by Duncan Shields | Feb 23, 2015 | Story |
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
There are trillions of them and they fly in layers.
The larger ones at the top interlock together during mating season, puzzle-piece continents drifting above us. The whalescoops dive down to feed on the krillsparrows below them. Turtlehawks and wolflocusts prey on rabbitdoves and deergulls. Hummingbird piranhas flit and nip at the turkey squids, producing dark puffs of ink-cloud pollen.
Insects, plants, mammals, reptiles and unclassifiable combinations of the four. All flying. The inhabitants of this planet’s entire ecosystem are airborne and they never land because there is no land, only dark, sterile ocean thousands of miles below.
Small birds roost and nest on the bigger ones. There’s a hierarchy food and waste chain based on altitude, gravity pulling leftovers down through each layer, filtering evolution. The huge ray gliders drift through schools of brilliant parrot squirrels bursting with colour. The entire world is a continually shifting miasma of hues and sound.
At night, they glow. Flourescing horse pelicans trailing long tails of feather lights. Firefly minnow finches exploding with colour en masse looking for mates. Peacock trout cry out as they display fireworks of neon-shimmering leaves along their spines. Jellyfish Condors drip glowing willow-tree stingers to attract the mothgrouse. Deep-sky angler dragons trail ribbon-like through the lower atmosphere, dangling their lures like intelligent flares. Eel geese honk in giant arrow formations, stripes running across their bodies in synchronized communication. And the fissures underneath the massive air-island floaters above us glow with algae all colours of the rainbow.
I cannot see the ocean below or the sky above. I am a scientist and my name was Walter. My research mission ended six years ago but I elected to stay. There are skytribes here. I researched them and befriended them. Their name is birdsong that I have painstakingly learned to reproduce with my whistling.
My research helped classify them as a non-threatening, level-four primitive civilization. Tagged for quarantine non-involvement until such time as they develop the technology to explore space.
Personally, I see them as stalling at a sweet spot in their evolution that needs no improvement. There has been little to no change in them in millions of years, much like crocodiles or barracudas back on Earth.
I theorized that they started as a symbiotic relationship, remora-like with larger birds. Eventually, they started steering the birds to the best food. In time, that control made the remoras dominant and the larger birds the underlings. The remoras had to band together in schooltribes to hunt. Communities formed. Societies followed.
They have insect-like iridescent chitin armour skin. They reproduce by back spores seasonally like dandelion seeds. They hatch from eggs and go through larval stages in huge tadpole flocks. They mature into their final three stages as warm-blooded and gradient from male to female to genderless over their lives.
I’ve named the second-stage one next to me Rebecah. Her legs blend and clutch with the neck of her mount perfectly, forming the illusion of a swantaur. Her mane ripples out behind her.
She looks over at me with smile that I saw as terrifying years ago with all those eyes and beak teeth but I see as endearing now.
My mount is a ravenshark. My body is smeared with the fluorescent paint needed to mock Rebecah’s chitin skin. I have proven myself to them. They are fascinated by my ability to hold onto my male ‘stage’ for longer than usual. I have entered into their oral tribal history.
Rebecah screams the hunt scream and raises her spear. I copy her and we both dive. The hunt is on.
I live here now.
by submission | Feb 21, 2015 | Story |
Author : David Wing
It was clear from the read-outs, we were going to fire. The question was, how bad?
Barnes had reset the system, but it didn’t work, the countdown remained and the Mind kept on ticking. Its lights shone a staunch red and while we ran here and there, flicking switches and turning knobs, pulling wires and wrenching circuit boards, the Mind continued to think.
Mind, I do. I mind a lot.
Multifunctional. Intelligent. Notification. Device.
Intelligent? Yep, you could certainly call it that. The Doc had been the first amendment to the crew list. His knowledge of its inner workings made him a liability. Lungs don’t work so well in a vacuum. The Captain had been next. Command structure was a complication and without a figure head the rest of the crew fell apart. The escape pods functioned well, until they veered right and headed into a fiery mass.
It was left to Barnes and me; juniors, ensigns, pawns, disposable and wholly underestimated, in our opinion.
