by submission | May 7, 2021 | Story |
Author: William Kitcher
Following the destruction of Earth by Rigelian battlecruisers, it was difficult to find a place to play the seventh game of the World Series between the New York Mets and the Yonkers Yankees.
The Moon was ruled out because the lack of gravity meant that fly balls soared for miles and were difficult to catch, and besides, unattached to Earth, the Moon was hurtling toward the Sun, and no one wanted to take the chance of going into extra innings and getting sunburn.
Venus was too cloudy, Mars too cold, and the four-hundred mph winds on Jupiter were a little too extreme for even the best players.
Io, a satellite of Jupiter, was a good possibility, and the teams started to work out there until the Ionian condors stole all the balls and attempted to hatch them.
An offer came from the Vegans, who were inhabitants of the star system Vega and not creatures who avoided meat and dairy.
The second planet of the Vegan system turned out to be ideal for a little hardball. The weather was a constant seventy-five degrees under a clear orange sky, with a slight breeze going south to north.
A magnificent stadium was built in no time, and was large enough to accommodate all the remaining Earthlings, who docked their starjumpers at the spaceport near the stadium.
The majority of the million Earthlings weren’t baseball fans but enjoyed watching the video screens as the crowd finished entering the stadium.
As the Mets and Yankees took the field for the first inning, the gates at all the stadium entrances clanged shut. The Earthlings wondered what was happening until twenty Rigelian battlecruisers lowered onto the outfield, ramps were extended, and patrols of carnivorous Rigelians trudged into the crowd. They weren’t Vegans of any kind.
There was chaos, and the Mets, not used to being in the Series, hid in the dugout.
The Yankees were made of sterner stuff. They were going for their fortieth World Series title, and tenth in a row, and it looked like they would get it. Ten years previously, the Yankees had revealed they had unlocked supernatural forces and summoned the spirits of Yankee legends into the bodies of their current roster to achieve greatness.
This was not forbidden under the terms of the current CBA, and it was suspected that the Yankees had perfected this legend-soul transference way back in the twentieth century. Otherwise, it was difficult to explain the achievements of Aaron Boone and Bucky Dent.
But this time, the Yankees used their evil powers for good. Out of the dugout, casual as could be, strolled Murderers’ Row. Ruth led the boys, bat in one hand, hot dog in the other. He climbed into the stands, smacking Rigelian head-stalks as he went, their heads making popping/cracking sounds not unlike towering home runs. Gehrig took Rigelians out at what passed for their knees with his usual powerful slight uppercut. Lazzeri, Meusel, Koenig, Combs, and the others did their parts, spraying hits and heads everywhere. It was such a rout that a few of them took breaks, and pinch-hitters entered the fray – DiMaggio, Mantle, and Maris joined in. Whitey beaned a number of aliens. Mariano split a lot of Rigelian fingers. Jeter wasn’t invited. Reggie took three consecutive swings at Rigelian craniums, and launched all three into the Vegan dusk.
The Earthlings were victorious, and the Babe treated everyone to a few beers. After they cleaned the field of Rigelian body parts, they played the game. The Mets won 3-2.
by submission | May 6, 2021 | Story |
Author: John Chadwick
The seats of the auditorium were behind plexiglass material reinforced with a metal honeycomb structure. While she should have felt like she was an animal in a wildlife park expected to perform, the truth was, all of the eyes in the room were fixated on the armor she was wearing. She was simply a mannequin chosen for displaying it.
It was much lighter than the traditional plate carriers currently issued to soldiers, and she often wondered what material it was made of – some sort of advanced alloy, she concluded. Lieutenant Martinez had been briefed about the unit and the demonstration she was to participate in, but barely knew anything else about it – the type of discretion she was familiar with when it came to top secret projects.
From a side entrance, the colonel facilitating the demonstration and another man carrying a tablet device entered side by side.
The colonel then addressed the audience.
“We’ve scheduled the combat mobility and ergonomics demonstration for later this week. Today, we’re debuting the defensive capabilities of the unit. We’ll begin with melee strikes, then concussive force, and finally, ballistic countermeasures.”
He stepped off to the side next to the engineer and gave a nod. The man straightened his glasses then tapped the screen of his tablet.
Martinez felt the unit energize. It gave off a dull hum which then faded below an audible level. Though she thought it could be adrenaline, she also could’ve sworn that she now felt lighter – as if the pull of the Earth’s gravity had lessened upon her.
Thoughts started pounding in her head.
“What exactly is this thing?”
“Who really made it?”
Right on schedule, her “assistant” entered the auditorium and stepped beside her. He was a beast of a Marine, and she imagined right away the thought of him effortlessly ending an enemy combatant’s life with his bare hands. He held a collapsible baton in his right hand, and had a large machete sheathed on his back.
She braced her feet as firmly as she could on the floor and threw her arms out to the sides, allowing her assailant a clear strike. He did so promptly, and violently.
