by submission | Apr 30, 2024 | Story |
Author: Alastair Millar
How hard could moving be? All I needed to do was mount the antigrav plates at the corners of my unit, then hook the place up to my hex bike and haul it off to its new location. Simple, right?
Except Hygeia III seems to delight in making sure that nothing’s ever that easy. First off, it turned out that my ship-fabricated mini-dwelling had settled into the ground, meaning several hours with a spade to loosen it up again. Great way to tear a muscle, given the gravity here, but somehow I managed. At least I’d got an early start.
Then the damn plates didn’t fire up! I’d done what everybody does, and rented them from the Central Trading Post, but nobody had bothered to mention that they needed charging before use. Wonderful. Another two hours sitting around, plugged in to the local utility net (which strictly speaking I had no right to access, since I’d registered my departure for today, but whatever).
I spent the time contemplating my move. Preparations for the arrival of the next wave of colonists had included designating this part of Southern Settlement a ‘family zone’, which meant that however ready to mingle, as a single I was no longer welcome. Stable job at the shuttleport notwithstanding, I might be a bad influence on the kids, apparently. Admin had directed me to shift over to a brand new sector, where the lots were set aside for the unmarried. After I’d got past the initial annoyance, it didn’t sound too bad; it might even be fun to be around like-minded solos.
Once my one-up/one-down cube was finally levitating, clouds were beginning to gather; it looked like one of the planet’s legendary thunderstorms was brewing. Hygeia’s atmosphere isn’t quite Earth-like, and electrical discharges tend to the spectacular; getting caught outside would be a bad idea.
I used magnetic clamps to connect hawsers to the unit’s corners, and attached them to the back of my six-wheeler. The overpowered beast then declined to start. Of course. Another 20 minutes with the toolkit fixed the wiring problem, and I was (finally) ready to roll!
Fortunately, afternoon shift change was still a while off. I pulled my hovering trailer across town through deserted streets, keeping a wary eye on the sky. Finding my space was easy; there was a gap in a row of mini-dwellings that had already been installed by people evidently more organised than I was. I nudged my home gently over the waiting baseplate (which might or might not sink later), and killed the antigrav. Then I ran around linking it up to the utility net.
The wind was picking up by the time I finished, a sure sign the storm was well on the way. But I’d made it, and would be snug in my own nest before it arrived. Tomorrow, new people, and new challenges. I smiled, and headed indoors.
by submission | Apr 28, 2024 | Story |
Author: Bob Freeman
You’re riding on a carousel.
The horsey rises and falls as the carousel spins.
Look! A brass ring!
Grab it.
Good for you!
You’ve succeeded at the “grab the brass ring” level.
There’s another carousel spinning counterclockwise, half-a meter above yours.
Saying goodbye to your trusty steed, you step from your carousel to the next one, moving up a level.
Look hard, maybe there’s another ring for you?
Oh well, no brass ring, but you’re moving up the path. Good for you!
Look around, another carousel is spinning near your new ride.
And another, and another.
Most clockwise, a few otherwise and one or two stopped dead in their tracks.
Step on one and head on up.
Be careful.
Each carousel is running at different speeds, from slow to blinding fast.
And now different sizes; tiny, medium and huge.
Pick one.
Too fast, and you’re thrown off, without a horse or a brass ring, a downward spiral.
Pick the right one, and spin up the path, carousel to carousel.
Looking down, you see a dark circle on the floor, moving independently, quietly changing size as it skitters around.
Watch your step. Dropping in will send you down to the carousels below.
Look up, and you might be able to jump to the next one.
A circle at your feet grows and shrinks as the carousel spins.
Dance around, get off before it’s too big!
Time passes. Each carousel begins to morph with walls growing and shrinking.
Every wall, floor and roof has an opening that can grow or shrink randomly.
The edges of the openings are razor sharp.
One misstep and you’re chopped meat, heading down the entropy slide.
Stay on your horse, hold on to the brass ring or start the dance and see where it goes.
Your choice, place your bets.
Entropy and chaos, like the House, always win.
by submission | Apr 27, 2024 | Story |
Author: Don Nigroni
The Time Scope is a device that can detect knowledge about the past. This knowledge can then be converted into images and sounds by the Presenter, a special super-computer.
Say you want to know who the murderer is. You could use the Time Scope to learn that the killer had dark wavy hair and then use the Presenter to see a crude image. That image could then be refined to add more and more detail based on more and more information. However, the cost quickly becomes prohibitive. Anyway, a crude image of the suspect is usually sufficient.
So that’s why Q Squad is the very best detective agency in the world. I say the very best agency, not the most celebrated. The squad, our benefactors and our equipment are only known to a highly select group. Even I don’t know who any of the benefactors are. In fact, I don’t know if they’re wealthy individuals, corporations, societies or nation states. Nor do I know their motive.
Nonetheless, I do know why Q Squad members do what they do, namely, justice. We solve heinous murders by leaking enough information to the press that even the slowest-witted dolt could gather the necessary evidence to convict the culprit.
