by Roi R. Czechvala | Jul 30, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“Don’t show it, please don’t show it, for the love of all that is holy, please don’t show it.”
“Gentlemen, as you can see from the footage, the XA – 4 reactive armour system is effective against all small arms ballistic ammunition as well as low wattage phased plasma weapons.”
“Pleasedontshowitpleasedontshowitpleasedontshowitpleasedo…”
“… and this gentlemen, best exemplifies one of the smallest, yet one of the most devastating bugs in the new reactive armour system.”
“OH GAWD, PLEASE DON‘T SHOW IT!!!”
“As you have seen, the armour becomes rigid when struck by ballistic ammunition. The problem being that the entire suit becomes rigid as opposed to just the area of impact, thus immobilizing the soldier for up to 45 seconds after impact. This was not a problem under combat situations in which the individual could be pulled to safety by his squad and the armour relaxed. Indeed, it had not really been noticed and had not been considered a problem but rather a minor inconvenience. The footage you are now about to see was taken from a scout camera drone of one of our soldiers taking part in the study on solo patrol in a “safe” zone.”
The holovid image switched to that of an up armoured soldier taken from approximately fifteen feet above. He carried his M-68 varical smart weapon low, but at the ready. He was making his way down a rubble strewn street, when something caught his attention. Out of range of the camera a loud yelp could plainly be heard. The soldier spun and raised his weapon. He quickly dropped it and walked in the direction of the disturbance.
The drone’s camera followed him and soon a group of children came into view. They appeared to range in age from eight to fifteen. He spoke with them, when one gave him a sharp kick in the shin. Instantly the armour became rigid and he toppled over.
The street urchins were surprised for a moment, but only for a moment. Having known nothing but war and hardship their entire lives, they quickly stripped the soldier of everything they could, the fifteen year old snatched up the rifle.
The armour soon gave up its grip and the soldier began to rise. The child with the rifle delivered a butt stroke to the head and the soldier went down again. Though lacking a traditional education, the kids were smart. They quickly put two and two together and began a barrage of blows and kicks on the downed man in an effort to keep him paralyzed.
The oldest unzipped his fly and began to urinate on the soldiers face. Soon the others were drenching the prostrate fighting man in urine, laughing merrily all the while. The holovid ended just as the oldest pulled his pants all the way down, bared his grimy ass, and began to squat over the soldiers head.
Somewhere in the back of the room, amidst muffled titters and outright guffaws, could be heard the low, quiet words, “Kill me now, Lord.”
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jul 20, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“Don’t go,” he cried.
“I am here Vasilly. I will always be here. I will always be with you. I love you,” she said as she slid away.
Those last few months, she suffered horribly. Almost all forms were curable, and the ones that weren’t, weren’t much of a problem. Lung cancer for instance. Still incurable, but if caught in time, a new lung could be grown and the old replaced, all on an out patient basis.
Lymphoma was ruthless. Lymphoma was a cruel killer. It spread fast. ‘Nites couldn’t keep up. Ancient remedies such as chemotherapy were tried. They slowed the spread, but in the end, it did no good. The result was inevitable.
Her once beautiful, athletic body had wasted away to nothing. She had become a 39 kilo caricature. Her beautiful mane of flaming red hair had become an orange halo about her nearly bald pate. Her voice, once low and sultry was only a dry rasp. None of that mattered, he still loved her. He always would.
He held her hand as she slept. The doctor walked in. “Mr. Kovalevsky, it’s time. There is nothing more we can do.”
“But she’s here, I can still hear her.” He tapped his temple, indicating his sphenoidal implant. “I can feel her dreams. She’s not suffering in here. I can hear her laughter.”
“Mr. Kov… Sergei. Please, she may not be suffering in her dreams. I pray that she isn’t, but she’s suffering out here. It’s time to let her have her peace.”
“I won’t let you kill her. I WON’T.”
“Nobody is killing her. It’s her time. We all die. Every one must die.”
“Not her, Lord. Please Lord, don’t take her.”
38 minutes after the life giving machines had been removed and the medi ‘nites neutralized, Tatiana Ivonovich Kovalevsky, sighed one last time and quietly slipped away. Sergei Vasil Kovalevsky gently laid his head upon her breast and wept.
