by submission | Aug 4, 2006 | Story
Author : Gabrielle Kinsman
The transport completed its descent and settled onto the ground. The landing gear clamped to the landing pad, like a bug latching onto a leaf. The hatch opened and people started filing out almost before it touched ground. There were scores of people; many of them were specialists, workers for the newly-terraformed planet Arian. Another large portion were business men; both rich and poor, looking to start anew or create another branch to their prospering business. But the bulk of the people were ordinary folk, settlers who had volunteered (or been volunteered) to populate the new colony.
Samantha Headford was among the ordinary colonists. Her swollen belly differentiated her from the other passengers; she was just under the maximum length pregnancy allowed on the trip, and well over the recommended length. She had been worried, but she couldn’t stay where she had been before. She wasn’t safe there, and neither was the baby.
The baby’s father walked next to her, gripping her hand. Grant was three inches taller than her, had the same sandy blond hair as she, and was currently suffering from a broken nose. It would heal up in a day or two — they couldn’t afford the treatment that would heal it within hours — but in the meantime he wore an unsightly bandage over the middle of his face.
She stood off to the side and waited for him while he retrieved information on their assigned living quarters. Mothers with their children gave her knowing smiles when they passed by; she smiled back, a little wary, but happy. None of these people knew who she was. All they saw was a pregnant woman waiting for her husband.
One overly friendly woman walked up to her and smiled at the little package. “Oh, how far along are you, dearie?”
“Uh, five months,” Sam said.
“Ooh, he’s coming along soon, isn’t he?” The woman grinned at her.
“She,” Sam said, her smile growing.
“Oh, pardon. Hard to tell from out here, you know.”
Sam laughed. “Do you have any of your own?”
“Ah, yes, but they’re all grown up.” Sam noticed the gray strands in the woman’s hair. “Angry at me for adventuring out into the great black unknown again, likely. Oh, pardon, I’ve forgotten all about my manners. Name’s Haley.” She offered her hand; Sam shook it.
“Such a pretty name. Do you know where you’ll be staying?”
“Thank you. Um, not yet, my, the baby’s father is finding out right now.” Sam gestured towards where Grant was staring at a screen.
“Ah, I see.” Haley winked at her. “You ever need any help with that little one, you let me know. I have a bit of experience under my belt, raising little ones in far off places.”
“I will, thank you.” The women smiled at each other, and Haley left her alone.
Grant returned, grinning, took her hand and led her away.
“We’re on the east side,” he told her. “The sun rises in the east here, just like on Earth. You’re going to love the view.”
The walk wasn’t very long, but it seemed much longer to her tired body. At the moment she didn’t much care about the view; she was more interested in the bed, and how much sleeping she would get done in it.
Her ambivalence remained until they were in the living room, and Grant hit a button next to the opaque windows, making them clear. She’d never realized that people meant the word ‘breathtaking’ literally; for a moment she really did forget how to breathe.
“See? Told you.” He grinned at her, like a boy at Christmas. “It’s as beautiful as you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop.”
He came up and hugged her from the side. “We’re going to be okay here.” He put his hand over her belly. “We’ll be safe.”
She leaned into him and smiled. “Yes.” She put her hand over her brother’s and said, “No one knows who we are.”
by submission | Aug 3, 2006 | Story
Author : Michael “Freeman” Herbaugh
â€œThis skull has been carbon dated at being 3 million years old. Yet, clearly it is the skull of a 20th century homo-sapiens. Youâ€™ve been trained for the last five years because of the discovery of THIS skull.â€
Cartwright listened to the director of The Program as he spoke solemnly. The skull had indeed been found five years later at an archeological site in Brazil. It took quite a bit of doing but the US government had managed to keep it relatively quiet. Because of the skull, they learned that time travel was indeed possible, at least into the past. Someone had done it, though it cost his or her life. The US was determined to be the ones to discover the secret and launched â€œThe Programâ€.
Assembled here was Cartwrightâ€™s team, being let in for the first time on the biggest secret known to man. They had known they were being trained for a trip that was far from ordinary but had no idea until today just how far they would have to go. The three women and two men would be the first to use the monstrous time machine that had been assembled to send them back three million years.
As the director finished explaining the discovery and motivation of the US government to the team, Cartwright could see the shock and realization come over their faces. By the time the briefing was done, he would swear Summerâ€™s face had an expression of pure joy on it, juxtaposed with Leonâ€™s look of solemn fear.
â€œThatâ€™s all, people,â€ finished the director. â€œYou launch in 48 hours. Cartwright, as team leader I need you to stay behind for a final briefing. The rest of you dismissed. Enjoy your day of leave, then back here.â€
As Cartwright settled into a chair opposite the directorâ€™s desk, the director’s tone changed, becoming soft. â€œThere is one last objective for this mission, which is why a soldier like you was chosen to lead it,â€ he said. â€œThis is not easy to say nor will it be easy for you to carry out. The scientists studying the skull have finally matched dental records as of last year. The teamâ€™s botanist, Gloria Hartigan–this skull is hers.â€
The director took a pistol from his desk. â€œMake sure she doesnâ€™t come back.â€
by submission | Aug 2, 2006 | Story
Author : S.Clough
You’ve heard of the Unequivocal, right?
