by submission | Jun 19, 2022 | Story |
Author: Kye Shamblin
The first human being to set foot on Mars. That was all I’d ever wanted to be. Even at a young age, when the other children shared equally impossible dreams, this was mine. Other children eventually were sobered by reality and would settle for far more realistic opportunities. I never gave in. I wasn’t like other children.
Not that any of that mattered now, with my landing craft in a flat spin and plummeting toward the surface of the Red Planet. I had always wanted to be the first human on Mars. I’d just wanted to be alive for it. Minor detail.
With great effort, I managed to grasp my hands around the flight stick once again. Counteracting the flat spin would require some skill, all while fighting against the G-force of our spin. I tugged on the yoke with all my strength, thinking I might rip it off the floor.
Still spinning. The dusty surface of the planet spun past my viewport a few times as I continued to try to fight against the spin. I could tell by the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was succeeding, at least to some extent. I reached deep within myself and tried to assess our spin as best I could, managing to straighten us out. Altitude was going to be an issue now; I would need to get the craft into a glide as it descended toward the surface.
The alarms ringing from nearly every single guidance system weren’t making me feel like that task was going to get easier. I reluctantly looked back up at the viewport, expecting the surface to be devastatingly close. To my surprise, I had obtained level flight long before it was too late and had a rather peaceful view spread out in front of me.
“Nine thousand hours. Flew nine thousand hours in a simulator, never saw this view once.” I chuckled, speaking to no one other than myself. It was true. I had experienced almost every conceivable outcome on this flight, even this one. Never had the simulator been able to show me how beautiful this planet really was.
My wonderful view was interrupted by the loud crashing of my left wing ripping itself off. I could tell it was the entire wing by the sudden loss of flight control. So much for level flight and a nice glide to the surface.
The feeling in my stomach returned as the craft began to fall from the sky, the surface of the planet now rapidly approaching once more. No amount of tugging on the yoke would save me this time. I had to brace for impact and hope for the best.
In the simulator, this had ended in a fatality every time. This wasn’t the simulator. I was going to survive, all I had to do was be prepared for the hit. The surface came quicker than I’d calculated.
I’m not sure what awakened me. It could have been the intense pain in my legs, or the sparks showering on top of me. What I was sure of, was that I was alive. I coughed a bit, unhappy about the blood that had spattered onto my visor from it. The craft groaned, making me sure that I needed to exit it soon.
I’d survived the crash. All I had to do now is survive the planet.
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.
