by submission | Aug 9, 2008 | Story
Author : Robert Niescier
When the captain sent the message, he wasn’t thinking of the texture of the button his finger had depressed. He didn’t hear the low bass of the shields as they were freely deactivated, allowing missiles long kept at bay to whisper through the fading dust. His eyes were focused forward, towards a screen portraying vessels that did not want to be seen, but he looked only because there was nothing else to look at. He was not thinking about the awe he had felt when the fleet had materialized before his small operation, nor the pit-wrenching horror when the battleships had commenced their bombardment. He wasn’t thinking of the crew that, when presented with two options: to run and hide, or to send a high-powered message and warn their distant home, chose to run. He wasn’t thinking of the cries, the pleas, the threats the crew had made when he had overruled them. He had thought of his wife and his children before, but they were no longer on his mind. He did not pity or champion himself, or wonder if the message would arrive too late, or if the information he had so meticulously selected for transmission would be enough to save his home.
Instead, his mind wandered to an old song he had heard when he was young, a slow, symphonic melody that had moved him to chills but whose name he could never identify. He wished he could have listened to it one last time.
by submission | Aug 8, 2008 | Story
Author : William Tracy
“The commander will see you now.”
King Kôrtof stepped through the doorway. His body was adorned with precious metals and gems, a show of power. Planet Tokonia had little to boast of but its mineral wealth—even as that wealth was rapidly becoming a political liability.
The king stopped in his tracks. The back the commander’s chamber was occupied by a massive aquarium with fishes from Old Earth, a display of wealth greater than the Tokonians could ever hope to match.
The commander stood up and shook hands with the dazed king. “Welcome, welcome.” The two sat down.
“You have a wonderful planet here, King Kôrtof. Your people are happy, your agriculture and mining are prosperous.”
At the left end of the tank, two striped cichlid fishes herded around a cloud of babies.
“However, you have been threatened by the Confederacy of Planets. I want you to know that the Sharkün Empire is here to help you.”
Just below the aquarium’s surface, two massive arowanas cruised silently.
“The Confederation wants to strip you of your powers and force on your people what they call democracy.” The commander let out a short laugh. “Democracy!” He looked the king in the eye. “The Sharkün Empire is like you. We will protect you and we will let you keep your sovereignty.”
At the right end of the tank, two red-throated cichlids squared off. Facing each other, they opened their mouths wide, flared their gill covers, and distended their throats in a ritual display.
“All we want is mining rights, and for our mining companies to operate on your world under our own laws.” He eyed the king. “Unfortunately, your advisors have informed us that many of the prime sites that we are interested in happen to lie underneath your most productive farming regions. Of course, we can easily import more than enough food to feed your people.”
The red-throated cichlids made a sudden motion. They circled in lockstep, each fish chasing the other’s tail.
“These same advisors have also expressed concern that displacing these farms will leave much of your population unemployed. They even suggested that these people would starve because they would be unable to pay for the food imports!” The commander gestured broadly. “If this truly is a problem, our corporations will gladly employ these people in our mines. It may be hard work, but it is honest work.”
The red-throated cichlids suddenly faced each other, and locked jaws. The two animals shook and wrestled, each testing the other’s strength.
The commander smiled kindly at the king. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Yours is a tertiary system, a backwater world. You have always had hostile neighbors, few resources. You couldn’t possibly have defended yourself from the Confederation alone.”
The striped cichlids attacked a tiny yellow fish that had wandered into their territory. It dashed across the aquarium, interrupting the red-throated fishes. They broke off their battle, and one chased the yellow fish away, up toward the surface of the tank.
“We will protect you from the Confederation of Planets. All we want is the mineral rights. You and your people can keep their sovereignty.”
One of the arowanas lunged toward the little yellow fish, which barely darted away alive.
“All you have to do is sign this document.”
The other arowana swerved to intercept the yellow fish, and swallowed it whole.
“Do we have an agreement?”
“Yes…”
The king wasn’t paying attention.
King Kôrtof was watching the fish.
by submission | Aug 6, 2008 | Story
Author : Michael Varian Daly
Roegher was dying, which he did not think a tragedy. Everyone was dying one way or another. He was just dying a bit faster and, as he was The Last True Man, his impending death was ‘special’.
