by submission | Jun 18, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Not long after a distant star suddenly brightened a thousand-fold and gamma rays gobsmacked life on earth, a prairie dog emerged from its burrow in a deep narrow canyon in what was once southern Utah.
Ever wary of predators, it fed quickly and returned to its burrow unable to remark on the extreme quiet and supreme stillness of its surroundings. After many days of this, the prairie dog began to range farther and farther from its burrow. It skirted many carcasses, some limbless, some with wings, some with four legs and some with two.
It fed well and became less wary of predators. More and more often at the height of day, it hunched on a high ridge and watched the horizon for hours. It was still unable to remark on the extreme quiet and supreme stillness of its surroundings, but the prairie dog returned less and less to its burrow deep in the narrow canyon.
A day came when the prairie dog set out. Sudden storms interrupted the extreme quiet and supreme stillness of its days and nights, but forage was plentiful, predators were absent, and the prairie dog was compelled by a something. A something new.
On the very periphery of awareness probing to find a foothold in the prairie dog’s nature, it could almost be called a question. The prairie dog felt it as a restless push enticing it across what was once southern Utah to what was once southern Nevada.
At a place that was flat and hard with many unfamiliar things and many dusty carcasses, the prairie dog sensed what might be an answer to the extreme quiet and supreme stillness.
A something. A something new.
A call. And now a response.
Deep below, a gamma ray gobsmacked sleeper had awakened and was ready for all takers. As in every cosmos, life in its rarest and most lasting forms is patient.
Next to what was once a signpost that read Homey Airport, the prairie dog began to dig for its answer. Something anew.
by submission | Jun 17, 2022 | Story |
Author: Rick Tobin
“I’m thrilled to share our Mars challenge solution.” A bespectacled 30-year-old twittered before the tech wizard’s Spartan Texas office.
“Sure…thrilled…sit. Skip the small talk. Make your elevator pitch—five minutes.” The ruffled-haired billionaire entrepreneur seemed agitated at the Millennials’ amateurish prattle.
“You know oxygen is critical for Mars projects. My team developed an elegant innovation, although somewhat costly to implement.” Michael Partridge cleared his throat while adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses.
“Always are—these phantom ideas,” the CEO replied. “Forget potentials. Does it work? Where’s your proof of operation?”
“Pilot tests were concluded during Death Valley summers and winters in the Rockies. During daylight, our system continuously converted carbon dioxide into oxygen, which was then compressed and stored through our exclusive design.”
“Who was the testing oversight authority with knowhow? Stanford or JPL?
“NIST in Colorado monitored the Rockies. Caltech evaluated the Mojave. Here are our results.” He opened his leather satchel, removing a thick prospectus.
“No, I don’t need to see that. Williams recommended you already for this meeting, but I’ve heard schemes before. What makes yours better than dozens I’ve nixed? Shame you didn’t have Stanford involved.”
Partridge pulled back his folder. “Our investor collaboration included the Naval Research Laboratory and NASA. That’s where Williams discovered us. We initially worked on the Moon base plan, but it proved implausible. However, with Mars’ carbon dioxide atmosphere, we now have a winner…but at a price.”
“Williams said you used unusual material applications and techniques. Summarize.”
The CEO stared across the desk, making Partridge hesitate.
“I have restrictions, as COO, to discuss specific proprietary information. However, I can say our dome construction involves Fresnel heating lenses activating microscopic gold filaments that stay suspended in carbon dioxide gas. We use a charged ceramic membrane to separate molecular oxygen into our patented collecting system.”
“Maybe, but you know the temperature gradients on Mars. What materials are going to keep your dome resistant and still operational?”
“We have a new application using Nitinol nanofibers combined with graphene in dome construction elements and extraction support equipment.”
“And the carbon waste dust?”
“We’ve designed collection systems capturing pure carbon residues for use later as part of water treatment for crew enclosures.”
“It’s still a waste product.”
“Not exactly. Based on the chemicals the carbon filters from recycled liquids, including Mars brine water, we discovered that mixing the final carbon sludge with biowaste enhanced plant growth. We ran initial tests at Texas A&M. Potatoes flourished with that mixture. It’s a win-win for survivability.”
“What’s the power source for separation?”
“As long as the sun shines on Mars, the domes make oxygen. The upper half of a dome holds Fresnel lenses for activating microscopic gold foil which then reacts with carbon dioxide, leaving behind oxygen and carbon, but not melting or overheating the Nitinol and graphene materials.”
