by submission | Aug 13, 2015 | Story |
Author : C. J. Boudreau
The algae were there! In the deep permafrost. Turning up the magnification and refocusing the cam, he could see the nuclei. They were photosynthetic, the rare green color in the frozen soil. Perhaps hundreds of millions of years old. Mars was not dead! Arturo took several samples from the most populated areas. He sealed the case, and climbed back out of the ravine to the rover. He left the case in the car and went back for his remaining tools. He probably shouldn’t have been here alone but his time here was limited and he’d wanted badly to look at this site.
He was climbing out again, awkwardly, with the tools when the side of the ravine collapsed on him. He was lucky he didn’t damage his suit.
The fall back into the ravine stunned him. When he was able to appraise his condition he found himself buried. He tried his com unit and found it wasn’t working. His suit, tough, mostly carbon, told him that it was in otherwise good condition, all its heads up displays green. Most of its controls were voice op. A couple were chin switches in his helmet. A good thing, since he couldn’t move his hands. Just one foot. He ached from some bruises, but was otherwise unhurt. Someone would come looking for him soon and see the car, and his foot. His primary concern was oxygen. If he ran low, he didn’t like to think about it, but there was the Rescue Unit in his suit, Cold sleep. Not hibernation, but freezing.
He hadn’t been there long when the storm came up. Dust storms on Mars can be planet wide and last months. This one didn’t, but it was long enough. Within a few hours he and his rover were deeply buried in red dust. When his oxygen indicator showed a quarter hour left, he initiated the Rescue Unit and icy fluid roared in.
He woke cold and aching in a white room to see a pretty, but reed thin, young blonde woman leaning over him. She said “Don’t try to speak yet, just nod. Are you Doctor Arturo Hartwood?”
He nodded yes. It hurt. She turned to someone outside his field of vision and said excitedly what sounded like “Cee! Yeti Zim! Trooz!” To him, she said “Rest now, we’ll talk later.” Another woman in white, military uniform with a close fitting cap tapped something on his arm and he passed out.
Sometime later he awoke feeling somewhat better. The militaristic nurse came in, smiled at him, said something unintelligible, scanned him with a little handheld instrument and left. Then the blonde woman came in.
“Hello Doctor Hartwood, I am Dr. Enid Veeder. I’m honored to meet you.”
She’d an accent he couldn’t place.
“Hello Doctor. How long will I be here?
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. We must ask the medics.”
“You’re not a medic?”
“No. I’m a linguist. I’m here because I speak your English.”
” No one here speaks English?”
“Not yours. You are a great celebrity. There is a statue of you in my hometown.”
“A statue to me?”
“Yes Doctor. I’m sorry your rescue took so long. They found your car and samples quickly but they couldn’t find you. Last Sixday, an aqueduct digging crew found you while checking for buried cables. Your discovery – oxygen producing native algae – made terraforming Mars practical. But your suit is amazing. It’s protected you, frozen in the permafrost, for two thousand years. They don’t make them like they used to.”
by submission | Aug 12, 2015 | Story |
Author : Izabella Grace
Inside the smoky crystal, everything glows. I hang suspended in sunlight and tiny bubbles, like a fly trapped in amber. I scream for Mum or Tyler, but the crystal’s hum swallows my voice, like it swallowed me. My pale skin glows orange as the sunrise over their jagged, glass mountains. My ragged breaths whistle like the hot wind over their white deserts.
The Great Library’s twisted spire flashes into my mind. It glitters black as night and beckons like an outstretched finger. I try to resist its pull, like in my dreams, where I haunted its echoing, musty halls, where I studied dusty shelf after dusty shelf crammed with species-filled crystals.
A pulse beats, thrumming like an electronic drum. The crystal jolts and floats upwards, away from my scratched pine desk. It quivers, dipping beneath the purple lampshade, and buzzing louder than a wasp over my English Lit essay and chewed biro. Abduction hurts. It grinds you down, like a pestle grinds salt, and steals your flavour.
My bedroom door creaks ajar. Tyler’s Black-Jack-stained mouth drops open.
“In here!” I yell. “I’m in here!”
But he just stares at the hovering shard.
“Don’t stand there, Ty. Go tell Mum. Get a hammer. Do something.”
I punch and kick at the honeycomb walls, but my flesh peels and swirls like snowflakes. Tyler swipes a pudgy fist at the drifting crystal and misses. He climbs onto the bed and swipes again, his small fingers brushing the shard’s outer edge. He yelps, jumps back, his chocolate brown eyes widening in surprise. Then he bursts into tears.
Footsteps rush up the stairs. Mum stops in the doorway, her round face turning pale as milk.
“Oh, God, Hannah,” she says. “I told you to throw that thing away.”
The crystal glides across my cluttered bedroom, crashes through the bay window and rises up over our grimy north London street. People point and scream, and armed soldiers try to catch us, but the shards buzz louder. The hum slams into heads and scrambles brains. Bodies topple in waves like dominoes.
