by submission | Apr 23, 2013 | Story |
Author : Dave Rigby
Steve sat in the beige waiting room idly flipping through channels on the tv, not stopping on any for more than the few seconds of allotted free viewing so as to not incur an automatic charge. At home he had a pretty decent entertainment package with no overrun fees but he couldn’t afford the roaming package so any entertainment here would cost him. He went to run his fingers through his hair but stopped when the stump of his right elbow came in to view. Phantom limb syndrome had been tough when he first lost the arm, it was ten times worse when the prosthetic was removed, but he knew at least that meant that it was still transmitting from wherever it was.
At last his name was called. Entering the room he knew straight away that he wouldn’t be leaving with his arm today. The cardboard box waiting on the table was all too familiar.
“Sorry Steve” Andy the technician emerged from an adjoining room “We won’t be able to get it fixed today. The knuckles are shot and we don’t have enough spares for your model”
“When?” asked Steve glumly.
“Tuesday at the earliest. You can manage without for a few days or you can take the loaner. Your choice”
It wasn’t a choice really.
“I’ll take the loaner”
“Ok cool. You know the drill, take a seat, prep your ports and get ready to sync.” The technician picked up the box and slid out the loaner. It was at least 3 generations older than Steve’s current arm. It hadn’t looked realistic when it was new but now the imitation skin had taken on a yellow colour in-between the assortment of stains and scratches it had acquired through years of service. It was a basic arm, no networking, no display, not even realistic fingernails. On the hand the rubbery skin was stretched and thin so you could almost see through to the aging gears and servos below. Steve had brought gloves just in case “Have you given any more thought to upgrading? I can keep repairing your arm but it’s not going to last forever”
“Can’t afford to upgrade” said Steve as he slid his stylus out of a slot on his arm and ran it around his stump. Tiny latches released and the port caps opened all the way around. He moved the stylus behind his left earlobe in preparation for the re-synch.
Andy moved the arm in to place then slid back a panel on the back of the wrist to reveal the sync and power controls.
“Ok here we go, powering on, ready to sync. Hit it”
Steve braced himself and hit the button behind his ear. His phantom arm disappeared as his mind severed its connection. A moment of almost pleasant release and lightness came and went then was replaced by sickening feelings of pain and loss from his shocked nerves and memories of the accident. He almost cried out, and then it was over. The new arm felt heavy and cumbersome but it would do.
“A quick check and then you can go. Make a fist for me” After a moment of concentration Steve did it. “Good. Now move each finger one at a time” Steve did that too, much faster this time. “OK great, now finally play me some Rachmaninoff” Steve showed Andy his middle finger instead. Andy chuckled. “I guess that will do. You’re good to go. Call if you have any problems and I’ll see you Tuesday”
“See you Tuesday” Steve said as he pulled his gloves on.
by submission | Apr 21, 2013 | Story |
Author : Stephen LaGioia
I stand anxious and apprehensive in the corner of the hallway near the top of my front door. I crawl to the peephole and squint through it, surveying the empty sky below me and blades of grass protruding upwards, my eyes frantically searching for help.
Cars and Hovers speed past, criss-crossing one another, just far enough to be out of earshot.
I shout through an open window to a man floating blissfully across the sidewalk, but of course he is wearing headphones and too far into his own world to break his trance and help me.
Finally a voice sounds on the other end of the phone, which I have been holding to my ear for what seems like an eternity. My knuckle begins to grow tired as I clutch the phone tightly, both from rage, and to prevent the disastrous prospect of letting go.
It is a relief to no longer hear that repetitive music being played on a loop as a crackling male voice interrupts it.
Gravity by John Mayer – how original.
“GraviTech Service and Rescue. What can we assist you with today?”
“Well, for starters, you can send a Dispatcher over here immediately! I have been trying to get through for half an hour! I have a serious problem here, thanks to your capsules.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, you sold me the wrong tablets. I bought the damn Moon Walkers and you guys must have filled the bottle with the wrong pills. Now I’m stuck on my own ceiling.”