“Yes, you mentioned all that already, but you have my attention. Nitinol and graphene aren’t cheap, but I suspect gold is the price point.”
“To supply a one-hundred-person team the project requires a metric ton of microscopic gold particles. That’s within the maximum payload range of your transport designs; however, acquiring that much gold is a difficult issue beyond the technology, by both cost and politics.”
“My original homeland’s government is corrupt. They’re sitting on all the gold we’ll need. I can get it…so let’s first test this fairy dust invention here on Texas soil with limited resource impacts, in case it fails.”
“Terrific—Operation Tinker Bell.”
“Don’t ever do that. I get to name stuff.”
“Sure…sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You’ve done enough thinking. I’ll do the rest.”
by submission | Jun 16, 2022 | Story |
Author: Samuel Edney
He’d wandered too far. He’d wasn’t paying attention and had wandered too far and now it was darkening as the storm had descended upon them. Mother was going to shout at him. She was going to be so angry.
‘Darling, where are you?’
If he turned back now, maybe she wouldn’t be so mad but he couldn’t see the way back anymore, blotted out like the sun on the horizon. He called out but immediately clasped his mouth shut as the storm howled all around him and filled is mouth with sand. He tried to turn, to follow his footsteps back to Mother, but any trace of his journey to where he stood was erased now. His legs felt warm even through the fibres of his suit. He looked down to see his legs encased in the sand. She was going to be so disappointed in him. In his weakness.
‘Come back! Playtime is over now’
Shielding his eyes, he swore he saw the dunes move. Undulate. Melt.
Toward him.
He didn’t like it. It was too loud, the sand hurt his face as it cut his cheeks and now he didn’t care what Mother would say or what she would think of him. He called out to her but the noise! It was too much and the darkness closed in, the faint orange glow of the sun bouncing off of the sand’s surface shrinking away under the assault.
Something brushed past his feet.
‘If you don’t come back now I am leaving without you!’
He howled as a sharp pain struck up his leg. He heaved it free, blood pouring freely from two deep bite marks, ripped deep through the synthetic fabric of the trouser leg. Spittle dripped through his gritted teeth as he planted the leg back in the sand, then freed the other, hands hooked under the knee, dragging it forward.
A spit of orange fire in the storm as Mother fired up her engines.
‘Fine! Have it your way!’
One step. Two. Over and over. His head throbbed, his ears boomed, his legs screamed in pain and spewed blood from so, so many punctures and he lost his balance in the pitch blackness, fell forward, arms lost to the sand, dragged under by whatever it was under there that was tearing through his suit and feeding on his flesh in the midnight.
The puncture of dripping orange just beyond the rolling dunes popped to a blue. The roar of Mother’s engines punched through the rushing wind as she lifted up, up, further and further into the darkness and away.
Sand filled his throat as he screamed and screamed for her to come back and then his throat was nothing but sand and all he could think about was how much he let Mother down as he was shredded into a thousand pieces and pulled down into suffocating oblivion.
by submission | Jun 15, 2022 | Story |
Author: D. I. Dean
Room 2248 was quiet, save for the distant hum of the starship engines. She held Sarai’s good fingers in her hand, unsure if he even knew that she was there, but this was the least she could do; take up space next to him, watching the stuttering rise and fall of his chest.
She found the fingers of her free hand running along the warm glass of the bedside table. The sensation was a welcomed distraction. It was almost soothing, the way that the tips of her fingers prickled and cooled as she pulled – because it felt like she was pulling – frost to the glass beneath her palms. It traced where her fingers went along the surface, leaving intricate crystalline patterns behind.
She hadn’t told anyone about it yet. She wanted to know more about what this was before that, though she knew The Sodality would find out eventually. Their sigil branded everything in the room; the light-barrier entrance, the viewport window, the slowing heart rate monitor…
She cooled the glass again. It was cold where she had touched it, sure, but she didn’t feel cold. Her fingers felt frosty but not frost-bitten. Not like Sarai’s. She held the frost longer. She held it until her hand cramped and ached, and her fingers burned. No matter what she felt, her skin never turned purple. If she took her focus from the frost, then she knew her hand would feel normal again too.
She didn’t want this. She would give it up in a heartbeat if it meant saving Sarai. Maybe there was time. She could go to the Ministry of Science. They could study it, figure out something, and then- and then what? The heat of the room sent sweat rolling down her back and did nothing to stop the purple blisters creeping over Sarai’s chest. If she went to The Ministry’s marble chambers, part of her knew that she would never leave. And Sarai would still be dead by morning.
