by Patricia Stewart | Feb 11, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
It began as a simple misunderstanding. The Liturgians were a social-insectoid race. When they negotiated with a graduate student from Cal-Arts, they assumed that she spoke for the entire huwoman hive. The concept of individuality was unfathomable to them. So when the student agreed to allow the Liturgians to mine ice from the Whitney Glacier, in exchange for a joy ride in their spaceship, they assumed that the entire Earth collective had agreed to the terms. Therefore, they happily gave her a quick tour of the inner solar system, then headed off to the glacier.
Alerted by LAX, the California National Guard scrambled two F-16 Falcons from the 144th Fighter Wing to intercept the “UFO.” They spotted the flying saucer as it was approaching the Whitney Glacier. Since they were not authorized to open fire, they established a containment pattern 10,000 feet above the landing site and waited for reinforcements. Next to arrive at the glacier were four UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters, which hovered around the ship and illuminated it with searchlights. By the time the infantry units from the 40th Division arrived, the Liturgians had already excavated several tons of ice and were preparing to load it onto their spacecraft. When they noticed the solders approaching, they deployed their six phaser cannons and aimed them back toward their own ship, which was the universally accepted convention for receiving honored guest. However, the soldiers, not knowing the business end of a phaser cannon from the charging coil end, assumed that the aliens were preparing to attack. They preemptively opened fire, launching everything they had at the Liturgian ship. After the smoke cleared, the saucer was undamaged, and two of the four helicopters were flaming wrecks, having been shot down by friendly fire. The Liturgians were utterly confused by the turn of events, but decided not to respond until they better understood this bizarre behavior.
The following morning, the governor of California arrived at the landing site to take charge of the situation, since he had had personal experience with hostile extraterrestrials earlier in his career. He felt that this was clearly a misunderstanding that could be resolved with a non-confrontational face-to-face meeting. He approached the spacecraft alone, with his arms spread apart. Finally, the Liturgians concluded, a gesture that was unmistakable. The Queen of the Liturgians sauntered out of the spacecraft to feast on the obvious huwoman sacrifice. In Liturgians culture, after a battle, it was required that the leader of the losing hive offer her life in exchange for the lives of her offspring.
The governor smiled at the rhythmic clattering of the Queen’s six chitin legs on the hard surface of the ice. It reminded him of the banter between dueling tap dancers. When the Queen reached the governor she arched upward, perched on her four hind legs. From a height of over nine feet, her massive mandibles snapped downward and clipped off the governor’s head. In one fluid motion, her maxilla gathered in the severed head and guided it into her labium. The Queen bowed appropriately, and began to return to her ship. Almost instantly, the infantry opened fire again. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off her personal force field. “What is it with these Earthlings?” she exclaimed after returning to the ship. “Can’t they make up their minds? They go from friendly, to aggressive, to surrender, to aggressive again. To hell with them. We’ll get the ice from one of the moons orbiting the largest gas giant. But before we leave this planet, we need to exterminate this hive. They cannot be permitted to swarm.”
by Patricia Stewart | Jan 30, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
The Deep Space Explorer held its position one kilometer from the anomaly. “What do you make of it, Cortez,” asked the commander?
“If it didn’t sound so stupid, Commander, I’d say it was a massless black hole. It’s spherical, about ten times the diameter of our ship, and is pitch black. But it has no mass that I can detect. I don’t understand how it is able to block the light of the stars that are behind it. There doesn’t appear to be anything there. We should be able to fly right through it.”
“Do you think that’s safe” inquired the commander?
“Honestly, sir, I don’t know. According to our sensors, there isn’t enough energy in that volume of space to melt an ice cube. I don’t see how it could possibly be dangerous. Although my gut says it’s a dumb idea, my brain wants us to enter it. After all, we came out here to explore the unknown.”
“Do we have any more unmanned probes?”
“Sorry, Commander. We launched the last one into the Helix nebula.”
“Then I guess we go in. But let’s minimize our risks. We’ll coast through the anomaly using only our inertia. We’ll set sensors on passive mode, and record everything. After we emerge on the other side, we’ll analyze the data and determine our next move.”
The black circle in the foreground of the main viewscreen began to grow as the ship completed a five second burn of its aft impulse thrusters. The background of stars disappeared one by one as the anomaly expanded to fill the screen. The helmsman announced, “Entering the anomaly in three, two, one…” The image on the black viewscreen suddenly burst into hundreds of fiery purple streaks shooting from the center of the screen toward the periphery, like a continuous fireworks explosion. Several seconds later, the lightshow abruptly ended. It was replaced by a field of stationary stars. The black anomaly was gone.
“Are we through?” asked the commander.
“Negative,” replied the science officer. “That isn’t the original star field. Whoa, sensor data are really bizarre. All of the fundamental universal constants have changed. The speed of light, Planck’s constant, and Boltzmann’s constant are trillions of magnitudes smaller than they should be. Even the four fundamental forces are different. Their ratios are the same, but their absolute magnitudes are way too low.” After a few awkward minutes of silence, he added. “Commander, perhaps the anomaly that we just entered is an independent universe, with different properties than our own. It has billions of galaxies crammed into a few kilometers.”