He held nothing back. Each blow from the baton seemed to make impact with an invisible force just millimeters from the surface of the armor, just to be rebounded with an equally matched intensity. Her chest, her back, her sides – he switched his attacks with the same result.
Watching forward, the Colonel inquired, “Have we ever had it operating this long?”
The engineer shook his head. “We were cautious…it’s possible the energy signature could be detected.”
In a fluid motion, the Marine threw the baton to the floor and drew his machete, chopping fiercely in hopes to inflict any damage.
Nothing – she barely flinched. The Marine ceased his assault and backed up, blade in hand, panting and sweating as if his partner had been sparring back just as brutally. He nodded to her.
Just at that moment, several muffled blasts could be heard as the rumbling made its way through the mountain facility. The room shook for a moment and the lights flickered as the auxiliary power took over.
“What’s going on?” “I haven’t given the order for the next exercise yet!”, the Colonel barked.
His eyes locked with the Lieutenant’s. She was frozen in place, still standing in the center of the floor as the light of red emergency beacons danced around the room.
He looked over at the engineer – the pigment seemed to have bled away from his skin.
“Sir, they’ve come back for it.”
by submission | May 5, 2021 | Story |
Author: David Barber
“Each generation the Enemy returns to our skies,” the Morale Officer had told them. “This time, Earth looks to you.”
Hari remembered all the things wrong with that speech. The Enemy craft returned every 17.4 years, which was not a generation. And even 17.4 years was only the average interval, sometimes it was more, sometimes less. Hari had wondered if it followed a Poisson distribution.
But then the veteran had stood up, studying their faces silently.
Hari’s squadron was just off shift, running interceptor simulations. Her intense gaze unsettled him.
“When I served here,” she began. “The Enemy came early. Caught us napping.”
Hari knew she did not mean this, he’d learned it was something people said about being unprepared.
The woman shook her grey head. “We let one through and it cost us India.”
India had been two cycles ago. If she was in her fifties now, she had been a teenager then. They tried all sorts over the years. First it was pilots with combat experience. Then teenagers with sharp reflexes. Then gamers.
Tests had picked up Hari at school, like the rest of his squadron. He glanced round the room. Everyone wore badges so he knew their names, though they hadn’t spoken much in the months since deployment into orbit.
Hari liked the veteran because she focused on facts.
The Enemy wasn’t like a comet with a predictable orbit. Hari nodded at this. Unpredictable, like people. Perhaps it would turn up early again, hoping to catch them asleep.
“But it’s coming soon,” she had warned. “More probable every day.”
What she told them was common knowledge, but Hari found himself leaning forward, ticking off each fact.
“The Enemy always appears beyond the orbit of the moon. It folds space, we think. If it jumped in closer, we wouldn’t stand a chance. But their tech has limits. Perhaps they can’t handle steep gravity wells.”
She’d shrugged. Perhaps hers had been the cohort of really smart people.
“And the Enemy has adapted. We got in nuclear strikes once, now it destroys missiles.”
She trailed off. “It’s down to you. And I know what happens if you get it wrong.”
The MO had hustled her away after that.
The Enemy had appeared a week later. There was 80 minutes to closest approach. Strategically placed Attack forces were already engaging the vast craft.
Hari had listened to the comms traffic. Particle beams the Enemy used to clear debris from its path had been upgraded since last cycle, whole squadrons incinerated without getting off a shot.
It seemed obvious they should disperse, and Hari fled his Defence squadron.
The new X-ray lasers had little effect on the Enemy, but the payloads it released towards Earth were vulnerable. They came in patterns Hari recognised from simulations, and it became a blur of one silent explosion after another.
Eighty two minutes later, the Enemy folded out. The last blip on Hari’s screen took two shots, already on the edges of the atmosphere.
The rest of his squadron had obeyed orders and were vaporized. There was no dodging particle beams except by being were they were not.
“We now think it’s a robot probe,” Hari began. “With payloads of nanotech to colonise worlds. It’ll keep coming back until it succeeds. Or we destroy it.”
Hard to meet the gaze of these young pilots, so he stared at the back wall. The new giant Laser Cannons were not their concern. Defence must focus on stopping payloads getting through.
They hung on his every word, this 82 minute war veteran, whose initiative had become a byword for survival.
by submission | May 4, 2021 | Story |
Author: K. A. Williams
“You’ve got to try this new restaurant called Next,” my first mate Tim had said to me this morning. “I went there last night after we docked, while you were at that corporate captains’ dinner. I’ll meet you there for lunch.”
I read the menu in the transparent glass surface of the table while I waited. When Tim never showed up I called him on my wrist communicator. “Where are you?”
A tiny image of his face appeared. “Loading supplies onto the ship. Almost done. Try their sushi. I had it last night. It’s great. Order me the sushi and iced green tea.”
“All right.”
Four identical blue-skinned humanoids with red hair spikes entered. The one in front turned to the others, said “Duf blist eck gor rak shast sed ach kak sku krig cre tonk riv sca tik,” and clicked its teeth together.
