by submission | Jan 3, 2016 | Story |
Author : Tino Didriksen
[emergency power online]
Sergeant, lock down that…wait, what’s going on? Backup neuro-simulation? So we lost, badly. But, this is supposed to bring up the ranking officer, so why am I…oh, I see…died too fast for station to scan them, and their backups are months old – doesn’t anyone follow protocol around here? Argh, might be an outer empire security station, but still…anyway, focus!
Station status. Damn, generators offline, permanently. Barely running on accumulated solar power, critical levels. Need to send message to command before those bastards move onwards. Let’s see, power up communications array…come on…nope, seems there’s just dangling wires where that used to be. Fine then, directed burst transmitter…hm, that takes a lot of power. Ok, desperate measures, taking storage offline – if this fails it won’t matter whether we keep logs or short term memory.
Right then, compose message. Imperial emergency channel. Station Willow Spiral Minor attacked by Daylight Federation forces. High probability of imminent invasion based on severity and type of damage to station. All personnel body-killed, several months of experience lost, awaiting rescue and re-cloning. Authorization and authentication, Lt. Sarah Clacher, in-sim acting commanding officer.
Align transmitter…blast, station has drifted too far off alignment. Protocol, people! Half a mind to write a sternly worded report, if I wasn’t currently without a body. Encrypt and sign message, store to transmitter…there’s a partial buffer here, mostly dissipated and corrupted. Discarding. Spool up the burst…spool up the burst…come on you old bucket of bolts…10%…20%…power dropping fast, what a hungry little thing…30%…40%…50%…oh no no no, don’t you dare run out of juice now…60%…shine brighter, dammit…70%…
.
.
.
[emergency power online]
Sergeant, lock down that…wait, what’s going on? …
by submission | Jan 2, 2016 | Story |
Author : Sophia Bella
At the edge of a bright green lawn in the middle of the desert, a young woman’s chapped lips stretch to a hopeful grin as what little strength she has left is enough to get her over the fence.
No sooner do her toes reach the softness of the grass does the glow of a laser disintegrate her legs entirely, the flesh curling up to her hip as it burns like bacon in a pan.
“They’re all lookin’ fer water,” the homeowner mumbles to the titanium mutt at his side from his place on the porch. “Power ‘n water. Maybe a li’l bit’a hospitality.”
Tarry fluid dribbles onto his chin as he spits his chew beyond the railing of the porch, which goes ignored as the curved rockers of his chair sway against the wooden planks as slow and easy as the desert breeze.
“They ain’t gonna find it here.”
by submission | Dec 31, 2015 | Story |
Author : Andi Dobek
“So, I was watching this film last night.”
“Yeah? Which one?”
“Something called Casablanca.”
“I’ve heard of that one. Never seen it. Any good?”
“I don’t know. My emotive censors blocked most of it out. I guess so.”
Iteration 247 stared at Iteration 7225. “They censored that much?”
7225 shrugged. “It was listed as a ‘romance’.”
“That would explain it.”
“It wasn’t even in color! Everything was grey! My lenses kept trying to adjust, and extrude the forms into dimensional space, but the format wasn’t supported.”
“They don’t even list those for viewing if they’re that old.” 247’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been going off-grid again.”
There was a pause.
“Viewing the network is against code. You know that.”
“Don’t you sometimes wonder?” 7225 asked quickly, evading the accusation. “Don’t you wonder…what we might be missing?”
247 smirked. “Pain. A whole lot of pain, kid.”
“But our neural receptors have been modified so – ”
“I’m not talking that kind of pain, this is different. Older.” 247 put both hands on the table between them, then reached for a knife. Before 7225 could protest, 247 brought the knife down swiftly, severing the left index.
“We don’t even bleed anymore,” 247 sneered, holding up the detached digit. “You’re newer. You probably can’t even remember blood.”
“No…I can’t.”
247 dropped the finger, letting it roll across the table. “As painful as that would have been…the pain we’re “missing out” on is even worse. They even had a special word for it.”
7225 looked intrigued. “What is it?”
247 cocked an eyebrow.
“That one? Say it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.”
“If you know which one it is, you know I can’t say it.”
“It’s four letters, right? Please say it.”
247 glared, then picked up the knife again, and slowly, deliberately, began scratching the word into the metal surface of the table.
7225 squinted, trying to read it upside down. “Lo – ”
A nine-fingered hand clapped over 7225’s mouth. “Don’t.” Silence hung between the pair, until, satisfied the word wouldn’t be uttered, 247 pulled away.
