by submission | Mar 1, 2022 | Story |
Author: Alan J Wahnefried
Shurkarr was excited and little scared. He was waiting for the results of his driving test. Finally, the Examiner called his name.
The Examiner offered Shurkarr a seat. Shurkarr could barely keep himself in the chair.
“In cases like this I find it best to give the result before we analyze your driving. You failed.”, the Examiner began.
Shurkarr was stunned. He thought he had nailed. “How can that be?”, he stammered.
The Examiner sighed. “You did a good job with the maneuvers. You missed something bigger. Let’s take it a step at a time. The first step on the test gave you a heading and you were to follow it at a set speed. Right?”. Shurkarr concurred. The Examiner queried, “What did you do?”
Shurkarr gulped. “I went slower. I was trying to show I was not a reckless driver.”
The Examiner must have heard that before. He sighed and continued, “What was the second step on the test?”
“When I reached Luna, I was to turn to my right.” Shurkarr answered.
“The instructions were based on the speed you were given. If you had driven at the specified speed, a right would have turned you outside Luna’s orbit. Luna is not stationary. By the time you reached Luna, a right turned you inside Luna’s orbit. What was the first thing you were taught in driver’s education?”, the Examiner intoned.
“If you are inside Luna’s orbit, get outside Luna’s orbit immediately!”
“Correct. Why didn’t you do that?”, queried the Examiner.
“I was just trying to follow the test directions.”, Shurkarr said sheepishly.
“Not good enough! You always must follow the instructions concerning Luna’s orbit. You could have asked for help and still passed. Continuing with your test. The next step was to stop and turn on your emergency beacon. You realize starting the beacon turns off your stealth shield?”
Shurkarr wanted into crawl under the woodwork. “Yes.”, he whispered.
“Due to your wrong turn. Your beacon was clearly visible on Earth. If we are to keep our base here on Venus secret, we can’t have mistakes like that! Fortunately, the balance of the maneuvers on the test got you behind Luna and out of sight. You fail. You can try again in 2 vesuvian days.”
Shurkarr was crushed. He made a mistake. What was the big deal? It was night on Earth. He doubted anyone even noticed.
Meanwhile on planet Earth. The lead story in the Maple Stump Idaho’s morning paper was “Red Flashing Orb Buzzes Maple Stump”. The story related the police and newspapers phones were deluged by panicky people….
On television, the first story on Idaho Today was “Police Work to Clear Numerous Vehicle Accidents”. Over 300 vehicles stopped on I-80 south of Boise. People were mesmerized by a flashing red orb in the sky. Multiple collisions were reported. Fortunately, no one was killed or seriously injured…
The US Space Force issued a statement om the orb seen over Idaho. The orb had been tracked until it went behind the moon. The investigation is continuing ….
Dr. Thurston Stahlschiff called his agent. He wanted his publisher to know his book the Imminent Alien Invasion would be postponed another month. He had to investigate the orb that was sighted over Idaho.
Several radio preachers tried to have a field day on the orb, with varying results.
UFO tourists started flocking to Maple Stump, Idaho. The motel owners were happy.
Shurkarr was right. Nobody noticed. The Examiner had a no reason to be upset.
by submission | Feb 27, 2022 | Story |
Author: Dave Ludford
Molly sat on the brow of the steep hill smiling expansively into the hazy distance as the light from the artificial sun gradually faded.
“I wish these days could last forever. The view from here is just breathtakingly beautiful,” she said to the inert figure lying beside her.
“Me too, Moll. Me too,” Jud replied. “We should just enjoy them while we can, I guess.”
“But it’s so unfair,” Molly continued, her brow creasing in consternation, her voice much louder. “How come they get to decide who lives and who dies? We didn’t even put up any form of resistance. We just totally capitulated and it was done and dusted within hours.”