Dr. Korolenko drew a stylus across his tablet noting the time of death and turned to leave the grieving man alone. “I heard her, Doctor,” Sergei said, tapping his temple, “I heard her say, ‘Goodbye.’”
Vasilly, Vasilly. You should be ashamed of yourself.
Sergei woke with a start. The dream had been so vivid. He could see Tatiana clearly. She was admonishing him for some unknown transgression. He got up and crossed to the window of his study in the small apartment he and Tatiana had shared near Gorky Park. Tatiana loved taking the pedal boats out on the ponds in the summer. That was gone now, Tatiana was dead.
He went to the small kitchen for a cup of tea. He added a large dose of vodka and returned to the study. Books littered the desk and floor. He had taken an early retirement from Lomonosov University, where he had taught physics to bored students.
Look at what you’ve become Vasilly. Is this any way to behave?
Sergei fell to his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Tatiana. I hear you. Where are you?”
I am here. His implant buzzed painfully.
And here. His phone began to ring.
And here. His computer announced incoming mail.
And here. Outside the window, down in the wintry streets, air raid sirens blared. Car alarms sounded. Burglar alarms screeched. All across the city, a cacophony grew to a wailing crescendo and just as quickly silenced.
In the deafening quiet, he heard her soft sultry voice from deep within himself. I am here now.
I am here Vasilly. I will always be here. I will always be with you. I love you.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jul 7, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
Drop capsules are virtually impregnable to anything man or xeno can throw at them. They have consistently proven themselves many times in combat under the onslaught of increasingly sophisticated weaponry.
We don’t feel anything during a drop since we are in complete stasis until planetfall. Hell, we really don’t exist until we smack into whatever little dirtball we are fighting on. I am basically a holographic version of myself that coalesces into a brave, stolid, exceptionally handsome Lieutenant of the Alliance; or whatever passes for handsome on the planet I slam into.
I began to feel my senses flooding into my new body. I caught a glimpse of myself on the mirror bright inside surface of the capsules leaf before it peeled away. On this planet, handsome apparently runs to the dark, squat and lumpy. In short, I became an anthropomorphized turd. Oh well, I’ve been worse. Ask my ex-wives.
I opened my neural band and scanned for my drop group. No signal. That’s impossible. If they were dead, I’d still pick up the static from their bands. I couldn’t even raise the orbiting ship. Something was seriously wrong. I grabbed for my weapon, determined to find my men in this thick jungle. My plaz weapon wasn’t there.
“What the hell is going on here?” To my ears, my voice resembled large boulders crushing a family of terrified and generally pissed off cats. I thought back to my orders. To my shock, I realized I had no orders. Or at least I had no memory of my orders. I had no memory of the ship, of downloading into the cube, nor even of prepping for this mission. I had no clue who I was, where I was, and the means of my delivery in the drop capsule were already quickly fading from memory.
Panic began to well up within me. “Okay, okay. Calm down. You’ve been in worse scrapes than this. You’ll get through it. Rely on your training.” I reached back to the years of military training I had undergone. What training? I wasn’t even sure what army I was in, or who I fought for.
This wasn’t making any sense. I was on a planet that must have resembled Venus before the greenhouse effect went into overdrive. Through the dense foliage I could see more turd-people moving towards me through the thick, barrel-like trees. Were these my men?
The creatures gathered around me and one by one, embraced me with their thick rubbery arms. They began to make a low noise deep in their throats. Again the sound of very tired, but still pissed pussy cats being pummelled in a landslide, washed over me. It felt strangely soothing.
I crouched down on my stubby haunches and tried to make sense of all this while the others continued to stroke my back and make consoling noises at me. Suddenly, I felt as if my skull had been ripped open and was blinded by a wonderfully painful flash of light.
A man in the uniform of a Confederation colonel, appeared in my pain wracked brain. “Lieutenant Ito Yokamiso of the Asiatic Alliance; for the high crime of genocide against the innocent civilian families of the Confederation colony on Europa, you are hereby sentenced to 300 years exile on the penal planet of Thulcandra. May God have mercy on your soul.” My memories flooded back.
