by submission | Jun 23, 2022 | Story |
Author: Steven French
“They came out of nowhere” is what survivors of battles always say. But it’s true, they did. Somehow the enemy managed to open up warpgates without the usual tell-tale emissions and we barely had time to register their presence, before they were upon us.
Next thing I knew the Abandon Ship siren was ringing in my ears and everyone was scrambling down corridors for the escape pods. At the time it all seemed completely unreal – there were no explosions, no fires or smoke or electrical sparks spraying all over the place, no shudders as the ship came apart. There weren’t even any screams or cries, just the sound of feet pounding the deck, and panting breath. Most people ran towards the multi-person pods and I did too, chasing after the other assistant navigators but at the last moment an ensign dived in before me. As the doors closed I caught a glimpse of one of my friends shrugging and making that ‘Sorry bud!’ face.
So, I grabbed the first single-person escape pod that was free, strapped myself in and punched the ‘eject’ button. Through the view screen I watched the ship recede, at first sighing with relief and then gasping in horror as it blew apart, sending an expanding sphere of debris ripping through the pod swarm. Including the one with all my friends. I guess mine narrowly escaped total destruction by pure chance but still it took a hit that damaged the comms array and wrecked the view facility.
However, with the adjustable deep sleep programme I was able to survive for months. Until the programme was interrupted by the rescue protocols and I was brought back to consciousness. Feeling gravity once more I pressed the ‘Yo! there’s life inside here!’ alert but maybe that was damaged too because there was no response. Comms were still patchy but the translator was working at least and I caught snatches of conversations:
“… good find! This’ll definitely be worth something …”
“ … open up?”
“No. Best to wait.”
“Hey!” I shouted “There’s someone in here.” I pushed the release handle but nothing happened. I tried pounding on the walls but still, nothing.
After a long while, the on-board AI suggested a return to deep sleep and I agreed, to save resources.
Now, I’m conscious once more after the programme was interrupted by some further change in the local environment and again I can hear bits and pieces of an exchange outside.
“ … bid for this damaged but still beautiful piece of tech? Shall we start at 35 thousand?”
Thirty five thousand what? And there’s bidding? What is going on??
“ … fifty thousand? Any advance on fifty thousand for what is surely a much sought-after collectors’ item? Fifty five? Thank you, my friend …”
I’ve tried pounding on the walls again and screaming that I’m alive but it’s made no difference. Now I can hear different voices, close by.
“… open it up? See what’s inside?”
“Are you crazy? It’s worth so much more unopened – a genuine escape pod that survived the war more or less untouched. Think of it as an investment for the future …”
With deep sleep and recycling, the pod could keep me alive far into that future. Alive and in mint condition.
by submission | Jun 22, 2022 | Story |
Author: David Barber
“I’m not asking you,” cried the small grey. “I’m telling you!”
The other, droopingly tall and thin, as befitted one of its great age, made a not while I’m eating gesture.
“No, listen. They bury them in the ground. Or set fire to them.”
Greys could be unpredictable. Sometimes facts disturbed them, the Elder was aware of this and remained cautious.
“How do you know all this?”
A curious junior had observed a crowd of natives gathered round an excavation at a church. Returning in darkness, it was horrified to uncover what they had been doing there.
The Elder considered the ambitious young grey. They had been on missions elsewhere and had dealt with novelty before, but this was a difficult notion to accept.
“Perhaps it was an isolated incident. An aberration.”
But the grey knew more. “Once we knew what to look for, there was evidence everywhere.”
The Elder was still not sure. In the long years spent en route to this world, it had studied their broadcasts. Admittedly, there was much violence, but it always assumed the victims were revived. Wasn’t that what hospitals were for? Besides, those damaged in one broadcast often appeared unharmed in others. No, there must be some mistake.
“We have probed their technology,” insisted the grey. “And their anatomy, yet we are no closer to understanding them. Perhaps this is the clue.”
The grey greatly admired cleverness, but this was because it was still young, before doubts set in.
“I’m sure it has something to do with, you know,” the grey lowered its voice. “Death.”
Their own kind had always been long-lived. And thanks to science, even the crew of that first saucer, smashing into a remote desert, were rebirthed at home with only a few memories lost.
“Death, you say?” the Elder ventured.
“Could it be that their minds, their experiences, just vanish?”
To an Elder this idea was particularly unsettling. Distressing even.
Yet the grey, barely centuries old, embraced the notion. “We must ask ourselves how such a thing can be. How they can rush headlong to the grave, yet seem inured to it. Whether it is this brevity which makes them what they are?”
There were unanswered questions, and more data was always good. The Elder considered. Perhaps it was time for further field-work, for closer observations. The grey could be kept busy in charge of that.
When the relief mission arrived some decades later, the Elder lectured their replacements.
“Be steadfast in your disguises,” it cautioned. “Unflesh solely if the discomfort grows too great.”
Common mistakes were lights in the sky, confusing the deceased with those asleep, and feelings of pity.
