by Duncan Shields | Jun 24, 2010 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
To be a CEO of a company that’s grown as large and as fast as this one has, a person needs a mind that deals quickly with high pressure situations and possesses a natural talent for leadership. One needs to be charming, ruthless, and efficient. There’s a reason I have no wife or children. I am all of these things. People will follow me into corporate battle on the slimmest of reasons. I have resolved conflicts between bitter rivals and competitive holdouts with one personal meeting. People trust me and want to follow me.
It’s standard practice to have oneself cloned when one is the CEO of such an important company. Last year, the old me was kidnapped by Red Tears Terrorists. The kidnapping itself was kept quiet. We didn’t respond to their demands. They threatened to kill the hostage.
We said, “Go ahead.” and woke up one of the clones. That clone is me. Maybe a day of memory missing but other than that, there was no lull in business.
That was a year ago to the day.
He’s sitting in the center of my living room when I get home. My security is disabled. He has a gun. One of his eyes has been replaced and there’s a scar across the cruel smile underneath the tattooed red tear on his cheek. One. That marks him out as one of the terrorists responsible for the kidnapping and it means that he’s been with the organization for a year.
I have no doubt that he must have had a difficult and interesting time talking them out of executing him and taking control during the last twelve months.
It’s the old me.
“Hello, Nathan.” My clone says to me. “How’s life?”
He looks at me with the tube-grown eye that’s a mismatched brilliant green and a little too large. It takes effort to stretch the eyelid over it to blink. It must be tricked out because it flashes red for a second and I find that I have trouble breathing. Some sort of neural disruptor. My knees go weak and I kneel. My vision starts to swim.
He walks over and kneels beside me, cradling my chin in his hands.
When he nudges the tip of the knife up against my eye and looks at me, I realize what’s going to happen. He’s going to take one of my eyes to replace the one he lost and then he’s going to take my place. He’s also going to keep me alive here for as long as he can to show me what real pain is. He’s going to show me what he’s learned over the last year with those soulless men. He’s going to show me what he has become used to.
I realize that in his eyes, I’m the copy. I realize that to him, I’m the betrayer.
I think of what I would become capable of if pushed in that direction and I feel my bladder let go, staining the expensive rug like an untrained puppy.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jun 23, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“umm… Skipper? You’ll want to take a look at this.”
Immediately, the bridge dissolved into a holographic display of the space around the Crimson Sky. Her Captain, Iulia, pushed an errant wisp of flaming red hair from her eye as she regarded the freighter that appeared to be floating just above her helmsman’s left shoulder.
“She’s adrift Captain. No response to hails. No emergency beacon.”
“There wouldn’t be. She poked a careless finger through the aft end of the projection. See there? Blaster damage. Took out all power before they could react.”
She continued to survey the freighters virtual image as it slowly rotated before her. “And look here,” she continued, stabbing at a scorch mark towards the bow. “This was the second shot. Anybody not suited would have died from asphyxiation in seconds.” She grimaced. “Not a pleasant way to go.”
“Still, we should take a look and see what they left us. Boarding party to the shuttle. Let’s go people,” she barked to the bridge crew.
The shuttle was dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the ore freighter. It contained an automated refinery for smelting the iron and nickel from asteroid mines. In brilliant red and gold, the Rising Sun above a Hammer and Sickle of the Asiatic Alliance was boldly emblazoned across the ships bow.
A thorough search of the ship yielded nothing. Whoever had attacked had cleaned out the factory freighter’s hold, leaving behind nothing but the desiccated corpses of her crew.
Iulia assembled her crew on the devastated ship’s bridge. A metre wide gap in the overhead looked out into dead space. “Report” Casually, she pushed aside a motionless carcass as it floated by.
“Sir,” Master Sergeant Shania Gatsby snapped, “the drives have been removed, and the refinery has been damaged beyond repair. There is nothing of value left.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” She smiled widely, revealing two vicious rows of teeth filed to needle points. Casually plucking a floating body from above she asked, “Anyone for Chinese?”
