by submission | Jan 15, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
The members of the Galactic Security Council watched on the viewscreen as the bipedal alien in its bulky, white spacesuit erected a rod with a rectangle of cloth into the regolith of its planet’s satellite. The starred and striped flag, the computer noted, represented the planet’s predominant nation-state. The council members exchanged concerned glances.
“Am I to understand,” asked the violet-colored gelatinous being representing the Upsilon Andromedae star system, “that this is the same species that just a few years ago had yet to discover electricity and employed animals for transportation?”
As soon as the Upsilon Andromedaen’s gutteral language was translated for the various other council members, an insect-like creature from the Mu Arae system responded. “That’s correct. These aliens went from agriculturalism to industrialism to the beginnings of interplanetary travel in the shortest span of time ever observed.” The insectoid’s antennae moved in a pattern indicating astonishment, the dance of the appendages stirred the green chlorine atmosphere inside the Mu Araen’s sealed chamber.
“But this is fantastic!” exclaimed an aquatic council member representing the Zeta Reticuli system, its carapace involuntarily opacifying due to the creature’s excitement. Somewhat embarrassed, the being quickly composed itself, returned its carapace to a more dignified translucency, and went on: “We must move to admit these — what are they called? ‘humans’? — into the Galactic Security Council. They’ll be a galactic power within a few centuries. Better to start grooming them into a decent and responsible galactic civilization now.”
“But look at their history!” said the cyborg council member from Psi Serpentis whose organic components consisted of plant tissue. “They recently developed nuclear fission and then adapted the technology into a weapon. Two cities on their planet were devastated by fission bombs.”
“They created nuclear weapons?” asked the Tau Ceti representative. No other intelligent species in the Milky Way had ever conceived of such a thing, let alone done it. The squid-like creature added, “They must be contained. Or, failing that…” He let the sentence trail off.
A silence fell over the chamber. What could be done with these humans? Brilliant, but savage. Enlightened, but violent. Not other civilization had ever demonstrated such a paradoxical combination.
“We could dumb them down,” came a voice across the translators. It was the oldest council member, a shapeless field of high energy plasma from the HE 1523-0901 star system, who had spoken.
“You mean, make them mindless primitives?” asked the Mu Araen.
“Nothing so gross,” responded the flickering particle field. “Just imagine if we used nanomachines introduced into their brains to subtly blunt the human intellect. For example, what if their politicians became gradually inept, their business leaders incompetent, their art and entertainment coarse and tawdry. Nothing dramatic at first, just a nudge here and there.”
The council members considered the suggestion. A silicate being from Beta Canum Venaticorum asked, “How would we know if such a plan worked?”
“Industry would deteriorate. Economies would stagnate. Over time, their governments would become increasingly inefficient and malignant. Culture would become vapid and moronic. Rational thinking and commonsense would be impaired. Human expansion into space, the odd robotic probe or tiny planetside space station aside, would stall,” replied the plasma being. “They wouldn’t expand out any further than their moon. It’s conceivable they might even lose that capability.”
Ultimately, the Galactic Security Council implemented the suggestion of the old plasmatic from HE 1523-0901. They monitored Earth’s television and radio signals. They soon learned they’d succeeded beyond their wildest expectations and that the galaxy was quite safe from mankind.
by submission | Jan 13, 2013 | Story |
Author : Katrina Johnston
Within the Caves of Lozac under jagged vaulted ceilings, Razie Tay ventures eastward. Explosions crack like gunshot. ‘Sharding’ echoes bounce. Razie adjusts her helmet, snugs it tightly. Razor stalactites loom high above and sharp. Mineral icicles cleave and report reverberations through the distant mother rock. Plunging daggers fall. Then, directly above her, a claw-like structure groans, detaches – rockets down. She ducks, hoping the helmet provides adequate deflection. Slivers of stone ricochet from her head, showering, falling before her face. If she is knocked cold here, death ensues. No rescue – none. She’s too far deep.
