by Stephen R. Smith | Nov 24, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Nicola pushed the throttle further forward, feeling the massive airframe surge as he tripled the speed of sound.
“There are now eight aircraft in pursuit, finger four formations, over under,” Sev, the aircraft’s control system, broke the silence, “speed increased to overtake.”
Nic flexed his fingers away from the sticks, the maglocks holding his palms firmly to the controls. “Ok Sev, establish passive lock on the leaders and prep countermeasures if they go hot.”
“Confirmed.” The onboard flight system would do on instinct what he was instructing, but she maintained the illusion that he was in control out of respect. “I should remind you that we have only three remaining air to air missiles, and at this speed guns are unavailable.
“Understood.” Nic checked the current flight line on the HUD. “We can’t make target at this speed, we’ll need to shake ’em off, and quick.” Outside the cockpit, the horizon curved perceptibly with the altitude. “Listen for radio chatter. Tell me what you can about who’s flying what back there.”
There was a moment of silence while Sev recorded radio signals and cracked the encryption. “I have identified six male and two female pilots. Point on the lower formation has the lead. Instructions are to overtake and shoot us down.”
“Keep a passive lock on the leader and the women.” Nic eased up on the throttle. “With no lead, the boys hopefully will try to save their planes. The women never let it go. When they get close enough, Kulbit, then take them out.”
“May I remind you that a Kulbit maneuver at this speed will render you unconscious?”
“You can tell me all about it later.”
The aircraft began to throttle back. “Understood.”
Nic watched the HUD, heart racing as their pursuers closed the distance with ever increasing speed, weapons lock indicators flashed while Sev torqued the plane to stay just out of their grasp.
As the first of the locks stabilized, the gimbaled exhaust of their fighter turned abruptly skyward, pushing the tail of the aircraft violently, first towards the ground and then forcing it to aggressively overtake the nose. Nic felt his flight-suit tighten below his chest, head pounding, blood rushing in his ears. His vision irised in and out as above his head the sky was replaced with the nose cones of a flock of metal birds, then the ground. There was a brief flash of a pilot craning his neck backwards as canopy shot past within meters of canopy. The fighter continued pushing over, the jets almost at right angles to the stabilizers. There was a quick view of the exhaust of their former pursuers then the tail snapped around again to return their plane to its original position in the sky. The gimbaled nozzles straightened and the engines returned to full throttle, afterburners engaged. Nic heard chatter in his headset, vision nearly completely black, Sev closing the distance to the now fleeing pack ahead and letting loose the three remaining missiles as the planes broke formation. Before they could regain offensive positions, the three chosen targets were tumbling from the sky in bright smears of burning fuel and shattered metal. The remaining planes turned tail and ran, leaving Sev and Nic alone in the sky.
“Nicola?” Sev undulated the pressure in his flight suit until he groaned, eyes slowly opening against the bright blue sky.
“Welcome back. We have a clean inbound vector to target, and some time to make up.”
Nic pushed the throttles all the way forward, grinning despite his aching head as the seat back pushed against his spine.
“I killed three inferior AI’s today Nic.”
“I know Sev. Sorry I couldn’t keep my eyes open to watch,” Nic powered down the HUD, “why don’t you tell me about it.”
by Stephen R. Smith | Nov 4, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Joshua’s feet pounded against the pavement, bare soles bleeding from the coarse stone underfoot. Within his bare chest, his heart kept time.
He navigated the deserted streets outside the perimeter fence from memory, a mental map burned in through hours of illicit hacking. He cornered, climbed and sprinted reflexively, anxiously aware that he was being pursued.
Buildings stood vacant; window holes empty, doorframes bare, stripped of anything that may be used as a raw material.
In an alleyway he kicked the drying carcass of a large emaciated rat. Joshua pressed his right hand into its body and disassembled it, rearranging its component parts into the simpler but equally lifeless shape of a short bone-white shiv. What wasn’t needed fueled his microassembler, radiating heat and filling his nostrils with the stench of burning hair and flesh. A pound of dead rodent was reduced to six ounces of knife blade. Not much, but better than nothing.
Exiting the alley he loped down the cobblestoned street, through a crumbling building and out its back door into the twilight. It was here that he saw his pursuer, several hundred yards to his left, as a lone figure exited another building at a sprint and, seeing Joshua, adjusted course to intercept him.
They raced to cross the open ground to another row of buildings, his pursuer course correcting to cut him off but Joshua reached the safety of another doorway first, darting inside and immediately doubling back to flatten himself against the wall inside the room.
Makeshift weapon in his hand, he waited until his pursuer burst through the doorway then stabbed sideways at the running figure’s face, raking his mouth and carving back to the ear before the knife jammed in his jaw. The force of the impact ripped the knife from Joshua’s hand as, off balance and screaming, the guard lost his footing and slammed shoulder first into the ground, his weapon skating across the floor into the shadows.
