by Patricia Stewart | Nov 16, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Raising a pair of binoculars to his eyes, Captain Anderson peered out the warehouse window toward City Hall. “Any indication that our snipers have spotted Baskan?”
“I am no longer receiving telemetry from Cooper,” replied the android, “so I assume he is dead. Both Kangjun and Boleslav have elevated blood pressures and heart rates, indicating that they are experiencing stress. However, neither of them have transmitted that they have seen President Baskan. Frankly, Captain, our intelligence information in this matter is pretty substantial. Why don’t you simply detonate the thermonuclear device? Surely, vaporizing ten square miles of downtown Berlin will essentially guarantee termination of the target.”
Anderson lowered the binoculars and nodded toward the device ten meters behind him. “That thing is only a last resort. As evil as that merciless bastard is, I’m not going to kill millions of people if there is a chance that he can be taken out with minimal collateral damage.”
“I should remind you, Captain,” countered the android, “that President Baskan is responsible for killing more than two billion humans worldwide. Surely, a few million lives are a small price to pay for ridding the world of an evil despot, as you so aptly refer to him.”
Captain Anderson stood up and approached the laptop sitting next to the bomb. He stopped momentarily and turned toward the android. “What if he’s not actually in the city? What if our intel is bad? We’d be killing those people, and ourselves for that matter, for nothing.”
“Sir, again, I believe that the risk…” The android stopped and tilted his head. A few seconds later he said, “I believe that Kangjun has also been killed. Captain, the fact that the president’s security forces are taking out our snipers is additional evidence that he must be in the area.”
Just then, the door was kicked in and six heavily armed soldiers stormed into the room, followed by a powerful looking man in a general’s uniform, “Excellent reasoning, my friend,” he stated with a wide grin. “Unfortunately for you, I am even closer than you could have imagined. Ahhh, the infamous rebel Maarten Anderson, we meet at last. I have looked forward to making your acquaintance. I’d like to thank you for all the trouble that you have caused me over the years. And believe me Mr. Anderson, I can be very grateful. Now, would you please back away from the bomb? I wouldn’t want you to accidently set it off.” Two solders stepped between Anderson and the laptop, and pointed their weapons into his midsection. Anderson backed away and stood next to the android, anger extruding from his eyes. “Ahhh,” continued Baskan, “is this one of the bombs that your forces stole from me? You know, because of you, I was forced to execute half of a battalion for their incompetence. At any rate, I think that I can find a way to put it to good use. Perhaps on the city of your birth. My enemies need to understand that there are consequences for those that oppose me.” He ran his fingers lovingly across the bomb, but paused at the laptop.” The screen read “Time to Detonation” followed by “25, 24, 23…” He turned toward Anderson, “What the hell is this?” he barked.
“I played a hunch this morning, Baskan. An hour ago, I armed the bomb and started the countdown sequence. I was on my way to aborting the detonation when you so rudely interrupted. I guess it’s too late now. Oops.”
The laptop displayed “3, 2, 1…”
by Patricia Stewart | Nov 11, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Lieutenant McDonald floated in his EVA suit and directed the external repair efforts. The maintbots were currently welding a splice-plate over a large breach in the hull. From his vantage point, McDonald could see a dozen similar holes along the length of the EFS Champion. It had been a fierce battle, he reflected, but the old girl prevailed. Ten thousand meters aft of the Champion, floated the lifeless remains of the Y’Kuscht. A direct hit to their reactor core had sent her crew to the Toreelian Promised Land. McDonald was glad he had helped them achieve their aspiration of dying in battle. “McDonald to the bridge. I estimate that it will take eight hours to complete the repairs to the hull.”
“Acknowledged,” responded the captain. “Try to shave a few hours off of that, Mr. McDonald. I don’t want to stay at this location any longer than we have too.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
******
Although the environmental system was operating at maximum capacity, the engine room was still thick with white smoke. The dead had been moved to a makeshift morgue in the cargo hold, and the injured had been taken to sickbay. Those that could still stand were grouped in a semi-circle around Chief Engineer Hopkins, waiting for direction. “Okay, men,” she said, “we’re in the middle of a war zone, and the propulsion system is off-line. We can’t count on being rescued. We need to get out of here on our own. As I see it, for the first time in the history of Earth Force, we’re going to have to repair a Niven Modulator outside of spacedock. I know it’s impossible, but we’re going to do it anyway. I want to hear ideas; I don’t care how dumb you think it might be.”
“Chief,” offered a young cadet, “we could access the modulator if we cut away the nacelle casing and jettisoned the injector coils. We have spare coils, but when we break the seals, they’ll leak trivalent boron. That stuff is extremely corrosive and toxic.”
