by Duncan Shields | Jan 6, 2011 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
There is a clarity that comes with crisis, he thought, a simplicity that comes with emergency.
That’s why this movie night on a space station named Heron 6 pinned in the perihelion lagrange point between Triskus and Constantine became a sudden trial. There was a crack in the hull and there were eighteen of us. There were six life boats. Two to a boat equaled twelve. That left six people that would have to stay on the space station and die.
The chances of being holed in that part of space were very low and the ticket prices to this station were super cheap because of the poor safety measures.
We were all experienced spacers. We knew without speaking that the first to the lifeboats would survive. The movie, something hideously outdated from Original Earth, stayed cycling on the screen as we scrambled without language to the porthole irises of the lifeboat pods.
It was an interesting race. Jason and Tanya had my ankles at one point. I broke his nose with my foot. She let go when Jason’s blood got in her eyes in the zero gravity. None of us had weapons and we knew that if we were to detour to pick them up from the weapons locker, we would lose our chance to get to a pod.
The scramble was made more intense by the dropping temperature and air pressure. My ears popped and the cold numbed my extremities frighteningly quickly.
Peter shouldered past me with his larger frame and I careened over into the wall. I knew that I was going to die if I didn’t keep going but if I was panicking, I couldn’t feel it. I think that the entire group of us were experiencing what cattle in stampedes must feel, or rabbits trying to escape flooding warrens, or groups of people trapped in burning buildings. I scrambled forward through the thinning air, watching Peter receive a sharp elbow from Lorenz and double up, winded in the rapidly declining atmosphere. He floated back past me.
The whole race for life must have taken two minutes but I remember it as a timeless extended moment bereft of clocks. I felt as if I joined the mindless fight for survival that every single living being has experienced. The chase to beat death with the certainty that there would be losers amongst your number.
I slammed into a life pod and Tanya slammed up against me. I struck out with my fist and hit the button to close the door. The doors shut and sealed loudly. The thuds of fists echoed on the outside. The thuds stopped after a minute.
Tanya must have clawed her way back to the forefront after our tussle. When she looked at me, breathing deeply of the emergency air supply gushing into the sealed lifepod and smeared with Jason’s blood from earlier, she smiled with the nervous, bright-eyed smile of animal triumph. There was no resentment of my earlier clash with her and Jason.
We held each other there and waited for help. It arrived seven hours later. We didn’t say a single word to each other in those hours. We shared the bond of beings that had survived a crisis. We were in a place beyond the usual banality.
The others that survived met up with us back in the rescue ship with sighs of relief and knowing nods and tears over who we had lost but beneath it all was a joy. A completely placid, guilt-free aspect of gene-deep peace. I still remember that.
by submission | Jan 5, 2011 | Story
Author : Ian Rennie
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look fine.”
“What is this garment made of, anyway?”
“A stretchy polymer filled with some kind of foam. It simulates the effect of muscles on your thorax.”
“Why would I want to have muscles on my thorax?”
“Because that’s where the mammals have them.”
Metr and Edlai walked, talking in voices too high for the collected mammals to hear. Around them walked alines, mechanoids and cybernetic creatures of every shade and stripe, none of them real.
Well, almost none.
“Why do we have to have this meeting here anyway?”
Metr hissed softly in exasperation and turned to face his friend,looking him directly in his slit-pupilled eyes.
“We’re having it here because this is neutral ground, as neutral as it gets. Between us and the Vaex, there’s about a hundred systems, only one of them has a breathable atmosphere, and that’s where we’re meeting. Neither of us has an advantage here.”
“I understand that, but why meet at this ludicrous carnival?”
Metr had wondered this himself, until he had seen video of the event. Hundreds of mammals in costumes, simulating a variety of weird races that they had dreamed up with no knowledge of the rest of the galaxy. With this range of shapes and faces, nothing humanoid would get a second glance.
“So,” said Edlai after the pause had started to stretch, “Do you think this will work?”
“The alternative to this working is the kind of war that rewrites the sky. Unless they’re insane and we’re insane, this will work.”
