by submission | Jan 7, 2015 | Story |
Author : Elijah Goering
The light from the unstable star took four hours to reach the scientific survey ship that was orbiting it. Consequently, it was four hours after the warning was sent before the ship’s one man crew reacted to it. The star was now too unstable, and the jump gate would have to be closed.
The jump gate, requiring rather a lot of energy to operate, orbited the star at a distance of just one light second. Although the warning was weeks in advance of the closing of the jump gate, it still felt a little late to the lone researcher billions of kilometers from the jump gate.
For nine and a half hours the man lay in his bed sustained by the ship’s machinery as his ship accelerated toward the star at three standard gravities, using up a little over two thirds of his fuel. The remainder was reserved for slowing down once he had passed through the jump gate. The ship would never be retrieved, but at least if he slowed down enough he could be saved.
After the acceleration came free fall. The man floated around his ship for weeks and watched the evacuation of the solar system. The private ships of the wealthy went through first. Then the massive government transports carrying the population of the system’s inhabited planet. The people from the moons of the gas giants came behind them. Then the colonized asteroids, outfitted with powerful engines, fell from their orbits in precise spirals. One by one they passed through the jump gate. Research vessels from around the system went through at all stages, but none had been nearly as far as the deep space explorer four point three billion kilometers out. He could only watch as they all went through.
The last ship through the jump gate was the enormous space station which had anchored the space elevator above the planet. It had disconnected from the elevator at precisely the right moment and been flung toward the sun and right into the jump gate.
At last the man was left alone, light years from the nearest human being. He spent long hours each day staring at the jump gate, his only remaining link with his species. There was no way to tell whether or not it had been deactivated. It was pure black, absorbing all light that hit it. The station that encircled and housed it appeared black as well, silhouetted against the dying star behind it. If it was still active he would pass through it and find himself flying away from another star light years away. If not, it would do nothing to stop him from plunging into the dying star at a thousand kilometers per second.
It was seven weeks after he had received the message when the day, the hour, and the minute arrived. The computer needed no adjustments after it had set its course forty nine days before. It was only in the last second that the jump gate finally came close enough for the man to see it with his own naked eyes.
by submission | Jan 6, 2015 | Story |
Author : Rick Tobin
One unusual woman carved through me—cutting rivers in my desert landscape. I met Rebecca during my second career—writing, which was stalled. My haunt, when hunting ideas and caffeine, was a spartan coffee shop near San Antonio. The Walk-in Bistro had a counter from a previous hair salon. Its four chairs and two tables were mismatched and scarred. That was it. No variety; just black java. Servers brought cups along with sugar dispensers to the shaky tables.
So why go there regularly? It was simply her. She made coffee sublime, even when served a bit cold. I was a chump for redheads, especially with green eyes. Rebecca was coy at first, keeping her petite frame away as I held tight to my table for hours. She finally asked about my continuous typing on my tablet. We talked frequently and she finally joined me twice for dinner. Nothing came of it. Still, she would listen to ramblings about life in the Navy and the ports-of-call I’d visited, as if I was Columbus before Isabella. The time came to move ahead to something more interesting and lasting, even for a semi-retired adventurer.
“Rebecca, I’ve been coming here for over five months. You know about me, but I know little about you, yet I feel like I’ve known you…okay, it’s hokey, but forever.” I stared into her as she endured the other chair at the tiny table. It melted me to see her tilt her head, but she did not smile this time. Her frown surprised me.
“Donnie, you are truly interesting…and if I had more time…but, I simply don’t. Didn’t you ever wonder about the shop’s name?”
She had me, stunned and ready to stuff. What did the name of this hovel have to do with us? “No. I don’t get it. I thought we were hitting it off. It’s the age thing, huh?”
“Hardly. You are so young, but that is not the issue at hand. I’m simply on the way out. We’re only allowed to hold a body for six months. Someone else will enter her when I close her eyes. That’s what walk-ins do. The limit to our time travel is six months. This is my last day. You have shared wonders of your life with me and places I simply couldn’t visit on this trip. It’s a fascinating time to be on Earth…so many possibilities. We work in places where we can hear many stories of travails of the hungry, suffering, fragile…and you are all so fragile now.”