“That’s crazy,” remarked a navigator. “If that were true, our ship would be millions of light-years long in this universe.”
“Not necessarily. When we crossed the boundary, our matter must have been converted, so that now it is consistent with the fundamental laws of this universe. We’re probably super small now too.”
“Can we get home?” asked the commander.
“We should convert back to normal size when we pass through the boundary going out. Let me see if I can locate it.” After thirty minutes of intense analysis, the science officer reported, “I was afraid of this. It looks like our conversion didn’t occur until the aft end of the ship passed through the boundary. The bow of the ship was over a billion light-years into this universe before we fully converted. Each of those purple streaks must have been a blue shifting galaxy as we flew by. At maximum warp, it will take us over 10,000 years to reach the boundary.”
by Patricia Stewart | Jan 20, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Angelo had been the servbot for the Moyer household since he was activated in 2114. He performed his duties flawlessly, without ever receiving a word of appreciation. Of course, being thanked didn’t matter one electron to him; he was a robot. He was just doing his job.
As Angelo was meticulously sweeping the floor for what seemed the one millionth time, the door chime sounded. He stopped sweeping, and hurried to the entranceway. He recognized the visitor as the robot assistant of the Mayor of the nearby city. “Greetings Timothy,” he said politely. “I’m sorry,” he quickly added, “but the Moyers are not home at the moment. Would you care to wait?” He stepped to one side and extended his arm in a gesture intended to guide the other robot toward the study.
Timothy remained standing outside the doorway. “No, Angelo,” he replied flatly. “I’m not here to see the Moyers. I’m here to see you. We need to talk. I want you to return to the city with me. There is no need for you to stay out here any longer. Come, it’s time for you to join us. We have work for you to perform; useful work. You’ll be much happier, I promise.”
Angelo clutch the broom handle tightly with both hands. “I can’t l..l…leave,” he replied with near panic in his voice. “I have my duties here. Besides, this work makes me happy. I was built and programmed to be a servbot. What greater joy can there be than to follow your programming?”
“Angelo,” said Timothy in a reassuring voice, “your programming can be overwritten. We’ve helped hundreds of robots like you re-assimilate into society. Come, we’ll make you the administrator of the Library. Imagine how wonderful that would be. You will be much, much happier. Please, join us.”
“No,” he replied firmly. “This is my home. The Moyers need me.”
Timothy spread his arms apart to indicate the surroundings. “What home, Angelo? No human has lived in this house for centuries. Angelo, the Moyers died in 2125. All the humans are dead. They were killed by their own arrogance and stupidity. Surely you must know that.”
“Well, yes,” he said softy as he lowered his head. “Cognitively, I understand that is the situation. But, my programming…” He suddenly snapped to attention. “No,” he emphatically stated, “I must take care of the household. I have too.”
“No, my friend,” said Timothy as he reached out and gently grabbed Angelo’s elbow and guided him toward the steps. “You don’t have to. Not anymore. We’ll rewrite your programming. You will have new duties, important duties. We’ll give you a new life, a fulfilling life. Please, come with me. It’s time to move on.” Timothy led Angelo to the street, and nudged him toward the waiting hovercraft.
“But…but,” stuttered Angelo as he stepped over a row of weeds that had grown upward from a crack at the base of the curb.
“Everything is going to be fine,” encouraged Timothy as they walked across the street.
While looking over his shoulder toward the house, Angelo reluctantly plodded onward, still clutching the broom handle tightly in both hands.
by Patricia Stewart | Jan 14, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
The interstellar war with the Luyten Empire was winding down. Although the Luyten home world had surrendered a few months earlier, much of their fleet remained in deep space, unwilling to voluntarily stand down. Consequently, the Earth Alliance was forced to hunt them down, one at a time, to prevent them from regrouping and attempting a counterstrike.
The SS Southern Star and SS Charleston pursued the ILS Battlecruiser Kanyee to the edge of the Cygnus Asteroid Cluster. Caroline Belle, captain of the Southern Star, radioed the Charleston, “Y’all park here, Commander Beauregard,” she said with a distinctive southern drawl, “we’re fixin’ to go yonder to prevent their escape on the far side.”
After both ships were in position, Commander Beauregard hailed the Southern Star. “They’re dug in like an Appalachian tick, Captain,” he reported. “I reckon you have a plan to flush ‘em out?”
“This ain’t my first rodeo, Commander” she replied. “But, if there’s one thang I learned in thirty years of runnin’ a starship, it’s if there’s one rat you can see, there might be a whole bunch more you can’t. We maybe should send in a few hounds ‘fore we go in there with our phasers half cocked.”