The device in my ear translated, “That human was stupid. He traded me a new translator for one of my hair spikes.”
They saw me, raised their eyebrows in unison and bowed their heads.
Must be a greeting. I did the same and they sat at the table next to mine.
The waiter finally came. No expression on his face or in his eyes. Android.
A buzzing circled my head, then stopped.
The waiter opened his mouth and something slapped the top of my head. He closed his mouth and swallowed. Alien.
“Can’t have bugs in a restaurant.”
The blue-skinned aliens clicked their teeth.
I gave him Tim’s order and asked, “What’s sushi?”
“Rice and raw seafood. It’s very popular.”
“Okay, double the order.”
The waiter returned before Tim arrived and I was hungry. He had brought our tea and a covered silver platter. I lifted the lid and something leaped onto my face. I pulled it off and waved the tiny octopus at the waiter. “Hey! I’ve changed my mind, I want this cooked.”
The waiter was heading toward me but almost got run over by a huge octopus that rushed out of the kitchen area on two tentacles, gesturing with the other six. He gargled something my translator didn’t understand.
“What’s he saying?” I asked.
“Give me back my daughter, human,” the waiter translated.
“Daughter?!” I tossed the small octopus at him and she landed on his chef hat. “What was she doing on the platter?”
“Eating. She’s supposed to stay in her nursery behind the kitchen but won’t. She must have gotten inside the platter when I wasn’t watching and someone put the lid on.”
Tim arrived then. He passed the aliens at the next table who were clicking their teeth. “Why are they doing that?”
I shrugged.
He sat down and regarded the empty silver platter with a frown. “Couldn’t you have left me some?”
“I didn’t eat it, she did.” I pointed at the baby octopus sitting on top of her father’s chef hat.
The father gargled.
Tim nodded and the octopi went into the kitchen.
“You understood that?”
“Sure. Something wrong with your translator?”
“It doesn’t work on marine languages.” I planned to buy a new one at this space station.
“He said that since his daughter had eaten our sushi, he would fix us another platter and our meal was on the house, and he also thanked you for not eating her.”
“He’s lucky I didn’t want live seafood.”
by submission | May 2, 2021 | Story |
Author : Brenatevi
Stuart was sitting on his couch, munching on orange-colored cheese-like puffs, and watching some horrible show on TV. No, wait; sitting didn’t exactly describe what he was doing. Slouching was maybe halfway there, but even then it doesn’t properly convey Stuart’s laziness. Stuart indolently ambled towards laziness and gave up before reaching it. Online TV was the altar that he would have worshiped on, except that would have required a job to pay for it, so he accepted network TV.
It was during a commercial break (a product that allegedly guaranteed to get anyone off the couch) that the lights came for him. It began with a slight electric charge in the air, just enough to cause the hairs to stand up on the neck. Then there was a flicker in the lights that was accompanied by multicolored motes of dust. Stuart noticed none of this, so the lights decided that it would skip to the main attraction: a blinding beam shot through his front door with such force that it was knocked off its hinges. The beam unceremoniously yanked him through the doorway. He was unconscious before he was out of his house.
Stuart’s awakening was just as abrupt.
“Congratulations from the Galactic Publishing Clearance House! You are the final winner from Earth of a one-way ticket to the refugee center on Omicron Omicron Omicron!”
Stuart attempted to roll his head around to see who was speaking, but he felt like he was frozen solid. Then the speaker came into view; a little gray man that could not have been the source of the booming voice danced a little patter, before letting out yet another announcer-like bellow.
“Now before you try asking any questions, I have some terms and conditions that you need to know. Number one: you are currently in a form of stasis because we’re about to warp to the wonderful OOO, and otherwise you would projectile vomit. Number two: you don’t need to talk because I have conversational precog, so I know what you’re about to say before you do!”
Then Gray made a conspiratorial aside, “Wonderful power you are about to think, but you try having this power while having three hundred wives and you would be begging to be sent to the asshole of the universe.
“But I digress because we have condition three: your planet is about to be turned into atomic ash! Yes, your world leaders have lost their ever-loving minds, and have decided that mutual self-destruction was the only way out! You are one of the last humans to exist! With that in mind, you are going to live out the last days of your life among the offspring we’ve genetically reconstructed from the DNA we’ve been stealing from you your entire life!”
The horror that was creeping into Stuart’s mind compared nothing to the soul heave that was the jump through warp.
“Yes, you’re doomed to be a zoo animal, along with the rest of your progeny, but think of this: sex with aliens. Yes, you can do the multi-appendage limbo with aliens from all across the galaxy!”
There was a lurch as the spaceship landed, and then a thunk as the door that Stuart didn’t know he’d been facing opened. What he saw outside that ramp made him thankful that he was still in stasis: there was a multi-limbed creature, with multiple mobile lumps that looked vaguely familiar crawling over it. Then it spoke.
“There’s your daddy!”
