by submission | Apr 22, 2022 | Story |
Author: Deborah Shrimplin
“Dr. Bessot, welcome to Planet Chaldea. I hope your journey from Earth was a pleasant one. Please, do have a seat,” President Seints said as he gestured toward the chair next to him. He searched Dr. Bessot’s face for physical signs of the brilliant mind behind his blue eyes.
“It was pleasant, thank you. Your reports are quite fascinating. I am anxious to verify what I perceive as the reason for the strange behavior of the citizens of New Prague.”
“The administration is seeing an increasing number of people expressing this strange behavior. We hope you can diagnose and prevent it from spreading.”
“I will do my best,” the doctor said as he brushed his salt-and-pepper hair off his forehead. “If it is what I think, I shouldn’t need much time. Your staff reported the problem was first noted in the New Prague settlement. I’d like to start there.”
Two hours later, Dr. Bessot and the President arrived at the New Prague town square. It was an exact replica of the Old Town Square in the ancient city of Prague in the Czech Republic. People were strolling through the shops and cafes. A small group stood watching the famous clock as its figures came to life, the bells, chimes, and the elaborate mechanism turned the dials and clock face.
“The original settlers wanted to create a feel reminiscent of Europe. I think they succeeded. President Seints, this will do nicely. Please, let me out here. I can proceed on my own.”
The doctor began his interviews in the candy shop. After complimenting the clerk and ordering some sweets, he asked the clerk what life was like in the settlement.
The old woman replied, “It makes me happy to live here. Every day I swim in the ocean, play in the waves and collect shells.”
The doctor nodded. There were no oceans on this planet. He thanked the woman and left the shop.
Next, he entered the bookstore. After reading a few titles, he asked the salesman what life was like in the settlement.
The middle-aged man replied, “It makes me happy to live here. I look through my telescope at the stars. My father studies the stars with me.”
The doctor nodded and left the shop. The planet’s atmosphere was too thick to view the stars.
Dr. Bessot entered the shoe shop, looked at the gravity boots, and asked the clerk what life was like in the settlement.
The gray-haired clerk said, “It makes me happy. Every day I climb the hill with my best friend. We fly our kites, laugh, and dream.”
The doctor nodded and left the shop. There was no wind on the planet.
The doctor joined the crowd standing in front of the Old Town Clock. Then, he returned to the car and smiled at the President.
“Your reports are true. I can confirm what I suspected.”
“What do you suspect? How do you explain all the strange comments?”
“They are not strange. Time has placed in each person’s mind a moment in their life when they were the happiest. Every day they are reliving that special moment. I wouldn’t want to take that away from them.”
As they drove past the Old World Clock in New Prague on the Planet Chaldea, the brilliant doctor remembered the moment he found the cure for cancer. He smiled.
by submission | Apr 21, 2022 | Story |
Author: Bill Cox
Bardumel floated in zero gravity on the ship’s bridge, watching the final descent. The asteroid, the Horned Skull of the Great Herd, crashed through the atmosphere, causing the white clouds to part like the petals of a Soona flower. Two seconds later the giant rock impacted on the surface, causing an explosion the likes of which hadn’t been seen on this world since the formation of its moon. With this simple exercise of introducing mass into the gravity well of Planet Three, the war against the Reptiloids had been won.
He listened to the grunts of satisfaction and pride from the ship’s herd. The musky odour of triumph permeated the bridge as the shockwave from the Horned Skull travelled at supersonic speeds around the planet, destroying all traces of the global civilisation below. Bardumel understood the necessity of eliminating a competitor species, certainly one as predatory and cunning as the Reptiloids. However, he wondered, did interplanetary contact always have to end thus? Were war and genocide the inevitable outcomes of contact between intelligent species?
Twice now, the Great Herd had encountered intelligence in the open plains of the solar system and twice now they had been forced into stampeding violence. The world of the Chutati, second from the Sun, had been driven into a super-heated state by conflict millennia previously. Now, the third planet from the star had its civilisation destroyed by bombardment from space.
His musings were interrupted by the scent of alarm from one of the bridge herd. It was from the young bull tasked with communication with Homeworld.
“My Captain,” the bull said, a look of shock on his face, “We have received an urgent communication from the Great Herd. Something is happening on Homeworld. What we thought were Reptiloid surveillance probes were actually armed. They have deployed a molecular nano-technology cloud into Homeworld’s atmosphere. It has destroyed all life on the Northern Continent, reducing it to red dust. The continent is now a wasteland!”
