by submission | Aug 8, 2010 | Story
Author : Dale Anson
Seventh Contact
The ship was nothing but a bit of gossamer, wrapped in a smallish chunk of spacetime and plasma, elongated to impossible dimensions. Krista’s thougths, stretched by relativistic time, traveled from synapse to synapse in mere seconds. Ahead, the red star grew from a suggestion to a dot to a period to a disk to an orb to a sphere to an overwhelmingly large object that dominated all thought to absolute brightness bending her course slightly to the right to merely large to not so large to diminishing to what was that, anyway?
Krista looked outward, considering the trigonometry of the center versus the reddish star disappearing rapidly behind her versus the nebula at 9 o’clock versus the smallish galaxy below versus the leftish edge of the spiraling arm directly ahead. It would be at least a quarter turn, she decided.
She napped.
She blinked. She heard it now, low level, but distinct. She heard the sound of organization, of civilization, of thought above the slime level. Hours later, fully aware, she triangulated. She had entered the second arm, her journey across the void had been successful. Krista backtracked the signals: correlation, confirmation, origin. She ran pattern matching routines, deep archival retrieval processes, and bounced everything against her last known intelligence registries. She ran her data through the subspace routines, then through the species identifier, then through the spacetime geometry stacks, then through the hyperspace stacks.
It fit.
The bluish star pass to port, then she aimed toward a yellowish star down and to starboard.
Krista passed a small planet, then an orange gas giant with a ring, then a small white planet, then she contracted, swelled, and slowed to visibility. As she rounded the yellow star, she saw the blue marble from ancient days. She angled toward the equilibrium point trailing the orbit of the blueness, and set up her defenses to repel the incoming nuclear warheads.
Contact was never easy, even when it came from home.
by submission | Aug 7, 2010 | Story
Author : Christopher Booth
The life support system wheezed. Not that it made any difference. Yahwee could barely hear. Eons in space and the ability to communicate without making a sound made Yahwee’s ears barely usable.
His big black eyes wanted to cry, but the ability to cry had been lost some time (time? A concept he never really got comfortable with) ago.
“And Jesus wept”.
Yahwee remembered he had heard that somewhere. Or written it…or something.
A pale white figure slumping in the chair, long white fingers pawing the panel in front. The damage to the ship will not be repaired. That knowledge was lost. The ships never need this kind of repair. Five light years away from where Yahwee is suppose to be. And Yahwee will never make it back…
Yahwee’s eyes drifted. With the first contact with the race they were primitive. Yahwee had seen this a thousand times before. Take a primitive race. Teach them and let them teach themselves. Watch them, love them, nurture them. Never hide, but never be seen. Give them language and morals. Give them the freedom to grow and the guidance to grow straight. Give them an occasional “Miracle”.
This planet was exceptionally bright. They were difficult to lead. As they entered into their middle ages they resisted to being led. Their creativity interpreted Yahwee as a god…more than once. Their lust and brilliance led to their wars. Their learning made them dangerous. The ease in which they learned made them bored. Yahwee has dealt with these civilizations before.
But they were such beautiful creatures. No one creature’s skin was the same color. The soft subtle hues delighted Yahwee every time he saw them. They were tall and strong. They had physical love which Yahwee never got to experience. Their eyes were different colors. Rare for any race.
And they built glorious temples to Yahwee. By themselves. Pyramids and domes and spires. The fashioned their meager resources by hand and later by the machines they built. They wanted to please Yahwee, and he was pleased. When they join the cosmos, they will bring a beauty to awe most races found.
The key is to reveal one’s self before the civilization destroys themselves. Some civilizations allow themselves to be led into Yahwee’s bliss. It was the ones that did not want to be led that blessed the cosmos the most.
At times Yahwee considered what it would be like to be a part of this race. He was comforted to know that one day they would become a part of his.
