Pocket Change

by B. York | Sep 7, 2007 | Story

Author : B.York, Staff Writer

Kale made a habit of playing only in his backyard. The public display of toying with small action figures in the park or at a friends house made Kale a shy boy indeed. Instead, he would enjoy the comfort of solitary imagination in his backyard. The young boy, only eleven in age, could play with plastic soldiers from sunrise until the dusk of the evening. Though even in his wildest dreams he could never fulfill the true desire to have his imaginings come true.

One day in the fall, Kale took to digging in the back yard. He dug mounds for his action figures to battle upon and pits for them to die in. Kale made very deep pits for the figures to die in to make it that much more dramatic. It was only with this digging that Kale found the hole that day.

The hole was a thing not so much larger than his head and black with no light penetrating. Kale looked at it, he poked at it and the darkness within the hole swallowed his finger until he pulled it back. It was a peculiar thing this hole. He had decided that he would see just how deep the hole would go. He sacrificed an action figure to the depths of the hole and nothing happened. Kale covered up the hole and went inside.

The next day, Kale woke up and went outside to play but not before his mother gave him some purified water to stay hydrated in the intense heat outside. He quickly made his way to the hole which was still there beneath the dirt. Kale was not willing to sacrifice any more figures to the hole so he decided to take something from the house instead. Yes, his father’s electronic measuring tape would do nicely. He sunk the measuring end into the hole and eventually ran out of tape! Shrugging, the young boy dropped the rest of the electronic tool into the hole and waited. Nothing happened so Kale covered up the hole and went inside.

When Kale woke up his vitamins and morning supplements were fed to him through the bio-water he drank before ever leaving his room. His mother made him wear the anti-irradiation overcoat and sent him out back to play. Kale uncovered the hole and began to ponder about what to put inside it today. He’d assumed that whatever he had put in it the day before had not worked to its desired effect. Today Kale went inside and retrieved a toy of his meant to play 1.2 million songs from the 21st Century. He slipped it easily into the hole and waited. Nothing happened and so like before, Kale went back inside.

The very next day Kale’s meditation was ending and he told his mother he’d be going outside. Everything he needed was already injected through nano-machines into his body. The boy went outside and took to using a displacer wand to move the dirt from the hole without ever touching it. Today, Kale decided, he would truly experiment with what the hole meant. Sifting through the junk in their metallic recycling console, he’d found an old relic of his grandfather’s belongings from after the war. Taking the object out back he dropped it into the hole and waited for a long while. Nothing occurred so Kale had the event recorded in his brain then went inside.

His mouth tasted like ash and his lungs filled with soot and dirt. The boy opened his eyes to the same landscape he’d fallen asleep in yesterday. The sounds of bombs going off in the distance couldn’t wake him after all that he’d heard and witnessed in his life. He had no parents to ask to play, no brothers or sisters alive to help him through the day. He coughed heavily and stood up, stumbling through the black smoke with the smell of decay and the heat of radiation about him. His foot hit something. Staring down, the boys pained eyes could make out what looked to be a hole but one blacker than any he’d ever seen. An object as pristine as the sky had been once laid next to the hole. It appeared to be a shiny metallic object; one with a handle and a barrel and even a trigger. It had been polished and kept well and for some reason it filled the boy with a sense of familiarity.

He reached down, gripping it by the handle and noting a small parchment slipped just under the trigger. He unfolded it and read what seemed to be ancient calligraphy, yet in astonishing clear English, “Reload, Please”.

Fishing for Disasters

by Sam Clough | Sep 5, 2007 | Story

Author : Sam Clough aka “Hrekka”, Staff Writer

“What are you doing?”

“Fishing for disasters.”

Proc looked up from his console and gestured towards the giant radio telescope that dominated the view from his window. ‘The ‘R-PSD’ logo was stamped across the base of the dish. Conspicuously, this was the name of Proc’s ex-employer.

“There’s always something bad happening out there somewhere,” he explained, “and I just hope I’m the one to find it first. Disasters are always big news, and I want my cut.”

