by submission | May 7, 2016 | Story |
Author : Rick Tobin
“Everyone back from Charon?” Captain Swanson paced about the control center of Abraxas. His bullish voice rattled younger officers as Swanson towered above at seven feet, his glimmering blue eyes set against his callow Cajun skin.
“Sir,” replied Ensign Pallute, fresh from the Saturn Academy. “All present. Doctor Reynolds requests an immediate conference, sir.”
“Does she? Tell her to meet me in sickbay after she’s been decontaminated.”
“Aye,” replied the timid ensign. Her hair shimmered in twists of colored bands specific to her tribe. Her extra fingers slid over the control panel lights, sensing hundreds of ship conditions.
“Transfer control to my visor, Pallute. I’ll be with Reynolds.”
Swanson stepped into the transfer tube, proceeding to rendezvous while commanding remotely. He entered sickbay with disregard for isolation protocols.
“Thank God,” Reynolds said, sweeping her raven hair away from her face as the cleansing fans blew used decon virals off her suit. “We’ve got to turn back. I witnessed those holographic eyes while translating the carvings. The ruin’s messages penetrated me with a flush of electrical charge…and knowing.”
“Edith,” Swanson interrupted, “This is science, not religious fervor. I only want to know if mountains of processed rare earths are there, as our probes showed. Then we’re on our way, outside the system. I just heard the Charon Message Protesters on Mars are so insane that some jumped from the Face yesterday, claiming disaster if we proceed. Surely you aren’t supporting that hysteria?”
“Yes, the priceless minerals are all there, waiting like cheese for us, but that wasn’t a warning someone left on Charon—it was a threat. We must not go deeper into the Kuiper Belt.”
Swanson felt her terror but shook it off as simply her symptoms after visiting the flashing vistas first discovered in 2032, emanating from the Kubrick Mons. Charon hallucinations affected anyone studying the light show, even from video recordings. The phenomenon was studied for years before the decision to send Abraxas into deep space.
“What threat?”
“The exact translation? Do not go past this ring. You are impure. The punishment is relinquishment.”
“Hogwash, Reynolds. Those are myths for the mindless, not us. That feeds those mobs on Mars chanting their ring-pass-not pabulum. We’re better than that. I don’t scare easy. Maybe those carvings are ancient…but most likely, they are the work of the Moon cartels that want to control mineral rights out here through intimidation. You know the Moonies are famous for head games. I could care less. I appreciate your report, but we’ll make way. This is one captain that is not going to relinquish an inch.”
Swanson pressed pads on his control belt, alerting his command ensign. “Pallute, go to full power and chart a path through the Belt. Increase the magnetic shields in case we encounter one of those pockets the probes detected two years ago.”
“Aye,” Pallute replied—the last word she would ever speak. Threads of violet sparkles rose from Charon, penetrating the ship’s hull, touching each crew member. At each infiltration sizzling spittles of light shot back from the Abraxas, back to the origins of the crew’s DNA. The ship disappeared, then colonies throughout the planets, and then human life on Earth as the history of the human species was erased for all time.
A crew of reptilians was next to hover over Charon, waiting for their crew’s archaeologists and miners to return and report before their first attempt at penetrating the expanse of the Kuiper Belt, beyond the flashing lights coming from Pluto’s largest moon.
by submission | May 6, 2016 | Story |
Author : MD Parker
The sound of clinking dishes dominated the air as he sat across from the old man. Jason placed his digital recorder on the table.
“I told you that won’t work.” The old man stared with apathy.
“Why not? Could you explain that again?” Jason rolled his eyes.
“What I have to tell you can only be heard. You cannot record it. It cannot be written. It won’t allow itself to take form in any place other than the memories of the soul.”
“Just humor me? You asked me here, I’m humoring you. A little quid-pro-quo? Give and take?”
“Fine.” The old man stifled a laugh as Jason pressed the red button.
“Let’s start with your name?”
