by submission | May 9, 2008 | Story
Author : Timothy T. Murphy
A month before reaching Europa, Heather woke to an e-mail from her grandfather. Her grandfather hated e-mail, so much so that she’d been shocked when he asked her to teach him so they could talk while she was away.
He hated cameras even more, so when she opened her in-box to see a thumbnail of his face, she was stunned.
She clicked it and her grandfather’s face swam into view, eyes red and swollen.
“Heather, dear, this is your grandfather. I’m sorry to have to tell you this way, but your mother has died.â€
Even in one-sixth gravity, her gut sank like a rock.
“There’s uh… been a virus spreading about, these last few months. I think you only just missed it…â€
She knew of it. Two months after leaving Earth, everyone on her transport got into a panic over it. For three months, they all hopped around with breath masks, getting panicky anytime anyone sneezed. Heather’s dust allergy had not made her popular.
“I didn’t want to tell you until it was certain, and for a while there, it looked like the antivirals were working. Two days ago, she took a very bad turn …â€
She didn’t want to think of what that meant. She’d heard the stories. She tried not to think of her mother lying in bed, soiling herself and screaming incoherently as the virus fed on her nervous system, leaving behind mineral deposits that calcified her brain.
“Your brother and father are fine. They’ve been quarantined for weeks, but it looks like they’re not infected.†He paused to wipe his eyes, not looking at the screen. “Your mother wasn’t allowed any visitors.â€
She died alone.
Five months she’d been on a spaceship, adapting to low gravity and being shunned as the only law enforcement officer on board but for the first time, Heather felt sick and alone. Her gut wrenched into a knot and she leaned forward, pressing her face into her hands as fat tears slid free of her eyes.
“I … I know that you and your mother didn’t get along, these last few years, Sweetheart, but … Well, services are Saturday, and I know you can’t be there, Baby, so if there’s anything you’d like me to say on your behalf, well … you can let me know.â€
She knew as well as Grandpa did that any words from her at that ceremony would be seen as an insult, a spit in her mother’s face. In the Childress family, she was a pariah. “The only Childress ever to grow up to become a servant.†Only Grandpa still talked to her, and even he did so in secret.
Still, it was her mother. She wanted to say something. Her mind spun about, looking for some anchor, and landed on the only photo she’d bought with her. Pinned to her bulletin board, it had been taken twenty years ago, when Heather was just seven, and still her mother’s favorite. Her mother had broken her leg, skiing in the French Alps. Heather had signed her cast.
Almost blindly, she opened a new mail and clicked her grandfather’s address. For the subject line, she only put, “Eulogy.†For the message, “My mother taught me to endure pain. It is no help, now. I’ll always ache without her.â€
She thanked him and sent it. Later, she would send a longer mail, telling him how she felt, and trying to console him in his loss, but for now, she curled up on her cot – five months away from her mother – and cried.
by J.R. Blackwell | May 8, 2008 | Story
Author : J.R. Blackwell, Staff Writer
Jack hated the Minotaur. Ever since he’d gotten off the silver bus to basic training at White Hook, the Minotaur had picked on him. At the Imperial recruitment office, Jack was told that he had some of the highest scores on physical, mental and social tests of any new recruit. The Minotaur, Jacks superior officer, was in charge of his group of trainees. Jack wasn’t used to doing poorly, but at White Hook, he always came last.
The Minotaur picked apart Jack’s bunk, dumping his things on the floor. The Minotaur ordered Jack to take double shifts guarding the barracks. Jack’s shooting wasn’t good enough, even when other recruits, whose scores were lower than his, were getting pats on the back by the cloven-hoofed bully. When they were sparring, Jack’s stance was never good enough, his bones were always broken first. Jack knew he looked like the worst in his group of recruits, the most likely to wash out.
When Jack was picked again to lug around the gear, after two nights of no sleep, he decided he couldn’t be last again. He ran as hard as his body would let him. This time, he would win. Even after black spots appeared in front of his vision and his chest and legs were crying with pain. He ran until he collapsed.
When Jack woke up in the infirmary, there was a silver locket around his neck. Inside there was a picture of a little girl, surrounded by a flurry of snow. Her dusty brown hair swirled around her face. She was laughing. Alone in the infirmary for two days, Jack would look at the girl, the only beautiful thing in this awful place.
