by submission | Jul 23, 2024 | Story |
Author: Majoki
It’s a bummer, but whenever you try to cram too much into too small a space, black holes inevitably form. That’s the danger of trying to imagine the largest of numbers.
Huge numbers contain a lot of information, and information has weight. Ten trillion gigabytes of data weighs about as much as a speck of dust. Doesn’t sound like a lot, but when you’re dealing with the size of numbers that I do you have to be careful that your head doesn’t explode.
Or, more precisely, implode.
A thing most folks like to avoid. I did for most of my life. But when the Extrasolar War began and Earth was dealt a punishing blow, I got called in by the top brass. I’d once been a government mathematician that specialized in very large numbers–Avogadro’s number, the Eddington number, Googolplex, Graham’s number, TREE(3)–until those weighty numbers crushed me.
Broke me.
If you let those numbers get inside your head, they don’t resolve. They’re finite, containable, but wildly opportunistic. They’ll always always follow the fool’s path to infinity, and there’s only one end to that: black hole head death.
It can happen. Calculating the largest of numbers in your brain is equivalent to ten billion trillion trillion trillion trillion gigabytes of information. That’s a lot of very localized weight. Enough to form a black hole with the same radius of a typical human head. It makes for a rather singular singularity. A very catastrophic one.
That’s why the generals wanted me. There was no way our hastily cobbled defense forces were going to beat a foe that had mastered interstellar travel. The only thing sparing Earth from a full scale invasion was the invaders’ very sensible caution. They weren’t entirely sure what they were dealing with. I mean, we haven’t exactly figured our species out either, so they had to be wondering: What makes us tick? Could they subjugate us? Should they annihilate us?
Right after their initial salvo to demonstrate their superior might, the invaders pulled back. Went dark. Went sinister. Went hunting.
A diverse cross section of humans of various ages, races, and professions went mysteriously missing. This rattled the populace even more than the initial attack from orbit, but, as the pattern of abductions became clearer, the top brass saw an opportunity to strike back at our extraterrestrial foes.
They called the top secret operation Beavis and Black Hole which seemed fitting since the idea was diabolically asinine. Along with other numerical savants, I was trained and then put in a more likely position to be abducted. Why?
Suicide bombers are better off not asking why.
If abducted I was to continue calculating Graham’s number as I had been trained to do until the crush of information in my head reached criticality and formed a black hole. A formidable weapon against any enemy.
Now as bait, I wait. Counting not just the hours, but the near infinity of the finite, because my days are absolutely numbered.
by Julian Miles | Jul 22, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
There’s a star on the horizon, and it’s golden, not white. Tasmisa is what the people who live there call it.
They spent thirty-eight years developing the world-shifting technology that allowed them to escape the destruction of their world by a colossal asteroid. An offshoot of that technology let them deliver a warning to us, along with all their research, and a library of wonders to support it.
When their desperate transition ended, there were problems. Atmospheric bleed and tectonic instability being the most obvious. A year after their arrival they had recovered enough to assess their state. What they found was a horrific irony.
In escaping their doom from an asteroid, they’d made themselves the doom for us both. Their rogue planet will collide with Earth in four years’ time. There’s nothing they can do. It took every resource they had for them to leap from their distant star system to ours. They admit they don’t even know if they originate from our reality. Certain crippling changes to what were their accepted laws of physics makes them think so.
Frustrated by this quirk of fate, they decided to tell us, and give us knowledge. We’re ‘quite advanced’ from their perspective. Most importantly, we have the resources to create the solution to the problem, possibly even saving ourselves and the Tasmisians.
They might think us quite advanced, but as I listen to the news drone on about another theatre of war opening in the global conflict over control of Tasmisian technology, I think we’re still stone-throwing savages who are going to die fighting over who gets to be the boss of saving us.
by submission | Jul 21, 2024 | Story |
Author: Bob Brussack
On the planet Janus there are two advanced species: the Narses and the Nerses. It’s taken for granted by both species that the Narses are good-looking and the Nerses are smart. Be that as it may, and there’s reason for an off-worlder to question both stereotypes, the twin bits of conventional wisdom have shaped the species’ shared culture in profound ways, including politics.
Before the modern era on Janus, voters routinely elected Narses to legislative office, and few Nerses enjoyed electoral success. (Notably, the Narses candidates proved as popular among the Nerses as among the Narses.)