“My name hasn’t relevance, your mind is still not open…”
“…Quid-pro-quo.”
“Of course.” Another chuckle. “My name is De…”
He gave his name and place of birth, but no dates. He set a box, with small wooden slats held together by age-encrusted iron bands, onto the table. A tarnished golden buckle inlaid on a leather fastener held the lid.
The man spoke for ten minutes, but the story seemed to come from the box. Each minute, each word, the sound grew louder and louder. Jason’s head rang with the sound of a thousand voices whispering all at once.
“So, you see…” The old man turned the box and pulled the lid, its contents facing Jason. A blue-green light emanated from the box, lighting Jason’s slack-jawed expression.
The old man continued, “… I saved the world once. You know why we’re here now, don’t you?”
Jason sat speechless staring into the box.
A single tear fell from his eye.
by submission | May 5, 2016 | Story |
Author : Ian Clarke
Professor Rogers said, “The way we measure and mark points in time is completely artificial and irrelevant to time travel, using clocks and calendars to locate points in time is impossible. Without a reference point we have no means to locate the time we want to go to.”
The student replied, “Yes I agree but what if we could step out of the time stream then select the time location and re-emerge there?”
The Professor thought about this as he sipped his coffee, these conversations usually depended on fantasy. This time however he decided not to dismiss it out of hand but to see how far David had developed this idea. “How would you do that?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“OK,” David began, “we know that all elements have their own resonant frequencies and by harmonizing with it’s frequency, we can affect the structure of an object.”
The Professor agreed, “Yes, like sound breaking glass.”
David continued, “If we manipulate the resonance of an object correctly, then it would shift out of this dimension and time, by controlling the parameters of the frequency, we control the shift.”
Professor Rogers acknowledged the logic but an obvious question occurred to him,
“To control it, it would have to be self contained with a power source and complex frequency generator all with exactly the same resonant frequency, how is that possible?” he asked.
“By building a shell from one pure element and isolating the mechanism inside from the shell, only the shell needs to resonate and when it shifts out of this dimension it carries everything inside with it.” David explained.
It seemed like he was being drip fed enough information to raise the next obvious question.
“So how would you find the event in time that you want to travel to?” Asked Rogers.
“When you alter an objects resonance it becomes transparent, from inside you can see where you are in the time stream,” David said, “by carefully adjusting the parameters of the frequency you can control the speed, distance and direction of travel.”
There was something about the way David said this that made Rogers think he had already experimented, “Have you tried this?” he found himself asking, he was reluctant to think it was possible but followed up with “Do you have a prototype?”
David reached down into his backpack by his feet and produced a metal capsule about the size of a wine bottle without a neck, he gave it a twist and it came apart in two sections exposing the innards. It had a couple of simple controls inside, he pressed a button, screwed it back together, laid it on the table and in a few seconds it vanished.
Professor Rogers was stunned, “Wait, what happ…? Where did it go?” he blurted out, uncertain if he wanted to know the answer.
“It’s still there” said David “but no longer in this dimension. It can only be controlled from within so this model has a predetermined time shift, our timeline will catch up in a minute.”
Rogers frantically tried to absorb it all, “Is it that simple?” he thought to himself, “No Wormholes, no Warp Drive just a simple change of frequency?”
As he stared at the empty space, the biggest question in his mind was, “How could a student come up with this?”
When the capsule reappeared Professor Rogers had a sudden and shocking realisation,
“So you have travelled back in time to demonstrate this to me.”
“Yes” David said “but it was important to locate the time when you were ready to accept it, come with me.”
by submission | May 4, 2016 | Story |
Author : Tino Didriksen
At the mid of the 21st century, we received the first signal, overriding the output of every speaker on and off the planet with a coherent but seemingly meaningless message. It wasn’t until the second and third signals blared forth with about a week between, that we figured out what it was: coordinates relative to the galactic center, less than two parsecs distant, but drifting ever so slowly away from us!