Okay, then. I’ll assume you’ve been living under a rock since before you were born. The Unequivocal was the very first flagship of the Earth fleet. One of the early-pattern destroyers: It was lost in its fourth year of service, holding off a half-dozen Beamer ships by itself, buying time for a freighter convoy to get through from Deimos to Earth.
Now when I say ‘lost’, I don’t mean destroyed. I mean lost. There’s no real evidence as to what happened to it, but everybody thought that it was destroyed.
The Beamers signed the treaty, and everyone forgot about the Unequivocal. When Free Celestia declared their tax war, and Earth was forced to defend itself again… the Unequivocal showed up. A freight-courier was blasting the run from Eros, and an entire Celestia wolfpack was right there waiting. Now, freight-couriers are hardly defenceless, but even an ECS variant armed to the teeth would have issues with such a wolfpack; a merchant navy variant had no chance.
They’d lost shields, and most of their weapons when the Unequivocal blindsided the wolfpack. It was a real laser show â€“ big weapons: old thermonukes, hard beams, Wraitii caps, and some other stuff even Earth Central can’t identify. The Celestians were wiped out, and the Freight-Courier limped home. Its sensor arrays had been badly damaged, but it had recorded the battle in high enough quality to confirm that the only known ship which matched that hull configuration was the Unequivocal. Of course, it could just be an old destroyer, modified over time to resemble the old flagship. But spacers, being spacers, would prefer for their saviour to be a revenant from the past rather than a modern-day phenomenon.
Now, the rumour goes that in that fight near Deimos, the Unequivocal was hit by a Beamer secret weapon, and something odd happened â€“ isolated spacetime bubbles and transference are the popular theories. To be honest, I don’t care. I don’t know if it is that same ship that disappeared all those years ago, but I know pilots and captains which owe their lives to it. It never communicates anything, never stops, and has no known base. It just appears, fights, (most often against overwhelming odds), and leaves. Untraceable.
Every Earther who strays beyond their homeworld’s ecliptic has hope now. If everything turns against them, the Unequivocal might show. They’re not scared to face up to those who would deny them the system.
And that, my friend, is why I believe the stories.
by Stephen R. Smith | Aug 1, 2006 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
“Man – this is awesome!” John was in a state of constant verbal barrage, his voice unnaturally loud above the diner chatter as he overcompensated for the music playing in his head. “I’m telling you, these Koreans know how to make implants.”
Scott sat across the table, sucking absently at a milkshake and visibly not sharing his friend’s enthusiasm. Lenny was still in line at the counter, which left Scott as the unwilling sole recipient of John’s manic discourse.
“I’m listening to the new Chilies – it’s not even out here, and I’ve just downloaded it right into my head” John was still in the honeymoon phase with his new cerebral implant, a Korean unit he’d bought from a friend of a friend and had implanted that morning. He hadn’t shut up about it since. “Hang on – I’m going to message Josie and see if she wants to meet us. She was on the mmorpg a few minutes ago – I’m sure she’s still online. This is so cool – I’m mmorpging, messaging and jackin’ tunes all at the same time. Your AmCo. ‘plant’s got nothing on this.”
Scott hit the bottom of his shake with a sudden noisy suck of air, which he continued for a moment for it’s sheer irritation factor. When it was obvious it wasn’t having the desired effect, he gave up and pushed it aside. Leaning across the table, he tried to penetrate his friend’s state of distracted euphoria.
“Listen buddy – would you stop yelling – I can hear you – I’m right here. The whole freakin’ diner can hear you, and honestly, you’re not that interesting.”
John continued to wave absently at windows in his field of vision that only he could see, while Scott resisted the urge to slap him, instead slumping back into his seat. “Don’t you think it might have been a good idea to get that thing tested before you had it installed? I mean you can barely hear me – isn’t it a little loud in there?”
John’s waving became more frantic, and his eyes were starting to become unfocused. “Damn – goad_theRedRocket keeps trying to chat with me. I can’t make him stop.”
“Just jam him on your filter list.” Scott was the king of stating the obvious.
“I can’t – the screens are all in Korean. Oh, crap – I opened one – crap, crap, crap – I can’t see – he’s popup bombing me… I’m getting flooded with pink pocket monsters. Not cool at all.” Johns arms flailed wildly about the space in front of his face, his elbows coming dangerously close to upsetting his Coke and fries, which Scott quickly moved to safety. “Now the audio’s screwed – it’s all static – these stupid popups must’ve overrun the buffer… I can’t see a thing, there’s too many windows open – and I can’t get the stupid avatar to switch to English. How the hell am I supposed to…” John’s eyes abruptly glazed over, his face going slack and his arms falling limp first onto the table, and then coming to rest on the bench at his sides.
Lenny picked this as the perfect moment to arrive, slamming his shake on the table and dropping heavily onto the bench beside Scott.