But the consequences of the near-universal preference proved suboptimal in terms of sound governance, as the Narses seemed disinclined to exert themselves in office, preoccupied instead with matters of personal grooming. The legislative chambers were fitted, in fact, with individual mirrors, and the Narses solons sometimes became so distracted by the perceived imperfections of their hair or makeup or knots of their ties that they neglected to cast votes, despite the urgings of their Nerses staffers.
At first, this dysfunction seemed to make little difference to the electorate, as a fair percentage of the voters actually preferred, or thought they preferred, that nothing happen in the planet’s legislature. Over time, however, as the consequences of the practical absence of legislative initiatives eroded the quality of life of both species, a consensus emerged that something had to be done.
After the usual ruckus, common to politics in so many galactic cultures, a way forward was found. Henceforth, and this is the current state of affairs, no single individual could serve in any legislative office. All offices had to be held jointly, by a pair: one Narses and one Nerses (cf. Sparta, Galactic Encyclopedia).
The Narses of the pairs handle all ceremonial duties, including speeches, interviews on media, and the like, and the Nerses do the reading, writing, and making of decisions. It is understood that anything said by a Narses can be “taken with a grain of salt,” as the phrase is translated into Galactic Standard. Nothing can be regarded as definitive other than a written statement signed by the Nerses of a pair.
The arrangement has worked well enough on Janus. The author is unaware of any other galactic civilization that has adopted it.
by submission | Jul 20, 2024 | Story |
Author: David Henson
“Hello, this is Claire Rains with Now You Don’t Enterprises, maker of the Light Bender Extraordinaire. Whom do I have the pleasure of assisting?”
“Claude Wells. I’m having problems with my new invisibility cloak. I —”
“I’m here to help, Mr. Claude. Let’s make your troubles …” — fingers snap — “disappear. Tell me: How do you know your cloak isn’t working properly?”
“Well, when I’m wearing the cloak, I can sort of see myself in the mirror. I’m not invisible. More like I’m wrapped in foggy plastic wrap.”
“We call that a phantom image, Mr. Claude. Your mind reconstructs —”
“No psychobabble, please. I’ve heard it all. Are you going to assist me or not?”
“Sorry, Mr. Claude. Let’s do some troubleshooting. Ready?”
“Yes, please, get on with it. I was counting on this thing to allow me to get out more.”
“Did you hang your cloak overnight when you first unwrapped it? Many people are so anxious to disappear, they skip this step. One wrinkle can screw up the photonics and adaptive camouflage dynamics of the whole cloak.”
“I did that. I promise you there isn’t a single wrinkle, crinkle, crimp or crease.”
“Excellent, Mr. Claude. Secondly, are you certain you’re not wearing the cloak inside out? That sounds silly, but it’s easy to do with an invisibility garment. It’s two-way, you understand. You can see out, but—”
“I’m certain. The thing doesn’t work. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I have to admit, Mr. Claude, I’m stumped so I’m going to elevate your case to second level support. Don’t go away, I’ll stay on the line. This shouldn’t take long. Our experts have seen it all. Except of course, when they shouldn’t.” She chuckles.
“Very funny. I just need the cloak to perform as promised. I’m so tired of people staring at me. You know in school, the other kids called me … I can’t say it.”
“So sorry to hear that, Mr. Claude. Have you — hold on. I’ve a message from second level support … We need to go to video call. Can you do that?”
“… I’ve accepted your invite. But wait til I put on the—”
“Oh … there you are.”
As Ms. Rains stares at him, Claude freezes then drops to his knees out of sight. “You saw me. Now you understand why I need to be invisible. I’m hideous.”
“Mr. Claude, I don’t think you’re—”
“Stop pandering.”
“Why do think you’re hideous? Sorry, that’s not what I’m here for. Please put your cloak on and stand so I can see you.”
Claude does as the agent asks.
“It’s as you said, Mr. Claude. You’re blurry but not invisible. You look like … a ghost. That’s a first. Creepy. Must be a flaw in the weave. Now that I’ve seen for myself, I can approve a return. Would you like a replacement or refund?”
“Like a ghost, eh? On second thought, I think I’ll keep it.”
“You … what? Your choice, Mr. Claude, but I’d think about. People are used to invisibles, but you might freak out people in that. It’s been my pleasure assisting you. And, truly, I don’t know why you think you’re…” Her voice trails off. “Please hold for a brief survey.”