Crooning their consoling wails, my fellow inmates led me to a ramshackle collection of hut’s that would be my home for the next three centuries. I lowered my head in shame.
Who knew turds could cry?
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jun 29, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
He had been a brilliant physicist, she a promising graduate student.
“I love you,” he said.
“And I you,” was her reply.
Autumn threw off her many coloured coat and bowed to the dominance of Winter.
“Marry me,” he said.
She did.
Implantation was new. It was expensive. They could not afford it. They were chosen.
His, a brilliant mind, two points shy of genius. Hers, lightning fast, intuitive, bordering on precognitive.
They were happy.
They recovered separately in identical white, sterile rooms.
“The implantation and assimilation was successful. You may feel some disorientation at first; that will pass. Welcome to The Community,” the doctor said.
She beamed.
“I’m sorry. It is rejected in some, assimilation does not always occur. You may experience severe headaches, they will diminish over time.”
“I’m happy for you.” He smiled.
“I’m sorry for you.” She wept
They fell apart. Satisfied. Glowing. Happy.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
“But how? We Just…,”
“I know.” She tapped her temple. “It’s a girl,” She added.
They embraced. They were happy.
She spent increasing amounts of time linked to The Community. He couldn’t share. The baby cried, she didn’t hear.
He awoke one morn to find her in the throes of auto erotic stimulation. Moaning the name of another.
“What is it,” he asked, disturbed.
“It’s no one, it’s nothing.”
“It’s someone.”
“Look around,” she gestured “No one is here.”
“It’s someone,” he repeated darkly.
“It’s like a holo stim,” she said. She left to shower. The baby wept. The plaintive cries were drowned by the running water. She was with The Community. He was Other.
He found her again in the throes of singular passion.
“It’s him again.”
“It’s nothing, I told you. Look around. There is no one here.
“There is someone here.” He tapped his temple.
“It’s not like that. He…”
“Do you love him?” She did not answer, did not look at him.
“Do you love him in your precious Community? A gated Community, where I am not allowed. Do you love him? Do you?”
“Please” she said, turning to him tear filled eyes. “Please don’t do this.”
He picked up the lamp from the bedside table.
“I have to.”
“I know.”
“Have you always known?”
“It was inevitable.”
The baby cried.
He walked to the nursery, wiped the blood from his hands and took his daughter into his cradling arms.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jun 23, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“umm… Skipper? You’ll want to take a look at this.”
Immediately, the bridge dissolved into a holographic display of the space around the Crimson Sky. Her Captain, Iulia, pushed an errant wisp of flaming red hair from her eye as she regarded the freighter that appeared to be floating just above her helmsman’s left shoulder.
“She’s adrift Captain. No response to hails. No emergency beacon.”
“There wouldn’t be. She poked a careless finger through the aft end of the projection. See there? Blaster damage. Took out all power before they could react.”
She continued to survey the freighters virtual image as it slowly rotated before her. “And look here,” she continued, stabbing at a scorch mark towards the bow. “This was the second shot. Anybody not suited would have died from asphyxiation in seconds.” She grimaced. “Not a pleasant way to go.”
“Still, we should take a look and see what they left us. Boarding party to the shuttle. Let’s go people,” she barked to the bridge crew.
The shuttle was dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the ore freighter. It contained an automated refinery for smelting the iron and nickel from asteroid mines. In brilliant red and gold, the Rising Sun above a Hammer and Sickle of the Asiatic Alliance was boldly emblazoned across the ships bow.
A thorough search of the ship yielded nothing. Whoever had attacked had cleaned out the factory freighter’s hold, leaving behind nothing but the desiccated corpses of her crew.
Iulia assembled her crew on the devastated ship’s bridge. A metre wide gap in the overhead looked out into dead space. “Report” Casually, she pushed aside a motionless carcass as it floated by.
“Sir,” Master Sergeant Shania Gatsby snapped, “the drives have been removed, and the refinery has been damaged beyond repair. There is nothing of value left.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” She smiled widely, revealing two vicious rows of teeth filed to needle points. Casually plucking a floating body from above she asked, “Anyone for Chinese?”
Twenty toothy grins winked back at her.