Whatever they had been told at home, said the Elder, the mission had now changed. They must study those mayfly lives, look for answers at funerals, ponder ashes, heaped earth, the coffin and its perplexing cargo.
While the departing saucer was spinning up, one small grey, listless and drooping despite its youth, said a curious thing to those who succeeded it.
“What little you might glean of death will be too much. Venturing so close to oblivion, you must expect night terrors.”
“And for your own sake, do not learn their names,” it warned. “They will break your hearts.”
by submission | Jun 21, 2022 | Story |
Author: Marcus Nielson
The rain thrummed a little tune on her helmet before turning into a cacophony of sound. Each time the rain changed the tempo, she wondered if this was the time that it would finally stop raining. Then, without fail, the pitter-patter would become a tap-tappy, a hum-drum, or a class 3 orbital terraforming bombardment.
“You’d think I wouldn’t get my hopes up after two years on-site,” Jax muttered to herself as she fiddled with a bit of cord wrapped around her fingers.
A small stream ran from the top of a domed mountain verdant with greens that loomed behind her. The stream hadn’t been here when Jax had first arrived. The new trickle and then deluge excited her in its evolutions as it coursed its way down to the ocean which lapped against the rocks at her feet.
The neon cord ricocheted off a rock and into the stream. Jax pounded her hands against her helmet before lifting herself off of her perch. She snatched the bit of cord before it could drift too far and turned to face her ecological development observation bunker.
The bunker glared back at her from its one dark eye that ran along the entirety of the convex surface exposed from the rock face. Jax flipped it off and trudged back towards the entrance. Forty-two years, this bunker, or the pair of witnesses posted at it, had passively watched the transformation of this world. Forty-two years of firestorms, tectonic shifts, and so much god damn rain. Only when Jax ended up completely on her own, some bureaucratic misstep, did the little adorable stream turn complete evil, shift its course, and begin flooding her bunker through the smallest of faults.
Now inside, Jax extricated herself fromm the helmet with a soft plorp and took a look around. The bunker had three feet of water. Her vacuum sealed foodstuffs bobbed about in a merry dance. Her bunk, or rather what would now be her new partner’s bunk, had been consumed by the flood. Leaving the front door open for the water to show itself out was the best solution she’d dug up so far.
The cold bit at her skin as she sloshed through the frigid water to her workstation.
We’re so sorry for the inconvenience…“blah-blah-blah. Three weeks for a new bunker! What on the face of this planet am I supposed to do for three weeks with a river running through my…”
Buhring!
A new message. This could only be good. At least that drum roll of rain had stopped. Jax started thinking about the copious amounts of alcohol she would need to get through the next month.
Congratulations Terraformers!
Thanks to your hard work and some new data, we’ve confirmed that IXS-9221b has finished its rain cycle. Planet weather control will now be shifting towards sun, sun, SUN!
We’ll now be focusing in on plant and aquatic species cataloging.
Thanks again for all your hard work. Hope you have a Terra day!
“Great.”
by Julian Miles | Jun 20, 2022 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
She’s down by the landing gear, waiting for the moment when the dockhands retreat before launch. There’s about forty seconds when a determined stowaway can get into the ventral landing leg housing and climb inside the survival shelter built into the back of it.
“Martine.”
My step-sister doesn’t even twitch. She just pivots to face me, staying crouched down. Anybody on the observation decks will only be able to see me.
“Tornaz. Took you a while, this time.”
For nine years we’ve been playing games across the System-8 territories. As adopted son and family enforcer, the task of retrieving the errant daughter of Eeyantar, the would-be royal house of System-8, always falls to me.
“Eleven months, one week, six days,” I check my chrono, “and forty-nine minutes.”
She smiles. A Sangrif dagger appears in her hand.
“This time, Tornaz, I’m not going back. They can live without one heiress.”
Logistically, they could do so with ease. Daughters they have aplenty. But having the prettiest and most popular of them abdicate before she even becomes a princess is not acceptable.
“You’ve got further than ever before, I’ll grant you. But it’s a wild universe from here on out, especially for someone making their way with next to nothing.”
Her smile doesn’t waver.
“I’m intending to get free or die trying. The things I’ve seen. How can I go round pretending System-8 is the wonderful place it claims to be? We’re no better than the rulers of the old warworlds we conquer.”
“So you’d kill me to be free of this?”
She shakes her head.
“I’d rather not. You’ve always been fair. Even so, I’m not going back.”
I unclip the smaller of the two databracers on my left arm and throw it to her. She catches it, then looks from it to me, a puzzled look on her face.
With a shrug, I kneel down.
“Here’s the thing, Martine. When they assigned me to fetch you the first time, they thought I’d fail. It was an easy way to dispose of the ‘hanger-on’. When I came back with you, they weren’t best pleased. Since then, I’ve brought you back eleven times. Every time, they make it plain I should have got my adopted self killed in the line of duty. A duty that’s taken me to the same places you’ve been in, and let me see the same things.”