“What’s up with him?” Lenny jerked a thumb towards their limp friend.
“Korean implant. Probably still in beta, he got spammed and it wigged out. He’s in total head crash.” Scott retrieved the now abandoned Coke and began drinking it. “It should reboot in a bit, hopefully. He won’t be too happy if we’ve got to EMP the thing to unfreeze his head.”
“Bummer… that’s why I always buy domestic. Hey, are you going to eat his fries?”
by Kathy Kachelries | Jul 31, 2006 | Story |
The Sears catalogue offers dozens of models of BlogBots, but it claims that its most popular is the X451, used to conduct remote interviews. During an average three years of service, the X451 BlogBot will recite hundreds of questions posted to its forum and transcribe the answers of over 50 interviewees. Some interviewees are celebrities, and some are politicians. Many are general surveys, where the BlogBot is positioned in a public space and repeats the same question to a given number of pedestrians.
Once, the legend goes, a kid asked his favorite siteâ€™s BlogBot to interview another BlogBot, this one belonging to a fiction site, and provided it with a single question: â€œWhy do you do it?â€ A BlogBotâ€™s programming is rudimentary by conventional standards, and itâ€™s considered slightly less intelligent than the average car. When the question was posed to the fiction BlogBot, it nearly crashed, but its adaptive software saved it by processing the question as an incomplete answer rather than an inquiry.
People say science fiction is prophetic, but that isnâ€™t entirely true. Science fiction isnâ€™t about the future. Itâ€™s about the world we live in now, which is constant and constantly changing. The specifics change, from hovercars and ray guns to genetic engineering and cyberspace, but at the center of every science fiction story thereâ€™s something alive, something human. And that never changes.
The first answer was not an answer. The second BlogBot coolly repeated the words it had been given, and the BlogBot conducting the interview lapsed into a similar state. For several minutes, the room was filled with two voices as the BlogBots recited the question over and over. Each repetition was classified as a follow-up question, and in accordance with its programming, nothing could be converted to text until a final answer had been given.
Of course, itâ€™s difficult to come up with ideas sometimes. You get discouraged, or feel like everythingâ€™s been done before. Often, it has. Sometimes the ideas are wonderful, and sometimes theyâ€™re less than wonderful. But you do it anyways, because thatâ€™s what writing is about.
It took the webmaster over an hour to realize that something was wrong, and it took three days to find the missing BlogBots. When they were recovered they were still locked in battle, though their words were now slurred by dying batteries. Not a single word had been converted to text. The question was never answered.
When readers try to thank me for writing, I never understand it. On their own, words are nothing but lead and ink and pixels. Telling a story is a circle: the writer writes, the reader reads, and worlds are created. Iâ€™m constantly thanking my readers. Sometimes, itâ€™s just more obvious than others.
Information about the upcoming year of 365
by J.R. Blackwell | Jul 30, 2006 | Story |
Brody looked at the puppies frolicking in the flower garden and beyond them, to where a professional cuteologist, complete with a lab coat and kitten ears, was giving children rides on a friendly lion. Brody shuddered, shoving his hands into his trench coat. â€œI hate this place.â€
Chinjin punched him lightly in the shoulder. â€œChrist Brody, how can you be cranky in Cute Land?â€
â€œItâ€™s just that everything here has a face. Itâ€™s creepy.â€
Chinjin rolled her eyes. â€œEverything does not have a face.â€
â€œNo, seriously, everything has a face. Look, the clouds have faces, the rides have faces, even the food has faces. That kid over there is licking an ice-cream cone with a face!â€
â€œAw, I think itâ€™s cute. Look at the way the ice creamâ€™s nose scrunches up when the kid licks it.â€
â€œBaby, he is killing that face, one lick at a time, itâ€™s creepy.â€ Brody waved his arms around â€œThis place is cute porn. Any minute now I will barf glitter.â€
Chinjin turned away from him. Brody saw her wipe at her face with her hands.
Brody sighed. â€œIâ€™m sorry babe. I didnâ€™t mean -â€ He reached for her, but she pulled away.
â€œIâ€™m fine.â€ She said, looking down at the rubber rainbow floor.
â€œBaby, youâ€™re not fine, and Iâ€™m sorry.â€ He reached for her again, and she hugged him, pressing her cheek on his sloping shoulder. â€œI know you arranged this vacation for me and I really appreciate it. Cute Land just isnâ€™t my thing. Iâ€™m sure we can find someplace in the Pleasure Dome to have a good time.â€ He looked up at a candy signpost, which was whistling merrily. â€œLook, that way is Gremlin Town; I bet we could have a lot of fun in Gremlin Town.â€
Chinjin put her arms around his neck.â€œYeah?â€
â€œYeah, and then later, maybe we can go down to the Love Lagoon.â€ He tickled her waist and she giggled. â€œAll the animatronics there are fully functional, and no kids allowed.â€
Chinjin grinned. â€œNow that does sound like fun.â€
He squeezed her waist. â€œOff to Gremlin Town we go.â€
The signpost winked.