by featured writer | Apr 22, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
“Ensign, report!” yelled the captain over the ring of klaxons and the groans of metal fatigue that filled the bridge of his starship.
The young officer didn’t respond. His eyestalks were fixed on the kaleidoscope of stars streaking past on the forward viewscreen.
“ENSIGN!”
The slug-like being seated in front of the ship’s navigation panel jumped as if he’d been physically struck. “Sorry, sir!” The ensign tapped on a control with one of his tentacles. “We’re down to 1773c, Captain. Engineering reports we can’t decelerate any quicker or the ship will come apart.”
We’re still traveling five times faster than the ship was designed to go, thought the captain as the creaking of the vessel’s shuddering superstructure went up in pitch.
“Hull breach on deck five, section two!” said a crewman seated at a console starboard aft. “Venting atmosphere. Emergency bulkheads have sealed off the section. That area was empty at the time of the breach.”
“Acknowledged,” replied the captain. He thought of the four crew members whose lives were lost in the explosion in the engine room. In the unlikely event his ship actually made it back home, what would he tell their families?
“Down to 600c,” said the ensign.
“Captain to engineering, how long until we can re-enter normal space?”
The haggard image of the chief engineer appeared on a small screen next to the captain’s left tentacle. The damaged quantum impulsion drive was flooding the engine room with radiation. Even if the ship survived, the remaining engineering crew almost certainly wouldn’t.
“Captain,” said the chief engineer in a tired voice, “we’ll need to come out of quantum impulse near a moderately sized gravity well. A small to medium planet, ideally.” The engineer paused and took two wheezing breaths. “The structural reinforcement grid is barely holding the ship together as it is. There’s less turbulence re-entering normal space near something with a bit of mass.”
“Alright, I’ll wait for your word,” said the captain.
“Sir,” said the chief engineer, “would you be so kind as to tell my wife and children–”
“You’re going to tell them you’re a hero because you saved this ship!” the captain interjected.
The chief engineer knew the captain had said that for the benefit of the bridge crew. He knew he was done for and knew that the captain knew it, too. “Yes, sir,” he said and his image faded from the screen.
The captain sat and waited. He heard someone muttering from port aft. He turned one eyestalk in that direction and saw his communication officer fumbling with a small, crystal solicitation dodecahedron with the digits of his left tentacle as he whispered a prayer for deliverance.
“We’re at 25c and dropping!” said the ensign with an inflection of optimism. The squeal of structural fatigue was getting quieter.
“Engineering to bridge. Uploading real space re-entry coordinates to the conn. Going to try to come out close to a planet in a nearby solar system. Hang on. It’s gonna be rough ride.”
The ensign at the conn positioned his tentacle over a flashing blue button.
“We’re going to make it,” said the captain as the strange but beautiful blue and white planet rapidly filled the viewscreen. “We’re going to make it.”
The ship emerged into real space a moment too soon and slammed into the planet at relativistic speed. It hit with the force of an asteroid. The ship’s impact crater wouldn’t be discovered by the planet’s inhabitants for 65 million years.
by submission | Apr 21, 2013 | Story |
Author : Stephen LaGioia
I stand anxious and apprehensive in the corner of the hallway near the top of my front door. I crawl to the peephole and squint through it, surveying the empty sky below me and blades of grass protruding upwards, my eyes frantically searching for help.
Cars and Hovers speed past, criss-crossing one another, just far enough to be out of earshot.
I shout through an open window to a man floating blissfully across the sidewalk, but of course he is wearing headphones and too far into his own world to break his trance and help me.
Finally a voice sounds on the other end of the phone, which I have been holding to my ear for what seems like an eternity. My knuckle begins to grow tired as I clutch the phone tightly, both from rage, and to prevent the disastrous prospect of letting go.
It is a relief to no longer hear that repetitive music being played on a loop as a crackling male voice interrupts it.
Gravity by John Mayer – how original.
“GraviTech Service and Rescue. What can we assist you with today?”