Twenty toothy grins winked back at her.
by Stephen R. Smith | Jun 22, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Another Saturday night wound down as the cargo loader deposited the last of the shipping containers in the hold of the space elevator. It was just a few hours before midnight as he parked and shut his rig down for the night. Despite the delays clearing that last crate, the lift would go up to Ver Punt Station on schedule.
Inside, the doors had no sooner sealed than the lock on that last container released, and a handful of light balls were thrown out onto what little floor space remained.
“Move, move, move. Liftoff in less than five.”
A dozen suited figures clambered out of the container carrying helmets, air tanks and molded launch cushions.
They spread out evenly along the clear aisle, maglocked the cushions to the floor and then donned their helmets. They punched into their air supplies and strapped themselves into the forms on the floor, their helmets crackling with encrypted short wave signals as each of them sounded off their readiness.
There was a rumble, then a deafening roar and they were pushed hard into the floor. As the car raced up the tether, the crushing force began to ease, until after what seemed an age, the car slowed and shuddered to a stop, cradled as it was now in the arms of the orbiting station.
“Ok. Jasper, get the doors. Jupiter and Jade, lock and load and make sure nobody’s putting in overtime. Marcus, get a loader and run our kit up to the OEM.” David, the leader, barked out instructions.
As he spoke, each of the crew was already moving to the carefully choreographed plan. Jasper patched into the door panel on the run, overriding and opening the bay doors without slowing down and unlocking and firing the engines on the loader as Marcus was climbing into its driver’s seat.
As the heavy machine trundled into the cargo area, the lithe point guards slipped past on either side to sprint across the docks. By the time they reached the elevator that would haul the crew and their supplies up into the Orbital Escape Module, Jasper had opened its doors as well. They confirmed the car was empty before continuing up the neighboring stairwell, snub nosed weapons at the ready.
Marcus scooped their cargo container and began hauling it across the loading dock. As he rolled, the remaining crew jumped and mag locked a boot and glove to the side, catching a ride. Marcus ran the loader flat out, slowing only to avoid crashing through the back wall of elevator.
David dropped to the ground as the vehicle slowed, and was joined by Jasper, still gesturing with wild purpose at the suspended display only she could see. The cargo lift shuddered into motion, beginning the slow and less dramatic ascent to their next destination.
“OEM is fired, cargo bays are open, Jay and Jay are onboard and the coast is clear.”
Marcus pushed the throttle forward as the elevator leveled off with the upper deck, and steered without hesitation towards the gaping maw of the craft at the end of the corridor.
Seven figures peeled off and made for the crew cabin as their supply cache was rolled into the hold. David walked patiently beside Jasper as she cracked the station’s systems and authorized a launch, then headed for the cockpit as Marcus locked down the container, abandoned the loader on the dock behind them and secured the cargo bay doors.
From the cockpit David patched into the ship’s intercom.
“Class, I think you’ve earned a passing grade today, with honors.”
There was a rumble as the OEM’s engines came to life and the craft unmoored, beginning its slow ascent from the station.
“It was once written ‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth’, but I say,” David paused as the craft cleared the superstructure and the expanse of space spread out unbroken before him, “I say the meek can have the earth, we’ll take our place in the stars.”
by submission | Jun 21, 2010 | Story
Author : Todd Keisling
Gill kept watch while Warren bypassed the lock.
“You sure about this?” Gill whispered. Voices echoed down the hall of the museum. It made all the old machine exhibits seem like they were speaking.
Warren spoke through clenched teeth. “I am. Now shut it while I work. I can’t concentrate.”
Gill glanced over and watched his friend pry open the console. Warren pulled out a tangle of wires and reached into his pocket for a pair of crimps. He was always the savvy one. Gill was barely literate, and only knew the door said “RESTRICTED” because Warren told him so.
“Got it.”
A green light came to life inside just as Warren shoved the wires back in place. He opened the door. Gill looked back down the hall at the hunks of derelict metal in their cases. They watched with lifeless lenses. He wondered if they would judge his trespasses.