Yahwee’s heart broke. Yahwee knew the Yahwee would not be there. The souls he committed to ashes were the souls he was supposed to save. He would not be there to save them. What would they become when their god does not return. They will destroy themselves. The flower will bloom and wilt. Never to be frozen in the cosmic time as it was meant to be. Their beautiful skin, their puzzling eyes, their strong bodies, their art and their architecture. Yahwee had heard of it before, but never one of his civilizations.
Yahwee was dying. The ship is lost and will not be repaired. Yahwee lived 10,000 lifetimes…but no more. Where will they be without their god. Yahwee wanted to cry…but not for Yahwee.
by submission | Aug 6, 2010 | Story
Author : Daniel Fuhr
“The concept is simple enough. We send a very powerful telescope out faster than the speed of light to a calculated area, then zoom in to the Earth at a specific location and hopefully we can watch past events.”
“What you’re talking about is time travel?”
“Nonsense, were talking about a simple process. We make calculations based on the curvature of light. We account for the alignment of planets and other bodies that could get in the way. Then we send the telescope out to the location, take some pictures and bring it back. If I were to say something to you, move faster than the speed of sound next to you and hear myself speak, did I just travel through time? No, I just went from point A to point B, however time remains a constant.”
“So you are claiming these pictures are authentic, taken from your telescope.”
“Completely valid. In a few years, we will have a telescope powerful enough to go further out into the universe and we can see as far back as the dinosaurs.”
“This is astounding to say the least. The questions we can have answered. The history we can recapture. The possibilities. Now, what’s this one here, the blank sheet?”
“That’s the flashback. As I said earlier if I were to say something at point A then travel faster than the speed of sound to point B to hear it, I would never hear myself speak due to the sonic boom from breaking the sound barrier. That blank sheet is a flash from breaking the speed of light, we call it flashback. And that brings up the problem.”
“What problem?”
“The reason I contacted you. The faculty can calculate where to place the scope and improve it to see clearer images. From those pictures I handed you, you can already see our capability to zoom in to read the cover of a book.”
“What does that have to do with flashback or with the clergy?”
“Ah, you see, that picture wasn’t flashback. Neither are any of these, or these. They look similar to flashback, but when we start to zoom out dramatically we see something else.”
“What is it?”
“The question isn’t what; it is a Papal Bull, sent directly in front of the telescope for all years before 700 A.D. For all purposes our telescope is being censored. The question I ask you is why?”
by submission | Aug 5, 2010 | Story
Author : Credentiality
“This is our in-system debugger, for when we want to get really close-up. It isn’t necessary for setting up hurricanes, but it’s a good excuse to go down and play.” Bar helped Nim set up his avatar and load in.
“Heya Phil, how’s business?” asked Bar, stepping into the tackle shop.
“Good, Steve! Haven’t seen you for a while. Ready to break last year’s record?” said Phil, obviously pleased at the prospect of business.
“Yes I am. Bill here thinks I got that mounted marlin at a swap meet. So I told him to come get one for himself. When can we head out?”
“How about right now? I’ll start loading up.”
The fishing boat pulled out of the harbor and sped into the gulf of Mexico.
As Phil settled into a movie in the cabin, Bar/Steve and Nim/Bill made a show at the stern of sorting out their fishing rigs. As they did, Bar explained: “The interface is pretty nice. Each component of the simulation has an identifier you can reference when you need to tweak something. The system will try to make it look natural, but there’s only so much it can do when you move a mountain or part a sea. They tend to write down stuff like that, and that can ruin thousands of years of simulation in some categories. You really want to avoid angry anthropologists knocking on your door.
“We have to be especially discreet now, given the humans’ sophistication. But weather is chaotic enough that we can get away with almost anything. And you’re looking a little green, so let’s calm down these swells,” said Bar.
Nim only nodded, inwardly grateful. Seasickness was indeed making it hard to concentrate.
Bar stood, raised his hands, faced the expanse of the ocean and commanded “Mits’vah yam galit schluffen!”
Nim waited expectantly, arm wrapped around his stomach to quell the unfamiliar nausea.