“They get to choose because they won, ergo we lost. The humans have a saying, ‘To the victor, the spoils.’ Something like that. The virulent plague that attacked us was just too overwhelmingly powerful. Besides, we’re humanoid AI who aren’t configured for any form of conflict or violence. There was absolutely nothing we could do, you know that.”
“But there must be something…oh, what’s the use? We’re…”
“Exactly. We’re doomed anyway. These bugs think they’ve won a significant victory here and are now in a position to rule this world. But we’ve been abandoned, left to rot on a dying planet by the consortium of human billionaires who quickly got bored with the new toys they’d created and the seemingly idyllic playground they dumped us in. We’re dying, Moll, all of our crude life support systems are failing daily and we haven’t the wherewithal to repair them without assistance, and we both know that’s not going to happen.”
Molly began to chuckle softly. “Jud, what do you think the bugs’ reaction will be when they discover…you know…that this place isn’t at all what it seems. All that effort and the resources they’ve wasted on this glorified theme park. For them it’s been a pyrrhic victory.”
“May not be the first time it’s happened to them. I guess there’s a speculative element to these things. They’ll just write it off as a bad job, get the hell out and go someplace else where they may get lucky.”
“Perhaps…” She was silent for a short while, then added: “Why do you think our human masters got bored with us? Why go to the vast expense they did just to dump us and forget us?”
“I don’t know, Moll. Any number of reasons. Perhaps they got fed up with playing God and like the bug invaders will just move on to other things. All I know is that we’re slowly but surely dying, and soon it’ll all be over for us.”
“What an absolute waste.” A slight pause then: “Jud, what about us? You know…”
“We’ll look after each other until the time comes…there’s no script, we’ll just have to deal with the situation as it happens. Whichever of us goes first will do what’s necessary for the other.”
“It would be good if we went together.”
“Unlikely, but yes, I’d prefer it that way too.”
***
Several days pass before the first of the invader’s ships roars away from the planet as the light begins to swiftly fade once more and another long night yawns like a void ahead of him. Jud tenderly holds Molly’s lifeless body in his arms and watches in silence as several other ships begin their departure routines, suspecting he’s the only one of his kind left alive on that ill-fated world.
by submission | Feb 26, 2022 | Story |
Author: Burgess Speed
He wasn’t sure when it had happened. It could have been the night before while everyone was sleeping.
It could have been that morning when no one was looking.
Or maybe it was accomplished by imperceptible means right under the noses of everyone.
There was one thing, however, of which the boy was certain—his father had been replaced.
Oh, he looked the same all right, and sounded the same. But the boy knew it wasn’t him.
All day he waited for something terrible to happen. For some awful revelation of alien or demonic identity.
But nothing did.
The next day, his mother was replaced.
The day after, his entire family.
Following that, everyone he knew was replaced.
He tried not to let on that he noticed.
Then, one morning, he awoke to discover that everyone was exactly who they were supposed to be.
by submission | Feb 25, 2022 | Story |
Author: Lewis Richards
I remember my first week here, exploring the neighborhood, seeing the power walking soccer moms and their husbands in their little bubbles of suburban bliss, stopping by the park and watching their children play, doing the maths, and realizing just how lucky I had been.
I remember the first time I went to one of the grotty old dive bars towards the outskirts of town, seeing the way the men inside watched me dance to the music pumping out of the beat-up jukebox, weighing up their options, unconsciously determining which of them would make a move, completely unaware that in fact, I was determining which of them had the strongest genetic material for what I needed.
The one I picked – attractive, but not enough the stand out in a crowd, strong, but not enough to be anything other than the perfect average joe, the perfect disguise. I remember the look in his eyes, the sheer pleasure as I lead him out of the bar, back to my house. I remember his eyes on me as I lead him down, through the basement, deeper, never questioning why the walls went from old wood to cold, gleaming metal.
I remember his eyes when I removed my disguise – from pleasure to terror when he saw my skin was the color of the sky, but by then it was too late for him. I didn’t see his eyes once the genetic extractor was activated and he was reduced to a slurry of proteins and chromosomes which I used to fertilize the dormant eggs I’d produced on my trip here.
