by Clint Wilson | Feb 10, 2012 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
The Neptune was a first class luxury star liner, the finest of everything from stem to stern; from her massive chandeliers hanging from cavernous twenty meter and higher ceilings to the never-ending filigree of intricately wood-carved railings and archways. The richest of the rich gathered in her grand ballroom, the behemoth ship orbiting the young star Epsilon Eridani close enough to see its violent magnetic storms through the tinted plexi-panes along her port side.
A whistle sounded and the crowd turned to the grand entrance stairway where the captain was descending with the president of the federation. The people ooed and aahed while applauding heartily. Both men were escorted by lanky, scantily clad, fem bots. Large security bots kept the masses at bay as the two celebrities and their posse made their way to the captain’s table.
“But I must get through, they have to be warned!” a voice came through to the inner circle.
The gruff metallic voice of a security bot stated sternly, “You’ll have to step back sir! Autographs will be signed at the meet and greet session at o-twenty-two-hundred.”
“You lumbering rotard, I don’t want autographs, I must warn the captain!”
As two security bots began to escort the interloper away roughly and without empathy, the federation president asked the captain. “Do you know who that is?”
Captain Rexxon looked both bothered and put out. “He used to be my chief science officer but the new budget cuts caused him to be transferred to a different post at a lesser wage.”
He turned to one of his assistants, “Where is Higgins working now?”
The intern answered, “In the galley sir. He has been learning his new trade of…” The assistant double-checked his hand held, “Cook’s helper.”
The president’s brow furled. “You had your chief science officer transferred to the kitchen? Well that doesn’t make sense at all. Maybe we should see what he’s trying to tell us.”
“Don’t worry Mr. President, he’s obviously disgruntled about his sad but necessary career change.” Then the captain rubbed his hands together. “Ah good, our round of drinks is here!”
By then the poor distraught man was already out of the ballroom and down an access hallway headed for the brig. It made no matter anyhow. Even if the captain had listened to and believed the former science officer and his sudden prediction that a massive bombardment of solar wind was on its way with unknown ramifications, there was no possible way to get the ship into hyperspace in time now.
And as the door slammed shut on the all-purpose cell and the SS Neptune’s newest cook’s helper, Jonathan Higgins, stumbled to the white padded floor, the flare hit.
A gasp came up from the startled ballroom crowd as the entire ship shuddered momentarily. Then there was the briefest instant of stillness followed by a sudden violent shaking as Neptune’s hull was bombarded by the surging wave of radiation.
And then it happened. Up became down and down became up as the surge suddenly cut through the tree trunk thick focused beam inside the ship’s gravity generator, separating it momentarily and then instantly reversing its poles.
In the ballroom and in other parts of the ship’s grandiose causeways and parks people suddenly found themselves falling from a sky of endless carpet, through twenty to sixty meters of air toward harsh landings on metal ceilings and endless chandeliers of diamond and glass.
Inside his prison Higgins sat up dazed but unscathed on the cell’s white padded ceiling; while all around him elsewhere on the ship people were screaming and dying.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Feb 9, 2012 | Story |
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“Thank you for calling BIOMEK customer support. My name is Tammy, how may I help you today?”
“Hi Tammy, I’m having a little problem with my domestic. I am a little frustrated here. I hope you can help me.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I’ll do my best to help you. Before we begin I’ll need the registration number of your BIOMEK domestic.”
“I have the number around here somewhere, oh yes, here it is. It’s T11H38X.”
“Thank you Ma’am. Let me just enter that and take a look at your account… Hmm… I see you had a prior issue with this product.”
“Yes, we had a poodle and one of the options we purchased with the domestic was the pet grooming download.”
“Yes Ma’am, and what was the problem?”
“There was… unpleasantness.”
“Yes?”
“Well, we didn’t find all of Precious.”
“I am so sorry to hear that. I know how you must feel. I’m a dog lover too. I was so sad when we had to put little Tinkerbell down when the new line of Dachshunds were released. What is the issue you are currently having with your BIOMEK home domestic unit?”
“Well, the domestic answered the door when the letter carrier arrived this morning.”
“Yes Ma’am?”
“The front porch is quite a mess.”
“Oh dear. And the mailman?”
“Pieces I’m afraid. It’s the Precious incident all over again.”
“Have you informed the authorities Ma’am?”
“No. Do you really think I should?”
“Yes Ma’am, I rather think you should. After all, there are others waiting for their mail.”
“I hadn’t though of that. Yes, I wouldn’t want my neighbours inconvenienced. There would be talk at the next neighbourhood association meeting. It’s a gated community you know.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that. Okay Ma’am, I see your product is still under warranty. I will issue a repair order. I just need a little information first to update your account. Would you please verify?”
