by submission | Jul 30, 2022 | Story |
Author: Brian Maycock
In one hour, he would be free.
Murty grinned.
Smiling was not against the rules, not strictly speaking, but if a guard saw you smiling there was a good chance a beating would follow.
They might think you were laughing at them or hiding a secret. Or simply wanted to impose a reminder that prison was not a place where the inmates should be smiling.
Murty kept on grinning. What was one more beating?
When he had been detained, he was a punk with blood on his hands. Even so, he entered the Not Guilty code in the justice interface and recorded a pack of lies as his testimony.
The Deportation ticket came out all the same. Sixty years imprisonment on board a correctional facility deep in space.
His last sight of Earth was a sliver of light as the shuttle door shut. Two weeks later they docked and he walked out into his new world.
One where cells lined the walls for miles in every direction and the sounds of thousands of inmates screaming and snoring and ranting never ceased.
Where buzzers sounded to mark that it was time to eat or sleep or exercise.
Where excrement seeped from blocked drains and small, dark flies filled the air.
He had been nineteen when he arrived at the facility. He was seventy-nine now.
His sentence was almost served.
One hour and counting down, he told himself as his cell door was buzzed open.
A guard took him to a booth and ordered him to undress. He stood there, a collection of bones and scars, as light spat from pinholes in the booth.
He figured this was meant to kill the bugs which lived on him. A few did drop off and lay thrashing around by his feet, but most kept scurrying around regardless.
He was hurried out of the booth and pointed to a new all-in-one grey suit hung on the wall. This itched more than the damn bugs ever had when he put it on.
An appearance before the Governor followed.
He intoned a lecture about penalties paid while Murty fought the urge to break the man’s neck.
It was a scrawny and would have snapped easily but the pleasure would have been fleeting. Not a good enough trade for the freedom that was coming his way.
The Governor finished and dismissed Murty with a wave. Outside, a line on the floor led the way to a fat metal door.
A buzzer sounded as he approached and the door slid open.
Murty stepped through.
This was it.
He was being released.
The door now behind him closed, which left just one more.
A final barrier.
When this opened, the water in Murty’s body would boil and the air would be ripped out of his lungs into the vacuum of space to which he had been exposed.
In fifteen seconds he would be unconscious and in ninety seconds he would be dead.
But he would not die a prisoner.
Murty smiled as the outer hatch of the airlock opened.
One hundred and five seconds of freedom.
The thought of this had sustained him for sixty years.
by submission | Jul 29, 2022 | Story |
Author: Chris De Pree
“How vast those Orbs must be, and how inconsiderable this Earth, the Theatre upon which all our mighty Designs, all our Navigations, and all our Wars are transacted, is when compared to them.” –Christian Huygens (1629-1695)
The rapidly moving silver sphere fragmented into hundreds of smaller reflective orbs in the outer reaches of the planetary system. Most of the objects followed trajectories to the four large gaseous planets. Using a combination of gravitational forces, attractive and repulsive, four of the smaller featureless spheres approached the rocky planets closest to the star. Each orb communicated with all the others. As a collection of nodes, they perceived the planetary system as a whole in all its variety, aligning time so that their communications were almost instantaneous.
One probe approached a small red planet with an enormous dead volcano fracturing one of its sides. A single orbit revealed several mechanical objects on the dry surface, but no biological or mechanical life. The atmosphere was cold and thin. Liquid oceans had been present once, but not for many billions of planetary orbits.
A second sphere used gravitational buoyancy to approach a planet-moon system, third from the star. Like the red planet, it was the correct distance from its parent star to potentially have liquid water at its surface. Protocols required the probes to search these planets most carefully.
The moon was smaller than the planet, and varied in color from almost white to dark gray, with many craters, large and small. No volcanic activity present. After a single orbit, the probe had mapped the locations of six disturbed sites on the surface where markings and features indicated non-geological processes. Using its internal gravitational ballast, the orb descended slowly to the surface at one of the sites.
As the metallic sphere hovered, a clear oculus appeared on its side and imaged a metallic structure with four legs. Nearby were a variety of parallel tracks in the fine dust covering the gray surface. There were patterned depressions in the dust indicating upright bipeds had walked here. Imprint characteristics indicated the approximate height, mass, and gait of the bipeds. A wave of attention and activity ran through the network of orbs.
