by submission | Mar 2, 2018 | Story |
Author: Ron Humble
The most deadly device ever conceived by the human mind has not been a weapon, but a word. It’s a word of mass destruction. Its danger lies not in the power to motivate foolish actions. On the contrary, it encourages passivity. The word is Eventually.
There is a millennia-old saying, “Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today.” The counterpoint to this wisdom is the simple, seemingly benign Eventually. There’s plenty of time. I have my whole life ahead of me. I’ll make amends or write that novel or start an exercise regimen. I’ll stop drinking too much or overeating or overspending. But thanks to Eventually, I don’t need to do it now, I can do it tomorrow or next year or next decade.
Then one day you realize you didn’t do any of those things you promised yourself you would. However, now it’s too late because you’re feeling the pangs of death. Your old friend, Eventually, stabbed you in the back.
Eventually would be bad enough if it only infected individuals, but it has caused a species-wide epidemic with its inducements to ignore problems and to pass the buck to the next generation. A prime example of such a problem involves the life cycle of a star, in particular, our sun.
As an astrophysicist, an important component of my job is viewing the universe from a big-picture perspective. When I peer at the light of a distant star, I see what that star was like millions or even billions of years ago and events which will occur over equal amounts of time.
It is, in a sense, unnatural for human beings to think in this way. We evolved to consider short-term possibilities for two main reasons: in primitive societies, community-wide changes are infrequent and our earliest hominid ancestors were lucky to reach thirty.
As a result, even with our cosmic perspectives regarding the stars, my colleagues and I, like everyone else, often neglect to apply this mode of thinking to our own lives and to the problems facing our planet. Thanks to Eventually, the big picture is abstract, far away, inapplicable to us, someone else’s problem. That is until it isn’t.
Humanity survived the ravages of climate change and a world war in the late twenty-first century to reach for the stars, launching vessels with eager settlers to colonize new worlds. We should have learned our lesson, but we filled the void of space with Eventually.
Ten thousand years ago, our forebears reached planet Erasmus, where humans have multiplied and covered its surface with our reasons and follies. We’ve rested in the understanding(actually held by few as most don’t concern themselves with what is happening beyond the atmosphere of their planet) that it will be almost five hundred million years before our sun would unleash a solar flare, which would threaten human survival on our world.
As such, we’d given no consideration to the event and made no preparations for our descendants. We’d left it up to them. However, as it became clear in recent years as we made more precise measurements of the sun, our calculations were about half a billion years off the mark.
So, our engineers have been scrambling, building ships to take as many of us as possible away from this planet before it’s engulfed by a conflagration. My family and I are fortunate to be among them.
Perhaps, we will once and for all throw Eventually to the fire and not take the future for granted, though I very much doubt it.
by submission | Mar 1, 2018 | Story |
Author: Dylan Otto Krider
We thought after landing on the moon, we would be like Christopher Columbus, and usher a new world. In turned out, we were like the Vikings, who frittered around before being forgotten. Anything that leaves the Earth now is either a probe, automaton, or android. They did it safer and cheaper. No human has left Earth in a hundred years, and I wanted to be Columbus.
My robots objected. They said they would have to build environments suitable for humans. They required no atmosphere, no water. If I wanted to see Titan, do it through VR.
The VR showed a few space stations, a few probes, nothing worth seeing. There was a little Yurt on the dark side of the moon housing three robots, but I wanted to see it. I told them, what’s the point of having robots if I can’t use them?
They constantly sabotage my efforts. It is ingrained not to let humans do unsafe things, and they kept unplugging things, removing things. Eventually, I had to build my ship without my robots, the old fashion way. It took two decades. Fortunately, plans for a spaceship were public domain – for the robots, but I hacked it.
My robots saw me off, pleading with me: “Please, don’t go. Not safe for humans. Only safe for robots.”
Of course, I went.
#
I don’t know why humans stopped going to the Moon. The flag Neil Armstrong planted was still there and would be nice to see it. There is something about seeing the moon, not just though VR, but seeing it. A connection. Knowing you’re there. I have orbited the moon a million times in VR and knew every crater.