Now though, I see his eyes again. I see them in the cashier while I checkout at the grocery store, I see them on the TV in the newly elected state senator – youngest ever. I see them in the police deputies and the mayor’s assistant, spreading their influence and the dominant genetic material from their maternal homeworld.
I see them in my youngest daughter too as I walk her to a craft similar to the one I arrived in, its solar sails extending and carrying it across the ocean of space to a new world to start the cycle anew. The 5th launch in as many weeks.
I’d already sealed the fate of this planet the minute my first eggs hatched, but it wouldn’t hurt to speed up the process. So back to the bar I go.
by submission | Feb 24, 2022 | Story |
Author: J.D. Rice
“Everyone, I’ve come to a decision.”
My voice echoes into the warm air of my helmet, the moisture fogging my visor and obscuring the view of the stars. The fog lingers for only a few seconds before the air filtration system of my suit recaptures the moisture and begins reprocessing it for delivery into my feeding tube. Beyond the suit, the cold, blackness of space presses in on me from all sides, though I feel none of it. The darkness cannot get in. Not yet, anyway.
“I’m sorry, but I have to say goodbye.”
My visor clouds again briefly, before I hear the faint hiss of sunction as the suit does its work. I wonder how long I’ve been staring at these stars.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” my wife asks. Her voice sounds ethereal and distant, not at all like the static one usually hears over the radio. “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are.”
“Dad,” the voice of my fully-grown son says. “Do what you need to do. We’ll be fine.”
I cannot picture his face. When I imagine him, all I see is the little boy who waved goodbye when I strapped myself into this suit for the first time. As the cabin doors closed, he even blew me a kiss.
“Daddy, don’t go,” I hear my little boy say.
Other voices, friends and family from back home, start to chatter their opinions on my plan. Some advise caution and patience. Others applaud my bravery. I don’t know how long I listen to them. I don’t know how many arguments I have or how many words of encouragement I offer, before the silence finally comes again.
The fog clears, and I see the vastness of space before me again.
How many years has it been? Five? Ten?
This suit is supposed to keep me alive indefinitely, recycling resources, synthesizing needed nutrients, running on a powercell that will last centuries. Tiny, electric pinpricks stimulate my muscles and keep them healthy and strong. A person could live seven lifetimes in this suit, without a physical want in the world. Stay alive and wait for rescue, that was the name of the game. But my rescue was never coming.
Not that I should have known it. The final mechanism of the suit, the one that makes it humane, was the powerful sedative that’s supposed to kick in after the first few hours of waiting. That way, no matter how long it took for help to arrive, you’d sleep the time away in blissful ignorance.
But my suit has failed in that last task miserably.
“How will you do it?” my wife asks, the pain evident in her voice.
That was, afterall, the chiefest question of them all. How does a person kill themselves when they are trapped in a suit designed to keep them alive indefinitely?
“I’ll scratch,” I answer, placing my hand on an all-too-familiar spot on my leg. “It may take me years, but if I focus on one spot, I’ll eventually be able to wear this material down and end it all. Nothing lasts forever.”
“Daddy, please…” I hear my boy say. “Don’t go…”
“It’s okay,” his adult self says. “He should have been asleep. He should have been rescued. If neither of those things happened, no one can blame him for ending his solitude.”
“Daddy… please…”
“Just go.”
My fingers move of their own volition, scratching, scratching, scratching in the same place they always do. I have had these conversations before, more times than I can count. Sometimes I remember them, sometimes I don’t.
Sometimes I even decide to live.
Not much longer now. Another year, maybe two, assuming my resolve holds?
“Tell me a story,” I say, trying to picture my son’s face. Is he married now? Does he have children of his own? “Tell me what your life is like. I’ll just drift here and listen.”
Scratch, scratch, scratch, go my fingers.
“We have all the time in the world.”