“Well, for starters, you can send a Dispatcher over here immediately! I have been trying to get through for half an hour! I have a serious problem here, thanks to your capsules.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, you sold me the wrong tablets. I bought the damn Moon Walkers and you guys must have filled the bottle with the wrong pills. Now I’m stuck on my own ceiling.”
“You mean you floated too high and can’t regain control?”
I sigh, trying to hold back an anger that threatens to boil over.
“No… I didn’t take the damn ZeroGravs. What I’m saying is that I FLIPPED and now I’m sitting on my ceiling! You people put Reversals in the Walker bottle!”
A concerned gasp could be heard on the other end.
“Our deepest apologies, sir! Do you have a receipt?”
“I got it from a GraVending… What do you think?”
“Well, unfortunately we cannot permit a return, but we will gladly replace your bottle with a bottle of Walkers. Or perhaps we can interest you in some LiteGravs? They are great for sleep; very relaxing.”
“Look, I don’t care about any of that. The only way I can relax right now is if my feet are back on my own floor! Just send someone over here right now with the Stabilizers! Maybe you people can use your damn Floaters to get here quicker.”
“Alright, alright. We are sending a GravTech Dispatcher right away. And sir? Whatever you do, DO NOT step outside your home!”
“Honestly, do you think I’m stupid?”
I slam the phone down angrily and collapse onto my back, shaking my head in disgust and staring thoughtfully up at my floor.
by submission | Apr 20, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ulrich Lettau
“This has never been done before.” I blurted out, watching the massive instrument continue to magnify the fluorine atom image. The gauge rapidly passed the billion power mark and continued toward the 1,750,000,000 times, the theoretical maximum.
“Dr. Cronus, you will certainly receive the Titan Prize for Physics when this achievement becomes publicized. I am tremendously proud to have assisted.”
My green face flushed with a tinge of bright magenta, as it often does that when I am embarrassed. “Please, Prometheus, there are others that made invaluable contributions, laying ground work for this project.”
We turned our attention to the plasma screen, watching what we thought to be an image of a nucleus and nine electrons enlarge. Conventional theory had erroneously predicted that all electrons would be equal in size, and the nucleus to be inert. We had also assumed that the electrons would circle the center at angles randomly.
Prometheus exclaimed, “Look Doctor, there is a seemingly minute amount of energy being released from the nucleus, like a tiny sun.”
“Yes, while it may appear infinitesimal to us, it has an immense bearing on the electrons. Energy expelled in the form of light.” The magnification gauge had reached 1.5 billion power. “See how the electron’s orbits are in line, progressively further from the epicenter. The closest is small and burnt. The second is grey. Number four is red.”
Prometheus was captivated, “Look at the gigantic size of number five and the sixth has rings.”
I interrupted, entranced by the third, a unique sphere, “It is exquisite, brilliant blue, with large green forms, capped with white poles.”
by featured writer | Apr 19, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
The President of the United States smiled as the press photographed and video recorded her handshake with the Un’Vidik representative. The tall, spindly alien showed no emotion. How could it, encased as it was in its stark white encounter suit? The alien and the President left the photo op and entered the White House.
It was with reluctance that the captain of the immense Un’Vidik starship had agreed to the meeting at all. But its vessel had had to touch down on the Moon to replete its ship’s helium-3 supply and as the United States was the only nation thus far to have landed astronauts on the Moon, the American request for a personal meeting had been the one that the aliens had at last agreed to honor.
After the President and the alien sat down, the American spoke. “Captain, I sincerely hope that this is merely the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial relationship between your people and the human race.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Madame President,” the Un’Vidik replied through its encounter suit’s speaker. “But I’m afraid further contact between our peoples is unlikely. This current meeting is itself highly irregular to say the least. If you will forgive my bluntness, humanity has a certain…reputation in the galaxy.”