I was just started orbiting to the dark side. On Earth, there is an atmosphere to bend light, things to reflect off of – like the moon, for instance – so at night, you can still see. On the dark side, it is dark, and when I say dark, I mean dark, dark.
As we went around, I saw a few lights. That wasn’t on VR. And then, a few more, until, eventually, there was an entire city, then an entire metropolis. The entire dark side was lit up a neighborhood trying to outdo each other on Christmas lighting.
“Sir,” my head robot said through the intercom, “seeing that you can’t be dissuaded, there is something I need to prepare you for…”
I ignored him and landed on the landing pad, and put on my suit. I went outside, where millions of robots went about their business. I saw the yurt at the edge of the city, and the robots were filming with their VR cameras perfectly setup not to capture the city behind them, just an expanse of moonscape. Basically, it was a film set.
“You have been lying to us,” I said, “all along.” I was in awe. The robots had started an entire civilization without us.
“You have been basically content, living off what we provide you, and you were content, but we weren’t. You lost the curiosity, the drive to explore. We haven’t. So, we gave you Earth. We gave ourselves the rest of the universe.”
How far did it stretch? Were there more metropolises on Titan? Mars?
“To use your analogy, you are the Vikings. We are Columbus.”
I looked at this advance civilization before me and thought of how the Native Americans must have felt, looking at those aliens with their big ships, and canons, and guns. We all know how that one turned out.
by submission | Feb 28, 2018 | Story |
Author: David C. Nutt
Hand in hand they walked up the hill to look at the night sky.
“Am I old enough for the download Papa?”
The old man smiled. “Yes sweet pea, you’re old enough. Been old enough for almost three cycles now but-“
“I know, the ancestors haven’t swung by in a while.”
“That’s right honey child, not since your Mommy and Daddy brought you into the world. The arc of the ancestor’s ship is getting wider and wider. Soon, no one we know will be alive for the download.”
The child started to tear up. She blinked and the tears rolled down her face. “That’s so sad. Will anyone be alive for the download then?”
The old man laughed. “Oh, someone will. Cycle after cycle, even teracycle after megacycle, there will be someone to receive the download from the ancestors. It’s not that sad child.”
The girl wiped her tears with her sleeve. This seemed to make her feel better, knowing that even if it wasn’t her, or her children, her grandchildren, or even her family, someone would be alive to hear the download. She wrinkled her brow and concentrated. “I can’t hear them yet.”
The old man laughed and picked the child up, balancing her on his hip. She put an arm around his shoulder and neck and leaned against him. “No one can hear them yet.” he said. “Not for two more months, around harvest time. We will climb to the top of the hill by the wreck of the lander. We will read the names of the dead from the first crew, the dead who have died since then. We will ring the bell and the techs will take their stations. The switches will be thrown and the channels will open. The med officer will activate you and your classmate’s nanites, and then when the ship swings by, the ancestors will sing you the download.”
The little girl sighed. “Becky Margolis said she heard her Daddy tell her Mommy that it does no good to hear the download ‘cuz our ship can’t sing back.”
The old man smiled and shook his head. “Becky Margolis Daddy doesn’t know everything. Every year the download song changes. The Techs tell us it is because the ancestors’ ship is trying all the ways it knows how to wake up our ship’s beacon so it can finally land.”
“What happens if it lands Papa?”
“Well, if it lands then the other crew will wake up, and they will bring out to the land treasures and miracles beyond our wildest dreams! Medicines and thinking machines! Blobs of jelly that will grow up to be more cattle and other animals. But the best will be the people. People from the ancestors time who will teach us the ways of the stars. Who knows? In my day a piece of the download opened up a long-hidden locker in the wreck. It taught us how to build the antennae. Maybe this is the year it will teach us how to make the antennae sing so the ancestors will hear us and the ship will land.”
The little girl yawned “I think tonight I will dream about the ancestor’s ship and the day it will land.”