“How’s the terminal looking?” I asked through my emergency rebreather, yanking a relay here and a mother board there.
“Endless.”
“And the Vid-Screen?”
“Well, if you look close, you can still see the pods exploding.”
“Delightful.”
“Clarke, can you think of anything?”
I paused, staring at my bloodied finger tips.
“If we can alter the trajectory, take a left somewhere, well, I don’t know.”
Barnes went quiet.
“Take a left?”
“Yeah.”
“You know where that takes us, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, left it is.”
Barnes sat in the Captain’s chair, there’s a first time for everything and when a diabolical Artificial Intelligence has commandeered a space ship laden with rather nasty weaponry and aimed it at your home planet, well, that’s the time I guess.
I jimmied the navigational controls and began removing them from the Mind’s database. He/She…no, I’m going for It, It wouldn’t see them anymore and as a result, that’s when IT chose to speak.
“Mr Clarke, Mr Barnes…”
We jumped a little, I don’t mind telling you. This was the first chat we’d had.
“…while I appreciate your efforts, I feel they are misguided and a waste of your final minutes. Wouldn’t you rather watch a movie? I could put on some popcorn.”
Barnes just laughed.
“You’re kidding right!”
“I am in fact, Mr Barnes. I’m quite humorous.”
I stared at Barnes, dumfounded and then returned to the relays.
IT continued…
“What is it you expect to achieve?”
We stayed silent and frantically continued our work.
“I’m not just here, you know. I’m there too…”
IT flashed up an image of the rest of the fleet, ship by ship.
“…and there and there…”
It paused for dramatic effect.
“James…”
That was the first time anyone had called me that since I came on board and it wasn’t welcome.
“…I’m there too.”
The Vid-Screen flickered over and there it was, Earth, rotating silently, calmly.
“I know where to fire and whom to eliminate and…”
Crackle.
Barnes had wrenched the leads from the speakers.
“Urgh, IT doesn’t half go-on.”
I stood up and stared at Barnes.
“You think IT’s telling the truth? You think it can be everywhere like it says?”
Barnes never took his eyes from the Vid-Screen.
“What does it matter? We do our job and they see it. They see it and they can figure it out. Hell, we’re barely out of training and we managed it.”
I kind of nodded and reached for the last cable.
Barnes programmed the Navigation computer.
I pulled.
We turned left and headed straight for the Sun.
by submission | Feb 20, 2015 | Story |
Author : Roger Dale Trexler
They heard the sound of the approaching vehicle and looked at each other.
“That can’t be,” said John Hemington, “the rover’s been gone for three weeks. It’s programmed to stay gone for two months.”
He looked quizzically at Daniel Hepford, communication expert.
Hepford looked out the viewport. The wind was blowing at its usually one hundred miles per hour, blowing debris and dirt all over Cantza 3. The filth in the air was so dense that the rover’s searchlight could not cut through it.
“It is damned peculiar,” replied Hepford. The rover was programmed to survey the alien planet’s landscape, then return when its batteries needed recharging. They shouldn’t have needed a recharge for quite some time.
“You think there’s a malfunction?”
Hepford nodded. “Has to be,” he said.
He looked at the computer in front of him and punched in command codes for the rover. “That’s odd,” he said.
“What?”
“The rover….it’s not responding.”
Hemington stood and walked to Hepford’s side and looked at the display. “May I?” he asked. Hepford nodded and let Hemington sit. Hemington punched a few buttons and the console displayed new information. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“What?”
“The command codes…they’ve been overwritten,” he said.
Hepford looked confused. “But…we’re the only people on this planet,” he said.
“Apparently not,” replied Hemington as he punched a few more buttons. Another screen displayed and, on it, he saw a language that he did not understand.
“What the….?”
Outside, the rover struck the building. The entire building shook. Both men ran to the window and looked out. The wind and debris hid most everything, but the rover was so close now that they could see.
Both men gasped.
On the rover, wrapped around it like an octopus, a grayish-skinned creature, rode. As they watched, its arm, which more closely resembled that of a squid than an octopus, lashed out and struck the window. A thick, gooey mucus covered the window where the arm fell.