There was stunned silence on the bridge and the air was heavy with the scent of distress. Bardumel pictured his home on the Northern Continent, nestled in the crystal forests of Harzoon. It was incomprehensible that such beauty had been reduced to sand and powder.
“My Captain,” the young bull continued, “We are to return home immediately. The Southern Lands are also threatened by this attack. We are required to aid in the mitigation and rescue efforts.”
Bardumel gave the orders almost without thought, feeling the vibration of the engines through the deck plates, like the rumble of so many hooves, as they broke free from their orbit of the Reptiloid’s devastated world. The thrust of their engines pushed him back into his crash couch and he breathed in the grief of his ship’s herd and joined in with their howls of lamentation. Their course would take them out, away from the harsh brightness of the inner worlds and back to Planet Four, there to witness the final fate of the Great Herd.
by submission | Apr 20, 2022 | Story |
Author: Tina Mullane
Through the grid of the window in the lab, I view the much-hailed apparatus. It seemed to glow with shiny promises of freedom from the heavy cloak of medical tyranny. I misinterpret the glint of fluorescent light bouncing off the small metal tag, which I note to be screwed in slightly askew, with its engraved serial number, as my dear mother beaming down proudly upon my adventurous spirit.
A white-coated lab technician hands me a form and welcomes me to the test group. Excitedly, I check off the boxes to every hypochondriac’s dream needed lab and DNA values.
As I enter the room, feeling an odd and assured belief that my results of over 100 lab values, as promised, will be interpreted accurately and without bias, I hear the hermetically sealed door hiss shut.
Unencumbered, I take a closer look at the faded black box with its absence of congruent corners and its boxed window presumptuously devoid and empty of any apparent software. I feel that, with its multitude of plastic and metal parts, and its puffy promises of unraveling DNA absent of Darwinian prejudices, the box seems proud and self-assured.
I search for an obvious button to push while simultaneously listening for gears to unwind, and I find my hand reaching out instinctively to the clear plastic side pocket, hoping for operating instructions…a pamphlet. I imagine a small alpha smearing of letters folded up neatly in an elixir of languages…Fold box a flap into flap c.
I realize on the right-hand corner of the plastic siding, there appears to be a silhouette of the image of a drop of blood. Eureka!! I glance about the room and notice a small box of lancets. I poke my finger, and with shaking hands, I lay the blood drop on the etched blood image.
The box’s window remains devoid of sounds, pictures, or prompts, which seems to reflect the empty promises of multiple and accurate interpretations.
Over the intercom system, I hear “thank you for participating, your results will be processed, and you will be notified shortly”. As I slouch forward and exit the room, I take one last glance back through the window at my now nemesis. I notice it appears to have lost its grandeur and stands almost obstinate and sullen in its failing.
by submission | Apr 17, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
“We’re humans. Earthlings. Terrans. We are not Kludge!”
“You are to us. You’ve been Kludge for eons. Get over it,” the platypus-like creature said dismissively from its anti-grav sedan chair. It belched lustily, exhaling the unmistakable stench of Corn Nuts which it ate incessantly.
In his private office, Kin Kin Tram Wah, the Secretary General of the United Nations, reddened to the point of apoplexy. His aide fanned him with the document the Ambassador From Beyond had presented only a short time before to the General Assembly.
Tram Wah waved his aide away, took a breath and sat down at his desk near which the Ambassador’s golden sedan chair hovered, spinning idly in circles.
“Ambassador,” Tram Wah began calmly, “you have taken us by surprise. We have much to learn from your kind, but I must insist that you not refer to us as Kludge. It is demeaning.”
“Not at all, Kin Kin. Kludge is perfectly apt for your species. My race calls it like we see it. Your kind is kludge. You’re a workaround. A quick and dirty fix to a nasty little problem we inadvertently created. We needed you to keep an invasive species in check, and you’ve handled that superbly. Now, this planet is once again habitable for our kind From Beyond.” A deep gong sounded from the Ambassador’s sedan chair.
The Secretary General lost patience again. “Must you do that, Ambassador? It makes our proceedings cheap and theatrical. I mean, you won’t even reveal where From Beyond is to our astronomers. You treat us like sub-intelligent mutts. I feel like I’ve become Arthur Dent from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”
“Possibly if more of your race had read and heeded that illustrious historian, then you’d have a better appreciation for your place in the cosmos,” the Ambassador responded snootily. “But it makes no matter. You are Kludge and we really have no need of you anymore.”
“But we are an intelligent race?”
“Says who?”