“You mean you floated too high and can’t regain control?”
I sigh, trying to hold back an anger that threatens to boil over.
“No… I didn’t take the damn ZeroGravs. What I’m saying is that I FLIPPED and now I’m sitting on my ceiling! You people put Reversals in the Walker bottle!”
A concerned gasp could be heard on the other end.
“Our deepest apologies, sir! Do you have a receipt?”
“I got it from a GraVending… What do you think?”
“Well, unfortunately we cannot permit a return, but we will gladly replace your bottle with a bottle of Walkers. Or perhaps we can interest you in some LiteGravs? They are great for sleep; very relaxing.”
“Look, I don’t care about any of that. The only way I can relax right now is if my feet are back on my own floor! Just send someone over here right now with the Stabilizers! Maybe you people can use your damn Floaters to get here quicker.”
“Alright, alright. We are sending a GravTech Dispatcher right away. And sir? Whatever you do, DO NOT step outside your home!”
“Honestly, do you think I’m stupid?”
I slam the phone down angrily and collapse onto my back, shaking my head in disgust and staring thoughtfully up at my floor.
by submission | Apr 20, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ulrich Lettau
“This has never been done before.” I blurted out, watching the massive instrument continue to magnify the fluorine atom image. The gauge rapidly passed the billion power mark and continued toward the 1,750,000,000 times, the theoretical maximum.
“Dr. Cronus, you will certainly receive the Titan Prize for Physics when this achievement becomes publicized. I am tremendously proud to have assisted.”
My green face flushed with a tinge of bright magenta, as it often does that when I am embarrassed. “Please, Prometheus, there are others that made invaluable contributions, laying ground work for this project.”
We turned our attention to the plasma screen, watching what we thought to be an image of a nucleus and nine electrons enlarge. Conventional theory had erroneously predicted that all electrons would be equal in size, and the nucleus to be inert. We had also assumed that the electrons would circle the center at angles randomly.
Prometheus exclaimed, “Look Doctor, there is a seemingly minute amount of energy being released from the nucleus, like a tiny sun.”
“Yes, while it may appear infinitesimal to us, it has an immense bearing on the electrons. Energy expelled in the form of light.” The magnification gauge had reached 1.5 billion power. “See how the electron’s orbits are in line, progressively further from the epicenter. The closest is small and burnt. The second is grey. Number four is red.”
Prometheus was captivated, “Look at the gigantic size of number five and the sixth has rings.”
I interrupted, entranced by the third, a unique sphere, “It is exquisite, brilliant blue, with large green forms, capped with white poles.”
by submission | Apr 14, 2013 | Story
Author : Dennis Von Euw
“ 'X-ray 3' to 'Harvest Queen', come in, over”
“This is 'Harvest Queen', what is your status?, Over”
“We've completed the survey on the asteroid. It shows no transuranics, and damn little heavy metals. The bulk is just stony regolith., over.”
“Understood, 'X-ray-3', stand by to return to Mother.”
“Are you nuts?”, asked Jarvis. “You didn't say a word about the crystals. The lab boys back on Earth have been screaming for them for years!”
“Relax. Has ol' Smitty lead you wrong yet? This is our lucky day! Ten years we've been pushing one bucket or another around the Belt together, and what do we have to show for ourselves? Nuttin', that's what. This is our chance to make good. The Captain never offered us a sign-up bonus when we came aboard, and we don't owe ship-stores a deci-cred. We'll plant our own beacon on this lump, and come back on our own ship some day and clean up!”
“I don't know. Everybody we've talked to says Capt. Erickson is no-one's fool, and not a man to cross”, replied Jarvis, “but ya haven't steered me wrong yet. Do it.”
After placing their own device on the surface, the pair made their way back to the scout ship.
“ 'X-ray 3' to 'Harvest Queen', ready for take-off, are you in range? Over”
“Roger X-ray, begin blast.”