My coffee stuck in my throat. I was so young? I nearly coughed it up. She wasn’t joking. A writer can tell…at least a good one. I panicked, not sure if the caffeine or shock was rocking my chest. She touched my shirt and it calmed. It was warmth unfamiliar to me. She smiled broadly and looked at me with complete content. She rose and walked past the counter into the back room. I quickly followed but couldn’t find her.
Two days after that I heard about her attempted suicide. I found the hospital but their rules blocked me. I haunted the recovery area, but I never saw her again. I never went back to the shop. I couldn’t. My writing picked up after that and I moved away. I started selling my salty military stories after a surprise break from a publisher in San Francisco. She raved about my tales, but then left the publishing house after a few months; still, I was on my way…and wondering.
by submission | Jan 4, 2015 | Story |
Author : David Botticello
We only discovered them by mistake.
Waiting out in space, watching, listening. Deliberating.
We had this exploration drone, for a comet. It was supposed to land, take samples, send back pictures and analysis—you know the deal. The physics of the thing was astounding; firing what was essentially a ballistic camera off into space with only small maneuvering thrusters, trying to hit a chunk of rock and ice hurtling through space. It was almost comical, when it bounced off. Hubris you might say, that we thought we could accomplish such a feat. Space Command had given it fifty-fifty odds.
Well, it bounced. All that money, time, effort, skipping off the surface, back into space. And so we figured, might as well leave the cameras running, right?
And then three and a half months later, while going over the images in some lab late at night, my buddy says, “huh, that’s odd.”
That was how we discovered the Vorinii. They had it all perfectly timed, tapped into even our most secure networks, moving their ship around so that none of our satellites would ever see them—if everything had gone according to plan, that is. Damned deliberating aliens. Just waiting there. Watching us. But they hadn’t expected us to fail. No, I don’t even think they understood failure in those days. They just didn’t get the concept. Everything they do is a resounding success. Some people say they’re just that much smarter than we are. Others say they are a particularly lucky species, or that we’re an unusually unlucky one. Or that they plan so much they just rule out all the bad options. This priest from my bowling league thinks they have some sort of cosmic authority that conforms the universe to their desires, makes everything they do come out well. I’ve half a mind to believe him. But whatever the situation, however it goes, for some reason the Vorinii just, kinda, succeed.
And that’s why they were so interested in us—a kind of morbid fascination, when you think about it. We fail. Sometimes dismally, but other times, there’s a bit of comedy, or even glory to it.
Well they landed, made contact, explored, flew away, came back. The whole deal. They even took news of this odd new race called Humans to the stars.
Twenty-five years in the planning. Ten years of travel. Hundreds of thousands of manpower-hours. Resources from across the world, some of them near-irreplaceable.
So that’s our first introduction to the universe, I guess. We fail spectacularly.
by submission | Jan 3, 2015 | Story |
Author : Gray Blix
The first one I saw was at the auto repair. My neighbor, Al, recommended Hans, who fixed a problem even the dealer couldn’t find and did it in one afternoon for only fifty bucks.
“I hope the guy’s still in business,” Al said. “I told him he needs to charge more. Offered him a hundred, but he wouldn’t take it.”
“You’re a lousy bargainer,” I said. I’m a kidder, you know. “You’re supposed to offer less and then agree on something in between.”
“Nah, I was glad to find an honest mechanic who knows what he’s doing. Oh, I almost forgot about his dog. Wait’ll you see that cute little mutt. I asked him where to get one, but he said it just wandered into his shop.”
Apparently Hans was counting on volume to make up for his low prices, because his shop was full of cars. Only one mechanic darted from vehicle to vehicle. I flagged him down, explained the symptoms, and he said he could fix it in a couple of hours for fifty dollars.
Oh yeah, the dog. It was snuggled on his chest in one of those baby carriers. All I could see was its head, a ball of white fur with two black dots that looked up at him or towards me as we conversed.
Hans was busy, so I tagged along for a few minutes while he worked to ask some questions.
“Is that a German accent, Hans?”
“Ya, German.”
“Cute little mutt ya got there. What kind of dog is it?”
He said something that seemed to be all consonants, like “frbllxtmph.”
“That first part sounds a little like ‘fur ball.'”
“Ya, frbll.”
“Why do you keep it strapped to your chest?”
“We are, how do you say, inseparable.”