When he got back to the barracks others tried to take it from him. He never showed it to anyone, but somehow everyone seemed knew he had it. People offered him food for the locket, then money and then, they threatened him. The locket was the only thing that really belonged to him, and Jack swore never to let anyone take it from him. He found, from multiple fights, that he was stronger than most of the guys from carrying the heaviest packs, he could fight better, he could take a beating better.
At graduation, the Minotaur asked if he still had the locket. When Jack showed it to him, the Minotaur pulled out a locket of his own, and opened it. Inside was a picture of the Emperor.
“When I was in basic, I was pushed harder. My superior gave me this locket after beating the piss out of me. After I graduated, he told me he had given it to me because he thought I might be worthy to guard the Emperor with my life. I spent twenty years in the royal guard and longer here, training young people to protect the Empire.”
“But this isn’t the Emperor. This is just a little girl.”
The Minotaur cut him off. ” You’re right, it’s not the Emperor. It’s his daughter, the future Empress.”
“No offense Sir, but I thought you hated me.”
“I knew you were special about you the moment you came out of the bus. I want you to go to the planet Crey where the royal guard is trained. You may die there. It will be harder than what you went though here, more challenging. You’ll have the honor of being changed for your duty, new genetics, cybernetic enhancements.”
“I might come out a minotaur?”
“Whatever your Empire needs, that’s what you’ll be. Are you prepared?”
“Sir, I’m ready for anything.”
by Sam Clough | May 7, 2008 | Story
Author : Sam Clough, Staff Writer
Kema Port. Hot, dry and dusty in general; the uncomfortable atmosphere an unavoidable side-effect of the equatorial location of the port. A walled city, surrounded on all sides by sand and rock, Kema is unforgiving. However, Kema the city is inextricably linked with Kema the spaceport, and by extension with the transfer station in orbit above. And so, linked into the rest of the continent by a maglev grid, Kema throngs with traders and pilots and mercenaries.
Inorian was feeling conspicuous in his standard-issue jumpsuit with his standard-issue tote bag, and slightly uncomfortable in what he perceived to be a standard-issue body. The beguilingly attractive tech that had woken him up and explained that it was baseline human, little different to the one he’d left on the near-earth habitat when he’s signed up for the colonies. It had dozens of little fixes, of course, and was in better shape than the one he’d left behind, but it was him. They’d even made sure that they’d got his face right. The pamphlet in his bag had told him of all the different adaptations his new body could take, and that feelings of dismorphia were normal, and would pass in a few hours.
Feeling very much like a cookie-cutter person falling off the end of a production line, he walked out of the arrivals terminal.
And into Kema’s biggest marketplace. For the first few minutes, he just stood there, letting the crowd flow around him. Every so often, he saw a flash of another standard-issue jumpsuit, but the majority of the throng were dressed in styles totally alien to him. There were rows of stalls everywhere, nothing more than wooden tables covered with racks of food, clothes and electronics. Most had awnings, but some didn’t, and you could barely move between them for the press of bodies or hear yourself think for the shouts of the sellers or the offers of the traders. It was intoxicating.
Slowly, the crowd began to resolve into individuals, rather than just an overwhelming mass of bodies. Inorian began to notice types and subtle repeating variations amongst the people: the adaptations that the pamphlet had listed for him. Photosynths wearing next to nothing, relaxing on rooftops, doing their ‘chlorophyll thing’. Diminutive, pale anaerobes dodged through the crowd, signing to one another and to the stallowners.
Shining metalotolerants practically screamed for attention;the most obvious ones looked like they’d been electroplated in silver and gold. Ino saw one or two caked in rust and grease, looking like walking industrial accidents. Uplinkers walked beside robotic ‘pets’, tethered to them by an interface cable. They directed the movements of heavy lifters and loaders, lending the machines a grace and subtlety that Ino had never thought a machine could be capable of.
“What’s your name, new fish?” A girl with a gleaming arm and a shock of black hair had peeled off from the flow and was grinning at Inorian.
“I’m Ino. And fish?”
“I’m Scout. Pleased to meet’cha.” She looked him over. “Fish means newbie. Colonist. Fresh out the vat. I’ve got a couple of hours to kill: d’you know your way around yet?”