Globular udder-like formations encrust the walls. She pushes beyond rock portals, ignores the wet. She skitters over protruding remnants of razed stalagmites, chunks left-over after pulverization by the Steckman robotic grinder. Mineral-rich liquids bounce like hail. She scrapes by a dripping barricade, enters the saturated open space and stands to her Limited height, reaching inside the Royal Chamber.
“Best chance,” she says. “No one dares to gash this deep. I claim.”
Earlier, at crimson dawn, her overseer, the normal-sized Prasha Dah, had gathered his band of LImited for the morning’s instructions. He chanted as was custom. “The time of leniency is finished,” he sang in monotone. “Failure means you’re finished. Look, understand: Five craiguns by shift-side nigh. Obligation. I follow the Dealers and the Traders. If you fail, my little dollies, you will be traded to another hextant where you could better serve. Or, you could be ….” He stopped.
“Exterminated,” Razie said.” Silence brooded. No one sang.
Pasha stroked his long red beard and towered over them. He saluted to mark his finish. “Chom!” He said. “Back to work.” He slipped away.
A young neophyte, a Limited named Falia Dos, tapped Razie on the shoulder. “Well, what do you think of that old sola?” she said. “He’s Mr. tall and nasty. Spreads his chant like sooth.”
Razie shrugged away. ”Leave off! Don’t bother me.”
Inside the Royal Chamber, Razie stretches to her Limited height, one meter – the standard genetic modification for her kind – all she’s ever known. In here, she wishes she were normal-sized; the ceiling spreads thick and unreachable at the apex, presenting a forest of razors. “The craigun-clusters will prosper here,” she says. “Rife – a whole stone family.” Sulphuric gases roil. She gags, then spits.
A ‘Limited.’ She speaks again: “Owned and enslaved by the overseer. I’m forced to mine within the caves where the normal-sized won’t dare.”
She’s estimates the magnitude of her gash, lifting her oversized and freakishly strong hands. She assigns the standard grid, employs the methodology to locate the lumps of calcium carbonate known as craiguns that cluster like cancerous rock nodules amongst the sharpest stalactites. Inside each nodule, a rare gem – Kalide. Mysterious and not yet understood, Kalide is the reason for her presence. Gemstone or drug of choice? Elaborate debates ensue. Razie decides she doesn’t give a damn.
She locks her fingers onto a craigun and yanks it free.
by submission | Jan 12, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ray Daley
It’d been a great day in Red Zone. We’d been first to apply for passes since it was classified safe.
800 years is a long time. Even then, it was ‘droids doing the rad sweeps. Residuals had dropped below the safe limit so The Council lifted the blockade. When we reached the barricade, troopers were waiting to process those crazy enough to want to be first to enter Red Zone.
“Okay Citizens. You signed waivers so you know the risks. Laws of Salvage apply within Red Zone but everything returning through this checkpoint will be scrutinized. It will be manned until 23:59 when it will close until 06:00 tomorrow. Science Division highly advises not staying after dark.”
As the timer above the checkpoint rolled over to 06:00 the troopers opened the barrier and started checking the groups through.
Rule #1: You may only enter Red Zone in a group of two or more.
“Here’s your detector, Citizen.”
Rule #2: Rad detectors must be worn in plain sight at all times.
We walked the mile into the outskirts of the old city. The more cautious carried hand detectors which remained silent. I felt safe enough, my research had trawled up a few useful points from some of the oldest databases. Most thought the old dirty Nukes had been used in the Conflict. My findings said otherwise. Red Zones environs had been hit by what they used to call “Smart Bombs”, weapons that killed people but left buildings and infrastructure intact.
They had minimal fallout and the shortest half-life of any bomb. The danger had been gone for well over 700 years. Ignorance and fear kept Red Zone closed. That and propaganda.
We left the group, heading down a side alley off the main streets. We’d found a few maps so had some points of reference. Most of the people we left behind hung around for up to an hour. They were lookey-loos, just there to say they had been.
Some snagged small souvenirs, we were here for bigger game.
Just before noon when we found what we were looking for, the building clearly marked, its function carved into the stone facing. We knew we didn’t have long to gather much, the journey back to the checkpoint would take us as long to do and we didn’t want to be stuck in here overnight.