“If we time it right,” suggested a senior engineer, “we can blow the nacelle casing and coil attachment fittings at the same time. The loss of pressure will suck the coils and trivalent boron into space. We’ll need to wear EVA suits during the repair, but I think the kid’s plan may work.”
“That’s the attitude,” boasted the Chief. “Jones, you go to the shuttle bay and grab a dozen EVA suits. Petters, go to the armory and sign out some C-6 explosive. Watkins, pull up the schematics on the viewer. Let’s get to work.”
*****
The captain paced the bridge trying to come up with contingency plans as the ship underwent repairs. He knew that there was no sense rehashing his battle decisions at this point; there’d be time for that once they reached safety. For now, he needed to get his crippled ship back to Earth controlled space. Since the Toreelians don’t take prisoners, this wasn’t a good place to be dead in the ether.
“Captain,” announced the tactical officer, “long range scanners are picking up three ships approaching at warp 5.”
“Friend or foe?”
“I can’t tell at this range. I’ll know for sure in about an hour.”
“For now, we’ll have to assume they’re bogies. Except for Chief Hopkins, have the command staff meet me in the main conference room in five minutes. If we can’t escape, then we’ll fight as best we can. And by God, if we can’t win, we’ll take as many of the slimy bastards with us as we can.”
by Patricia Stewart | Oct 31, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Captain’s log: “This is the third day since we made first contact with the inhabitants of the Epsilon Eridani system. The Kalers, as they call themselves, are an intelligent humanoid species that inhabit the second planetary body from their luminary. To date, we have discovered that, technologically, the Kalers are significantly behind us. Conservatively, I’d estimate that they are approximately equivalent to twenty-second century Earth. They have achieved routine interplanetary capability, and have a proto-warp drive under development. The home planet of the Kalers contains two large continents, one in the southern hemisphere and one in the northern, each ruled by a monarchy; King Suflamish in the south, and King Patuk in the north. As fortune would have it, our arrival into the system has coincided with an arranged marriage between the eldest son of King Suflamish and the second oldest daughter of King Patuk. I am not sure if this marriage is intended to unite the two ruling families or to…”
“Captain,” interrupted the tactical officer, “sensors have detected several ships leaving the planet’s surface. The lead ship is King Patuk’s yacht, but it appears that it is being pursued aggressively by the King’s security forces.”
“Perhaps, the yacht is being stolen,” mused the captain. “Contact them and ask if they require assistance.”
A few minutes later the communications officer reported, “Captain, as you know, I believe that I have conveyed your offer accurately. Commander Teplar of the security force says that the yacht contains ‘The Rose’, which is King Patuk’s oldest daughter.”
“Ahh,” replied the Captain, “there appears to be a little sibling jealousy. The oldest daughter must not be too happy that her younger sister is the grand prize in this wedding. Helm, intercept course. Lieutenant Harper, when we’re within range, retain the yacht with a tractor beam until King Patuk’s security team can board her.”
***
Two days later, the captain and his interpreter greeted King Patuk at the wedding reception. “Ensign, please tell the King that it was a marvelous ceremony, and that the bride looked radiant.” And as an afterthought, he added, “and, ask the King if ‘The Rose’ is available. I’d like to make sure that she has forgiven me for ruining her ‘great escape’.” The Captain smiled broadly as he waited for the interpreter to relay his message and translate the reply.
“I’m sorry, Captain. I’m not positive, but it sounded like he said, ‘The Rose is in the kitchen’. Do you think that she is being punished for running away?”
Perplexed, the captain pulled the ensign aside. “That is a possibility, Ensign. We can’t assume they react exactly like we would. Please consult with the Kaler interpreter immediately. I don’t want to offend our hosts so soon after first contact. These are very sensitive times.”
Minutes later, the ensign returned, visibly upset. Her face was ashen and her hands were trembling slightly. “Oh my God, Captain,” she whispered. “The Rose isn’t preparing the meal. According to Kaler tradition, she’s the main ingredient in the wedding soup.”
by Patricia Stewart | Oct 8, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
“Cledus, why is the porch door open?” bellowed a heavy set woman wielding a flour covered rolling pin. “You’re lettin’ the flies in.”
“Relax, Thelma. I just put Duke out, and I didn’t want to git up to let’m back in. Now, hush-up, Junior is fixin’ to pass Kyle.”
As his wife headed back toward the kitchen, Cletus hear a soft voice from the other side of the sofa “Greetings, earthman,” it said.
Startled, Cledus turned toward the empty cushion and exclaimed “Who the hell said that?”
