by Patricia Stewart | Jul 23, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
“Well, Eleanor, have you figured out why the warp drive isn’t working?”
“Yes Seb. Believe it or not, this star system is in the center of a super large dark matter donut, and we’re in the hole. Apparently, it’s creating erratic gravity waves that are preventing us from initiating a new warp bubble. There’s no record of this phenomenon in the database. It looks like we’ll have to use impulse power until we can get beyond its effects. Damn, that could take years. This really sucks!”
“Now, now, Eleanor, that’s exactly why the dean put me in charge of this expedition instead of you. I happen to have a positive attitude. I believe in the old saying ‘When fate hands you a lemon, make lemonade’. Look at the bright side dear; they’ll probably name this dark matter donut phenomenon after you.”
“Oh yes, I see your point,” replied his wife. “I’d be like Lou Gehrig. Oh, I forget, dear, how’d that work out for him?”
Ignoring his wife’s snide remark, Seb continued to argue the positive aspects of their predicament. “Look, sweetheart, we’re only a few million kilometers from a beautiful, unexplored Class-M planet. We might as well check it out while we’re here. That is why we took the sabbatical, isn’t it?”
It was a valid point, Eleanor conceded, so she instructed the computer to land the ship on a small island in the northern hemisphere.
After landing, as Seb was preparing to open the hatch, Eleanor stopped him. You can’t go out Seb. According to the sensors, the oxygen atmosphere is oscillating rapidly between ozone and diatomic molecular oxygen. At any instant, 50% of the oxygen is triatomic. It’s the Chapman cycle gone crazy.
“Fascinating,” Seb remarked.
“Fascinating? Are you mad? It’s attacking the hull.”
“Merely removing that filthy outer surface. It’s like an exfoliation treatment for the ship.”
“Well, I’m not waiting around for it to start attacking the o-ring seals.” Then anticipating Seb’s inevitable positive spin, “even if it’s time to replace them. Now, prepare to takeoff.”
The ship blasted off and started its long tedious voyage to escape the effects of the dark matter donut. Later the next morning, while preparing breakfast, Eleanor discovered that the replicator was malfunctioning. “Hey, Mr. Sunshine,” she sniped, “it looks like the dark matter phenomenon has also locked-up the replicator. It’s stuck on your midnight snack. It looks like we’ll be eating nothing but pepperoni pizza for the rest of eternity.”
“That’s not so bad dear,” he replied.
“How so?”
“Eleanor, hasn’t being married to me for 31 years taught you anything about looking for the positive side of things?”
“Oh, sorry, dear. Should I have said ‘Honey, for the rest of eternity, minus one lousy day, we’ll be eating nothing but pepperoni pizza.’ You mean like that?”
“No dear. Don’t you see, pepperoni pizza has all four food groups in it; grain, dairy, vegetables, and meat. We can survive on that. After all, it could have been stuck on something much less desirable.”
“You’re absolutely right, Seb,” she replied with a smirk. “I hadn’t thought of that. After all, the replicator could have been stuck on lemons.”
by Patricia Stewart | Jul 14, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Earthforce engaged the Denebian fleet in the gap between the asteroid belt and Jupiter. During the battle, a lone Denebian ship broke formation and streaked toward the inner solar system. “Pursue the Denebian ship, warp factor three,” ordered the captain of the Endeavor. “Open a hailing frequency, Lieutenant.” When Lieutenant Smith nodded his head, the captain stood. “Denebian vessel,” he said, “stand down, or be destroyed.”
“No response, Captain” stated the communications officer.
“Fine,” remarked the captain, “Let’s take them out. Release two falcons.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the tactical officer. Two sleek torpedoes exited the forward tubes. Falcons were Earthforce’s most formidable weapon. They were autonomous, warp powered, killing machines. Individually, they could take out a target a dozen different ways. In tandem, they were unstoppable. The bridge crew of the Endeavor watched the forward viewscreen and the falcons streaked toward the Denebian ship. Moments later, two bright flashes appeared. “Captain, both falcons destroyed. No damage to the Denebian ship.”
“Impossible,” whispered the captain. Calmly, he pivoted to plan B. “Helm, overtake them. Warp factor six. Place us between them and the Earth. Put us one thousand kilometers in front of them.” The Endeavor passed the Denebian ship, slid into position, and rotated 180 degrees to face the oncoming ship. “Fire all weapons. If that doesn’t stop them, we’ll ram them. They can’t be permitted to reach the Earth.”
Dozens of singularity mines and cannon blasts erupted in front of the enemy ship, and a steady drone of phaser fire bore down on the ship’s hull. Finally, the Denebian ship veered to port a few degrees. “She’s changing course, sir. It looks like they got the message.”
“Maintain position,” ordered the captain. “Keep the Earth at our stern.”
The Denebian ship arched around the Earth and continued onward, as if it were unable, or unwilling, to return to the fight. “We must have damaged her guidance system,” stated the helmsman, “It’s on a collision course with the sun.”
It wasn’t until a minute later that the captain realized that he may have been outfoxed. He turned toward the helm, “Lay in an intercept course, quickly.”
“It’s too late, sir,” was the solemn reply. “The Denebian ship has already entered the sun’s corona.”
“All sensors on the sun,” said the captain as he collapsed into his command chair and watched the viewscreen. “Let me know if there are any changes,” he added.
For two minutes, there were no changes. Then the science station reported, “Neutrino emissions rising. It’s bad, sir. Three hundred percent and climbing. Damn, the core is beginning to expand. Sir, the sun is going nova.”
by Patricia Stewart | Jul 6, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Jason Hausen studied the 3D holograph of the star Adhara in the constellation Canis Major. Imbedded within the image were the telemetry tracks of the two dozen spaceships that had entered the star system in the last 20 years. Entered, but not exited, noted Hausen. In each case, the ships changed course to either spiral into the system, or to double back after having originally passed it by. “They appear to be landing on the second planet,” observed Hausen.