The President sighed and nodded. “You’ve monitored our television broadcasts. You know that Man is a violent species. But, Captain, a good many of our wars have been fought to preserve freedom and justice. And surely you must know many of history’s most revered figures have been men of peace? Mohandas Gandhi of India, for example. And my own country’s Martin Luther King, Jr.”
“Madame President,” said the Un’Vidik, “mankind’s history of violence is not at issue. Conflict, while most regrettable, is universal. There are five separate wars being waged across the galaxy at this very moment. And the combatants hail from worlds that have produced great works of literature, music, and philosophy.”
The American looked surprised. “Well then, Captain, is it humanity’s religious beliefs? Is agnosticism the norm in the galaxy?”
“Far from it,” said the alien. “Many advanced and civilized worlds possess one or more faiths. I happen to be a practicing member of the Communion of the Cosmic Superintendence myself.”
“Then what problem is it that the rest of the galaxy has with the human race?” asked the President.
“To be quite frank,” said the Un’Vidik, “you humans can’t drive.”
“What?!” exclaimed the American.
“There are 24 distinct interstellar polities,” the alien captain said. “They represent a myriad of political structures, religions, and philosophies. Yet one common feature to all of them is the deep-seated belief that the ability to operate vehicles is a hallmark of civilization. There are more motor vehicle accidents on Earth than in the rest of the galaxy combined. To say one ‘drives like a human’ is considered a harsh insult on over a hundred worlds.”
“You’re telling me Earth is considered a backwater because of bad drivers?” The President was stunned.
“Madame President, I hope the day comes when Man will learn not to drive slowly in the fast lane and that a turn without a turn signal is an act of utter barbarity. When that day comes, you will be ready to join galactic civilization. Until then, know that the Un’Vidik are grateful for the use of your Moon to refuel our ship. And on a personal note, I will pray to the Cosmic Superintendence that your people will learn how to manage a four-way stop.”
by Desmond Hussey | Apr 18, 2013 | Story |
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer
Darwin was wrong. The Burgarii Collective is living proof of that.
Watching the massive arcologies floating above the old city is surreal – mountains literally drifting among the clouds. I am reminded of a text book found deep in the library’s archives (one of many I’ve been transcribing since the 2026AD “Datacrash” wiped 90% of Earth’s electronic storage). According to the text, Charles Darwin, father of modern evolutionary theory, had a contemporary known as Peter Kropotkin, a disinherited Russian prince, zoologist and philosopher who had proposed an evolutionary model which stood in utter contrast to Darwin’s “survival of the fittest.”
I observe the various races of the Burgarii Collective carry out their specialized tasks on and about the lush floating oases of the arcologies. Some fly by wing or membrane. Some are carried aloft with flight packs of various designs. Still others crawl effortlessly over the hull, using natural or artificial suction pads to secure them to the surface. At a glance I can see over a thousand different species of plant, animal and sentient races all working together for a common good; panoply of colour, genetic design and symbiotic co-operation.
Kropotkin’s model was based not on genetic superiority of tooth and claw, but on mutual aid, wherein an individual not only co-operated with members of its own species for the betterment of the whole, but would develop strong, lasting, sometimes bizarre symbiotic relationships with other species for mutual benefit.
A multi-limbed Grokos floats past, carried aloft by a Vindarkian helium sac. The Vindark’s small, jet-like vents propel the harvester down rows of ripe strawberries – a terrestrial delicacy for the insectoid Grokus. I can see a humanoid Druig, with its Methane Algae respirator, fidgeting with a green, crystalline generator unit. Nearby, a tall, spider-like Scarvenian Empath explains to a group of humans how the generator’s semi-sentient X’ioli crystals are harmonized via the multi-tonal frequencies of a Creax Vocal Harp, producing giga-watts of electricity on demand.
According to the book, Kropotkin’s ideas had plenty of experimental data and research supporting them, but Darwin’s “dog eat dog” vision of the world was a sentiment shared by the seminal corporate engines of the age; young industrialists who were steadily gaining power and influence alongside the burgeoning Industrial Revolution.
