay?” the elder cop asked his young partner.
“Yeah,” the young man said, his voice thick. “Sorry. I didn’t think I’d…” He let the sentence trail off.
“It happens. You get used to this. Sort of.” The senior officer shook his head. “Texturized vegetable protein, 3D printed synthetic meat, tofu and tempeh. We like to think we’re so civilized and that mass murder like this is a thing of the past. There are even some sickos who’d like to turn back the clock and decriminalize eating meat.”
“And to think for most of history up until a hundred or so years ago most people actually ate this stuff,” said the rookie.
The old cop looked at the restrained detainees seated on the warehouse floor.
“Damned omnivores.”