Despite the machines around them, the room remained eerily quiet. She looked at the monitors just to make sure they were still working. Lines and numbers that she didn’t understand still appeared on the screen, however useless they might be. Not just the machines, no, she was useless too. If such a strange ability were to show up in her life now, then why couldn’t it be useful? Healing?
Why couldn’t whatever was taking Sarai take her too? Maybe it would. After cold blisters started forming along the first doctor’s arms, the rest of them refused to even step foot in the room. It had spread quickly, but they took oaths of discovery, didn’t they? How could they cower floors away when Sarai needed them here?
Nothing covered her arms, save for cracks from the dry heat. Maybe there was a delay for her. Maybe that would be for the better. Her throat tightened. He wouldn’t want this for her. She doubted that he would wish it on anyone. She played with the frost on the tabletop again/ She could be here with Sarai when everyone else feared trying. She wanted him back, moons she wanted him back, but if that wasn’t possible then she was going to be here beside him. She would pretend to know how he felt.
by submission | Jun 12, 2022 | Story |
Author: Chana Kohl
When my ship touched down on the small moon of E’lyrvst III, nothing struck me particularly outside the ordinary. Host to the largest salvage yard in the sector, V’hara, the proprietor, was known across the explored galaxy for her business acumen and political influence. Visitors could anticipate technological expertise, unrivaled hospitality, and lively entertainment, all while buffered from the palpable heat of an unending desert landscape.
And I needed spare parts.
Her establishment looked much like the caravanserai of Old Earth. An oasis by day, courtyards and alleyways hummed with the bustle of traders and merchants. But as the sun dipped lower, I felt the atmosphere change: hand drummers thumped ancient rhythms as patrons placed their bets. Tellers behind impenetrable windows took wagers from over thirty worlds. Something of importance was taking place and the entire sector was invested.
“Captain Roiz,” V’hara greeted me graciously, “I’m glad you agreed to spend the night planet side while your order is prepared. You’ll find the waiting less terribly dull.” Her eyes glinted like almandine jewels.
After a round of drinks and a light repast, the open courtyard dimmed. A circle of torches kindled, and a ring announcer’s voice boomed, “Distinguished guests, spectators from across this system and beyond, welcome to the match you’ve all been waiting for!”
The stomping of feet by viewers in the stands reverberated like a herd of wildebeests.
“To my right, the emperor of Talsya IV, the tenth-generation successor to the throne,” raising his hand towards the balding, heavy-set man next to him. “Perhaps after tonight, the Talsyans will need to crown the eleventh!”
“And on my left, President Ulrysus Aixt. After 72 consecutive years in elected office, he has served planet Lexuros with distinction. Unfortunately, tonight might be his permanent retirement!”
“Is this for real?” I glanced at my hostess in disbelief. She simply popped an hors d’oeuvre and smiled, “Did you place your bet?”
A brass gong resounded, and the Emperor made the opening move, lunging for the President. The older man, more spry than I first gave him credit for, dodged in time. Both fists came down hard between his opponent’s shoulder blades. The emperor fell to his knees.
“I’m sorry,” my concerns finally found their voice. “What exactly am I watching right now??”
“In our sector, whenever two worlds cannot resolve their disagreements through civil negotiation, the leaders of those worlds must resolve it here, in a fight to the death. It’s the law,” she added, “by popular vote.”
“And you condone this, this…” I reached for the right word. “Brutality?”
“Condone it? I lobbied for it myself! More than half of this sector’s population are of fighting age, likely to be drafted at the whim of any given autocrat. ‘Why can’t everyone get the chance to grow old and fat?’ I asked myself.
“Getting the legislation passed was a piece of cake,” she continued. “The maternal demographic is what did it, actually. Once mothers realized they no longer had to send their daughters and sons to war anymore, the corpus politicus didn’t stand a chance.”
The President had the Emperor in a camel clutch, gnawing at his ear. “C’mon!’ I shot her serious side-eye. “That’s legal??”
A sudden, awful crunch of cartilage and bone echoed through the arena. The Emperor was face down, arms spread defenseless, one leg akimbo. An eerie hush fell, then the crowd roared approval.
“This is barbaric!” I told her. “There’s absolutely no place for something like this in civilized society.”
“Maybe,” she answered, taking a long draw from a gold-plated hookah, “But the ratings are through the roof!”