A quick analysis of the tracks and the rate of micrometeorite impacts suggested the site had been undisturbed for several million orbits of the nearby planet around its star. A very thin rectangular object hung from a metallic post. The rectangle was solid white in color, but instruments behind the oculus indicated that it had once had alternating red and white horizontal bars, and small white shapes on a blue field. The white rectangle was made of different material than the metallic structure, with hydrocarbon compounds present. The oculus became opaque again.
The silver sphere accelerated away from the surface of the gray moon to explore its mother planet, shrouded in thick yellow clouds. The orb detected an atmosphere of mostly carbon dioxide with sulfuric acid and traces of nitrogen and other gasses. The probe dropped through the heavy atmosphere and emerged beneath the lower layer of acidic clouds to see a barren surface covered by mountains and valleys. Vast areas of liquid water had been present, but were now evaporated. The former oceans remained only as vapor in the thick atmosphere. Surface radioactivity levels were much higher than normal for a planet of this age in this part of the Galaxy.
The orb skimmed the hot, rocky surface of the third planet, looking for any indication of biological or mechanical life, and found none. It accelerated in an arc into the swirling clouds above.
The probes drifted together in the outer reaches of the planetary system, like a burst of dandelion fluff from some long ago childhood memory in reverse. Reassembled, the large matte sphere continued its Galactic census.
by submission | Jul 28, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
The dog’s tail wagged. Or so it had seemed. Lhalam wasn’t so sure now.
She held back the sim-treat.
The dog nuzzled her sandal.
Curious. Curious for both Lhalam and the dog.
She powered down the dog and it stretched down at her feet as if sleeping. She watched it for some time before entering data from the session. She then went outside the lab, to the terrace where she sat and vaped, reassured by the jiggle and tumble of colorful leaves on the hillside maples.
Autumn already. And she had a deadline. A deadline Lhalam was determined to meet. The lab wanted to ship her first dogs by the holidays. Not impossible. Very probable. But she kept thinking about the dog’s tail.
What was wagging what?
Lhalam knew her dogs were safe. They were machines. Like dishwashers. Like radios. Neutral artifacts. Instruments subservient to the user’s wishes.
So, why did an apparent wag of the dog’s tail bother her so much? The action was within parameters. Within the guardrails she and the programmers had established. A machine designed to mimic a living creature had to have a certain amount of variant behavior. Almost autonomous.
A stronger breeze rattled the maples and a few leaves chased each other up the hill. One dropped on Lhalam’s table. She picked it up. Twirled the stem in her fingers.
How much of her behavior was predetermined? Hardwired. Seasonal.
The breeze picked up and Lhalam noticed how quickly the sky had darkened. She vaped deeply watching the bad weather approach from the foothills. A storm hadn’t been on her radar. Why not?
Had it been on the dog’s? Is that why its tail might have wagged?
They were sensitive. Precisely tuned instruments.
But tuned to what really?
What Lhalam perceived? What Lhalam determined?
What was really in her control? In anyone’s?
She shivered when the temperature abruptly dropped. The sky cracked with thunder as the storm bore down on her. Determined, Lhalam waited for it.
Waited for her answer.
by submission | Jul 27, 2022 | Story |
Author: Alastair Millar
They could be watching him already.
He eyed the roboserver winding through the tables towards him. It was a bipedal, not rolling, model; the Ares Lounge had tone. The performers and escorts were human, even. No class or no money? Then you could slum it at Marvin’s downtown, with its androids and holos. Nobody would look for a subversive here, but he couldn’t let his guard down.
He had no idea who was collecting his drop. Operational security was a way of life for the Arean League; Mars Administration served the corporations, and didn’t recognise Earther concepts of privacy or subtlety. Get caught, and they couldn’t force what you didn’t know out of you.
The server bowed, approximating a smile, and deposited a carafe in front of him. Two glasses; management would prefer him to engage a companion. As it wandered off, he felt the pendant under his shirt vibrate; someone had triggered the payload transfer, and the nearfield microcircuits had slagged themselves. He’d keep it as a souvenir; it was useless for anything else now.
He was just pouring when a woman slid into the seat opposite.
“That glass for me, handsome?”
“I’m not here for company,” he said, keeping his eyes on the stage magician. Never encourage them.
“Nor am I, Danny. Strictly business. What’s left of your honour’s safe with me.”
That got his attention.
“Why, Detective Ames… what an unexpected pleasure. What brings Marsport’s finest to a humble establishment like this?”
She laughed. “Checking up on you, of course. Just because you’re not using corporate wires to bet on Earthside races any more doesn’t mean you’re off our radar.”
“C’mon, I paid the fine. I’d get a swift trip Downside if I stepped out of line now. And I’d never get used to the gravity again.”