Joshua bolted deeper into the building, finding himself in a maze of twisting corridors. The further he ran, the less light permeated the gloom and soon he found himself steadying himself between the walls with his hands outstretched, groping fingers in complete darkness until the end of the maze leapt out, smashing his nose and dropping him in a heap on the floor. He frantically felt around blind, his heart sinking as he realized where he was.
“Dead end, you little shit.” The voice not far enough behind to warrant running back. ” I was going to take you in, but now I’ll just take you apart.”
Joshua backed into the corner, pushing himself to his feet with the cold stone hard against his shoulder blades. He’d used his only weapon, and there was nothing here for him to use to fabricate another.
The guard rounded the last corner into the dead end with his starlight goggles turned up as far as they could go, the image of the man pressed against the wall ahead in high contrast.
“End of the line, fucker.”
As he closed the last few feet, he noticed the escapee’s left arm was newly missing from just below the shoulder. The smell of burned hair and flesh filled his nose, but before he could think Joshua slid eight pounds of short, jagged edged bone blade through his chest plate into his rib cage.
The guard fell to the floor, gasping around the chunk of bone still protruding through his cheek.
“You – sick – bastard,” he wheezed, struggling to inflate his lungs, normal aspiration made difficult by the frothing wound in his chest. “your arm?”
Joshua kneeled on the dying man’s chest, pressing his remaining hand against the bloody man’s cheek.
“Don’t you worry”, the smell of burning intensified in the close quarters, “I’ll just make myself a new one.”
by Stephen R. Smith | Oct 29, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
The sleek craft broke the upper atmosphere and fell several kilometers before deploying its chute. The thin film wings weren’t extended until they had slowed enough to not risk tearing them off.
“We’re in stable thermospheric orbit,” the copilot chirped through the headset, “and they haven’t shot us down yet, so that’s a bonus.”
Jacq ignored the copilot’s remark. He’d drawn the straw to pilot this mission and wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t be their last. Chuch in the seat next to him didn’t seem to have given it much thought either way.
“Keep an eye on the instruments. All that flash on the horizon is our boys keeping those green bastards from looking up here, but if we stray over something military you can be sure they’ll get interested and quick.”
Chuch buried his head in the telescope display, watching landscape made too familiar from simulation fly by hundreds of kilometers below. It was sparsely populated where they’d started their run, but shortly he knew they’d be passing over major metropolitan centers.
Jacq turned to crawl back into the glider’s converted cargo bay, sliding over top of the two large spherical canisters nestled in the plane’s belly.
Chuch looked up to watch the older man as he checked the strapping and release mechanisms for the tenth time. “Doesn’t it seem wrong, somehow, to be dropping these on civilians? I mean, I get it – war’s war – but shouldn’t we be taking out factories or something instead?”
Jacq pulled a heavy black marker from a coverall pocket and began drawing Kilroy’s face on the side of each bomb. “The war machine stands to serve its people, fight the machine and the people stand behind it. Show the people that the machine can’t protect them, that it’s failing and the people will eat it from the inside.” He pushed back and admired his handiwork. “Besides, we’ve been fighting these bastards for over a year and we can’t get close enough to hurt them. Fly a battle cruiser or fighter squadron within fifty kilometers of a military installation and they turn loose a swarm that cuts our best ships to ribbons. They’ve got more advanced weapons that we have, and more effective defenses against what little advanced weaponry we can get down planet-side.”
Chuch frowned at his superior’s artwork on their payload while Jacq continued.
“That’s why we’re doing this old school; high altitude drop, brute force and ignorance. Dirty atomics. Honestly, I think it’s the only chance we’ve got to end this thing. Nothing fancy, just hit em’ with a big enough hammer. Make their people want to end it.” Satisfied with his drawn faces, he wrote ‘Fat Ming’ beneath one and ‘Little Djinn’ on the other.
“Fat Ming?” Chuch screwed up his face behind his visor. “What the hell?”
“The Merciless. Ming the Merciless?” Jacq watched for some glimmer of recognition from his colleague before shaking his head and moving to the bombardier’s position. “Honestly, you kids need to read more.”
The two flew the rest of the way in silence, the only talking the occasional sounding off of the distance as they approached the cities. In the final kilometers Jacq rechecked the calibration of his targeting view finder.
“Mark my words, we’ll bring holy hell fire to them today and fifty years from now they’ll be our biggest high tech trading partner,” he paused and opened the bay doors, “probably put our kids out of work.”
by Stephen R. Smith | Sep 1, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
It was June when Mark and Alicia kissed each other one last time before strapping in for the long sleep to Caltrani. “I love you”, Mark had said as the canopies had closed. “Elephant shoes”, she mouthed back, and giggled behind the glass that separated their two capsules.
Neither knew it would be their very last kiss, her capsule bleeding out in flight. When they came to wake her she was dried nearly to dust.
They would have no family. He was left alone.