He had actually been ‘dying’ for nearly a century and a half, starting right after The Prohibition when the augmentations that gave him longevity were turned off or dialed back. There had been much beating of breasts and rending of garments over that, but Roegher had not been a part of that nonsense.
He knew that The Time of True Men was over. The Rebellion of The Sons of Hercules had proved that to all but the most die hard Masculinists. He himself had lost a daughter and two grand daughters in that nightmare.
There had been seven centuries of peace before that. Yes, there were violent feuds between Cult Clans, but those were resolved with personal duels or, if need be, by Cavalry Wars; hundreds, sometimes thousands, of Sisters on horseback with sabers and lances upon an open plain.
Once the fighting was done – usually with few killed – both sides held a festival for the dead, sang, danced, got drunk, and had sex together…and the matter was settled.
But the Supermen of Ashkelon, engineered to be Perfect Men by one Cult of well meaning but misguided Sisters, proved to be too Perfect and founded a Masculinist Republic. After a century of conflict, a dozen worlds had been ravaged, Ashkelon was reduced to a slagheap, and the Sons were all dead, along with over twenty million others.
The Grand Council and Assemble of The Sisterhood declared The End of Men, a Prohibition, and no more True Men were to be born. Males in the womb would be allowed come to term, but most were aborted anyway. What was the point?
Some True Men protested or bemoaned their fate. Many simply committed suicide or downloaded into Mandroids.
Not that it mattered all that much. Even before The Prohibition, three quarters of all Full Humans – Mandroids were not counted – were Sisters, a steady trend for centuries. Why bring male children into a Matriarchy?
While all that raged around him, Roegher tended to his garden. The Soil was Mother no matter what sun shone in the sky.
Roegher had laughed at all the Masculine/Feminine ‘balance of energy’ debates. There were thousands of Mandroids for every Sister, all cyborgs based on Y-Chromosome DNA. “That balances out nicely,” he thought.
For a while he had been an advisor on Mandroid psychology and trained many Sisters in that field. He got along well with the simple minded Workers and the idiot savant Harlequins. The Sliders, the Sisterhood’s living starships, unnerved him, their brilliant minds like sharp cold steel. But he lived most his life dirtside, so no matter.
He had however visited Gaea one last time before it was encased in a Temporal Variance Sphere to be healed. That was a cherished event.
Now, as his life wound down to its end, he was content. His four life mates had borne two dozen daughters by him and there were many, many more grand, and great grand, daughters. They came to visit him, some out of love, some out of curiosity. But they were all kind and gentle with him and many would be there when he passed.
Plus The Priestesses of Eriskigal had assured him that his next Reincarnation was as a Sister. All things considered, Roegher knew he had nothing to complain about and planed to go out smiling….as befitted The Last True Man.
by submission | Aug 3, 2008 | Story
Author : S. C. Wells
“Over there. See it?” Tellis’ gaze followed Mark’s pointing finger toward the last planet in the system they were passing through. The surface was invisible, covered entirely by a glowing cloud, deep blue streaked with iridescent greens and yellows and rich, dark purples. The planet had been filled with prosperous mining colonies, before an accident created the cloud, making the world uninhabitable.
“We’ll be a few minutes passing through,” Mark said. “The energy from those clouds totally distorts sub-space here; that’s why we can’t use the hyper-drive.” Mark leaned casually, playfully on the observation deck railing, eyes sparkling. “We’ll be a on our way again soon. Unless…”
“Unless,” Tellis smiled, “the main engines don’t start once we get past.”
“No one knows what’s wrong,” Mark continued, “but then you pick up odd, transmission-like energy signals coming from under the planet’s clouds.”
“They sound like nonsense, of course.”
“Of course. But we go out secretly to investigate anyway, because you are convinced that whatever’s stopping the engines is down there.”
“How do we–?”
Mark cut her off, not wanting to get lost in a technical discussion. “I’ve figured out a way to rig the jump shuttle to get through the clouds. We land on the planet, and find the ruins of an ancient colony. But…”
“…The planet isn’t uninhabited!” Tellis exclaimed. “The descendants of some of the colonists have been living underground, and they have their own society and culture, and their own form of communication transmissions.”
“Which is what you picked up.”