All diplomatic obstacles postponed or quickly smoothed over, as a year of worldwide dedicated research and engineering was mandated, in an effort to plan out the most ambitious space program ever devised. New and old long distance starship designs were perused, every outlandish propulsion gimmick re-examined, cryotech given a fresh look, and even worm holes got their hour in the spotlight.
From the fruits of humanity’s combined academic efforts, a grand spacecraft was commissioned. The pride of the planet, capable of getting its fifty occupants to their destination within a mere eleven years. We even figured out a limited form of faster than light communication, requiring the ship to drop off stationary relay buoys every half light year. The construction of it all took another half year, after which a great launch ceremony sent the voyage off into the unknown.
Then the long wait set in. The newsworthiness waned, the buried squabbles resurfaced, and the world mostly returned to its old self for a decade. Even the weekly confirmation of extrasolar life became more of a nuisance, and the mission updates were relegated to minor slots.
Finally, though, they were nearing their goal, and the world started caring again. Everyone back home was eagerly watching the feed as the ship came to a halt at the coordinates of the source, a few hours before the time it was calculated that a new ping would be sent out. Broad spectrum receivers were fanned out to ensure immediate triangulation of a precise location, all systems ready to begin bombarding the source with scans.
There! Global jubilation as the signal revealed a majestic alien craft, easily the size of a major metropolitan city. Our crew quickly began sending greetings and probes their way, in all languages and code. But then the echoes came in, and from them was gleaned the strip-mined husk of a once rich living planet and the burnt out remains of a star.
Immediately, radio silence was ordered, but it was too late. The alien vessel lit up slowly, turned lazily towards earth’s finest dinghy, then just sat there like a mute rock for several minutes, before casually accelerating to near light speed on a direct vector towards our little corner of the galaxy. We did not bother ordering pursuit.
As best we figured from the remains found out there, the aliens travel to inhabited systems, drain them for all resources and energy, before entering a hibernation state. They set up an automatic beacon to lure young races to them, and then wake up and follow the trail home.
We’ve since lost contact with the deep space mission, as the aliens destroy or disable each relay they pass, probably as a taunt to show they don’t care if we know when they’ll be here. And why should they? It’s not as if we can hope to put a dent in something capable of eating the sun. So yeah, we’re doomed. We’ve got half a year until they arrive, and we are preparing as best we can, but nobody really believes in it. We were too curious, too naive, and they got us good. Hook, line, and …
by Julian Miles | May 3, 2016 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The clouds are limned in blood. Carmichael said it was a trick of the light; I have to take it as a warning ignored.
We came to Acheron – actually Acheron IV, but as the rest were uninhabitable, we dropped the designator – to build a paradise. The planet was the right distance from the sun, had oceans, freshwater lakes, gloriously rich loam, and no creatures bigger than a sparrow. The bird-drop seed cycle was handled by a beautiful, green avian that fell perfectly between Swift and Hummingbird. It was also the fastest bird ever recorded, routinely achieving speeds in excess of 180kph as it shot through the night.
Acheron was to be the utopia that Homo sapiens deserved. The omen of seeking to build that fabled ‘no-place’, and the abysmal history of previous attempts, did not matter: we were the ones who would succeed.
Eight months and our cattle were breeding spectacularly. A second harvest was in. Our log haciendas had already been featured on lifestyle feeds. We had completed acclimatisation for all Terra-originated organics. The start of our ninth month would be marked by the atmo-dome being dissolved so we could finally experience our new home properly.
We were all outside, champagne in hand, when Teleon released the collapsers. High above, a tiny, bright circle appeared. It spread rapidly as the nano-nibblers consumed the dome, repurposing the ‘stem’ material into more nano-nibblers. The ring expanded until it dropped to the ground all round us and we cheered, raising our glasses in toast to our paradise home.