Wintry sky wraps around me. It glints like a tropical sea, filled with sparkling fishes: creatures, like me, made of black rock and flecked orange-gold. We should’ve guessed they weren’t ships. We should’ve known they didn’t break up in our atmosphere by accident. We should’ve realised they were weapons. Grenades. Each glittering shard a potential trophy, catalogued and stored on a dusty shelf.
The afternoon trembles with silent screams. Then two helicopters rise up over dark rooftops, blades thudding, huge nets spilling from their underbellies. I shriek and wave. “Up here! Up here!” But they dip below me, scooping up dazzling shards, like whales feasting on plankton. The air thickens with cloud and confusion. I twist and turn, desperate to find the nets again, but fog hides everything.
The cloud cracks like an egg, and the sun’s glare hurts my eyes. I swipe away hot tears and scan the empty horizon. Beneath my bare feet, the grey cloud boils like thick soup and spits out another shard, which wobbles and dances like a honeybee. Inside it, a shadow shifts, too dark and blurry to make out any features. I fix my gaze on it.
Our crystals hum their intoxicating song and sail higher.
We soar out into open space.
by submission | Aug 12, 2015 | Story |
Author : Izabella Grace
Inside the smoky crystal, everything glows. I hang suspended in sunlight and tiny bubbles, like a fly trapped in amber. I scream for Mum or Tyler, but the crystal’s hum swallows my voice, like it swallowed me. My pale skin glows orange as the sunrise over their jagged, glass mountains. My ragged breaths whistle like the hot wind over their white deserts.
The Great Library’s twisted spire flashes into my mind. It glitters black as night and beckons like an outstretched finger. I try to resist its pull, like in my dreams, where I haunted its echoing, musty halls, where I studied dusty shelf after dusty shelf crammed with species-filled crystals.
A pulse beats, thrumming like an electronic drum. The crystal jolts and floats upwards, away from my scratched pine desk. It quivers, dipping beneath the purple lampshade, and buzzing louder than a wasp over my English Lit essay and chewed biro. Abduction hurts. It grinds you down, like a pestle grinds salt, and steals your flavour.
My bedroom door creaks ajar. Tyler’s Black-Jack-stained mouth drops open.
“In here!” I yell. “I’m in here!”
But he just stares at the hovering shard.
“Don’t stand there, Ty. Go tell Mum. Get a hammer. Do something.”
I punch and kick at the honeycomb walls, but my flesh peels and swirls like snowflakes. Tyler swipes a pudgy fist at the drifting crystal and misses. He climbs onto the bed and swipes again, his small fingers brushing the shard’s outer edge. He yelps, jumps back, his chocolate brown eyes widening in surprise. Then he bursts into tears.
Footsteps rush up the stairs. Mum stops in the doorway, her round face turning pale as milk.
“Oh, God, Hannah,” she says. “I told you to throw that thing away.”
The crystal glides across my cluttered bedroom, crashes through the bay window and rises up over our grimy north London street. People point and scream, and armed soldiers try to catch us, but the shards buzz louder. The hum slams into heads and scrambles brains. Bodies topple in waves like dominoes.
Wintry sky wraps around me. It glints like a tropical sea, filled with sparkling fishes: creatures, like me, made of black rock and flecked orange-gold. We should’ve guessed they weren’t ships. We should’ve known they didn’t break up in our atmosphere by accident. We should’ve realised they were weapons. Grenades. Each glittering shard a potential trophy, catalogued and stored on a dusty shelf.
The afternoon trembles with silent screams. Then two helicopters rise up over dark rooftops, blades thudding, huge nets spilling from their underbellies. I shriek and wave. “Up here! Up here!” But they dip below me, scooping up dazzling shards, like whales feasting on plankton. The air thickens with cloud and confusion. I twist and turn, desperate to find the nets again, but fog hides everything.
The cloud cracks like an egg, and the sun’s glare hurts my eyes. I swipe away hot tears and scan the empty horizon. Beneath my bare feet, the grey cloud boils like thick soup and spits out another shard, which wobbles and dances like a honeybee. Inside it, a shadow shifts, too dark and blurry to make out any features. I fix my gaze on it.
Our crystals hum their intoxicating song and sail higher.
We soar out into open space.
by submission | Aug 11, 2015 | Story |
Author : Kate Runnels
“There,” said the doctor. “Try it now, agent Sasaki. The neural connection should be hooked in.”
Lia stared down at her cybernetic left arm, recently attached after a case went horribly wrong.
The murderer, after killing her last victim, sliced Lia’s arm, had nearly taken it off. If it hadn’t been for Ming, she’d be dead. It just didn’t feel like her limb, and yet her fingers clenched into a fist when she thought on it.
“Good.” The doctor beamed at her. “It’s responding well.”
Lia reached over with her organic right hand and felt along the seam that joined flesh to synthetic pseudo flesh material.