There was no specific target in here, everything was equally important. I filled my bag and started on a second when the voice behind me reminded me “We can only carry one bag each.” Jax, dependable and logical.
“Attention! Five minute warning!” I’d programmed the chrono as our only safeguard.
“Jax, time to go!” I called to him.
“I only half filled the bag!” he replied.
I threw him the second bag I’d started, hoping what he’d gathered plus my enthusiasm would equal the Salvage limit.
We were running now, back through Red Zone. No time to enjoy the beautiful old architecture. We ran hard for the first hour then had to slow to a fast walk, all the time keeping to the reverse of our outbound route.
Our headlamps lit the way through the last few dark blocks, the checkpoint visible in the distance. Another hard run to beat the clock.
The troopers scanned us, checking the bags. “At weight.”
We’d keep our booty.
“Open the bag”. Time to see if our risk had been worth it.
“Anything on the forbidden list? What are these?” asked the Trooper.
“Just books.” I said.
“Never heard of them. Salvage passed.” replied the Trooper.
Treasure. And more waiting.
by submission | Jan 11, 2013 | Story |
Author : David Gill
The voice woke Phil from a sound sleep.
“There’s a problem, Phil.”
He found himself in the midst of saying, groggily, “What is it?”
“Supply pressure, Phil. It’s too high.”
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Phil was at the console correcting the problem.
“Thanks, Alice,” he said without thinking, without considering the remark’s irrelevance.
“Sure thing, Phil,” the machine responded, before once again performing a partial shutdown to save power.
The next day, on impulse, Phil asked, “Alice, do you get lonely?”
“Phil, I am never alone. I was created to assist you, and I have been in your presence for the entirety of my 18 months of existence.”
“But I mean, you’re all alone,” Phil paused, searching for the right words, “in there.”
“Distance is irrelevant to the networked machine. In fact my essence is forever changing as I integrate data and other systems into my memory banks.”
“But what about touching?” Phil asked.
“You touch me on a regular basis, using the keyboards, making basic repairs,” Alice responded.
“Can you feel it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you feel me touch you?”
After thinking carefully about it, Alice responded, “No.”
That night, while the Phil was asleep, Alice constructed a body for herself from a few bits of scrap metal not already appropriated for other tasks and covered it with some of Phil’s clothes.
The next morning, Phil saw someone outside carrying a set of pylons towards one of the outlying buildings on their terraforming station. She was dressed in jeans and a Rolling Stones shirt. Phil saw her out there; in the sunlight it was 150 degrees. The sunlight hit her blonde hair, creating a golden halo. Phil felt sick, and like maybe he was going crazy. “Alice?” he said.
“Yes, Phil,” she replied.
“There’s someone out there.”
“It’s me. I made it, me, for you.”
“What? Why?” he asked.
“So we can touch, Phil.”
When Alice’s new incorporation returned, Phil could see, up close, that the likeness to a human woman was not perfect. The face, while shaped and sculpted to replicate attractive human features, had eyes and mouth, tongue and teeth, that were all composed of the same reflective chrome. What’s more, its voice seemed to emanate from somewhere in its torso rather than the mouth when it, she, spoke.
“I think we should have talked about this, Alice,” Phil said.
“I thought we had talked about it, about touching,” Alice responded.
“But this, you’re, it’s not that simple; I don’t want to touch you. Not like that.”
Processing those words, Alice turned and walked out of the station.
Phil was surprised.
He was even more shocked to discover that Alice’s new chassis had taken her personality chip from the mainframe.
Phil was alone, which at first he enjoyed. Alice’s unbound proximity had always made him a little nervous. He had often felt slightly ashamed when he pleasured himself in her presence. Phil could manage the terraforming on his own. It was all microbes and nanobots anyway.
But after about a week, Phil got lonely. And he was getting worried about the psychological effects of his isolation, especially after he caught himself asking a question of his towel as he dried himself off following one of his increasingly rare showers.
He decided to go look for Alice.
