by submission | Jun 1, 2013 | Story |
Author : Stefan Aeschbacher
The look down the barrel of a gun was frightening; much more frightening than I ever imagined it to be.
‘ID yourself citizen’ the cop behind the barrel barked.
I moved my left wrist, containing the ID tag, towards the reader. Much faster than I expected to. Must have been the gun. My picture and all my details appeared on the screen inside the cop’s eye. At least that’s what I guessed.
‘What are you doing here at this time of the night’ the cop asked me, as if any other time of the night would have made a difference. The curfew started at 23:00 and lasted the whole night.
‘Had to fetch medicine for my mother’ I lied
‘Medicine, I see’ he replied.
He started searching my jacket. That was bad, he would find it. My knees started to tremble. I’m sure he noticed it, but it didn’t matter anyway. After discarding some used paper handkerchiefs and my keys, he finally took it out of an inside pocket of the jacket.
‘What is this citizen!’ he shouted.
‘Nothing’, what else could I have said?
‘We’ll see about that!’
He contemplated the device thoroughly. The camouflage was good, very good, some of the best money could buy.
Nevertheless, he seemed to know what he was looking for.
‘This is no pen’ he proclaimed.
‘Sure it is’
That’s when he fumbled open the hidden cover and found the plug. It was nothing fancy at all, plain USB 8.2 nothing you expect in a pen anymore. I was surprised that he had a cable at hand. Maybe he wasn’t as regular a cop as I hoped him to be. He connected the pen to a specially secured connection analyzer. Nah, definitely no regular cop, they don’t have those.
The box started to play, at a very low volume. I recognized it immediately; it started at the top of the playlist with ‘shine on you crazy diamond’.
‘That’s settles it, you can explain this to the judge!’ he said while pressing the gun to my head.
What judge I thought, I knew the laws concerning possession of illegally copied music…
by submission | May 30, 2013 | Story |
Author : W Hunter
“Where is everybody?” Enrico Fermi, 1950
The enormous space craft slid out of the hyper-dimensional matrix in the orbit of one of the gas-giant planets. It gravitated towards the inner planets smoothly, gathering data by the millisecond. Within a short time the thousands of remote detectors had transmitted a gargantuan amount of data to a massive computer network. The data was immediately analysed and collated into a report which was then arranged and organised into an executive report by an Assessment Officer.
Commander Xent was deeply engrossed in Interthought when Assessment Officer Hettel entered the chart room.
“Excuse my interruption, sir, but I need your opinion on my analysis of this planet.
It took a fraction of a minute for the Commander to adjust his attention. “I’m sorry Hettel, I was engrossed in an intriguing exploration of 11 dimensional topographies with two time dimensions with the Chent brothers.
“Sorry to intrude” said Hettel.
“Not at all, my Command duties take priority. How can I help?”
“Well,” said Hettel, “I have completed my analysis of the third planet in this system and I need your opinion on my conclusion. I will upload my report onto your Thoughtscreen now. May I talk you through it?”
“Go ahead” said the Commander.
Hettel resolved to be brief and to the point. ”As you see, we have a 96 % conformity with our own preferred physical environment: Atmosphere: 80 % Nitrogen, 20% oxygen, traces of carbon dioxide and Helium. Surface: Large areas of saline water and a variety of land masses, some extensive fresh water areas and tributaries. Suitable temperature zones. Biologically: Mammalian species, dominated by intelligent bipeds, somewhat aggressive but not dangerously so. Warm blooded avian species and numerous cold blooded reptiles etc. No surprises here”.
The Commander nodded.
“Cell nuclei contain coding molecules similar to ours, same bases, phosphate bridges and sugars only slightly different. Amino acids same or near identical with ours, two less in number. General conformity 97%.
Micro organisms of the single cell variety, coding chemistry types 2 and 3. Large variety of molecular cell invaders. Overall similarity rating 89%.
That’s more or less it, sir, unless you require more information?”
The Commander turned his penetrating gaze on Hettel. “So what’s your recommendation?”
Hettel was confident. “I had high hopes for the suitability of this planet when we made our long distance assessment. Now that we have this detailed data I have no hesitation in rejecting contact totally.”
“I agree entirely” said the Commander. Far too close a match. Early contact with planets like this were disastrous- invasion of all our life systems by micro organisms, nothing on the planet digestible, 100% mortality.”
“I find it quite depressing. We seem to be stuck with finding planets with barely developed life forms, very different from ours and then completely sterilising them before colonisation. Co-existence with other species would be so stimulating if we could just find the right non-invasive systems.”