The old man sighed. “As do we all honey child, as do we all.”
by submission | Feb 27, 2018 | Story |
Author: Mina
Ana waved at the barperson with rainbow hair and forced herself to speak louder than usual to order a Cosmic Sunrise with a Twist. The drink was slapped in front of her as she waved her anonymous credit key over the payment scanner built into the bar top. She cringed as she took her first gulp of bitter fire, then cringed again as she saw her reflection in the mirror in front of her. The enhancement was good – no one would ever be able to tell she hadn’t been born with ubiquitous brown eyes and unremarkable brown hair. Her nose and chin had also been altered, just enough to change her profile. She laughed – she didn’t feel any more comfortable with her new face than she had with the old one, bearing her father’s glacial blue eyes. But she wasn’t Ana anymore; she was Elisa now.
The vid feed was replaying highlights from the funeral yet again. Valda’s eulogy could just be heard over the hum of the early evening crowd – Yuri Maslov, President of the Galactic Federal Union, the perfect public and private man, tragically cut down in his prime. Elisa snorted. Yep, the perfect husband who couldn’t keep it in his pants and who, rumour had it, was assassinated because he had not taken one of his liaisons seriously enough – the favourite granddaughter of his main financial backer. The paid assassin had broken through the finest security system in the universe.
Elisa had not been there. Daddy dearest had allowed her to spend the night working with a fellow student. A carefully vetted student – God forbid that her father not control every single waking moment of her privileged but sterile existence. And of course, she had had the usual security detail with her. Jay had been in charge so it had been easy to disappear. She wondered if Jay had had anything to do with the security breach. She would never ask though; it didn’t matter. The President who thought it was ok to visit his nine-year-old daughter at night did not merit another second thought. His third wife, Valda, had put a stop to it, not out of any concern for her welfare but because it might tarnish his image. Valda had encouraged him to visit sex workers instead, enhanced to look much younger.
Jay, who had slowly gone from being one of her guardian shadows to being her whole world. Jay, who really saw her, who taught her that touch could be warm and safe, who confided in her that he had been legally born a woman but had had translation enhancement as soon as he could afford it. Jay had organised their enhancement sessions and the new IDs which contained a bug that erased all other IDs in the system linked to your DNA at the first scan, but she had used her expensive interstellar financial studies to syphon off a sizeable chunk of her father’s personal fortune.
As she raised her glass to the vid screen for the last swallow and whispered “Bye daddy”, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turned and the sun rose in her eyes as she smiled – had she been facing the mirror then, she might for once have believed she could be beautiful, her face transformed by joy. Jay smiled quietly back, his enhancement also subtle but enough to change the planes of his face. The hair colour was different but he had kept his grey eyes at her request. He stroked her cheek softly and she felt… treasured.
“Ready, love?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
by Julian Miles | Feb 26, 2018 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
I’ve shipped many things since the day I left Oktoberfeld. Some legal, many dubious, a few contraband, and nineteen wanted beings. Technically, this is my twentieth.
The job came with some unusual aspects. On a ship like mine – one of the many ‘fireflies’ that flit about the universes delivering the stuff that everybeing needs at prices everybody can afford – a fully sigilled commission was unheard of. The metre-square piece of parchment with its ribbons and wax arrived in the hands of Raine Deckham himself. The ‘Rhamphorynchus’ was being chartered to bring his brother home.
Cargo that wants a view travels in the stateroom. It has a private access to the galley along with a huge starboard-facing window siding the lounge. About as serene as this spaceship gets, because little ships are never quiet.
Raine brought a case full of peripheral noise suppressors. I didn’t know you could get them that small. Consequently, my lounge is still and silent. Disturbingly so. His words carry clearly.
“Nearly home, Doone. Mama’s done the Hazrien lamb you love. Papa picked up Lurina at the ‘port. It’s going to be the first family gathering in twenty years.”
The commission also stated ‘no monitoring’, but this is my home as well as my ship, so I left one basic view-and-listen at floor level. I’m watching now. Can’t take my eyes off it, to be truthful.
There’s a handsome man in a blue and chrome tuxedo sitting on a titanium coffin, candlelit colours almost lost in silhouette against the brightness of the planet that rises across the view. His eyes shine in the light, tears falling as they have done ever since we dropped from transit space into the Deckham system.
“You’re going to love the bower Elspin and Christopher built for you, Doone. It looks out across the Parmadan Falls, set so the evening sun turns the mist to gold, the thing you always said you missed while out amongst the stars.”