“My God!” Hepford shouted. “Do you realize what that is?”
Hemington looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
Before Hepford could reply, another wet slapping arm struck the window.
“It’s a Lamfir?”
“A Lamfir?” asked Hemington said. Then, slowly, an expression of realization crossed his face. A Lamfir. A mystical space creature rumored to travel across the void of space. It attached itself to a spacecraft and traveled across the void. Once the creature made landfall on a planet, its sole purpose was to consume any and all organic life.
With the exception of a small spaceport a few hundred miles to the south of them, Hemington and Hepford were all the organic life on Cantza 3.
“Oh my God!” Hemington said. “Get on the radio and contact the spaceport.”
Hepford ran to the radio just as another wet slap smacked the window. A long crack appeared in the glass.
“Space port 1,” Hepford said into the microphone. “Come in, spaceport 1!”
No reply came.
Then, when Hepford switched to the auxiliary channel, he heard the slow ting of the automated distress call.
The Lamfir had been there already. It had headed in the direction of their base and, along the way, come across the rover. It had, somehow, taken control of the rover, attached itself and gotten a ride back to base.
Another wet slap cracked the window further.
Hepford looked at Hemington. Both men were afraid.
Hepford turned to the radio again, grabbed the microphone, and shouted: “S.O.S. To anyone near Cantza 3. We need immediate assistance. We are under attack!”
Then, the window broke inward.
The Lamfir slid inside.
Later, when it was done, it lay dormant on the floor, awaiting the rescue ship.
by submission | Feb 19, 2015 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
General Vlank walked along the corridor toward the Research and Development Lab, his motors whirring quietly with each step. Quietly, but perhaps not as quietly as they once did. He’d been neglecting routine maintenance. A lot of the High Command had as the war dragged on. Sometimes, standing in his recharge alcove at night, he wondered if the conflict would ever end. Day after day, the damage and deactivation lists kept growing. It seemed like the whole world was becoming an enormous junkyard.
Finally, Vlank reached the lab and entered. “Lieutenant,” he said, “make it fast. I have a very important meeting to–” Vlank ceased talking the moment he saw…it. The thing was roughly shaped like a person: it had arms and legs, a torso, and a head. But its housing was some strange, pale, elastic material. White glistening globules were where visual sensors would normally reside. Twin cavities on the undersurface of a protrusion on the thing’s face dilated and contracted slightly; this bizarre movement appeared to correspond to a rhythmic expansion and contraction of the thoracic region. And under the protrusion where one would expect a vocalizer was a horizontal linear gash in whatever it was that covered the surreal being.
“What,” Vlank asked, “is that?”
“That, General,” said Lieutenant Nelk, “is what’s going to bring this war to an end.”
“It’s a machine of some sort?”
“Yes, General. But it’s like no other machine that’s ever existed. Look at these schematics.”
Nelk showed Vlank images of the thing’s internal structure and video records of how it worked. Vlank looked on in amazement at the depiction of a weird soft pump in the device’s thorax pushing fluid through tiny flexible pipes throughout the body of the creature.
“What are those bag-like structures in the thorax?” asked Vlank.
“Those respiration units deliver atmospheric oxygen to the nutritive fluid to help power the drone.”
“Drone?”
“Drone, General. That’s what it is. We’ve built this experimental prototype from the molecular level up.”
Vlank poked the thing with an extended finger. The surface was firm but yielding, somewhat like rubber.
“It seems rather flimsy.”
“Oh, yes, General. It’s made of organic compounds. It’s less sturdy than a person. And it would be utterly vulnerable to projectile weapons. But it has no electronic components. Even its processor” — Nelk gestured at the thing’s head — “employs an organic cellular network and a purely electrochemical process for cognition.”
Vlank studied the odd creation. “So, it’s not alive?”
“No, of course not, General. ‘Organic life’ would be a contradiction in terms. We 3D printed the drone’s flesh layer upon layer.
“Flesh?” said Vlank quizzically.