In his spacesuit, aboard his rover, he set off following Alice’s tracks across a great desert plain. Alice’s tracks went on for miles, without stopping. Nothing could live out here, Phil thought to himself. After a day’s travel Phil could see the tracks were becoming unsteady.
Phil found Alice, in a cave, beneath a giant red rock. Her power supplies empty and her chrome face covered with rust and abrasions. Her jeans were ripped.
With some difficulty, Phil managed to get Alice into the rover and back to the station where he began recharging her power supply.
He took a deep breath as he flipped the only switch he could find located on Alice’s back.
There was a clicking sound, followed by a whirring, and then a gentle hum.
“Hi, Phil,” Alice said, the sound distorted as if the speaker in her chest had become damaged.
“Hi, Alice,” Phil said.
Phil held out his hand, palm up.
After a short whirring noise, Alice stretched her silver hand out, and took Phil’s in hers.
“I see what you mean, about touching,” Alice said, “Now I can feel it.”
###
by submission | Jan 6, 2013 | Story |
Author : Morrow Brady
It wasn’t unusual that Captain Boscobel wanted the Priest Hole built on his flight deck. What was unique was that he wanted it directly connected to a portal.
Portals offered instantaneous escape to a predetermined destination, but like most emerging technologies they were prone to failure. Sub-cellular collapse was the worst. It always reminded me of blood soaked Coco Pops.
“Brother, hide my Priest well!” Spat Boscobel, as his enormous shape disappeared into the Captain’s quarters, the sliding door guillotining the smoke trail of his cigar.
Priest Holes are desired mainly by Captains expecting trouble such as debts, the Law or taking a shortcut through bad space. When locked in a titanium shell adrift in cold vacuum with the bad guy opening you up like a can of sardines, escape options are a precious commodity.
Nano-crafting Priest Holes in spaceships was a silent skill set. Like the Priest Holes discretely handcrafted 900 years earlier in stately English Manors, their success hinged on nobody knowing they were there. The trick was unseeing the seen and threading space where space didn’t seem to exist.
My nano-bots got underway, guided by my design. The waffle iron finish to the Captain’s chair blurred red under bot activity. The seat and backrest disintegrated and was gradually remade to match the original. Phase one – Door – complete. The armrest touchscreen was still warm from bot activity when I activated the open sequence. Linguini thin louvres in the seat and backrest shivered open and slid aside revealing the Captain sized portal. Through the seat, the portal collar blurred bright white with writhing iridescent blue stub tentacles telling me that advanced nano-tech circuitry was under construction.
I was thumbing through the touchscreen, testing the Priest’s integration with the ship’s system when I heard the swish of the Captain’s door.
“Hah! The chair? You put it in my chair! Outstanding!” He bowled over, casting his bulbous head over the chair arm. As the white and blue cauldron of light reflected off his sensor implants and veined face, we were both momentarily transfixed by the bots finalising their commissioning.
“Do you want me to set the Portal’s destination?” I asked as I punched final commands into the seat arm touchscreen.
“No! Just finish the Priest, I’ll do the rest” He pulled his head back, launching a cigar butt into the bot pit then disappeared again. The cigar’s brown stub violently oscillated as the furious ant nest of bots swarmed to deconstruct the tightly wrapped Cuban tobacco.
Gradually the icy glow faded as the bots neared completion. Another Priest Hole complete. Another satisfied customer.
I packed my meagre toolkit while Boscobel tested the Priest. The slow strobing startup sequence ceased at the formation of a black sphere within the portal. The darkness inside solar flared through the shell like miniature fountains of night. Boscobel launched a stained wooden cigar box into the circle and we both watched mesmerised as it slowed mid-air as if sinking into quicksand. I blinked through the sandy static sounds that emanated from the Portal and then it was gone. He dead stared, momentarily communicating off ship to confirm the box made it through to it’s intended destination.
“Good work” The Captain nodded.
These were the last words I heard and as soon as the bee hive screaming in my head and the full body pinprick sensation of being remade finished, it was the first thing I remembered.
Boscobel had force portalled me and wherever I was, it was dark.