Metr said the words with a confidence that he didn’t feel. Nobody present, and very few still alive, could remember how the Vaek and the Na’taa had gained such antipathy towards each other. The source of the grudge was variously thought to be mineral rights in a variety of systems, trading deals gone bad, or just the overarching fact that insectoids and reptillians liked each other even less than they liked mammals. And now they were going to have to forge peace, or throw a third of the galactic disk into a slow and murderous war.
“Are you all right?”
Slowly, Metr became aware that he had stopped, and was staring into the distance.
“I’m fine,” he lied, “I just need a little air. You go on without me.”
Edlai moved away, leaving Metr looking out over the hall of mammals in their costumes. They were innovents, playing childish games of make believe. Their civilization had got little further than their own moon, and yet if things went badly, their planet could be snuffed out without them ever knowing why.
A drunken mammal bumped into him, nearly spilling a plastic cup of something.
“Whoa, sorry mate,” The mammal said, “Hey, nice costume. Star Wars?”
Metr shook his reptillian head.
“I hope not.”
by Patricia Stewart | Jan 4, 2011 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
“Exactly what do you expect is going to happen, Dr. Erwin?” asked Captain Podolsky as he stared out the aft viewport.
“Well, Captain, if Schrodinger’s unpublished theorem is correct, when I create a quantum bubble around that asteroid, it should cease to exist in our universe.”
“I’m not a scientist Doctor, but doesn’t that violate a law of physics?”
“Several, Captain. But in science, laws evolve, or are rewritten. So, shall we revise science as we currently know it?”
But before Dr. Erwin could activate the Quantum Bubble Generator, the emergency claxon sounded. “Bridge to Captain, long range sensors are picking up a Deneobian attack force closing in on our position.”
Damn, thought Podolsky. He had tried to convince Central Command that it was better to test the device with a battle ready escort, but they had elected to conduct the experiment with a low profile. “Under the scanners,” they had said. Well, that’s plasma out the exhaust. “Unfortunately, Doctor, it looks like the war may delay your date with the scientific legislature. Lieutenant, set a course for the delta sector, maximum warp. Let me know it they attempt to pursue us. Maybe their appearance was just a coincidence.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” After a tense minute of silence, they got their answer. “No luck, Captain. They’ve altered course and are following us. And sir, they must have improved their warp drive, because they are gaining, fast. I estimate that they’ll overtake us in twenty minutes.”
“Understood, Lieutenant. I’m on my way to the bridge.” Then he addressed Erwin, “We’re only a frigate, Doctor. We’re no match for a Deneobian attack force. Command thought a lone ship would go unnoticed, but I suspect that their spies have found out about your experiment. If we can’t outrun them, I’ll have to initiate the autodestruct. I can’t let them get the bubble generator, or the scientists that built it.” He started to leave, and then abruptly stopped. “Doctor, is there any way your device could make their ships cease to exist?”
“Unfortunately, Captain, no. At least, not while they’re in hyperspace. The quantum bubble wouldn’t be stable. However, if you engaged them in normal space, I could give it a shot.”
“Sorry, Doctor. I can’t take that chance.” Again, he turned to leave.
“Captain,” called out Erwin, “if you have to go the autodestruct route, can you give us a minute’s notice? We may come up with something.”
Podolsky nodded, and left.
***
Eighteen minutes later, the captain called down to engineering. “Doctor, they’re right on our tails, and help is more than an hour away. If you got a trick up your sleeve, now would be a good time.”
Erwin and his team had spent the last fifteen minutes reprogramming the Quantum Bubble Generator. “We think so, Captain. It seems the hyperspace equation may have more than one solution after all. Please maintain our current course,” he replied as he activated the generator. As the frigate streaked through hyperspace, a star sized elongated cloud of antimatter gas formed in its wake. Seconds later, the Deneobian fleet plowed through the rarified cloud of antimatter only to explode in rapid succession a heartbeat later. The science team erupted into cheers, and Dr. Erwin simply smiled. Some laws, he thought, were meant to be broken.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jan 3, 2011 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“With the launch of Grimace 4, the MacDonaldCorp orbital facility will be completed on time and ready to begin dishing out delicious meals at competitive prices to our brave astronauts as well as the astronauts and cosmonauts of all nations.