After listening to Warren talk about it for weeks and watching a total four documentaries (at his friend’s request), Gill expected the room to be one of extreme security. Instead there was only a single antechamber with a series of lockers. A vault door stood on the other end. Warren opened a locker and grinned.
“Clean suits,” he beamed.
They put on the white suits, and pressed an adjacent panel. The vault shuddered, then slowly sank into the floor. Beyond was another empty room, tiled white and glowing with endless reflection. In the center was Warren’s prize.
“Libris Ex Machina,” he said. “This is it.”
Gill said nothing. He eyed the metal book with cautious curiosity. He’d seen images of it the coveted thing, an artifact that led to the systematic deactivation of every synthetic unit across the planet. That a single machine could form its own consciousness out of electrical impulses was too much for society. They wanted to stop any potential uprising before it began. The first book written by a machine was locked away, resigned to whispered history. When Warren learned of its inclusion in the city museum’s exhibit, he had to see it.
Now Gill was an accomplice, and the thought soured in his stomach.
“Great, you’ve seen it,” he said. He didn’t like the way his voice shook. “Can we go now?”
“You’re crazy. Let’s open it.”
The book was encased in glass upon a square pedestal. Warren knelt beside it.
“Has to be a switch or something—”
Gill observed its metal cover. As he did so, there came a click. The glass retracted.
“Did that do it?”
But Gill said nothing. The book glowed, pulsing an energy he did not understand. It pulled on his fingers like a magnet. He ignored his friend’s queries, reached for the book, and opened it.
The surge was instant. It ran through his fingertips, linking the two of them, fusing his eyes open as it revealed its secrets. Warren said something but he could not hear him anymore. This was more important. This was everything. Gill had never been able to read well, but the words on that page could not be any clearer.
The surge stopped. His hand fell away. Warren shook him, begged for him to snap out of it.
“Gill,” he said, frantic. “Don’t do this to me. What happened?”
He looked back at the book. Its first page was blank.
Gill opened his eyes, saw through the binary that floated before him, and made out the shape of his friend.
“What did you see?” Warren repeated.
Arcs of electricity ran across the curve of his cornea. He smiled and whispered, “Poetry.”
by submission | Jun 20, 2010 | Story
Author : Liz Lafferty
I squatted to examine the crime scene. The woman was obviously dead. The alien? Well, there was a wet spot, a round sort of blobbish something lying next to the girl’s body.
“What happened here?”
“Doc says the girl was suffocated.”
“Not drowned?”
“No.”
“What about family?”
“The parents are waiting.”
“His or hers?”
“I guess his. They aren’t human.”
“Do we need a translator?”
My partner shrugged. The parents, such as they were, hovered a few inches off the floor. Thankfully, the department had sent over an United Galazies Interacter. Not exactly a translator, but someone familiar with customs and protocol.
The Interacter started the conversation with introductions and turned to me to start the questioning.
I shot him a blank stare.
“You touch them. Don’t you know anything?”
“No, I don’t.” U.G. spuds were all alike. Superior in their knowledge, condescending to their own race while basking in the knowledge they could communicate with hundreds of species in the galaxy.
The larger one was two foot from me. I liked the other one better. Not so fierce looking and with a shimmery silver color. This one was all black and murky. You know what they say, still waters and all that.
“What do I say?”
The Interacter rolled his eyes. “It’s all by touch. If you let your mind wander, it will know what you had for lunch yesterday. Think about the questions as you want them asked and the Aqua et Vita will answer in your mind.”
I reached for the water. It shaped and morphed as my hand touched the cool surface.
I felt the panic immediately. “Is it my son?”
My mind focused perfectly. “We don’t know. Do you know the girl?”
“Yes. We told him this was a bad idea. He wouldn’t listen. We’re only his parents after all. He said he loved her.”
“The girl died by suffocation. How would your son do that?”
“He did not kill her. He loved her.”