“Damn! Negative burn, I say again, negative burn, We can't get the ship to lift, over”
“Acknowledged. Stand by”
“Well Captain, you were right. Those two couldn't be trusted. Luckily you already knew about the crystals down there.
“Luck be damned! I've used that rock to test new men for years. Yes, there's crystal down there, but it's useless. You wouldn't know it to look at it, but the scientists say the structure is all wrong for their needs. Alright Helm, proceed on course to our next waypoint.”
“But Captain, we haven't retrieved 'X-ray 3' yet.” exclaimed the XO “What about them?”
“What about them? We'll pick up the scout on our way back in 6 months.”
“But they only have enough stores and oxy for 30 days, Sir. They'll die!”
“I have no sympathy for pirates, Mister! The Belt is dangerous enough for honest Spacers, without
carrying vipers around with us. You're new here, XO, so I'll overlook your outburst, but never second-guess my orders again. Understood?
“Aye, Sir! My apologies. Ready to leave orbit.”
“Very well. Execute!”
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by submission | Apr 13, 2013 | Story
Author : Ryan Watson
The war had finally been instigated. Nobody was truly certain how it had started or which nations were involved. All anybody knew was that it had been a month since the missiles were launched. All high profile personnel were secretly escorted to underground bunkers. Rank dictated the depth of the bunker as well as the strength of materials used in its construction. Senator Nathaniel Keyes was a presidential candidate. He was sitting in a steel bunker 35 feet underground.
“Senator, it has been 1064 hours since the last impact. The radiation hasn’t appeared to have leaked to this deep. We have survived the attack sir.”
“I can see that Johnson. Any news from the other bunkers?”
“Not yet. We’re not sure if the communication uplinks are still running. We’ll know shortly.”
“Excellent. Keep me posted.”
“Of course sir. What should we do in the meantime?”
“What town is this bunker located in Johnson?”
“Hinderland sir. Population 14’500. A small town in central Idaho, it was chosen for being so insignificant that it wouldn’t be the target of any major strike forces.”
“You sound like you’re reading that off of the brochure Johnson.”
“The logistics package, Sir.”
“Does that package have a map Johnson?”
“Of course”
“Pass it here.”
The senator looked over the map, taking careful notice of what the town had to offer. As tempting as scouting for survivors or food was, nothing on the surface had any radiation protection. The people would be dead, the food inedible.
“Let’s go bowling Johnson.”
“I beg your pardon sir, did you say bowling?”
“You heard right. According this map the lanes are only five minutes away.”
“Surely there is something of more value….”
“Cut the bureaucratic bullshit Johnson. Everyone within a hundred miles is probably dead. Who cares what we do. I want to go bowling, whether you’re coming or not.”
Senator Keyes walked to the airlock. He grabbed the mandatory explorative survival kit off of the shelf and secured his breathing apparatus. His radiation suit gave him a wedgie. He began to climb the seemingly endless ladder that led to the surface. He wasn’t surprised that his guard did not follow. The only sounds were that of his steel toed boots clambering against the metal of the ladder repeating endlessly as they echoed through the tunnel.
The landscape wasn’t as barren as he had expected. Among the haze and dust stood the skeletons of the town, yet no signs of life could be seen. He checked his map and headed off down the crumbled remains of 31st street. The alley was located beside the local Catholic Church. He laughed to himself as he envisioned nuns in bowling shoes. He took a mental note to share this image with Johnson. He walked down the broken asphalt of 31st street, not stopping until he came to the crippled steeple of the church. He located the building that he imagined was once decorated with dancing bowling pins and other cute decals as he descended the stairs. The dust swirled as he opened the door to the basement. Extracting his flashlight, Keyes shone the light around the room, finding it to be more or less intact. He walked behind the counter and grabbed himself a score sheet and a pencil. He placed himself on lane number 4. The automated pin setter was disengaged. His game lasted 2 hours.
Grab a ball.
Throw a ball.
Walk down the lane.
Set your own pins.
Walk back down the lane.
Write down his score.
Grab another ball.
Repeat.
He scored 249 points.
His personal best.
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