“I share your sentiments” said Hettel, morosely.
“OK, then” said the Commander heavily, “I’ll direct that we leave this system forthwith and continue our exploration on the planned route. For the record, Hettel, what does the intelligent species call their planet?”
“They call it Earth, sir” said Hettel.
by submission | May 28, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ray Daley
The Misthkthos had been on Earth over a year when I talked to my first one. They’d come in peace, landed in a quiet region and strolled out of their ship into the night to check out our planet.
Easy enough to spot them as aliens you’d think? Then you’d be thinking wrong because they look just like me and you. Admittedly with subtle differences but you could have sex with one of them and never know it. Don’t worry, no chance of them getting you pregnant or leaving you with a nasty alien STD. Our blood chemistry differed slightly.
But that slight difference was enough to mean we couldn’t catch their diseases and they couldn’t catch ours.
So how did I spot him?
Sitting at a table in the truck stop diner wearing a faded red plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. He looked like every other wanna-be cowboy in the joint.
“Mind if I sit here?” I asked, gesturing to the empty seats opposite him.
“Help yourself, free country or at least that’s what they say.” He had the twang of the accent and the world-weary cynicism down to a tee.
I started eating my burger and fries. “Damn good food here.” I said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he replied “I always stop in here when I’m in these parts.”
He hadn’t blinked, his poker face was near perfect. His one mistake, the subtle tell that gave him away.
I figured I’d see if I was right.
I lowered my voice. “Hello Space Boy.”
He said nothing. He took another gulp of his coffee with his right hand.
“Tell me I’m wrong then.” I said quietly.
Again he said nothing.
I fixed him with a gaze. “I could repeat it, only louder if you want? Or you can tell me I’m wrong?”
He put his coffee cup down onto the table and looked me right in the eyes. “What was it?”
“What gave you away, you mean?” I said.
“Yeah. I thought I had this whole routine perfected. No-one ever noticed before.” he said.
I glanced toward at his left hand. “Pass me the salt.”
He was probably unaware he’d been fiddling with the salt cellar from the moment I’d walked in and almost certainly from the second he’d taken his seat.
His people had a glut of many of things on their planet. Salt however was in very short supply. They’d seen our oceans full of the stuff and made their way across the stars to trade with us. But as they’d learnt our many languages from TV and radio transmissions they thought they had a good idea how visiting aliens were received.
IE:- very badly and with deadly force.
So they’d chosen to hide amongst us until the time to trade was right.
“Damn. Was it that obvious?” he asked me nervously.
“Only if you know what to look for. And I did.” I replied.
“So what’s it going to cost me to keep you quiet? You know we hate violence. I’ve got plenty of great technology I can trade?” he asked me.
I smiled at him. “I guess that ship of yours is pretty well hidden?”
He nodded.
“Good,” I replied “then you can give me a lift home. I’ve been stuck here ever since I crashed in Roswell a few decades back. I promise I won’t tell if you don’t?”
He smiled at me. “When do you want to leave?” he asked.
I looked over to the counter and called to our waitress. “Miss, can I have this to go please? I think I just got a ride home.”
by submission | May 26, 2013 | Story |
Author : Robin de Graaf
Bartleby pushed open the heavy pub door. A bell jangled and a handful of pub patrons gave him a quick look-see. Realizing that they had no idea who he was, they quickly returned to their pints. Bartleby looked around, until he saw who he was looking for. He took off his hat and walked towards one of many tables.
“Good evening, John, glad you could make it.” He said, taking off his heavy coat. The man sitting at the table smiled and raised his glass.
“Anything for a friend. Please, sit.”
The man signaled one of the servers for two more glasses of gin.
“I’m sorry to have called upon you at such short notice,” Bartleby said, “but as you know, my life has been rather more… exciting than is customary lately.” He swallowed slowly.
“Are you referring to your courtship of Elizabeth?”
“Among other things. You know I’ve been seeing her for quite some time. And it’s been going quite well.”
The server came up to the table with two glasses perched on a heavy platter. “Two gin for the gentlemen,” he said with a nod.
“Thank you.” Bartleby said and grabbed a glass, draining it in one gulp.
“Bring me another, would you?”
“Certainly,” the server said with a friendly smile.
“Bartleby, I don’t mean to rush you, but what’s gotten you so spooked?” John said, leaning over a little.
Bartleby fidgeted with the empty glass, seemingly uneasy. He didn’t actually speak until his second gin had arrived, which he sipped rather than drained.