Taking my Eeyantar databracer off, I pull out a generic one similar to the one I threw her. Putting that on, I throw the ornate family one onto one of the blast plates. The backwash of take-off will vaporise it.
“I was so happy to be adopted by Eeyantar, only to find out the whole thing is a hollow game of politics and larceny. Following you made me see all the things we’re supposed to ignore every day.”
Pointing to our databracers, I grin.
“These are the result of seeing a few things I shouldn’t have. What’s on them isn’t glamourous, but they’re clean identities. Unremarkable people who can journey away from System-8 space without causing a fuss. Each has a few credits on them, too. All local funds, nothing traceable. Enough to keep a cautious person going for a goodly length of time.”
She puts hers on: “We go together?”
“We happen to board at the same time. After that, we’re both free.”
Martine stands up, her Sangrif vanishing back into a concealed scabbard. She smiles: “Can I buy you a drink, stranger?”
“Yes. You from around here?”
She shakes her head.
“Just passing through.”
I grin.
“Me too.”
by submission | Jun 19, 2022 | Story |
Author: Kye Shamblin
The first human being to set foot on Mars. That was all I’d ever wanted to be. Even at a young age, when the other children shared equally impossible dreams, this was mine. Other children eventually were sobered by reality and would settle for far more realistic opportunities. I never gave in. I wasn’t like other children.
Not that any of that mattered now, with my landing craft in a flat spin and plummeting toward the surface of the Red Planet. I had always wanted to be the first human on Mars. I’d just wanted to be alive for it. Minor detail.
With great effort, I managed to grasp my hands around the flight stick once again. Counteracting the flat spin would require some skill, all while fighting against the G-force of our spin. I tugged on the yoke with all my strength, thinking I might rip it off the floor.
Still spinning. The dusty surface of the planet spun past my viewport a few times as I continued to try to fight against the spin. I could tell by the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was succeeding, at least to some extent. I reached deep within myself and tried to assess our spin as best I could, managing to straighten us out. Altitude was going to be an issue now; I would need to get the craft into a glide as it descended toward the surface.
The alarms ringing from nearly every single guidance system weren’t making me feel like that task was going to get easier. I reluctantly looked back up at the viewport, expecting the surface to be devastatingly close. To my surprise, I had obtained level flight long before it was too late and had a rather peaceful view spread out in front of me.
“Nine thousand hours. Flew nine thousand hours in a simulator, never saw this view once.” I chuckled, speaking to no one other than myself. It was true. I had experienced almost every conceivable outcome on this flight, even this one. Never had the simulator been able to show me how beautiful this planet really was.
My wonderful view was interrupted by the loud crashing of my left wing ripping itself off. I could tell it was the entire wing by the sudden loss of flight control. So much for level flight and a nice glide to the surface.
The feeling in my stomach returned as the craft began to fall from the sky, the surface of the planet now rapidly approaching once more. No amount of tugging on the yoke would save me this time. I had to brace for impact and hope for the best.
In the simulator, this had ended in a fatality every time. This wasn’t the simulator. I was going to survive, all I had to do was be prepared for the hit. The surface came quicker than I’d calculated.
I’m not sure what awakened me. It could have been the intense pain in my legs, or the sparks showering on top of me. What I was sure of, was that I was alive. I coughed a bit, unhappy about the blood that had spattered onto my visor from it. The craft groaned, making me sure that I needed to exit it soon.
I’d survived the crash. All I had to do now is survive the planet.
by submission | Jun 18, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Not long after a distant star suddenly brightened a thousand-fold and gamma rays gobsmacked life on earth, a prairie dog emerged from its burrow in a deep narrow canyon in what was once southern Utah.
Ever wary of predators, it fed quickly and returned to its burrow unable to remark on the extreme quiet and supreme stillness of its surroundings. After many days of this, the prairie dog began to range farther and farther from its burrow. It skirted many carcasses, some limbless, some with wings, some with four legs and some with two.
It fed well and became less wary of predators. More and more often at the height of day, it hunched on a high ridge and watched the horizon for hours. It was still unable to remark on the extreme quiet and supreme stillness of its surroundings, but the prairie dog returned less and less to its burrow deep in the narrow canyon.
A day came when the prairie dog set out. Sudden storms interrupted the extreme quiet and supreme stillness of its days and nights, but forage was plentiful, predators were absent, and the prairie dog was compelled by a something. A something new.
On the very periphery of awareness probing to find a foothold in the prairie dog’s nature, it could almost be called a question. The prairie dog felt it as a restless push enticing it across what was once southern Utah to what was once southern Nevada.
At a place that was flat and hard with many unfamiliar things and many dusty carcasses, the prairie dog sensed what might be an answer to the extreme quiet and supreme stillness.
A something. A something new.
A call. And now a response.
Deep below, a gamma ray gobsmacked sleeper had awakened and was ready for all takers. As in every cosmos, life in its rarest and most lasting forms is patient.
Next to what was once a signpost that read Homey Airport, the prairie dog began to dig for its answer. Something anew.