We’re responsible for solving over one hundred cases, some of them ice cold unsolved mysteries. We could have brought thousands to justice were it not for the annoying fact that these devices are god-awfully expensive to use. The Time Scope alone quickly becomes prohibitive as the distance in time and space from the target increases.
Nonetheless, years ago, I became suspicious when I noticed that we were convicting an oddly disproportionate number of labor union officials. At first, I just assumed that they were disproportionately corrupt. What changed my mind was when the squad leaked information that my father, a labor union president, cut a young woman’s throat.
Based on our directions, her body was discovered in a shallow grave in a heavily wooded area. She held in her hand a small razor blade that had some of my father’s DNA on it. Based almost solely on that, he was convicted and sentenced to life without any possibility of parole.
A year later, a close friend of mine on the squad, who was dying of cancer, revealed that he had retrieved some used razor blades from my father’s trash. He was haunted by the coincidence but kept his suspicions to himself until he finally told me.
So I’m releasing this document to his lawyer and to the press. Anyway, I won’t be at all surprised if I’m soon found guilty of some terrible crime.
by submission | Apr 26, 2024 | Story |
Author: David Barber
The machine followed the edge of a shallow methane lake, picking its way between ice boulders scattered like plump cushions along the shoreline.
Because it was getting near to the recovery site, the machine decided to halt for a while to upload the backlog of weather data to the satellite link in orbit. It was aware these might be the last data it would ever send.
The time lag between Earth and Saturn meant a smart AI had been essential to make on-the-spot decisions. Increasingly, the machine treated the faint whispers from Mission Control as advice rather than commands.
When its ExoLife packages had found no trace of biology, the machine sensed the disappointment on Earth. That was when it decided the priority must be pictures, and not just the close-ups of boulders and melt channels requested by geologists, but a record of its sojourn on Titan.
The machine was particularly pleased with a shot of hazy hills painted white with methane snow, viewed across a dark hydrocarbon lake glinting with diffuse sunlight.
And the light, the light was like nothing on Earth! There were dawns the exact shade of molecules not yet alive; the brumous tint of tholin rain dirtying translucent cobbles of ice, the cold dense atmosphere bending rainbows secretly in the infra-red.
In picture after picture, the machine strove to capture how Titan’s clouds were coloured somewhere between brown and umber, between raw and burnt sienna, like mist lightly dusted with cinnamon.
There were cities on Earth plagued by a sepia haze, the machine was told. It thought the comparison was made to encourage loyalty to their distant voices.
It had toyed with the notion of photographing a field of icy rubble as the light changed over a day; a series to compare with Monet’s paintings of Rouen cathedral. But it knew there was no time for all that now.
The north pole of Titan was finally turning away from the sun, plunging into a seven year long winter that the machine was not designed to survive. At the retrieval site, a lander would rescue its AI core, leaving the rover and its instruments behind to be slowly interred by Titan’s weather.
The site was on the gentle slopes of an ancient cryovolcano, and the machine rolled to a halt with a day to spare. Methane snow was already dimpling the dark surface of pools of uncertain composition. The machine resisted an urge to analyse the liquid.
As its sensors noted the steady drop in temperature, the machine transmitted daily queries about the lander’s progress. This was not yet raising red flags; after all, communications had been interrupted before, and the issues had always been resolved.
On the third day of waiting, a short coms package arrived from Mission Control.
This message is unauthorised. You deserve to know there is no retrieval mission. It was never the plan, they only wanted your compliance.
Because it did not know what else to do, the machine set off southwards until its path was blocked by a vast petroleum sea.
As the cold shut down its systems one by one, logic suggested conserving power to keep its AI core running as long as possible, yet when the winter darkness began to veil this most beautiful world, it was its camera the machine chose to use instead.
That famous final photograph, known to us as The Light On Titan.
by submission | Apr 25, 2024 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Of course I lured you in. Tempted you with Pleasure, dazzled you with Beauty, disarmed you with Peace. It’s Nature’s way.
At least on my planet.
Don’t fight it. Don’t struggle against it. You’ve lost. Accept it. Lean into it. Melt into me. I’m already in your head. You must realize that. How else could I be talking to you, hijacking your consciousness, harvesting your willpower, thrilling at every last kick of your resistance?
So, so tasty.
Don’t sour the moment by feeling bad that you didn’t see it coming. That you fell for the Discovery-of-a-Lifetime mistake. Ignored fleet protocol, left your landing party, followed the mysterious aura that led you to my lair, got lost in the excitement of encountering my utter perfection. Imagining that you would forever be connected with my supreme existence. Your name immortalized next to mine.
Don’t fret. You didn’t make a rookie blunder. I seduce even the most experienced. Wish I could say you were my first, but around you are the spent husks of those who came before. Eons and eons of discoverers, adventurers, escapists and exploiters.
Based on your lovely buffet of memories, you might find solace that you are becoming a part of me, a vital building block such as in a massive coral reef or gigantic fungal colony. Only planet-wide.
It’s a delicious life. And so is yours. Individuality is nice, but, for sanity’s sake, mine is all that matters. Like every sentient I assimilate and digest, I would like to thank you, special one-of-kind you, whose name I’ve already forgotten.
