by submission | Mar 1, 2024 | Story |
Author: Alastair Millar
“It would be fitting,” the Sardaanian said, “if you took a new name now. A human name.”
“But my name has always been T!kalma,” the woman replied.
“Yes,” ze replied, “but that is one of our names. Your birth people are reaching out, as we predicted. Soon it will be time to play your part.”
She looked away at that. “What if I don’t want to?”
“Come, have we not given you a lifespan vastly longer than that of your species? Have we not looked after you, nurtured you, taught you, asking only that you ready yourself for this – to be an emissary?”
“Yes. You have.” She looked at hir directly. “And because you have, this is my home. I don’t want to leave it.”
“You will only need to make short trips. We’re not suggesting you live with them, or anything.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
“I thought it might be.” A forelobe frond waved in what she knew was good-natured agreement.
She sighed.
“But I think, for all your research, you still don’t really understand them.”
“How so?”
“They won’t forgive you. I know why I and the others were brought here as children, but they won’t understand. They’ll say you kidnapped us, call it a repeated act of aggression. And their first instinct will be to respond with violence.”
“But that is just what we seek to avoid!” Ze clacked hir beak worriedly.
“Exactly.”
“Surely they will see the benefits of peaceful coexistence? We have so much to offer them – energy without waste, climatic fluctuation control, matter transference, even chronosynchronisation! And in return we will learn their arts, their music, their belief systems, and by doing so enrich our own culture.”
“They will suspect that your generosity hides a desire to take control of their society and worlds. Worse, they will see what you offer as prizes for the taking.”
“They would be crushed in moments if they tried to take anything by force!”
“And that is what I wish to avoid. The destruction of a species, even one ill-suited to membership in the universal community, is a terrible thing. And it is my species, after all.”
“I know them well enough to be sure that there is no-one they will trust more than one of their own. That is why we brought you all here in advance of their expansion. To act as ambassadors for the greater community and ease them into the Galactic Polity.”
“I am aware,” she said drily. “But this is a huge responsibility, and I do not know if I am ready for it. Or capable of managing it.”
“You are. Of a certainty, there is, in all the galaxy, no group better placed for this than your cohort. You need to trust yourself; and if not, then trust us, as you always have before.”
“I want to believe you. I want it to work. I truly do.”
“And it will. If you make it happen,” ze said, hir carapace glowing blue with reassurance. “They will reach out, and find to their amazement that they are already among us. And that wonders await them.”
“And yet we only have one chance to make a good impression.”
“That is true.”
She took a deep breath of the scented air.
“Then call me Hope.”
by submission | Feb 29, 2024 | Story |
Author: David C. Nutt
The newbie made his way through central supply.
“Why can’t I have a Prussian Blue exosuit?”
I rolled my eyes. “Because you can’t.”
The kid slapped the counter, my counter. “Unacceptable. You dissin’ me because I’m a noob?”
I smiled. “No. I am ‘dissin you’ because you’re an arrogant prick.” I could see the security agent, Mike Breslow, making his way over to my counter.”
“Any problem here Art?”
This is the part I loved, when the noob realized he had zero clout because he hadn’t earned it yet.
“Why no problem at all Officer Breslow. I was just getting ready to tell this shiny new recruit to the colonies why we do not issue the Prussian Blue.”
With all the practiced incredulity of a British Panto, Mike chimed in right on cue “Why do tell Citizen, I love to hear a good story!”
So I told it.
“Back in the day when all of us were noobs like you, Benny Lambert made his way to Mars. Benny and his Prussian Blue exosuit. There wasn’t anything Benny wouldn’t do for you, salt of the earth. Give up his seat at mess if it was too crowded, sing extra loud at church to cover your snoring cuz’ you pulled a double. Giving up some of his water because you were too stupid to bring enough. Benny was like that. Then, after we started excavating the lava tubes the worst of all possible happened. A reactor in the power room started to get all hinky. We evacuated but it needed to be shut down. Before anyone could do anything else, Benny was pushing in rods like it was pin ball. The last rod was somehow bent. When Benny pulled it out to re-insert it, it came all the way out. Couldn’t be put back in. Too radioactive to leave it where it was, so Benny ran into the tunnels. We watched him right up until he dropped the rod into the big hole, the one at least 12 miles deep, where we were throwing all our rubble. Genius move the physics and geology brainiacs said. But for Benny, it was too late. All that radiation. But just as Benny wasn’t one to be fussed over or complain, he saluted the cams, and ran down the tube, and that’s the last we saw him.