“That area should join and fuse together in the next few weeks. We’ll watch for any necrosis, but that shouldn’t happen. Things look good.”
Lia nodded at the doctor but her mind felt for the flesh that should be there, thinking it was there.
It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.
Lia left the doctor’s office and went out onto the streets of Hong Kong, preoccupied- lost in her own thoughts: thoughts on the case; on her arm; on how close she had come to dying. She headed back toward the HK security agency she worked for, by routine alone. But pretty soon, she realized she was being followed. It was like an itch that wouldn’t leave and demanded attention. The person followed her.
Young, teenager, looked to be fully human without prosthetics. She turned into a coffee shop, and glanced over at him as she did so. He eyed her hungrily. No, not her, her arm. New prosthetics went for a premium on the black market.
She got her coffee and when she came out, he wasn’t in sight, but it didn’t take him long to drop on her tail. She kept walking through the streets of Hong Kong, heading in a roundabout way toward her office. She went toward the back of the building, and he came on eagerly, thinking her in his trap.
Around a corner and out of sight, she stopped and waited for him. He raced around, seeing her waiting too late to stop himself. About to run into her, he decided to tackle Lia. She swung her new left arm and it connected with his jaw.
She nimbly stepped out of the way as he hit the pavement, unconscious.
“Everything all right?” asked an Agent who had just stepped out of the building.
“Yeah. But I’ll need help taking him to lock up.”
The agent came over to help and asked, “Why’d he try to jump you?”
Lia raised her left arm. “New arm.”
“That’s right, you got cut up bad. How’s it working out?”
“Seems to be working out just fine.” Lia smiled as they hoisted the young man between them.
by submission | Aug 10, 2015 | Story |
Author : Gray Blix
“Why do we have a dog bot in the first place?”
Offended, “Robot K91 is my PARTNER, sir, and its very shape deters crime by evoking a primal human fear of wolves.”
“‘Deters crime’? The only bot on Mars that can harm humans has KILLED one.”
“K91 is not responsible… It was used as a weapon by the actual murderer.”
“That line of reasoning is exactly why we don’t allow firearms on Mars. Now we have a lethal bot whose Asimov chip is easily disabled.”
“Not ‘easily,’ Commander. The safety responds only to my DNA.”
“Which makes you the prime suspect.”
“Made… until an fMRI cleared me.”
“It’ll take weeks to scan every colonist. I’m giving you ONE DAY…”
“Solar or sidereal?”
“Don’t mess with me, Rochman. Catch that killer by this time tomorrow, or your dog bot will be SHREDDED!”
Looking into the cell, even he felt a twinge of fear at the menacing metallic canine pacing back and forth. It had ripped out the throat of a human and could do the same to him in a second. He entered and the robot stopped, head down, tail between legs.
“We have to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about, Dan. I killed a human. I can never be trusted again. I must be destroyed.”
“Look at me. You’re NOT a killer, but you can help me find him…”
“We have been over this. There are no clues.”
“And we’ll keep going over it for the next 24 hours…”
“’24 hours'”?
“I mean, for as long as it takes.”
“Well, nothing makes sense. I would not have allowed anyone but you to touch the safety, and releasing it requires your DNA.”
“Maybe you were fooled by a facial prosthetic, and a sample of my DNA was smeared on his hand.”
“Perhaps. But just disabling the Asimov would not compel me to carry out an order to kill.”
“Unless ‘I’ told you there was an imminent life threat to humans.”
“Like a terrorist about to set off a bomb?”
“Exactly.”
“A plausible scenerio, Dan, except for the memory gap. I have no recollection of what happened and my viz was not recording.”
“Bit-level forensics found nothing to recover, because memory wasn’t erased, it was disabled for 14 minutes.”
“I do not have the ability to disable memory and viz, nor are there external controls that would allow others… That is important.”
“If you were partially disassembled, could someone…”
“No, that would take too long.” Cocking its head while puzzling out the clue, “Of course. Now I understand everything. I know who the killer is.”
Impatiently, “Speak!”
“I cannot say, because murder is a capital offense, and I will not be responsible for the death of another human.”
“But a human has already been murdered. And the killer may strike again.”
“No. He… or she, will not.”
Extending a hand toward the robot, “Your Asimov chip must be defective. I’ll release the safety and you can tell me…”
The robot simulated a growl and showed its fangs.
“No. It is I who am defective.”
With that, K91 jammed sharp claws through its chestplate, ripping apart its neural net and shorting out its systems.
After fMRIs had cleared every colonist, the investigation turned toward Earth. A connection between the deceased colonist and K91’s programmer was discovered. Rochman caught a freighter back to the home planet and took delivery of his new partner, UR2-K99, briefing it on the case. They encountered the programmer in a hallway.
One glance at the Mars Colony security officer and his canine, and she turned and ran.
“Stop! I’m releasing the safety on K99.”
She stopped.