“We have spacecraft. We have computers. We have language and culture.” The Secretary General’s voice sharpened. “We have Corn Nuts.”
“That’s about all,” the Ambassador conceded. “Come, come. This is getting weary. You are Kludge, and Kludge have their uses. We gave you the limited neural capacity to dispose of our dolphin enemy, but do you think we would give you real intellect? Why would we create more competition?”
“We do not need to compete. We can cooperate and both benefit,” the Secretary General pleaded.
“So said the ant to the elephant.” The Ambassador From Beyond’s hovering sedan chair stopped spinning. “Look, Kin Kin, it’s done. You’ve served your purpose, and now you Kludge are on the verge of becoming an invasive species. We don’t need that kind of ecological nuisance in this galactic arm. Your species either boards the transports in six days in an orderly manner or we dissemble humanity’s DNA.” The Ambassador belched again heartily. “A Kludge, by its very nature, is a stop-gap. Face it, you’re all expendable temps, and it’s time you clocked out.”
Tram Wah raised his hands in supplication. “Please, Ambassador, consider our contributions. Humans have a higher purpose. Have mercy.”
“Higher purpose? Mercy? That’s what got you Kludge this gig in the first place: compassion for those sycophantic bottlenosed finbacks and their cloying, proud, ambitious brethren.” It snapped its padded forefingers in finality. “Six days.”
The Ambassador From Beyond and its golden sedan chair vanished with a flash and final melodramatic gong. The smothering smell of Corn Nuts all that remained.
by submission | Apr 16, 2022 | Story |
Author: Oliver Hunt
Kylin sunk down into the cockpit of her mech, Trisha. Flicking the ignition switch, various lights on the control interface blinked into life. Readings show that she was combat-ready and a loud purr came from the engine situated below, the mech’s soul raring to go.
“Easy girl,” Kylin said with a smile. It had been fifteen years since the hive aliens from the Insekt sector invaded earth, sending humanity into a galactic war. To keep up with the alien threat, humanity built mechs. Larger than buildings and armed with more firepower than any tank the mechs proved to be a true titan of war, with a secret weapon. A symbiotic connection between the pilot and the mech.
One machine, two brains.
Kylin looked behind her and pressed a button marked “Soul Gate”. There was a faint hiss as it vented cold air and the panel behind the seat raised. Kylin smiled and let out a sigh.
In front of her was the heart of Trisha, a brain cybernetically altered that fed directly back into the mech itself. The brain came from a volunteer, someone was wounded during the first invasion of the aliens.
Most brains are from fallen pilots, but Kylin had gotten lucky. Trisha was a heavy weapons operator for one of the early MKI Earth Defence Tanks and had been mortally wounded when a Hive Queen destroyed her tank with a blast from its protoplasmic egg-glad. Trisha was a fighter, and now fourteen years after her death, she was still going.
Trisha always had issues finding a pilot she could bond with, but then came Kylin with her leather bomber jacket and hotshot attitude. On their first mission, Kylin and Trisha scored a total of three hundred confirmed kills and since then, they’ve been unstoppable, dropping into combat missions both on earth and amongst the stars. All the while, Kylin never left Trisha’s side. Even when the mechs’ red hull was on fire and the shoulder-mounted ballistic cannon torn free by a Scyther’s claw, Kylin remained in the cockpit, harness locking her in place as they fought side by side.
A quiet beeping came from one of the overhead consoles, drawing Kylin’s attention back to the controls. The panel hissed close as Kylin thumbed the button activating the communication link. The cockpit’s visor shaded green, then the torso of a man appeared on screen.
“ Good to see you Pilot Kylin. We have your mission details.” spoke the man, his handlebar moustache twitching as he spoke. The hum of the mech’s engine rose slightly, loud enough that it could be heard.
“And Trisha of course ” said the man sheepishly, nodding in the direction of the brain. Some of the commanders didn’t acknowledge the brains as human, instead of seeing them as only a machine.
Admiral Cleese was once like that but he had learned that Trisha is more than just a machine when Kylin had punched him after referring to her as an oversized can opener with authority issues. Since then he was always careful to say hello to Trisha.
“Ground forces have dug in at the base of a Hive Fortress near the asteroid’s largest mountain, codenamed Olympus. Your mission is to escort Little Dicky to the top of that mountain so they can throw a thermo atomic bomb down its throat. Understand? Oh and try not to get yourselves killed.”
“You can count on us Skip,” said Kylin accompanied by a roar from the engine.
The image phased out and Kylin looked back at the closed soul gate.
“Side by side. We’ve got this.”