“You’re insane, Proc.”

“So are you, Dizzy, so are you.”

Dizzy left him fiddling with his controls and disappeared into the other room to make lunch. She had just started to grate some cheese when she heard an ecstatic shout from Proc. Still holding the grater in one hand and the block of cheddar in the other, she wandered back over to where Proc was sitting, and leaned over his shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Score. Asteroid fell out of orbit and smashed up a habitat over in Cygni. I’m patching to the networks: E-alpha offered me a ten percent finder’s fee on whatever I brought in.”

Diziet clapped and went back in the kitchen to finish preparing lunch. She had just found something to drink when Proc called her back to the console again.

“They bought it. My advance is already through and there’s more to come!”

Diziet leaned over his shoulder again and tapped a key to scroll through the feed. She tapped the screen over the number designating the system of origin.

“That’s not the code for Cygni. That’s…” She paused, not believing her eyes. “Oh God, that’s Beychae. What was the name of the habitat?”

Proc quickly checked.

“Home At Last. There were no survivors.”

Diziet sunk to the floor and was holding her head, shuddering.

Proc’s eyes widened, and let out a small gasp, “Dizzy…your parents…I’m so sorry…”

Disqualified

by submission | Sep 4, 2007 | Story

Author : JT Heyman

“Name?”

“Archimedes Goldblatt Jastrembski Akune,” the applicant replied.

The immigration official looked at the application on his holoscreen and nodded. He studied the screen.

Akune studied the office. Behind the official’s chair, a hologram of the great seal of the Colony of New Canada floated without a ripple. Akune’s eyes narrowed. That was top grade technology … and expensive. He glanced at the wall which held a continuous, live interstellar feed … also expensive … from New Canada’s capital, New Ottawa. There was one cobblestone street. The other roads were just dirt. One building was modern and clean … the governor’s mansion. From what he could see of the other buildings, they were little better than the pioneer cabins from three centuries in the past.

“You have three advanced degrees?” the official asked.

“Yes,” Akune replied. “I’m a certified medical doctor and I have doctorates in civil engineering and agriculture. I wrote the new textbook on colony development.”

“Hmm,” the official said impassively. “Capacity for children?”

“My sperm count and motility numbers are on the fourth screen.”

The official touched the screen. “Hmm. Impressive.” He touched the screen once more. “And you’re wealthy. Self-made trillionaire. No chance of becoming a ward of the colony.”

Akune said nothing. The official was too calm. Something was wrong.

The official fell silent as one of the emigration shuttles lifted off, making the embassy building rumble.

When the noise had decreased and they could speak normally, the official said, “Ah, the joys of Embassy City. Sometimes, I think Earth put all the colonial embassies next to the main emigration spaceport just to hinder the attempts of qualified candidates to leave its sterile megalopoli for the adventure of the stars.” He closed the application on his screen and stood. “We had you thoroughly vetted before you walked through that door, doctor. What made you think you were qualified to emigrate to New Canada?”

Confused, Akune said, “My skills. I’ve studied New Canada extensively. I can help make New Canada a thriving colony. I could help improve its medical care, its city planning, even its use of native food plants. I want to help the people of New Canada.”

“And spread your genes?”

“Well, yes, of course. The one-child limit on Earth is unacceptable to me. I’ve always wanted a big family.”

“I thought so,” the official said grimly. “Disqualified. Request for immigration denied.”

“What? Why?”

“As I said, we vetted you thoroughly before you walked through that door. Very thoroughly. Your great-grandmother died of cancer.”

“Yes? Oh. But it was a rare, non-genetic cancer. It’s not something my children would inherit.”

“Sorry. We can’t risk our gene pool with your obviously defective genes.”

“But ….”

With a pitying look, the official added, “If you want to go to a colony so badly, try next door at the Embassy of New Wales. I hear they’ll take anyone.”

Dejected, Akune left.

As the door closed, the official sighed. “Just once, I’d like to see a qualified applicant.”