“That’s our guess too,” replied Kirk Lido, the operations director of Galactic Transportation Inc. “But that planet was not the destination of any of our vessels. We’re not sure why they deviated from their flight plans. In fact, we lost subspace communication once they approached within a light year of Adhara.”
“Perhaps they were seized by pirates?” suggested Hausen.
“No, we’ve ruled that out. There was no evidence of any other ships in the area, and their warp trails didn’t show any sign of resisting a tractor beam or gravity well. Apparently, they flew there of their own volition. We suspect the crew was irresistibly drawn to the planet, not unlike how the mythical Greek Sirens lured sailors to their deaths on the rocky coast of Anthemusa.”
“I’d prefer to believe in a more scientific explanation,” replied Hausen. “Anyway, what does this have to do with me?”
“Well, to be perfectly frank, Mr. Hausen, with your remarkable reputation, we want you to captain the research ship that we plan to send to Adhara.”
Always up to a challenge, Hausen took the bait, “I’m listening.”
“Excellent. Well, we’ve constructed a unique ship for your mission. For the lack of a better description, the HMS Alecto is a one-man interstellar tank. You’ll be in command, but the ship will be run by autonomous robots. In the event that the Sirens, if they exist, manage to take control of your mind, the robots have been programmed to ignore your orders and return the ship to base. I know, I know,” added Lido, anticipating a confrontation, “nobody wants to relinquish command, but believe me, it’s for your own protection. Consider it a fail-safe contingency plan. If you’re right, and the Sirens don’t exist, then you’ll maintain command.”
“Relax, Lido. It will be worth the risk just to prove you wrong. Now, let’s have a look at this ship.”
***
“Lido, I’m almost within a light year of Adhara, so we’ll probably be losing contact. Just so you know, the first pass will be a fly-by at two times the orbital radius. I’ll simply fly through the system. I’ll call you after I emerge on the far side of the black-out region.”
“Roger, Jason. Good luck.”
As the HMS Alecto approached Adhara, the robot helmsman altered course toward the second planet. “What are you doing?” barked Hausen. “Return to the original course.” But the robot didn’t comply. When Hausen stood up to approach the helm, two robots flanked him and forced him back into his seat. “Hausen to computer, override the helm. Return to base immediately. That’s an order.” But the ship continued toward the planet. When two more robots surrounded him he realized Lido was partially right. There were Sirens on Adhara, but their songs weren’t intended for human ears.
by Patricia Stewart | Jun 25, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
A solitary streetlamp flickered above the gloomy urban street. Few people would venture into this neighborhood at night, but Simon Bodhan strode unsuspectingly down the dilapidated sidewalk, lead by his 50-pound extraterrestrial “pet”. The creature was known as an Uccisore, an indigenous life form from a planet called Ripa, a semi-tropical world in the Dhruva Tara System. The Uccisore was a beautiful animal with long black and silver streaked fur, and piercing phosphorescent blue eyes. It glided gracefully on its six slender legs, head up, surveying the surroundings as it escorted its master through the cesspool known as Ghetar. Suddenly, the creature froze as a half dozen hooded men emerged from the shadows and surrounded the pair. Bodhan quickly moved next to the Uccisore, and placed a reassuring hand on its shoulder. He spoke calmly to the man standing directly in his path. “Is there something I can do for you, ah, gentlemen?”
“Sure can,” replied the man. “We’ll take your asset chip, for starters.”
Bodhan handed over his chip, and started to move forwarded.
“Not so fast, old man,” ordered the thief as he scanned the asset chip. “There’s only five credits on this thing. That ain’t enough to buy your way past us.”
“Well, that’s all I carry on our walks. It’ll have to do.”
Undeterred, the thief pulled a knife and held it in plain sight. He pointed it toward the Uccisore and said, “That sure is an expensive looking dog,” as he estimated its value. “I’ll bet you’d pay a thousand credits to get it back. Roi, take the leash.”
“It’s a tether,” corrected Bodhan. “And I wouldn’t recommend that you take Sandro from me. Uccisores don’t like to be separated from their owners.”
“All the more incentive for you to come up with a thousand credits. You wouldn’t want him to be sad, now would you?” He motioned with the knife for Roi to take the Uccisore.
Roi snatched the tether from the old man’s hand and dragged the reluctant creature into the alley. “You’ve got 24 hours to come up with a thousand credits, or the dog dies. Bring it here tomorrow night, and no tricks.” Then, the remaining five men dashed into the darkness.
Bodhan sat down on a partially collapsed stone wall and opened his link. “Hey, Dora, it’s me. Looks like I’ll be a little late. No, nothing serious. Six hoodlums just kidnapped Sandro. Yeah, I tried to tell them, but I guess they don’t watch a lot of holovision. Their loss. Hey, can you do me a favor, and call the vet? Tell him we’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Thanks, I’ll be home as soon as I can. Love you.”
Bodhan broke the link and waited. A few minutes later, Sandro came scurrying from the alley, and placed his blood soaked muzzle in Bodhan’s lap, his bright phosphorescent eyes projecting sheer joy as his striped prehensile tail coiled and uncoiled rapidly. Bodhan cupped his hands behind Sandro’s horns and scratched him affectionately. “What took you so long, Sandro? Decided to play with your food, eh?” A deep rumble reverberated from Sandro’s mid-section. “Oh my. Sounds like you’ve got an upset stomach too? C’mon boy. We need to get you some shots. There’s no telling what diseases those scumbags were carrying.”
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.”