My wife arrived and tried to pet the dog, but Hans recoiled and the dog’s eyes retracted deep into its fur. As we left the shop, its eyeballs seemed to extend to follow us, almost as if they were on stalks.
When I returned to pick up the car, sure enough, it was fixed and he only charged me fifty dollars.
I didn’t haggle about the price, but I said, mischievously, “Merci, mon ami. You did say you’re from France, right?”
“Oui, France,” he said, handing me the keys.
Well that wasn’t the response I expected. The dog’s eyes narrowed as if it was glaring at me.
“And your little dog, did you say it’s a shit-zu?” I mispronounced it purposely.
“Oui, shit-zu.”
I couldn’t get a rise out of that guy.
A few days later, I saw Al taking out the garbage, and I noticed he had one of those baby carriers on his chest. “Is that one of your grandkids?” I shouted.
“Yeah, grandkids” he said.
I came closer and realized it was a frbll. “You can’t kid a kidder,” I said. You bought that from Hans, right?”
The thing glared at me with those beady little eyes and then looked up at Al.
“Yeah, Hans.”
But when I drove past the auto repair, I saw that Hans still had his frbll attached. In weeks to follow, they popped up on people all over town. Yesterday on the TV news from Des Moines the guy and gal both had frblls strapped to their chests.
Then the lightbulb went off in my head. I said to Marge, “Boy, whoever makes those baby carriers is raking in the dough, huh?”
by submission | Dec 31, 2014 | Story |
Author : Philip McNeill
Kris looked out the viewport into the void of space. She hated it here. She hated space, she hated the ship, but most of all she hated the engineers who still hadn’t got the gravity turned back on.
It was like a prison.
There was a small hiss as the door behind Kris slid open.
“Ah, here you are.”
“Commander,” Kris gave a salute.
“Hah, at ease. And quit acting like I’m the Captain. I work for a living,” Calvin said.
Kris said nothing, and stared back out the viewport.
“Hmm, you’re pissy. Let me guess, Bolaski and Grangerson stole your clothes while you were showering again?”
Kris turned and glared at Calvin.
“I, um, guess not. Sorry for bringing that up.”
“Is there something you need, Calvin?” Kris said.
Calvin floated back a little, getting out of Kris’s striking range. “Right, um, we’ve got a sortie in an hour. Just came here to remind you. You know, just doing my job.”
“That’d be a first,” Kris said turning back to the viewport.
“Ok, not going to lie. That one stung a little, Kris.” Calvin crossed his arms. “It was supposed to sting, wasn’t it?”
“Figure that out all by yourself, did you?”
“Oh come on, what did I do?”
Kris’s eyes flared. “Goddamn everything!” She slammed her fist into the metal wall of the ship. A resounding thump that echoed through the room.
“I hate this ship, this pointless mission, everything. There’s no goddamn point of us being here, but everyone acts like there is. There’s nothing in this sector: no planets, stations, or even asteroids. What the hell are we guarding? And why the hell haven’t they fixed the fucking gravity?” She slammed her fist into the wall again.
“Stop doing that.” Calvin held his hands up in panic. “Please, don’t rupture the bulkhead. The engineers would be very upset – and we would both be very dead.”
There was a long silence. Kris brought the hand she had struck the wall with to her chest. The side of her hand was already beginning to turn black and blue.
“You really didn’t want to go on sortie today, did you?” Calvin joked. He floated over to Kris to examine her injury. “Looks fractured. See why you don’t punch things, especially a metal wall in zero gravity?”
Kris looked away. “I’m sorry, sir. That was completely unprofessional of me.”
“I was going to say scary, but I guess unprofessional works,” Calvin said. “So, about everything you said. Did you mean it?”
“I – don’t know,” Kris said. “I guess I did. I was angry, still am. Don’t you ever get frustrated being stuck here?”
“Oh yeah, all the time. It absolutely sucks out here.”
“But you’re always so – so bubbly.”
“Bubbly?” Calvin said. “Well, now my confidence is just going through the roof. Look Kris, all us have our ways of dealing with being on this ship. We just need to find you a way that doesn’t involve – breaking it.”
Kris chuckled.
“See, you’re already starting to feel better. Guess my bubbly personality is just what you needed. Now, how about we get you to the med-bay to get your hand looked at?”