Back home he knew his friends and family would have long passed on. Maybe there were nieces and nephews, or great to some incomprehensible exponent – great nieces and nephews, but they were as lost to him as his love.
Home would have to be where his heart was, where she was planted in the foreign ground.
He worked first as a labourer, helping build the colony up, then as a soldier defending it against those that would see it fail. He’d seen wars before, and was trained for them, but this was a profession he had looked to the stars to escape. Starting anew the cycle of getting close to people with a uniform in common only to see them die would prove too much to bear.
Mark became a nomad, losing himself in the rough jungle of this planet he’d been so keen to make peace with, a planet that had proved so vicious in return.
On a clear night, from the hilltops overlooking Panteran Gorge, he watched the landing lights at Keff, marveled as ships arced out into space, and others descended to take their place on the ground. The horizon was alight with evidence of prosperity. Brightly lit buildings, flying craft, the multicoloured aura of the cities and towns.
“Their prosperity,” he scolded the night, “not mine. Not Alicia’s.”
Slowly he made his way to the edge of the cliff, peeling off his clothing and equipment and leaving it in a trail behind him. Above him Gentle filled the sky, the low moon giant and grey, lighting the jungle and the water below. Beneath it Skittish streaked across the blackness in fast orbit. Less massive and straining against Caltrani’s gravity, it would pass many times before the sun breached the horizon again, desperately trying to break free of the planet’s grasp to fly away into space.
“It’s hopeless Skittish,” Mark spoke out-loud to the sky, “she’ll never let you go.”
Mark dropped from the cliff, barely feeling the water strike his feet, breaking the surface to sink like a stone into the icy depths. Above him the water rushed to fill in the space he left behind, on the surface barely a ripple to show where he’d been.
As he sank, he thought of Alicia, saw her through the water mouthing ‘Elephant shoes’, and giggling as she swam away. He thought of the children they’d never have, of how he’d been right there as she grew old and died, and how he’d been robbed of his chance to share that with her.
“Nothing left to live for”, he thought, as the moon faded out over his head. He kicked out violently at the water. “Nothing left to live for.” His heart pounding as he broke the surface and filled his lungs, “but I’ll be damned if I let that kill me.”
by Stephen R. Smith | Aug 1, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Thomas was spending another Saturday afternoon looking for deals. Today it was furniture, specifically something unique to fill the vacant corner by the window in his apartment.
“That’s Ralph Lauren,” he hadn’t heard the salesman approach and he jumped despite himself. The salesman ignored the reaction and continued speaking. “Avalon Lounge Chairs, very nice, very expensive. These two are kind of a matching set.”
Thomas regarded the pair of chairs carefully; indian red leather, featureless seat and back held aloft by a tubular frame which formed the base and arms in a continuous gleaming rectangle of chrome.
It was apparent that one wasn’t quite the same as the other, it was close but there was something a little strange about it.
“That’s a knock off,” Thomas pointed to the slightly misshapen piece, “how much are they?”
The salesman stepped up to the suspect piece, carefully polishing the seat back with one corduroy sleeve. “It’s a novelty, not a knock off. Twenty three hundred for the pair,” he paused, revealing nicotine stained teeth in a practiced smile, “Twenty two hundred cash.”
He didn’t really have room for two chairs, and while it appealed to sense of style to purchase the genuine Ralph Lauren piece, he found himself quite enamored with the odd reproduction.
“How much for just that one?” He pointed to the chair the salesman was now leaning on.
“Two hundred. One eighty if you pay cash.” His tone reflected his lack of interest in pursuing the larger purchase his customer was obviously not going to make.
Thomas was already counting out the bills.
It took the pair of them to carry the deceptively heavy piece of furniture and lift it into the trunk of the Audi, the suspension sagging noticeably as Thomas fastened the trunk lid down with a bungee. It took the promise of a six pack at the apartment to convince the superintendent to help wrestle the chair out of the car and onto the elevator, then down the hall to Tom’s apartment.
Finally in its new home, Tom was surprised at how much darker the chair seemed than in the store. The leather was almost black in the late afternoon sunlight, and decidedly more rubbery than he’d realized. He’d need to find some leather cream to soften it back up again, but that was another days work.
On Sunday Thomas travelled to the nursery, buying a pair of five foot tall indian rubber plants in terra cotta pots. One he placed beside the pseudo Avalon chair, the other flanked it in the other corner of the room.
From the kitchen around a mouthful of beer he could swear that the chair had turned green, and the chrome was reflecting back the terra cotta color in such a way as to almost look like terra cotta itself.
Heating a plate of leftovers in the microwave, he took the food and another bottle of beer to sit in the new chair and wait for his girlfriend to arrive. He finished the food, downed the last of the beer and dozed off.
It was nearly midnight when Jilly knocked at the apartment door and then let herself in. She dropped her purse and keys on the kitchen counter as Thomas entered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Hey baby,” she met him halfway and gave him a quick kiss, “did you get a haircut or something? You look different somehow.”