“Right. They want to be left alone, but the colony’s old guidance and landing systems malfunctioned and stopped our ship by accident, and now that we’ve found their underground city, the colonists’ descendants won’t let us leave so that they can keep their existence secret!”
Mark grinned slyly. “And they’ve heard of you and me by picking up Rendothirii transmissions, so they know how capable we are, and they put us under heavy guard. Their leader doesn’t want to kill us, but her advisors tell her that we’re bound to escape, just like we did the last time the Rendothirii captured us.”
“The leader gives the order to kill us, reluctantly, but just before the public execution, a cloud storm of deadly energy strikes without warning, and the city is in jeopardy! It turns out that the advisors knew it was coming, but were keeping it a secret in order to kill the leader and take control of the city during the confusion.”
“But I save the leader just in time, and you—”
“–Stop the city from collapsing by reinforcing it’s molecular structure with my powers.”
“OK… So then the advisors are arrested, and the leader gives us her thanks…”
“…And the people hold a feast in our honor…
“…And after we swear not to tell anyone about them…”
“We turn off the system that’s been holding our engines, and come back to the ship. No one even realizes that we were gone, because your programs kept the computer misdirecting people about our location on board to cover our tracks, so we wouldn’t get in trouble for leaving without permission.”
“And then,” grinned Mark, “the release of the engines allows the ship to continue as if nothing happened.”
Tellis returned his smile, and they stood in silence for a moment, gazing out on the shifting colors of the cloud.
“You know,” announced Tellis, “I don’t miss TV and the internet nearly as much with you around.”
“Same here,” Mark answered, as the main engines revved up for the next leg of the journey.
by submission | Aug 2, 2008 | Story
Author : Trip Venturella
“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.”
-Mohandas Ghandi
Asher was heavy. Not fat, as it was impossible, borderline illegal, to be fat any more (for health safety, of course), but heavy.
He had spent the last two hours at one of the terminals at the Lifestyle Regulation Office. Half of that time was waiting for a terminal to open up. They were at full capacity, as usual.
The screen flickered, “The next field will require PERSONAL INFORMATION, are you sure you wish to proceed? YES/NO”
Asher pressed YES.
“If you wish to make a requisition, please enter your FIRST NAME and MONETARY IDENTIFICATION NUMBER.”
Asher typed ASHER and *******.
“Are you sure you wish to make a requisition involving a monetary transaction? YES/NO”
YES again.
“Thank you for your time. To complete the requisition, please proceed to room fifteen, floor six.”
Asher almost smiled, but two hours at the LRO sapped anyone’s will to smile. He went to the front door, entered his name at the terminal, and the glass door slid open, a tiny ingress into the immense stone bureaucracy of the LRO. A voice warned him to watch his step. His glasses fogged up in the hot, sterile, soap-scented air. Asher blindly stumbled his way to the elevator. When the elevator arrived, a voice warned him to watch his step.
The voice warned him again when he got off at floor six. He entered his name again at the screen outside room fifteen, and when the door opened the voice warned him. Asher mumbled a warning to the voice.
A lady in a blue LRO uniform was seated behind a computer. She smiled at Asher. Like most LRO employees, she had no name tag. As many times as Asher had been to the LRO, he had never seen the same attendant twice.
“Can I help you?” Her voice was gratingly cheery.
Asher re-adjusted his glasses, “I need to requisition three gallons of gasoline.”
The lady examined the computer screen for a moment, “You are Asher?”
“Yes.”
The lady in blue beamed, “Are you sure you want gasoline? It is both explosive and toxic.”
“I’m sure. I need it to drive a 1991 Chrysler New Yorker to Scottsdale.”
“Have you considered hiring a moving service? I can book them for you here.”
“I just need gasoline. A moving service costs four times as much.”
“But it’s much safer.”
Asher was finally frustrated, “I don’t need a moving service when I can drive myself!”
“Please don’t get angry. Anger results in poor decisions. And if you have any complaints, please register them at one of the terminals outside.”
“I won’t complain, but I need the gasoline, please.”
The lady printed out a piece of paper. She handed it to Asher, “Please read and sign this indemnification form.”
Asher signed it.
“Now take it to the Allocation Office on the second floor. They’ll safely fill your requisition. And Asher?”
“Yes?”
“Drive safely and watch what you eat. A free country like ours needs safe, happy, healthy citizens!”