We go now live, to Sharon Davit at MacDonaldCorp’s CapCom in Houston, Texas to speak to MacDonaldCorp spokesperson, Ronald MacDonald himself.”
“Thank you Terry. I have with me Mr. Ronald MacDonald, spokesclown for the MacDonaldCorp’s orbital restaurant and hotel and President of the United States. Mr. MacDonald…”
“Please Sharon, call me Ronald.”
“Okay … Ronald. Tell me. What does this mean to the corporate growth of space?”
“Well Sharon, we just want to deliver a delicious and familiar taste of home to space farers of all nations.”
“Any plans beyond the restaurant and hotel, Ronald?”
“’House’, Sharon. Not ‘hotel’, ‘House’. No, we don’t want the Moon… Yet. Waka waka, waka.”
“Thank you, Ronald. Back to you Terry.”
“Tragedy is connected with the completion of this, the latest and undoubtedly greatest, achievement of corporate manned spaceflight. Famed Science Fiction writer and winner of multiple Hugo and Nebula awards for his visionary work, Roi R. Czechvala, died by his own hand early this morning at his home in Corpus Christi, Texas.
According to his full time nurse, Dorothy Fontana, the infirmed writer was heard to mumble, ‘I’m Lovin’ It’, before producing a large calibre revolver where after he ended his life. Mr Czechvala was 114 years old last September. According to those closest to him he died “still pretty pissed off that that jet pack they promised him in the early seventies never materialized.”
In related news, strange sounds appear to be emanating from the graves of such men of science as Doctors Stephen Hawking and Isaac Asimov, as well as Science Fiction luminaries Robert A. Heinlein, Ray Bradbury, Phillip K. Dick, and S. R. Smith.
With us in the studio is the director of the MacNASA Parapsychology Centre in Bowling Green Kentucky, George J. Kreskin III. Mr. Kreskin, what can you tell us about these bizarre phenomena?”
“First of all Terry, thank you for having me. I need to point out that this is not a new phenomenon. It was first noticed after the launch of Big Kroc 1 which successfully placed the restaurant module into a LEO or Low Earth Orbit. The intensity of the sound emanating from these graves was noted by a marked increase in frequency after the launch of Hamburglar 2, carrying the playground component of the habitat or rather, the ‘MacSpace Station’”.
Today, the noise again shifted tremendously and is clearly audible to those standing even several feet away from the graves of these lauded men, with the launch of Grimace 4.”
“Dr. Kreskin, can you tell our audience what is making these strange noises.”
“Terry, it’s too early to tell. Right now we are seeking court orders to exhume the bodies of these esteemed men. All I can tell you is that the sound is a sort of whizzing noise as if something were being spun at a tremendous rate.”
by submission | Jan 2, 2011 | Story
Author : Phillip English
“Listen, that kind of thing ain’t my problem!”
“Well whose problem is it then? I got a lotta pressure from the top brass on this one, and I’ve got to tell ‘em something!”
Ba’rhy and Gleeg stalked along the walkway over the steam cookers, yelling at each other over the high pressure hiss that emanated from the giant, steel riveted bell-jars. Ba’rhy pointed towards his office and then to his lower ears. Gleeg nodded and waited until they were safely inside the confines of the supervisor’s sound-proof walls before resuming his interrogation.
“I acknowledge that you’re not exactly in the line of fire here, but I’ve got to give something to the higher-ups. Isn’t there some kind of fault you can point to? Something mechanical, out of our control?”
Ba’rhy pinched his foreflanges together in exasperation “If I say it was a mechanical fault, then our engies will get it in the neck for not performing proper maintenance. If I say it was a quality control problem, then a schmuck on the assembly line will be out of a job, and likely his life. What do you want me to do, condemn some poor bastard to his death?”