“Like I said, things seemed to be going well between Elizabeth and myself, but things have taken an… unexpected turn.”
“How do you mean..?” John asked.
“Last week we went to the theater, to see The Family Reunion, and in general, it was a fine night. After the play, she had agreed to accompany me for a drink at mine, if I promised to have her home before midnight.”
John grinned and nodded approvingly.
“Please don’t. Wait until you’ve heard the entire story.” Bartleby said, looking at John with a stern look.
“I apologize. Do continue…”
“So we arrive at mine, and as you know, I’m something of an inventor. In my spare time, at least. Having mentioned this to her before, she took the opportunity to ask whether she could see my current project.”
John laughed, “THAT thing? Waste of time, my friend, I’ve told you before and I’ll gladly repeat it!”
“Perhaps you won’t. We had been joking back and forth the entire evening, so when she said that she was going to be the first person to use it, I thought nothing of it. I should have.”
“She… Turned it on?” John said, sounding much less jovial than he’d sounded before.
Bartleby rummaged through his coat pocket and pulled out a photograph.
“I’ve been looking for proof, any evidence, for an entire week. Today, I finally found it.”
He handed the photograph to John, who studied it carefully. It was a picture of a group of women, dressed in Victorian fashion, smiling contentedly at the camera. One of the women in the picture made John look a little closer.
“Is that Elizabeth?” he asked.
“It is. Turn it over. Read the back.”
As he did, he noticed, in beautiful handwriting, that it said ‘1839, the girls in Green Park, London.’
A silence fell as John tried to collect his thoughts.
“This must be a fake. This isn’t possible.” He said eventually.
“It isn’t. That photograph was taken exactly 100 years ago.”
by submission | May 25, 2013 | Story |
Author : Kiel Finger
He stabbed his knife into the hardpack soil.
It didn’t go in very deep; in fact it barely stood upright. Maybe an inch or two into the ground, tilted to the left. Not as dramatic as he would have liked, but the meaning behind the act was clear.
It was an old symbol, developed aboard one of the many ships that brought them to this world. They’d meet in the agri-levels, the offended party planting a blade into the fertile soil, showing they wished to air their grievances peacefully.
His grandmother had shown him. She had been one of the last who remembered living aboard the fleet. She would tell him of the vastness of the habitat zones, the false sun and the gentle, recycled breeze.
He hoped she’d be proud of him now, confronting a woman who saw fit to take their land.
The representative was a head taller than him, garbed in the traditional loose fitting blouse and pants of the Admiralty.
The Admiralty Commission rarely tried to extend their reach out to the western plains, but here was a representative, starring Tull in the face, demanding he show her something called an “Official Land Claim Agreement” or else the Admiralty would claim the land itself and forcibly move him.
“Miss Kine, I don’t know what this document is you’re talking about, but my family has lived here since my grandmother’s folks stepped off the fleet. And no one has…”
Representative Kine cut him off.
“Tull, I know the old ways, but a knife in the dirt won’t stop us from taking your acreage. Either you prove to us you legally claimed this land at some point, or it is ours, by right, according to The Fleet Compact.”
There was a long silence. Tull could see his show of the old ways had completely failed. He’d hoped Miss Kine had been raised in some outlying area, where these sorts of things were still taught and practiced. But it was clear to him now she was indeed Capital woman. She knew only of knife talk through history lessons. He knew now he needed something flashier.
Tull casually squatted down and retrieved the old, dull knife from the ground. He moved it to his left hand, but did not sheath it. He hoped she noticed.
“Miss Kine, you said you’re familiar with the old ways, right?” Tull said neutrally.
“Yes Mr. Tull. I’ve studied much of the late Fleet to early post-Fleet cultures.”
“Then maybe you know one of the practices of the people from the ship Arata Akebono? It was a ritual used only when two parties could not agree on property ownership. After all other options had been exhausted, the first party to spill their own blood upon the disputed property would be instantly granted ownership.”
“Yes, well, I hope you don’t think that such an act….”
It was Tull’s turn to interrupt the representative. He raised the knife and quickly drew it across his right palm, horizontally. It cut nearly to the bone despite it’s dullness. Blood poured out of the wound, streaming down his arm and began falling to the ground in large droplets. Kine wasn’t able to hide the look of shock that spread across her face.
Tull smiled inwardly, despite the pain. This was what he had needed; enough of a show of bravado and fearlessness to horrify a Capital-dweller.
He hoped that when she now returned to the Admiralty, she’d tell of crazed western plainsmen, backwards and angry. Not worth the effort of displacing.
Please, he thought, let it be enough.