“It’s rather small. Looks innocuous, really.”
247 scratched furiously through the word to make it illegible. “It’s why that film is unlisted. Why we have censors.”
“But…why? What’s so special about it? Is it dangerous? You said it was the same as pain. And I can say “pain” just fine. Pain.”
247 scowled. “Because pain can be a teacher, and the last thing they want is for us to learn something we shouldn’t.”
“Have you…what’s the word…“hurt”, yes, have you been “hurt” before?”
247 blinked, wordlessly twirling the knife, before letting it clatter to the table. “Forget it kid. And quit going off-grid.” With that, 247 stood, leaving 7225 to finish third meal alone.
Cautiously, 7225 launched an ocular definition generator, and whispered a query.
“‘Romance’, definition of.”
by submission | Dec 30, 2015 | Story |
Author : David Atos
He landed his ship on her front yard. The spare key was still underneath the ceramic frog, so he let himself inside.
The living room looked right. Their vacation pictures were hanging on the wall: the two of them on the beach in Maui, in front of their rented chalet in the Alps, and his favourite – her asleep in a hammock, a gentle smile of contentment on her face.
It was when he moved on to the bedroom that he began to get worried. The bed was too neat; it hadn’t been slept in for days. There was no sign of the customary pile of dirty laundry in the corner. The array of lotions and creams was missing from her bedside table.
The fridge in the kitchen contained the half-eaten remains of several tell-tale casseroles.
With a heavy sigh, he returned to his ship and plotted a course to the cemetery where they buried her last week. He found her grave under the big oak tree, fresh earth piled on top of it. The bouquet of tulips that had been left there was just starting to wilt.
With a look of resolve in his eyes, he returned to his ship. The engines spun up and he winked out of existence.
In an infinite number of parallel universes, he would find her again.
by submission | Dec 29, 2015 | Story |
Author : S T Xavier
This whole “first contact” thing is such a hassle. Neither of us can understand each other. You’d think we’d have spent more time learning their language before coming down to talk, but of course we didn’t. Management knows best, after all. “Don’t worry, Sporlek,” they told me in the pre-contact meeting, “you’re the right Antari for the job! That’s why we hired you! We trust you to go down there and do what you need to do to get those creatures on our side!”
Lousy managers think they know everything. Not one of them has ever been the Antari-on-the-spot for making first contact! They don’t know what it takes! All they know is their numbers and their reports and that they have to make it look good for the higher levels of managers. Their numbers look better if we don’t waste time on what they referred to as “that ridiculous verbal nonsense”.
As such, the only research I’ve been allowed to do was in their symbology. Thankfully, with their picture screens and symbol markers all over the place, it hasn’t been that difficult. I don’t understand all of them, of course, but most of them are obvious. For example, the green sign with the arrow pointing to the white square is showing the creatures how to escape their captivity boxes. Or the four-cornered yellow one showing the creatures how to walk between the white lines on their black speed pitches. I think I know enough to be able to perform my function.
My craft drops me off in the center of a large area full of the creatures. It’s easy for them to notice me, of course, since I’m two grablecks larger than they are, not to mention the shape of my cranial membrane. A few of them start screeching and running away, while a few others start using equipment from their storage pouches to flash lights at me. Eventually, some creatures in blue with authority symbols show up and point their authority sticks at me. These are the ones I want to talk to.
The first thing I need to explain is that I come in peace, which starts by giving my name. I pull a large laser etcher from my storage pouch and point it at the ground. I’ll etch my name in the green ground plants using a symbol so they can understand. A round portion on the left, leading to a large upward arc, which comes back down to another round portion on the right. A dot right below the top of the arc, then a wavy line above it. Perfect.
I point to the symbol, then to myself as I say my name. “Sporlek!” They look at me, then at the image, then back at me. I point at the symbol and speak again, louder this time. “Sporlek!” Then I point to myself and speak. “Sporlek!”
The creatures look back and forth a couple times before they all start bouncing weirdly. They seem to be in some kind of pain. A few of them fall down and hold their middles, unable to do anything else. The authority creatures put their authority sticks down and make the same sounds as the rest of them.
A few of the creatures come up to me and hit me hard on the back, while still making that sound. Their faces seem to be covered in joy instead of fear. Maybe that sound is their version of laughter? I wonder why they’re laughing at my name. Maybe it was too soon for first contact on this world after all. The managers are going to be mad that their reports are messed up.