Thus, Darwin’s voice was heard while Kropotkin’s faded to obscurity. The new zeitgeist placed humanity at the top of the food chain; self-made Lords over the kingdom of Earth. “Survival of the Fittest!” became the rallying cry of a thriving corporate hegemony, heralding an era of competition and global expansion.
Drunk on the promise of the new paradigm, we systematically manufactured, one human at a time, a rapacious social beast hell-bent on survival. A voracious predator, it swallowed anything in its path; trees, oceans, skies, flesh, leaving a trail of devastation and waste in its wake. Species vanished, devoured by the beast’s insatiable desire for more. Within three centuries, all life on Earth was endangered. The few remaining humans were the sickest of the lot.
The survivors, it seemed, weren’t the fittest after all.
What were we then?
Just plain lucky.
If not for Burgarii intervention, we would’ve destroyed ourselves along with a multi-billion-year-old ecology. But they came and have shown us what Kropotin tried to show us so long ago.
Today, a Plithian hive mind is teaching me the language of bees. Already their calming buzz is forming a coherent syntax in my mind. I wonder what things would have been like if we’d chosen this path sooner. What new relationships might have developed? How many species might have been spared?
by Duncan Shields | Apr 17, 2013 | Story |
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
Mordeck and Cheddar Plain were field-stripping their weapons on top of Concourse B. No one came by here. They talked and smoked openly. Eyes in the sky were a thing of the past.
They perched there on an I-beam, ten stories up from the concrete graveyard.
The broken teeth of the buildings around them creaked in the wind. The rubbish of destroyed skyscrapers snuggled up to the corners of architecture too stupid to fall down. Cities like zombies, not knowing they were dead. Sunlight picked out the holes of shattered windows like hundreds of surprised but empty eye sockets. They leaned against each other like headless drunks.
The broken glass was in the process of becoming sand. The concrete was becoming dust. The gyprock was becoming mud from the rain. The paper from office after office took flight and settled whimsically around the town. Most of it was used for nests. Every intersection was a wind-shaped bowl extending down from building’s eroding corners. Dunes formed in places. It didn’t take a predicator to see that the city was being scoured from the Earth and it was being done quicker than one would expect.
Soon, within centuries, the red bones of rusted rebar would be all that was left poking up occasionally like treasure through the sand.
The buildings were crying dust and the wind sounded like their moaning. No wonder the postborns saw the cities as haunted.
Preday survivors like Cheddar Plain and Mordeck knew better. They could go into the cities with no fear.
Mordeck and Cheddar Plain still had working implants from before when they were soldiers. Mordeck switched on his eye. Cheddar Plain carefully studded his firing arm to ‘on’. A supersonic flashbulb whine of readiness cycled up, muffled by the towel he’d wrapped around it. Their job as part of the Polis Fors was to kill folks trying to come back and live in the city.
The zealots came into view, dressed in red cloaks. They were carrying incense. Scavengers and Repopulists. Religious Nostalgics who had dreams of a new future. They wanted to go back to the way things were, not forward into a rural world.
Vets like Cheddar Plain and Mordeck fought a losing battle. Postborns were outnumbering the Preday survivors every day. Humanity might eventually boomerang back to being able to a nuclear age if they reclaimed the cities.
With a shrug, Mordeck hooked his visual cortex up to Cheddar Plain’s arm and looked down at the priests in red shuffling their way through the debris. They lit up in IR, nightviz, and t-sonics. The reds became greens, the grey dust became blue, and through the directionals, Mordeck could hear them as if he was walking with them.
Cheddar Plain drew in breath and bit his lip in anticipation. Mordeck nodded once, quickly. That was the trigger.
Cheddar Plain’s arm tip flowered open. Six hunterstrikes winked forward in a puff of smoke and a slight recoil.
The priests exploded in an orange ball seventeen blocks away. Today’s quota had been reached.
Cheddar Plain and Mordeck smiled in the shadows and waited for news of another gridpoint sighting.
The cities must remain empty.