Our noisy cheer masked Teleon’s death. His wife found the pockmarked slab of bloody ruin that he had been. She screamed loudly, then even louder after a cloud dropped on her. Most of us stood about in confusion: that deadly moment of hesitation. But those who acted were the first to fall. Clouds rained down and the dying began.
I got to watch from the single greenhouse as my friends were consumed by nebulous entities that looked like clouds, pounced like leopards and fed like frenzied sharks. The scientist side of me noted a pack order in feeding, with some ‘clouds’ circling slowly while the killer fed. After the killer rose, multiple ‘lesser’ pack members would swarm the remains. They were all messy, wasteful eaters.
I knew my mind was using clinical observation to distance itself from the horror, but could not stop. My heart raced as my brain sought survival options, whilst I calmly observed that these were obviously the apex predators of this planet’s trophic hierarchy. They were why the Emerald Proto-Swifts were small, nocturnal, and ridiculously fast. Why there were no large fauna. It seemed like paradise was guarded by monsters of suitably legendary nastiness.
A cloud has squeezed through the skylight into the greenhouse. It’s a small one, probably last in line for the feast hogged by its bigger kin. Did it’s finding of me indicate an improved hunting ability, or was it a common trait?
I smile. Ever the scientist. As the cloud slowly approaches, I lift a ground sensor and ram the half-metre spike through my heart. Sweat runs from my forehead. I bite my lips to stop myself screaming: I suspect a scream will make the monster lunge. To die quickly, I need to pull the impaling spike out. The sensor beeps, determining my temperature and mineral content.
The scientist inside howls as the observer yanks the spike from between my ribs.
That hurts even more. I look up.
The clouds are limned in blood.
by submission | May 2, 2016 | Story |
Author : Beck Dacus
“Oh my God! I found life!”
Kenrin was kneeling on the ground, peering at something in the dust. As Ederford, Roana, Viccison and I walked over to him, he shifted position, suggesting that whatever he was looking at moved, and rapidly. He had found an animal!
The four of us skidded to a stop around him, and huddled together to try and get a glimpse. It took me a second, because both the creature and the regolith were a very dull brown, basically grey, but it was there. Life.
Life was a precious thing in the universe, as it only occurred on approximately one planet for every fifty star systems, and interstellar travel wasn’t easy. Sixteen times the speed of light may sound pretty fast, but light isn’t all that fast in the first place when talking about galaxies. To get from Gerfysa to here, Manklenon, took four years.
The little beast was around five centimeters long, with a body that looked like a pine cone and… fourteen legs. Each one was very thin, and had something that looked like a hook at the end. Despite my fascination with exobiology, I couldn’t help but admit that it did seem a bit too “buggy” for my liking.
That should have told me that we never should have filed the report.
Kenrin deftly clapped the animal into a specimen jar, and handed it to Viccison. “Get that back to the lab,” he said, “and do what you gotta do. I’m gonna try and find more organisms. You three, spread out and help me look.”
Over the course of our adventure, we found a few more life forms, all equally buggy in nature. When we all returned to the hab, we ran a few tests on the bugs, figured out what they were made of and what they could do, and sent our report back to Gerfysa at a slightly improved 20c. We never imagined the consequences.
Twenty Six Years Later
Achpersson Drives have improved in the past few decades, allowing more people to get to Manklenon that would have ever been possible when my team found its biosphere. Being a living planet, it attracted a lot of tourist attention, and civilian tours began eight years after I first arrived. That’s how everything died.
No one could stand the little “Manklenites,” as they were called. Anyone with any kind of arachnophobia went berserk on them. The creatures, unfortunately, had a knack for creeping into normally sealed spaces, ending up in people’s hotel rooms and luggage. But, despite the disgust, the attraction of alien life made people keep coming. Keep killing. Now, with a more complex ecosystem than previously considered riddled with holes, Manklenon’s biosphere could no longer support itself. It has become the lifeless stone we thought it was on approach. Now here I stand, on Ganorpeña, in front of an alien that is the spitting image of a centipede.
I think I’ll hold off on that report.