“Oh Dear. Oh No. I’m sorry, I will have to call you back. I have to go. I’ll be calling you right back.”
“Ma’am?”
“The children just arrived home from school.”
by Patricia Stewart | Feb 8, 2012 | Story |
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
“Bring us to membrane distance,” ordered Commander Richards.
Yeoman Miller deftly maneuvered the UESS Kenar toward the subspace membrane separating the primary universe from the adjacent multiverse where they were currently operating. “Membrane distance, sir,” he reported.
“Extend the perasensor. Put it on the main viewer.”
Ensign Dexter launched the tethered perasensor through the membrane into primary space. Seconds after the small probe popped into primary space, it began transmitting a 3D holographic image of the enemy fleet. A galaxy-class Vegan destroyer appeared directly ahead.
“Oh, God,” whispered Richards as he rose slowly from his command chair to stare at the hologram. “It’s the N’ubok. Quickly, prepare four subspace torpedoes. Range, sixteen kilometers after emergence. Bearing, two degrees port, zero vertical. Maximum yield. Fire when ready.”
Four seconds later, the tactical officer reported “Torpedoes away, sir.” The four subspace torpedoes plunged past the membrane and streaked through normal space at a hundred and twenty thousand kilometers an hour. A half second later, they slammed into N’ubok’s hull. The nova-like explosion marked the end of her tour of duty.
“Target destroyed, Commander,” Dexter announced. “However, they’ve triangulated on the emergence point. Three hunter-escorts are heading our way. They’re powering up sub-space charges.”
“Retract the parasensor. Shields up. Get us out of here, Mister Miller. Evasive pattern delta. Be sure to hug the membrane,” he added. “The Tet’s are not happy that we patrol in their multiverse. They have threatened to destroy any primeverse ships trespassing in their space. I’d like to limit our battles today to only one adversary.”
“Aye-aye, sir. Evasive pattern delta.” As the UESS Kenar turned and accelerated, sub-space charges began to plunge through the membrane and drifted into Tet space. As they detonated, they released deadly gamma ray burst that spread out in a spherical pattern the size of Mercury’s orbit. “Sir,” reported Dexter, “it looks like they’re picking up the reflection pattern from our shields. As long as the shields are up, we’re sitting ducks if we stay next to the membrane.”
“Very well,” relented Richards. “Mister Miller, take us deeper into Tetian space. Sensors at maximum. Give me a forward view, Mister Dexter. Eyes sharp, everyone. The Tetians make the Vegans look like pacifists.”
A few minutes later, the Kenar entered an uncharted asteroid belt. “All stop,” ordered Richards. “Where the hell did those asteroids come from?”
“Uh-oh,” said Dexter. “They’re not asteroids, sir, they’re mines. The Tetians must have deployed them along the edge of their multiverse.” Several of the nearby mines began to drift closer. “Damn, they’re homers too. Sorry, sir, but we can’t stay here.”
“Well then,” mused Richards aloud. “I see only two options: We can penetrate the membrane and take on a fleet of angry Vegans singlehandedly, or we can go ‘old school’. Personally, I was never an advocate of suicide missions. Lower shields. Mister Miller, turn about and retrace our path, flank speed. Lieutenant Burt, the second we turn parallel to the membrane, shut down all systems, including propulsion and life support. For this to work, we can’t emit a single photon of energy. Let’s see if we can coast our way out, right under their noses.”
“It’ll be a piece of cake, sir” said Miller with a grin. “The Vegan’s don’t have noses.”
Outwardly, Richards smiled at the bravado, but inwardly, he was nervous as hell.
by Julian Miles | Feb 7, 2012 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“A is for Android, B is for Blood,”
They chant so happily, without a care in the world. I love them so much, but that is exactly why I am crèche matresse. The room is huge and covered with colourful pictures of all the neo-heroes and the choices available to those who succeed.
“F is for Fractal, G is for Grunt,”
Jemima is clapping in time with perfect rhythm, tapping her heels on the off beats and nodding the quarters. She will be an entertainer. Natural gifts and predilections are so essential to a healthy adult purpose. I am better than any at spotting the indicators.
“K is for Kill, L is for Longevity,”
Gregory’s pupils dilate when he says the word ‘kill’. I always suspected that he was a cleaner like his father. Others had been squeamish when he flushed his mother for emotivating. I knew that he had merely found his vocation before his time.
“P is for Perfection, Q is for Quality,”
They are so delightful, so innocent, so soft and so very fragile. The empty chair shows where poor Michael discovered that he couldn’t take the fast way down from the family apt like his adult brother. Stupidity is genetic and in this society, self-erasing.