A second later, a miniature spaceman materialized next to the “I heart Elvis” throw pillow. “Sorry, earthman, I had forgotten that I was cloaked. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress.”
Cledus stared at the two foot tall alien wearing a shiny metallic spacesuit, and then glanced at the six empty beer bottles toppled over on the coffee table. “Damn, I must be hearin’ and seein’ things,” he said. “I have to start cuttin’ back,” he added as he finished off the seventh bottle and turned back toward the TV, “…tomorrow.”
“Excuse me, sir, but I could really use your assistance.”
Cledus rubbed his eyes and looked at the alien again. “Shoot, it’s real. What the hell do you want?”
“It seems that my spaceship sank in a swampy bog a few miles from here. I was hoping that you could use your tractor to tow it to dry land. I’d greatly appreciate it.”
Never one to pass up a potential opportunity, “What’s in it fer me?” asked Cledus with some degree of anticipation.
“What would you like?” inquired the little alien. “I can provide substantial compensation.”
“Kin you build me a contraption that will turn water into beer?”
“If that’s what you desire, consider it done.”
“Cledus,” yelled Thelma from the kitchen, “who y’all talkin’ to?”
“Quick,” whispered Cledus, “disappear until I gits rid of the misses.”
The alien disappeared and Cledus reached for another beer. “Uh, oh, no one sweetie. Just watchin’ the 500. Must have been a commercial.”
Thelma scowled as she approached her lying husband. “Don’t lie to me, you lying buzzard,” she threatened. “I know you’re up to somethin’.” Then she plopped down onto the empty side of the sofa.
“Aaagggghhh,” screamed Cledus as he jumped up and started pulling on her arm. “Git up you ornery cuss. If you squished him, I’ll…”
“Squish who?” asked the confused Thelma as Cledus finally managed to get her upright.
He scrambled past her and started feeling around the cushions looking for the flattened alien. “Don’t you never mind,” he snapped. “Now, git back to the kitchen and make my supper. And be fast about it. I’m gittin’ hungry.”
“Well, you’re just a dang fool,” replied Thelma as she indignantly hoofed off toward the kitchen. “I should have listened to mamma when she warned me… Now what’s goin’ on out there,” she said as she paused at the open front door. “It looks like, Beau and Duke are havin’ a tug-o-war with a ‘possum covered in tin foil.” As she watched the two animals rip the small creature apart, she suddenly realized what they had done. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “This is awful, Cledus, them dumb dawgs just stole the neighbor’s dinner right off the grill.”
by Patricia Stewart | Sep 30, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
It was a significant indiscretion to say the least. To have become emotionally involved in your science project was bad enough, but to have affected its outcome was unforgivable. In fact, it was a breach of conduct worthy of expulsion. Now, Mi’tera was faced with another dilemma, what to do about it.
****
It had been an ambitious senior project, recalled Mi’tera; to study this very unusual corporeal life from. They were so different than Etheropeans, she thought, as she gazed at the tiny spaceship that she lovingly cradled. There were more than 400 “beings” living precariously within the little hollow metal vessel. They were so young, so vulnerable. For the last semester she had traveled through space with them as they “explored” the universe. How cute, she had thought. They think that they are so special, so unique. Boldly going wherever they wanted; only to repeatedly stumble into situations that they were not ready to handle. At first, Mi’tera only interacted in small ways: containing a plasma leak, strengthening a bulkhead, boosting the power output. Mi’tera considered this acceptable behavior back then, because the humans never suspected an outside influence; “luck favors the fortunate” they had boasted. Even later, when her unethical involvement became more emboldened, the naïve humans attributed the “miracles” to their crafty chief engineer. Even the fortuitous outcomes of her most egregious interventions were credited to the ingenuity of their dashing young captain. They never suspected they had a guardian watching over them.
However, Mi’tera knew that what she was doing was very wrong. She knew that she had to let nature take its course. Non-interference was a requirement for school projects involving observational science. But she couldn’t help herself. The humans were like helpless paidia, and her instincts were to protect them. As her charge left orbit after completing another successful mission, she could sense the humans moving within their tiny self-contained micro-environment. And when she concentrated, she could even read their thoughts, know their dreams, and feel their passion. Even now, they were totally unaware that she was deflecting an intense gamma ray burst that would have destroyed their frail molecular structures. Dammit, she vowed to herself, this will be the last time that she’d interfere on their behalf. After this one last time, she swore, they’ll be on your own. As they streaked together through space, she continued to hug the ship, occasionally vaporizing a rogue asteroid if it drifted too close to their flight path.