“Nope. I was-“
“Awesome!” Scout reached out and grabbed Ino’s hand with her metallic one. For some reason, he was surprised at the warmth of her touch. “First things first, let’s get out of this crowd.”
by Patricia Stewart | May 6, 2008 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Tau Ceti is a yellow-orange star slightly smaller than Earth’s Sun. It’s approximately 11.9 light-years away, in the southern Constellation Cetus. It has three planets. The most notable is the second planet in the system, Ketos. Ketos is midway in size between Earth and Mars, and orbits within the star’s habitability zone. Several things make this planet notable. 1) It harbors indigenous plant life; 2) its atmosphere is 19% oxygen; and 3) it rotates synchronously with its orbital period, keeping one face always pointed toward Tau Ceti. This is unusual for a habitable planet, because the sunward side is approximately 200F, and the night side is –150F. Exogeologists believe that Ketos once contained a planet wide ocean that was two miles deep. Over the millennia, ice gradually accumulated on the cold night side, and the oceans receded from the hot sunward side. Ketos ended up desert dry on the sunward side, and had a four-mile thick glacier on the night side. However, separating the sunward side from the night side was a 100-mile wide ring of semi-tropical land running around the planet. Within this narrow band, plant life flourished, receiving water from the melting glaciers as they slowly, but relentlessly, flowed toward the terminator.
Jake Laomedon and Troy Priam were on the first mission to explore this unique world. On day eighteen, they began to explore the Aeacian Mountain range with their android assistant, Leonardo. As usual, the sun was along the horizon, where it never moved. The thermally generated winds blew at a steady 50-60 mph. The cold damp air hugged the ground, as the hot dry air slid above it. Thunderstorms were common. During this sojourn, a particularly bad storm erupted. Seeking refuge, the explorers ducked into a large cave in the nearby mountains.
“Wow,†remarked Jake, “this cave is massive.†There was an expansive central chamber, with two major secondary caves, each about thirty feet in diameter, branching off the central chamber. “You think they were carved by water?â€
“Probably,†replied Troy. “Let’s check them out. Well start with that one.†She turned toward the android, “Leonardo, you monitor the weather. If the storm breaks, notify us immediately.â€
“Do you require my assistance, ma’am? I’d really like to participate. It’s what I was designed to do.†But they ignored him and disappeared into the first cave.â€
After about 30 minutes, Jake and Troy returned to the central chamber. “Nothing exciting in there. How’s the weather?†Troy asked as they turned toward the second cave.
“No change, ma’am,†Leonardo replied solemnly.
The two humans traveled about 50 yards into the second cave when they spotted a primitive “wall painting.†A horizontal line with a semicircle above it (similar to a sunrise). But within the semicircle were two eyes, and a drooping nose that hung below the horizontal line. Fingers, on either side of the head, draped over the horizontal line. Under the drawing was a caption “Kilroy was here.†The two explorers were dumbfounded with excitement. Did this mean aliens had visited Earth in the twentieth century? Or was this planet part of some co-evolutionary parallel solar system? They debated these theories for hours, as well as other equally unlikely scenarios. They knew in their hearts that this discovery would make them both famous. They discussed possible publications, lectures, interviews, and the prestigious appointments that awaited them. Troy even suggested which actress should play her in the inevitable holofilm about their discovery.
Back in the cave’s central chamber, Leonardo held a small clay briquette behind his back. If he possessed the capability to smile, he would have.
by Duncan Shields | May 5, 2008 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
There are people in the depths of this city that have literally never seen the sun. They live in artificially lit shanty-arcologies and depend on shipment piracy for survival. Whatever they can’t grow hydroponically, they barter from the city above, Topside.
These people don’t live in the sewers. They live in the city that used to be. They live among the roots of the golden-age hivetrees. They live in a pre-nan world where people did the building for other people. It’s a political statement.
They work with their hands down there. They don’t depend on magical microbes or tiny eyelash centipedes to build and shape. Their bodies are ‘pure’. They are strong and infection resistant.
You have to see the city as a gradient. The area down there would be Black.
I’m wearing an airmask and leaning over the edge of a balcony in Lower White.