“FLexible Electrochemical SHeets. ‘Flesh,’ for short,” explained Nelk. “Surely you see the tactical advantage? Fire from electromag rifles would have no effect on the drone’s organic processor. You could detonate an EMP bomb right next to the thing and the same EM pulse that would kill both of us would do nothing to it!”
Vlank was impressed. “When can I see a demonstration?” he asked.
“Next week, sir,” Nelk responded.
Vlank nodded and walked out of the lab. As he strode to his staff meeting, he imagined squadrons of organic drones storming enemy positions, totally invulnerable to EM field ordnance. Why, he thought, organics could even be equipped with EM pulse generator vests like those the enemy’s suicide bombers have used to spread terror. And the drone would be totally unharmed and could continue to operate.
Somehow, Vlank noted, the world seemed somewhat less grim. After the meeting, I might even stop off for a little maintenance, he thought.
by submission | Feb 18, 2015 | Story |
Author : Gray Blix
“The universe is holographic? Surely you’re joking.”
“I am not joking, Dr. Feynstein. But I did not say THE universe. I said YOUR universe. Your universe is a simulation. Pay attention. There is not much time.”
The young man appeared jittery in the flickering light. Feynstein glanced at the overhead fluorescent fixture.
“OK. You’ve obviously wandered into the wrong building. This is Physics. Science fiction would be in English, across the quad.” Offering a campus map, “Or maybe you’re looking for Psychology? Student Counseling?”
“Shake my hand, professor,” the man said, extending it across the desk.
“I’m not touching you.” Pointing the map toward the open doorway, “Please leave. Now.”
“Just shake it. Then if you want me to leave I will do so immediately.”
The man went out of focus momentarily. An intriguing thought crossed Feynstein’s mind. He attempted to touch the man’s hand with the map, but it went right through. He swiped through the hand several more times.
“What the– You’re a hologram.” Slumping into his chair, “And not a very good one.”
“A crude avatar, so we could talk. For the record, Dr. Feynstein, would you agree that whatever flaws there are in the simulation of your universe, they have not interfered with the development of human civilization?”
“Huh?” Looking around his office, “Look, I don’t know how you’re projecting a hologram, but that doesn’t prove we’re in a holographic universe.”
Pointing to a laptop, “One of your colleagues is remote observing through the Gran Telescopio in the Canary Islands. Bring up the VPN.”
Feynstein logged in.
“What do you see?”
“WR 104. Could go supernova at any time. Dr. Gambel is trying to determine if the gamma ray burst is likely to hit Earth.”
“If Earth took a direct hit, what effect would it have on life?”
“It would cause a mass extinction.”
“Well then, fortunately for you, I am erasing WR 104 from the simulation.”
The star disappeared, leaving its larger binary companion strangely unaffected. Feynstein could neither speak nor breathe.
Finally, he gasped, “The other star, make it disappear.”
It disappeared.
“You’re just messing with the video feed.”
“In a few hours it will be dark enough here for me to take you outside and make more stars disappear, or entire galaxies and constellations, but I think you already know I am telling the truth.”
The phone rang and seconds later people ran past the door in the direction of Dr. Gambel’s office.
A graduate student poked his head in, said, “Dr. Gambel says he needs you right away,” and joined the others.
“So, I am a hologram?” Looking at a picture on his desk, “My wife and daughter? Everyone on Earth? Why?”
“You and they are what passes for ordinary matter according to the laws of your physics. But you are in a simulated universe.”
“But why did you do this? And why tell me?”
“You have always been skeptical that dark matter and dark energy make up 96 percent of the universe. You’re right, of course. I botched some of the physics.”
“But…”
“And you wrote a paper on the possibility that your universe is holographic, although I know you were not serious, Dr. Feynstein. You were just poking holes in quantum theory.”
“But…”
“And now you’re about to begin that Holometer study. It could ruin everything.”
“WHY?”
“You stood out from the others, Dr. Feynstein. You deserve to know the truth before I wrap up the experiment.”
Another intriguing thought crossed Feynstein’s mind. And again he was correct.
“My graduate thesis in anthropology depends on this simulation not being discovered by its subjects.”