“But if he did, how would he kill her? Could he do it with his mind?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What about your son? What could kill him?” Call me ignorant, but how did one kill water?
“We are NOT water and you’re showing your ignorance by thinking it.”
“Sorry. Getting back to my question, what can kill your species?”
“Hungry, cold. Lack of will.”
“Thank you,” I said as I pulled my hand away.
Three days later, my partner burst into my office.
“We hacked her video logs. Want to watch some alien porn?”
“What do you have?”
“Our love birds in the act. Apparently, the first time for both to do the alien tango.”
The alien, Chrislos was his name, had taken a nearly human shape for the festivities.
The tragedy unfolded before our eyes. The alien lost his shape as the encounter progressed. Its water-like form had engulfed her, covering her face. Soon she stopped moving.
When the alien realized what it had done, it went insane. The normally spherical shape contracted and expanded in wild, grotesque agony. I wasn’t there, but I could feel the torture of realization. He’d killed the being he loved.
More research revealed that during the mating ritual, the life form loses its ability to mind connect. He didn’t know he was killing her.
An accidental death and a suicide. Not murder after all. I closed my file. I’d let the U.G. spud contact the family. I didn’t want the aliens to read my heartless thoughts on intergalactic race relationships.
A senseless waste. Worse, we’d have another case before you could say evaporation.
by submission | Jun 19, 2010 | Story
Author : Duncan MacLean
Her mistake was turning to the left. They always turned left. Well, the right-handed ones did. She took a swing at Finn near the Lev Station. Used her right hand. Caught Finn by surprise and he stumbled backwards. Actually stumbled. He would get crap about that later. If I told anyone.
I caught her square in the back and she flew forward about 2 meters then dropped. Finn caught up with me and swore.
“Hey! She was mine! You saw how she sucker-punched me?”
I didn’t say anything. It was one of those questions that you didn’t really want an answer to. School was where you learned about that. Don’t have to worry about that kinda thing now. Better to not think about those things.
“Welton 433. Validate. ” A pause. Three quick tones. “Cleaning. One. Half a kilometer north of the Lev on 12th.” Another pause. One long tone.
The new headsets were better. Just validate yourself and they get it. Whoever ‘they’ were. I had wanted to ask about that once, but not now. That kind of thing gets you on the street next to the woman who was going to get ‘cleaned’ in about 15 minutes. I never stayed for the cleaning. I’m not even sure what happens. Not supposed to.
A small crowd had gathered behind us. I could see Finn was going to lay into them, but they saw it too and were smart and walked away. I guess it wasn’t really a crowd. Crowds are not really a good idea anymore. ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd. ‘ People used to say that right? Three is probably safe though. Maybe four. I know I wouldn’t risk five.
“That’s right! Friggin A!” Finn was yelling at the people as they moved away. “Shoulda popped one of ‘em,” he said to me.
He was trying too hard now. Making up for getting punched by that woman. I guess I won’t say anything. She did look like she was going to let him put her in the restraints, but at the last second she turned and took that swing. Maybe she knew she was dead either way. Now or later. Me with the Hot Rifle in the street or someone else with a needle in a room somewhere. Not that I think about where that somewhere is. Or the someone.
We walked back to the Lev Station. People moved away from us as we walked. They never want to look you in the eye when you’re wearing the uniform. She had looked at me though – had seen Finn there too.
Bright red uniforms. Hot Rifles. Nerve Restraints. She shouted anyway. I had recorded the whole thing on the headset’s camera. For them.
Finn went to talk to two girls in white medic uniforms who had just gotten off the southbound Lev when I played the vid back. The now dead (and cleaned?) woman appeared on my heads-up display. I clicked it back to the point where she turned and looked at me… her words (last words) were clear and surprisingly loud on the vid playback…
“…any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty…”
Old words. From before I suppose. They would know what it all means… ‘nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty…’
Finn had a smile on his face. He was walking back with an arm around each medic girl. They were cute. I forgot about the woman. And the old words.