It’s cold up here. To my left and right, between the other spires and plinths, is the curvature of the Earth. It’s always night above me. My apartment is in the upper reaches of the atmosphere but lower than the levels above me stretching away to Upper White. In the vacuum of space, their apartments twirl.
I hold patents on Earth that have started to be exported to the rest of the Universe. That is the reason for my wealth. I’m the richest human.
Which, I am finding out, means nothing. The levels above me are entirely populated by alien races. Alien Races with universe-wide generational patents. I am a curiousity to them; the richest local.
My own kind can barely relate to me. My wealth has made me a pariah and I trust no one. The aliens up here laugh at my lack of abilities. I can’t change shape, I have no retractable claws or prehensile tail, and I have only the bare minimum number of feet and hands needed to walk to manipulate the world around me.
I always thought that evolution was a paring down to essentials. To them, it’s the opposite. The more complex a race is, the further up the ladder it is and the more respect it gets.
Earth is a lawless watering hole. We’ve been sold architectural miracles and replicators. We’ve been sold the means to produce an end to most sickness lengthen our lives. The unbroken bristling metropolis that extends over every inch of the planet has eradicated the need for countries. Earth is a planet and a city now, covered in a blanket of apartments. There are no more visible oceans but they still pulse beneath the cities, protected and lit by massive sun tracks.
We had more immigration last year from the rest of the universe than we had births on the planet.
This is an age of wonder for most of humanity. An age of great change.
I am standing, close to space, the floors below me lost in cloud, thinking about the pale people living in the basement of Earth.
And envying them.
by submission | May 4, 2008 | Story
Author : Geoffrey Cashmore
“See? Look, I said already. It don’ hurt.â€
Herb watched again as the bump on Tommy’s hand faded from pink to grey then back to pink each time he clenched his fist.
“Well it’s up to you, buddy,†Herb sounded sceptical. “but it sure looks bad to me. You need get that sucker see’d to.â€
Tommy lifted his heavy-booted feet from the linoleum, allowing a party of cockroaches make their way towards the trash-can unimpeded, then got up from the table, shaking his head and puffing out frustrated air. “Crap…†He pulled open the refrigerator with his bump-free hand, “I had me ten times worse than this…you wanna beer?â€
“Sure do…but don’t go givin’ me none o’ that there European shit.†Herb set light to the end of a Marlboro then flicked the smouldering match in the direction of the faucet. “I’m keepin’ it real now on – all American…â€
“Hey!†Tommy yelled, snagging a pair of long necks from the bottom shelf. “You can’t be sayin’ them things no more, Herby, that’s racialist.†He spun a chair backways and straddled it next to the small table.
“Bull-shit!†Herb twisted the cap off his beer and watched the froth poke its head out “A jigaboo’s a jigaboo, Tommy, an’ I don’t give a shit whether it’s black, white, pink, yeller, green or some micro-fucking-scopic bacterial infection. They shoul’n’t never gone changing the God-damned constitution.â€
Tommy got up from his chair again and pushed open the door of the trailer to look out into the dessert night, stepping aside to allow a half dozen moths flutter in and up to the smoke-clouded fluorescent “Jesus, Herb! Your old man’s a God damned Mexican for Christ’s sake! Don’t see how that makes you so all American.“
Herb showed Tommy the middle finger of his drinking hand and burped the words “Ass-hole!â€
Tommy waited for the roaches to return across the lino before sitting back at the table.
Herb took a long swig of beer. “So, do you know what it is? D’ya know if it’s on the list?†At least he sounded a little more sympathetic this time.
“Yeh.†Tommy rubbed his eyes “Bacterial. Fucking staphylococci… It don’t need a permit, it’s on the God-damned list.â€
“Shit.â€
Both men swigged at their respective beers and sat in silence for a few moments before Herb spoke again “You know…I know a guy who knows a guy…can get stuff…â€
Tommy cocked his head at his friend. “What sorta stuff?â€
“You know…†Herb glanced around the trailer as if to check for spies “Anti-biotics.â€
“Jesus, man!†Tommy banged his beer bottle onto the table, sending a plume of froth to splatter on the abandoned poker deck. He was starting to wonder whether he should be hanging out with Herb. “That shit’s fucking racialist too, you racialist bastard!â€