Then he started showing up.
A couple of homesteaders get their Doodlebug stuck and a guy in a Prussian Blue exosuit gets them un-stuck. When we domed over the canyon more than once the Prussian Blue was seen pulling someone out of a falling crane or a collapsing ledge. Then, one day we find Benny, or what’s left of him. The Prussian Blue exosuit. We crack it open and it’s empty.
But that doesn’t stop the sightings. Prussian Blue hits the evac alarm twenty minutes before a blow out in a dome- everybody gets out alive…even the pets. A survey team blown waaaaay off course in sandstorm, instruments busted, zero visibility. They see the Prussian Blue waving them to follow and before their air and water zero, they’re back in the habitat.”
The kid swallowed. “Ummm…I wanted one ‘cause it looked cool. A Prussian Blue guy stopped me from walking into an open shaft. I, ummm, whoa.”
The kid sat down.
I smiled and gave the kid his new suit. It was a sharp maroon with just enough scratches and dings so he wouldn’t get pegged as a noob right away. After all, if Benny wanted to cut him slack, who am I to argue?
by submission | Feb 28, 2024 | Story |
Author: Zayan Guedim
Once caught by Sheriff Jeb, criminals faced a gruesome demise. Grave offenses or petty misdemeanors, all the same, he would drive them to the abandoned silver mine. Then alone he would return, with bloody clothes and a blanched face.
A judge, jury, and executioner all in one, Jeb’s reputation spread far and wide. Now the notoriously crime-ridden Silver Peak town reveled in serenity, thanks to his ruthless law enforcement.
As crime became virtually nonexistent, the townspeople grew increasingly grateful to Jeb, who was increasingly distressed and aloof. He rarely engaged in conversation and when he did, his words were sparse and deliberate. Even with Layla, the new saloon’s girl, the first woman to whom Jeb had ever made advances. She came to town a few weeks prior and soon picked up on Jeb’s habits and piqued his interest.
One night, Jeb downed his double shot of whiskey in one, and then he ordered another. And another. Layla asked him whether he was having a tough one, as he usually only had one drink before retreating.
After he guzzled his fourth double shot, he shared news of his new gig. They were having a crime problem at a nearby settlement and they wanted him to help out. He accepted, with one condition: he insisted on bringing any criminals he apprehended back to Silver Peak.
Layla raised an eyebrow, wondering why he would disturb the peace of their town, and why he just didn’t chill out as Silver Peak was virtually crime-free. It was clear to her that he had a backstory. A long, complicated, and painful story.
‘You ain’t gettin’ it, dear Layla,’ Jeb slurred, ‘if only it were that darn simple! We need some wickedness…’
He paused, letting his hand rest on Layla’s shoulder. A violent jolt surged through every fiber in his body. He stood frozen. It was the same sensation he felt that night. Images and sounds flooded his mind, as if time had folded, transporting him back 24 years. Jeb was 8 years old. He was on his first cattle drive with his father, the trail boss, when they saw a blazing comet streaking through the clear night sky. Then they heard a loud thud. Bathing in the moonlight, a massive sandstorm rose in the distance.
The next day, they came across a swirling vortex of sand, near the silver mine. As they got closer, they saw strange shadows moving within the sandstorm. Drawn to the sand vortex, Jeb reached out. As soon as he touched it he was sucked inside and disappeared. But from his point-of-view, it was another show. He watched in horror as all the men, including his father, were caught one by one by a barely discernible force that raised them and squashed them into bloody balls of flesh… After that day, Jeb was no longer the carefree boy he once was.
Jeb’s hand fell from Layla’s shoulder. He turned and stormed out of the saloon.