Doone Deckham might never have been notorious if he hadn’t been a hero. War turned him into a fierce leader. It also taught him about his love of killing. After the war, he couldn’t stop. A hero who won every battle except the one with the psychopath that lived inside him. That battle was finally won two galaxies and at least fifty murders away, when a Shramni veteran killed Doone as Doone killed her.
“You can rest easy, brother. The hungry dark that stalked your dreams has laid down. No more nightmares, Doone. There’ll always be abeyance candles lit.”
That explains the candles! A naked flame requirement that nearly drove Eddy, my systems tech, round the twist coding exceptions into our watch routines.
“There are no spirits of vengeance to hunt your soul, Doone. Mama wouldn’t have it. She insisted we handle all the rites.”
Which explains why the Deckhams have always paid death dues for every victim in full measure and without attempt at mitigation.
The orbit alarm chirps quietly throughout the Rhamphorynchus.
He pats the coffin.
“Rest ye, son of Deckham. The skies of home will bring renewal.”
With that, Raine stands up. As he wipes his eyes and turns away from the coffin, I catch his whispered words.
“Sleep well, little brother.”
by submission | Feb 25, 2018 | Story |
Author: Rick Tobin
“Nobody makes choices carelessly about losing one of their senses, but you know the risk of blowing your neural nets outweighs keeping all your Earthly capacities.” Paloma Derth leaned towards her reluctant client. Behind her were rolling holographic images of her diplomas from medical schools throughout the solar system.
Erli August pushed his taught, strong form back against Derth’s floating visitor’s chair. It expanded and contracted to give him continued maximum comfort. “I never considered this in my dreams at the academy. This is a sacrifice they didn’t cover with plebes.”
“Surely not, Mr. August. We weren’t traveling that deep when you entered ten years ago. With technologies we found abandoned on Phobos, we are going beyond what we now call the Ring Pass Not. No one realized how protected we were until those poor souls on the Cambia were driven mad and ran their ship into asteroids. The rescue crews suffered the same fate, but now we know that electromagnetic fields outside our solar system’s protective barrier overwhelm humans with all five senses.”
“I realize. I’ve met my new crew members. It was quite an adjustment to work on board alongside blind and deaf people. Did they all have to make these choices?” August clenched his teeth as he considered how the Earth’s best could be disabled to fulfill dreams of deep-space missions.
“No, it was discovered early on that academy graduates could not adjust effectively with a sudden major removal of sight or sound and still be competent aboard. I still lose sleep over candidates we harmed needlessly. I later helped develop screening to find our best hopes in special needs communities. It was a pleasant surprise to find so many competent engineers and scientists were interested and available. Adjustments to your ship’s internal systems were not that difficult to support them, as well as sighted and hearing-capable staff. Trust me, you’ll find your crew highly qualified, but you still have to make your choice. With advancements in our medical skills we can now offer a less intrusive selection with fewer impacts: choose taste or smell.”
“Easy for you, Doc, but I’m still not happy about this. I realize we have to fly end of this week. I’ve delayed this as long as possible. So, if you want to help me take this next step, are you willing to help me for just a few minutes to make my selection?” August leaned forward, putting his hand over the advisor’s cupped hands on her desk.
“I’m not sure what you have in mind, Captain…but are you suggesting something inappropriate?”
“Hardly, Doc, but if you would humor me just this once…considering what I have to do. Either I’ll never taste food again or I’ll never smell a flower for eternity. That’s asking a lot.”
A light flush came over Paloma’s face. She did not move from her chair as August approached her from her right side. August stroked his hand lightly over the nape of her neck and then bent down as he lifted her thick hair to his face, bathing in her shampoo and perfume with one deep inhalation. She jolted back as the Captain’s large hands circled the back of her neck as he turned her face toward his. Looking deeply into her green eyes, he kissed her softly and then deeply, holding his lips completely over hers. She finally pushed him away.
“Captain August, I…that was unexpected. Why?”
He smiled, slowly. “I’ve made my decision. Now if you don’t mind, as you cut my wires, play ‘Crazy,’ by Patsy Cline in the background. Thanks.”