“I know, I know. It’s just that this kind of galactic fuck up doesn’t happen every day, and they want someone or something to blame.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ba’rhy’s faceplate change hue to a smile. “But man, I’d have killed to see their faces when that bloater exploded in their faces. I mean, damn! All those chunks of fat and giblets strewn over Her Royal Highness? Hah! Priceless.”
Gleeg allowed his faceplate to colour slightly. “Yeah, right, I know. Look please, can’t you think of anything?”
“Maybe…hey, maybe we could say it’s just this batch of humans? Do a product recall? It’s a grand enough gesture and the blame is placed on the product, not the people behind it?”
Gleeg pondered this for a few moments, but then reluctantly leaned back and nodded. “Hmm, product recalls are expensive, but a lot of that cost can be reclaimed by feeding the ‘damaged’ product back into the feed stations. Alright, sure, I’ll see if it flies. But you’d better be prepared to point a foreflange if it doesn’t!”
“Yeah okay, okay,” Ba’rhy lead Gleeg out of his office and surveyed the landscape of the factory. The smell of the thousand or so bodies writhing around in feeder vats below made him shudder and return to his office. He sighed and brought out his private stash of clink: filling out the paperwork for the recall was going to be an all-night job, but someone had to do it.
by submission | Jan 1, 2011 | Story
Author : Tom Kepler
A large, rectangular container slid silently through the air, a dull, umber metal box, utilitarian and featureless except for the alternating pattern of raised and lowered slabs of metal that were the connecting construction of the rectangle—all the world like a wooden shipping crate.
Above the rippling, endless pattern of trees the freight crate, large enough to hold a hundred units, slipped with perfect equilibrium until it reached a meadow green in the dawning light. Lowering until inches from the meadow grasses, one section, six units wide on the long side of the container facing the meadow, whispered open, sliding back alongside itself, revealing a gridded cage front.
The container then began to rise on the end away from the opening, and a stumbling rustle of sound from inside the container indicated movement. The units moved to the caged door as the acuteness of the angle of the container increased. Twenty units stood in dull stupor, squinting into the morning light.
“Each stand within a consecutive square on the grid on the floor, one standing on the red square at the corner. No one must stand in a square that is completely surrounded by empty squares. Obey, or the sequence will repeat.”
The units complied, shuffling to rectangles, the directions simple enough even in their fatigue. A new voice spoke.
“Outside is a mown section of grass where the grid upon which you stand is duplicated. One square is also painted red, and the two grids are aligned so that the red squares of the grid upon which you stand and red square in the grid outside are in the same place. You will move to the grid outside and enter and remain in the square corresponding to the square within which you now stand.”
“Identify now the units next to you,” the first voice continued. “Proceed to your designated square, lie upon the good earth, cover your heads with your arms, and whatever happens, do not leave your designated square.”
The door noiselessly slid open, and the second voice said, “Get!”
Naked forms leaped from the container and, as if no voices had spoken, ran through and past the grid etched on the mown meadow grasses, ran into the tall, uncut grasses, ran on legs sweated dirty from long confinement into the silent, shadowed darkness of the forest.
They ran, feet beating stubborn rhythms until they were gone—gone, all but one who staggered last from the container, fell to its knees as it stepped from the drop to the mown meadow with its pattern. Staggering to its feet, the unit staggered to its designated space and collapsed, face down upon the grass.
It did not notice the fragrance of the cut grass or the birdsong at dawn or the blue of the sky or the warmth of the morning sun. It did not hear the sudden silence after the trampling of feet. It did not hear the subsequent screams and cries and moans from the forest—or the silence that followed.
Brighter light approached the unit that had collapsed on its perfect square.
“What is this unit?”
A pause. “Adam.”
“This behavior has occurred only once before.”
“Deactivate the guards, and let us depart. We leave it to its fate.”
Light caressed the face of the man unconscious upon the earth.
“Who knows, perhaps the woman still lives and shall meet this man.”
“Perhaps. And may God bless.”