“U is for Ultimate, V is for Valour,”
Tomorrow they are having a trip to the bioengineering facilities, to see this year’s graduates receive their adult states. Tracey will not be coming back. Her extra-sensory abilities merit quantitative analysis. Vivisection will allow rapid assessment.
“Z is for Zanjero; this is the Alphaset.”
They finish with a shout and laughter. I raise my hand and they fall silent.
“Nigel, define Xenium for us.”
He stands up, hands by his side, head back. Excellent form.
“Xenium is what the Cygress requires of humanity, the gift of adulthood. We give it so that our emotional excess can never cause mass destruction again.”
I nod and he sits quickly.
“Samantha, define Deviance for us.”
She stands up, arms crossed and feet a shoulder width apart. I had been wondering where her predilection placed her and now I see. She will make a fine grunt.
“Deviance is when a human does not submit Xenium. The Deviance movement has it origins in the resistance to the cyber-statutes of 2419. It was confirmed as a unified resistance in 2505. While it suffered losses with the institution of the cleaner programme in 2630, today it is considered a viable threat to the Cygress. It is gaining ground and its signature is raids of incredible daring and high risk under the aegis of Commander Connor -”
She stops a fine summation to stare behind me at the portal to the crèche. I rotate my head to see which luminary has decided to join us today.
He is dressed in a brown duster coat with a neural defence headset. His utility harness is festooned with weapons and guerrilla insurgency technology. He is smiling and his eyes are clear blue. Behind him I see the rest of his team securing the corridor.
In my near-field, I can see the tip of the shell at the base of the barrel underslung on the Jensen Suppressor EMP gun. It is a massive piece of anti-cyborg hardware and I feel fear for the first time since I went to receive my adult state. His voice is a rich baritone.
“That’s as fine an introduction as we need kids. Schools out.”
I see his finger tighten on the trigger and the pulse
fragmen
ts
me…
by Duncan Shields | Feb 6, 2012 | Story |
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
It’s a unique experience to be involved in an explosive space decompression. If you survive, you never forget the sound.
It’s like something turns the volume down sharply in the middle of the explosion. The screams, the shattering of glass, even the rushing wind, all suddenly has nothing to express itself with. The air becomes thinner and disperses. The medium through which noises travel expands to the point of non-existence and you’re left with the silence of space. Even while all around you people are screaming and flailing, alarms are wailing, and everything that was in the room is now clattering and colliding as it spins out into the starry blackness.
And I should know.
We were on our honeymoon in a Galactic Class 8 Yacht on the starboard promenade eating lobster while the musicians were setting up onstage. The bank of space-facing windows were massive. The official reports said there were four hundred and thirty eight people in the hall with us, relaxing and talking to each other. Most of us were wearing our fanciest clothes, pretending that we were wealthy even though this was a discount cruise. Alison and I had waited long to get married. She was thirty-five and I was going to turn thirty-eight in ten days. She looked beautiful as she turned to signal to a waiter for another coffee bulb.
Perhaps the ship was old. Perhaps it was poorly designed. Maybe a safety inspector was hungover and missed something at the previous inspection.
A sharp crunch like someone stepping hard on a champagne flute right by ear and suddenly the wall to my right became ‘down’ and we all fell into space. Fail safes failed, blast shutters jammed and circuit breakers broke.
That is why my nightmares are silent. When I wake up screaming, it’s from seeing my darling wife bloat, freeze, and rupture. In the dream, she screams as soon as the viewing plate shatters, pluming glittering glass dust into space, and keeps screaming as we are both pushed by strong forces into the black. Her hair whips crazily and she kicks like a first time skydiver, reflexively trying to get her balance in mid-air with no up or down. Her scream starts like a fire alarm and very quickly whips down to silence even though her mouth is still wide open. He throat is still vibrating but her voice can no longer travel to my ears.
Other patrons screams, the clinking of silverware and plates, furniture colliding with the instruments of the musicians, they all fade to nothing and the last thing I hear is my wife’s screaming. The last thing I see is her mouth filling with popsicle blood as her lungs shred in their freezing rush to fill the vacuum.
I see it often. Her mouth is a tattooed O on the front of my mind. The nightmare is down to two or three nights a week.
The sticky safety cables that fired out managed to grab me but they missed her. I was reeled in sharply like a fish and I survived. I was one of only six that did. All six of us were paid a lot of money by the company to keep quiet about the accident. We all agreed to take it.
I am back home now with no need to work for the rest on my life. I’ll never go into space again. I need noise around me at all times, even when I sleep.
I cannot stand silence.