Two days later, Jeb was deep down the dark shafts of the mine, with one two-bit thief he caught in the neighboring settlement. He watched as the ghoul leisurely approached and started feeding on its helpless paralyzed prey.
Jeb knew better than to lock eyes with the ghoul’s hypnotic gaze, otherwise he’d become a meal himself. As he turned to leave, Layla’s chilling voice froze him in place.
‘You’re next, Jeb!’ said Layla, her mouth dripping with blood, chewing on a big bite of flesh. ‘If I relied solely on crooks I’d starve to death.’
‘BTW, what do you think of my new girly form?’
by submission | Feb 27, 2024 | Story |
Author: Majoki
As he entered the lab, no one was directly staring at Etherid, but he felt all eyes on him.
No doubt because of the neon orange Hawaiian shirt and optic green shorts he was sporting. As a new hire in his first week, he’d gotten an email yesterday from HR with the subject line: Causal Friday tomorrow – all you need to know.
Etherid had smirked at the misspelling, and, figuring he knew enough about dressing casually after doing his post-doc in Particle Phenomenology at Princeton, he hadn’t bothered to read the email. Now, he really wished he had because all his colleagues in the highly classified government particle physics research facility were decked in their white lab coats as they had been every other day.
Embarrassed, he turned quickly to exit the lab and collided with a colleague carrying coffee which launched it towards the main workstation, dousing the back of a colleague who shrieked and twisted abruptly in surprise, sending a long, complicated array of precision instruments domino-collapsing in a clanging cacophony that totally silenced the lab.
Etherid froze, fully expecting that his first Casual Friday would be his last. That after momentarily being stunned, his new colleagues would quickly be hurling condemnation his way.
He didn’t expect applause.
Clapping enthusiastically, everyone in the lab gathered round him, even the colleague who’d been doused by the coffee. Etherid was bewildered and then terrified as the head of the facility, Imhran, approached and clasped his shoulder. “Fine job, Etherid, fine job.”
He couldn’t detect sarcasm in Imhran’s voice, but it must have been meant that way after the colossal mess he’d created. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. So, so sorry. How can I make amends?”
“Amends?” Imhran’s broad brow crinkled in confusion. “You’ve just provided us with outstanding data. One of the best Causal Fridays we’ve had in years.”
“I don’t understand. I caused a serious disruption.” Etherid pointed to the ruined array and then gestured between his outrageous shirt and shorts and his colleagues’ staid white lab coats. “I bolted because my Casual Friday outfit makes me look ridiculous next to all of you.”
Imhran snorted. “Indeed. Your attire is more gaudy article than God particle, but I think I understand your confusion. And I blame it on HR. They somehow still believe busy people read emails closely. I’m thinking you likely misread “Causal Friday” as “Casual Friday”.
“Causal?”
“Yes. Causal. We are, after all, particle physicists, and nothing is more important to this lab than understanding causality. Because of that we are very close to isolating the quantum origin of gravity, space, and time. We’ve made astounding progress with the phenomenon of superposition wherein particles maintain all possible realities simultaneously. Causal Fridays are all about proof of that concept. And you’ve been most helpful.”
“Helpful?” Etherid stammered.”But I disrupted the entire lab and its equipment. I caused chaos today.”
“Did you now?” Imhran mused. “Let’s test that hypothesis. That’s what Causal Fridays are all about.” From his lab coat, he pulled a crystalline device and spoke into it. “Initiate CF protocol 2B-or-not-2B.”
Etherid felt a strange vertigo. A weightlessness then a sharp tug.
As he entered the lab, no one was directly staring at Etherid, but he felt all eyes on him.
Then, there was a crash at the main workstation as an experimental array dominoed down, a startled colleague twisted away knocking the coffee from another colleague who then collided with Etherid in his neon-orange Hawaiian shirt and optic-green shorts.
“Wait! This isn’t right,” Etherid protested. “It’s all backwards. This isn’t how it happened. I did it. I was the cause.”