“So I can check you for drugs, weapons and datachips, right?”. She laid a sleek sniffer on the table; nicer than Security’s standard issue, and probably more sensitive.
“Of course,” he said, taking a sip of the suddenly bitter wine. Rule one: never show fear. Please god the circs really had wiped.
She pressed a button and the scanner bulb pulsed for a few seconds.
“All clear. Well done.” She winked. “Always had a soft spot for you, glad you’re staying clean.”
“You know what,” he said, rising. “I just realised that I’d rather be somewhere else. No offence.”
“None taken, obviously.” She watched him head for the exit, and used the table screen to order a juice. No nerve-steadying booze on duty, alas. She’d logged their conversation for her boss, cover for being here, but couldn’t leave yet.
The server bowed, depositing a glass in front of her. As it left, her bracelet tingled as the nearfield downloaded a data packet. She wondered briefly who the source was; she’d pass it on at Marvin’s later. A strange kind of revolution when you didn’t know who you were working with, but a step towards freedom for Mars!
by submission | Jul 24, 2022 | Story |
Author: K.Hartless
Will it stay cloudy forever?” I release a pillow of breath through the slit in my box, try to imagine Jared’s expression, lost to me from behind cardboard folds. He’s brought me to the ravine for a reason, and I sniff the morning air as if searching for a clue. “Smells cloudy, anyways.” Dolly wheels squeal past, struggling to part sand. The chervil Parting Mirror rides atop the platform, a sultan of the olden days. Its arched surface is regally outlined by protective plastic. “Is there a Sealing today?”
“Don’t know, Ingrid.” Jared finally answers, shuffling his feet. “Why do you always ask this sort of nonsense, anyway?” I wonder what his scowl looks like. I imagine a bulldog’s wrinkle between his eyes. “And what’s more. I don’t really care. Not about the fog, not about the ceremony, none of it.” He exhales, a toxic mass forced from his lips joins with the smog of the city.
Sealings take place on Sundays. Any female ready for reproduction is invited to attend. Their parents decide when to bring them here to the edge of the ravine to peer into the Parting Mirror, bid farewell to their own reflections.
I remember my Sealing. I froze before the Parting Mirror, frantic to memorize myself, fearful I would be sealed for the rest of my days.
“Goodbye, lips,” I pouted then forced a smile, shifting rapidly between the two, in a panic. After all, I needed to know my own lips. I noticed how my top lip protruded just a bit more than my lower, and how I only had one dimple on the right side.
“Goodbye, eyes.” This was my hardest goodbye. It was through my eyes I expressed all unsaid. I remember my irises matched the cloudless sky and expanded like the horizon. Jared used to ask me before about my face, but that was in the early days.
“Look, Ingrid.” I turn to take in what he’s trying to show me, but this tiny slit was made for younger eyes, and in truth, he is mostly shadow these days. I hear him fumbling with something, but I can’t see what. “I can’t keep doing this. I don’t think you’re the right fit.” He places a small wooden ring in my palm and closes my fingers. The circle is warm, and smooth from cycles of wear.
“Sorry.” He moves to touch me, but I flinch. I’m inches from the edge, and he doesn’t want to be the reason I fall in. “Really, Ingrid, I am.”
“What are you sorry for? Leaving me in a paper prison to rot or being a selfish jailer for four long years?” There’s no answer.
“Know what, Jared? I don’t believe you’re sorry. Not for one second. There must be a new package that’s arrived. Something fresher, I imagine?”
I take his ring, arch back my arm, and sling it as far as I can. I imagine it cutting the fog, slicing its way through all the bully-like clouds to the bottom of the ravine where it sinks.
“Good luck, Ingrid. I do hope you find your person.” Jared’s voice is muffled, but his footsteps are crisp on the slick stones.
“Monster!” I yell after him, not caring how many boxes I turn. “I may be behind the cardboard, but you’re the one who can’t see the truth!
The last time I saw my parents’ faces, they stood together smiling as they completed the sacred ceremony, fitting the box around my head.
“You’re the perfect package, sweetie,” Dad whispered, sealing the thick cardboard into place.
“You’re sure to be unwrapped soon.” Mom cut the eye slits with precision to try and give me the perfect view.
I slide off my promise ring, toss it into the abyss after Jared’s. Was there a sea down there as we had been taught in primary or just a never-ending ravine? From within my mildewy box, I was no longer sure. The unknown deepens daily when you’re waiting to be someone’s special delivery.