“Crap, I forgot. They changed the policy last semester. People were careless with the true names, and the humans started catching on. Developed a whole mythos about it, even guessed some of the names. And I had just gotten the major ones memorized,” said Bar, annoyed. “The new names are a lot less impressive.” His avatar sat unnaturally motionless while, in the real world, he fished for the cheat sheet.
“Quasar sickly pillow, seven semicolon flatly. Waves off,” Bar said, with much less grandiosity. “Just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” The swells immediately calmed, and within a few minutes the sea around them was smooth as glass. Nim was duly impressed.
“Let’s get the hurricane set up for next week and get back to shore. I have papers to grade this afternoon.” Bar went impassive again while he found the appropriate invocation. “Pink flatiron spittoon comma nineteen geese.” He sighed, dejected. “New tropical storm. 8E20 joules, 14 days. Random start, landfall in New Orleans.”
Above them, the sky flashed twice in the ultraviolet region that Bar and Nim could see but which the real humans could not. Then ultraviolet clouds gathered across the sky at what were surely hypersonic speeds, swirling and gathering. Nim watched, agape. They gathered purpose, driving northwest, and then were gone. Nim realized he was seeing a fast-forward preview of the storm’s path.
“Pretty neat light show, huh? Let’s cast out, and I’ll show you how to catch a marlin while we head back. If I can find the fish password.”
by submission | Aug 4, 2010 | Story
Author : W. Kevin Christian
The room was not cold. It was not wet. It was not noisy or colorful. It was quiet and white. No pictures on the walls. No carpet on the floors. There was just a table with a man on it and a black-and-white digital clock hung from the ceiling directly above his head.
The clock read: 9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 58 minutes, 11 seconds…12…13…
The man felt no physical pain, no fatigue nor hunger. In fact, he was perfectly comfortable because he felt very little. It had paralyzed him. Though he could breathe and move is eyes, he could not blink. Not that there was much to see.
The man wiggled his eyes back and forth. He wanted to see how many times he could do it in a minute, a game he had invented.
9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 10 seconds…11…12…
He set a new personal record.
The man tried to picture the Earth, his home, his childhood. The vaguest shadows flickered in the back of his mind, but all he could really picture was a bright white ceiling and a black-and-white digital clock.
9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 45 seconds…46…47…
The man had been trying not to get his hopes up for 10,000 years. He had been disappointed before: at 1 day, at 1 week, at 1 month, at 1 year, at 10 years, at 25 years, at 50 years, at 100 years, at 500 years, at 1,000 years, at 5,000 years. But still there was that hope. He waited anxiously.
9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 57 seconds…58…59…
And then he came out of it. He was back in the bald man’s basement. Reminders of distant memories flooded his senses: a leaky pipe dripping into a small puddle, the smell of mildew and wet wood. They burned his mind like no fire could. He had muscle control! He was hungry! He hurt! There were so many possibilities! The feelings overwhelmed him like boiling water overwhelms an ice cube. And somewhere deep within, the cube cracked.
The man howled.
A perverse grin crossed the bald man’s face, his mouth letting out a slow, toad-like chuckle. The feeling of power intoxicated him. The look 30 seconds with the program could put on a person’s face! It tickled him in the darkest of ways, as if holding something young and innocent at the edge of a cliff overlooking hell. The power! The suffering!
“Are you ready to talk?” the bald-man asked.
“Anyyy…thing…,” the man said shakily, “…juuuusss ett it down…”
The bald man placed a chrome-colored metal box about the size of a deck cards on a black, homemade-looking table.
“So where is she?”
“Phoenix. Thaddriss…in…my wallet.”
The bald man chuckled again and grabbed the chrome box. He poked at it with his index finger and turned its backlit screen towards the man.
“How does 10 minutes sound?”
The man screamed and fought against the metal cuffs that bound him, blood streaming from his wrists as he did so.
The bald man rumbled with laughter. “Hmmm, I don’t know if I can wait that long. Better just make it five.”