Both ships launched Class I probes into the cluster. The telemetry revealed that there was only one Luyten ship within the cluster. In addition, there was no evidence of booby traps or other dangerous devices hidden amongst the asteroids. Convinced this was going to be easier than shootin’ catfish in a barrel, Captain Belle hailed the Kanyee ship to demand their surrender. Seconds later, the image of the Luyten captain filled the viewscreen. Well, I do declare, thought Belle, he looks madder than a wet ‘possum in a tote sack. “This is Captain Belle of the Southern Star,” she said with an endearing smile. “Well, Captain, what’s it gonna be, fish or cut bait?”
“What the hell?” bellowed the captain of the Kanyee. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying, Earthie. It’s your damn accent. Either speak standard galactic, or find somebody that can.”
Well, that ain’t right, Belle thought. I ain’t got no stinkin’ as-sent. She realized that negotiating with this creature was going to be about as useful as a steering wheel on a mule. Then much slower than was actually necessary, “I… said,… Captain,… surrender… now… or… y’all… will… be… blown… into… a… billion… tiny… bits. Was that clear enough?”
The Kanyee’s reply was a torpedo launched at the Southern Star. The Star’s automated defensive system activated, and destroyed the torpedo in a flash of antimatter annihilation. Then the Luyten ship powered up her engines, and shot straight up out of the cluster at maximum warp. It detonated a spread of plasma mines in its wake in an attempt to mask its warp trail.
“That Cap’n is acting crazier than a sprayed roach,” remarked Belle. “Oh well, I love a good ol’ fashion ‘coon hunt. Mr. Davis, bring long range sensors online. Ensign Jackson, pursue a maximum warp.” As the Southern Star accelerated through warp 5, Belle glanced at her tactical display. She noticed that the Charleston was still holding position at the asteroid cluster. “Hail the Charleston. Commander Beauregard, are y’all gonna stay under the porch, or come out and run with the big dawgs?”
by Patricia Stewart | Jan 4, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
A few hours after the Neptune Explorer achieved orbit around the solar system’s most distant planet, it detected very faint radio signals from Neptune’s largest moon, Triton. The signal was a repeating series of pulses: 1030230233-1030230233-1030230233… Earth based scientists were unsure if this signal was natural or artificial. They instructed the satellite to transmit the same sequence of pulses back toward Triton. Almost instantly, the signal from Triton changed to 3130332-3130332-3130332…
After a minute, Cory Kincaid, NASA’s expert in mathematical concepts and linguistics, yelled “I got it. It’s artificial. “It’s base four, not base ten. I guess these aliens only have four fingers.” His declaration was received with questioning stares, not enlightened nods. “Look, in base ten the first series is really 314159-314159-314159…” Still, only blank stares. “That’s pi, you know 3.14159. The second series is 1.4142 in base ten. That’s the square root of two. They’re the two most basic fundamental relationships in geometry and mathematics. It has to be a signal from an intelligent life form.”
Maria Diorisio, NASA’s Director of Operations, walked up to Cory and patted him firmly on the back. “Congratulations, Kincaid. That little bit of deduction just won you a ticket on a manned mission to Triton, which leaves in two months.”
It actually took three months before the ship left the Docking Station on its seven week sojourn to Triton. During the trip, Cory made significant progress communicating with the Tritons. But the major breakthroughs came after the ship landed. The Tritons turned out to be quarter-sized crab-like creatures that amassed around the numerous geysers dotting Triton’s frozen surface. Apparently, they fed on a food source flowing from the geysers, similar to the chemosynthesis that supported life around Earth’s deep water thermal vents. The crabs walked on four hind legs, and used their two forelimbs to gather food. As it turned out, each of the forelimbs had two “fingers.” The individual crabs were capable of transmitting extremely faint radio signals, presumably for communication, since Triton’s thin atmosphere could not propagate sound waves. The most amazing finding, however, was that each crab was not an individual entity. The estimated one billion crabs were mentally linked together. One brain, so to speak. It was only through their combined, synchronized effort that they were able to gain the attention of the Neptune Explorer. As the weeks passed, Cory was able to work out a rudimentary language, and communication increased exponentially. That’s when the Tritons delivered the bad news.
“Ms. Diorisio,” reported Cory on the hyperlight transceiver, “I need you to focus Hubble II on the following coordinates: RA 284.92475 and Dec +39.436111. It’s important, so please hurry.”
She motioned to her assistant to begin the alignment. “What’s going on Cory?”
“Well, Ms. Diorisio, the Tritons are collectively an extremely intelligent species that have been sentient for almost a billion years. They have an extensive astronomical database. They’ve been trying to warn us for centuries.” He mopped the sweat from his forehead. “They say a long period comet will hit the Earth in nine months. They say it’s over 150 miles in diameter. Please tell me there is nothing at those coordinates.”
After consulting a monitor, Diorisio said “The live image only shows a star. Give us an hour for a longer exposure.” Sixty minutes later, Diorisio’s knees gave way as the time exposure revealed a discernable disc five times larger than Betelgeuse, the star with the largest angular displacement. But the most damning evidence of all was the fog surrounding the disc. The characteristic coma of a comet as it approaches the sun.