Claude exits the video call, goes into the bedroom and looks at his spectral image in the dresser mirror. He decides to haunt the night wearing the cloak. Pay a visit to the old neighborhood.
by submission | Jul 19, 2024 | Story |
Author: R. J. Erbacher
The Stormwatch was wrong.
There was nothing on the scanners for this. The projection was for only light chop for the nine-hour trip from New York to Plymouth, England.
Captain Hendrick squinted through the rain slashed windshield, at the tenebrous horizon, the wipers furiously trying to keep them clear. But the USS Table Bay was steady because it rode above the waves. The diamagnetic repellers held the vessel an average of twelve meters above the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. On a calm day. Four blade-like arms descended into the water, supported by graphene nanotubes, connected to hydro-propulsion engines that separate the hydrogen and oxygen atoms of the ocean water and converted the reaction into electricity. The thermolysis motors powered the Table Bay up to speeds of 350 knots per hour. In calm waters. Stabilizers maintained the hydrophobic ceramic keel relatively level regardless of the size of the waves, assuming they were of normal height, but straining that limit now as the storm progressed. Because it was not a calm sea.
The outer door slammed open briefly then closed, letting the lashing rain momentarily drench the wheelhouse, the colloquial mariner term still utilized even though there wasn’t a wheel to steer anymore. Coming in with the wet weather was the first mate, his water-shedding gear dripping onto the floor.
“Where the hell did this come from, Captain?”
“I don’t know, Bernard. The forecast was clear when we pulled out. How are things down below?”
“Operating systems are still green but hovering just below redline. We’re right on the edge. Passengers are a little worried.”
With air travel being curtailed, due to elevated radiation levels leeching into the upper atmosphere, high speed ocean travel was the safest way across the ‘pond.’ Customers were sometimes annoyed that scheduled departures were cancelled or delayed because of weather conditions but they felt secure boarding the SkimShips knowing that they were going to arrive without incident. Stray storms like this were very rare.
Hendrick was checking all the scopes and readouts, calculating in his head. “We should be clearing this nasty cell in about seventy nautical miles. If we stay true. We could divert to the south and be free of this rather quickly, even though it would take us further off our route to circumvent around the severe weather and we would lose a lot of time. But I’m more inclined to broach straight through it. We are already delayed, travelling at this reduced speed, and I would hate to…”
The rest of his words died on his lips.
Sailing from the port side came another ship. And even though it was vastly different in design, it too glided above the water. Its black wood hull was flying untouched, over the crest of the waves, but still lilted to one side, the red canvas sails billowed to tearing, full of the powerful winds. Shadowy men in tattered clothes worked the rigging and ropes. A figure in a cocked hat and matted gray beard stood steady on the center of the quarterdeck, his hands gripped onto the spoked wheel. Unbelievably, the fluyt was moving faster than they were, closing in on their left side, cutting across their bow. Hendrick saw the other captain turn his head from looking over the helm to glare at him, his eyes glowing with blood and fire.
“For God’s sake, turn the ship south Captain! Turn!” Bernard’s scream snapped Hendrick out of his trance, and he manipulated the control panel until the directional servomechanisms angled them starboard.
Toward safer waters.
As the Dutchman sailed onward into the dark distance.
by submission | Jul 18, 2024 | Story |
Author: Mark Renney
We have been instructed not to refer to her as the alien or the extra-terrestrial or even the visitor. I’m sure she has told the Scientists and Government officials her name or has informed them of the system she and her society use in order to identify themselves but we, the service and security staff, are not privy to this information.
They provide her with all that she needs, although the access she has via the screen is limited. This doesn’t seem to have hindered her in any way and she is progressing rapidly.
She has already mastered our language and I would like to ask the Subject her name, but we are not allowed to communicate with her.
She is so open and honest and pliable, allowing herself to be prodded and poked, embracing the tasks and tests they set for her and completing them oh so quickly and easily.
The Subject seems entirely unaware that she is being held captive here, is a prisoner and that we are her jailers. She hasn’t had access yet to these words: jailer, captive, prisoner and countless others, subterfuge, paranoia, fear. She doesn’t understand these concepts and they are not a part of her own vocabulary.
I wonder what will happen when she becomes corrupted and the cynicism begins to settle and harden within her brain.
The Scientists are excited by her innocence and I wonder if this is why she is being held here, hidden away from the world. Not to protect her but in order to conduct their experiments before this happens. Or is it because, despite these admirable traits and her sparkling intelligence, she isn’t so very different from us.