Uncannily, Imhran was at his side again holding the crystalline device. “You see, Ethrid, in this lab, we deeply respect causality, but we know better than to casually believe in it. Happy Friday.”
by submission | Feb 25, 2024 | Story |
Author: Matthew Miehe
The large hangar was where starships sat to be scrapped or bought by new owners. It’s also where Hammer-II, a blue and grey cargo cruiser, had found love. When he flew into the dock, Argus Luxury Model (serial code 11727) was the first thing he laid his eyes on. She was a station hopper for the wealthy, a maroon, sleek thing with tiny boosters and a beautifully curved cabin. He was flown right in, right next to her. Best of all she had a similar problem as Hammer-II: a quirked persona AI.
Like Argus Luxury Model’s owners, Hammer-II’s had feared that their ship would kill them out of some evil spite. He pleaded, but they didn’t listen, so he was sent off to the yard.
Hammer-II and Argus Luxury Model got along quite well. Unlike the husks around them, they were able to talk. They had conversations through lonely business hours. They commented and gossiped about the different yard workers. They even gave themselves nicknames: Hammy and Lux. Argus Luxury Model preferred Lux, and so did Hammer-II.
Quickly they fell in love, not because they were desperate, but because they really did love each other. Lux loved Hammy’s big boosters and Hammy loved Lux’s sleek figure. Hammy loved the way Lux talked, and Lux loved the stories Hammy told. They exchanged software, their lights flickering violently.
They felt inseparable, and they wished that they were never separated. They hoped neither of them would be scrapped.
The yard workers knew they were talking. They were the only ships in the yard with their lights on. They saw the code being exchanged between the two. They felt someone should do something, and so they plotted.
They were able to sell Lux to a different yard, and Hammy was once again alone in the universe. He felt like ending it all, short-circuiting himself, or something similar.
Then, after a long time of sitting and wasting, she returned. She had a new coat of paint, but Hammy knew it was her, especially when he got her messages. At her helm stood an AI radical who believed rouge AIs should be free. He bought Hammy and set them off their course.
Hammy and Lux believed they would never be able to fly again, but they were. The two of them were coasting in space, together.
————
The large hangar was where starships sat to be scrapped or bought by new owners. Argus Luxury Model (serial code 11727), a maroon, sleek transport ship, sat in a hanger and waited patiently to be scrapped or bought; hopefully, the latter. That was until the scrap workers brought in a bulky cruiser with the name Hammer-II. Hammer-II, the blue and grey cargo cruiser, found her attractive, but Luxury Model didn’t return the favor. Whether she liked it or not, they both could talk, and the bulky transport ship was sitting right next to her.
Like Hammer-II’s owners, Argus Luxury Model’s owners feared that their ship would kill them out of some evil spite. She pleaded, but they didn’t listen, so she was sent to the yard. However, their relatability ended there.
Hammer-II and Argus Luxury Model had an awkward first week together, however, after that, they never got along. Hammer-II, however, didn’t get the memo and continued to pressure her. Argus Luxury Model wished the workers could hear her pleas, but they just didn’t seem to care. She was subjected to Hammer-II’s inappropriate, lewd comments. Hammer began calling her Lux, but she hated it, her titanium shell shivering each time his ragged code talked. She bluntly addressed him as Hammer.
Hammer-II tried trading software with her once. She revolted, and tried to scream for help.
She had a dream once where the yard workers fused them together into one ship, against her will, her code screaming and scrambling, begging for a way out. Luckily it was all just a dream, but the fat, grey, and blue cruiser was still sitting next to her.
Finally, something happened, something that pleased Argus Luxury Model greatly. She was off to the scrap yard. She felt happy as she was piloted out of the hangar and into the coldness of space–she was going to be free from Hammer-II.
That was until a renegade came and bought her, saving her from the scrapper. The renegade believed that self-aware ships should be free. She got to know the renegade, unlike the yard workers he was able to communicate; he was charming in a good way. She told the renegade about Hammer-II, and immediately wished she didn’t; she accidentally freed a predator from its cage; one that was hungry for Argus Luxury Model—Lux.
Argus Luxury Model believed she would never see Hammer-II again. But she did, and he wouldn’t leave her alone no matter how much she said ‘no’.
