by submission | Aug 3, 2009 | Story
Author : Debbie Mac Rory
“Now commencing system test number twenty-three. Ship designation VX1965, given name Skipper, are you receiving me”.
“Affirmative”
Jacob sighed and knuckled his eyes as his other hand reached to the desk to cradle his warm coffee. He wasn’t looking forward to this. He’d designed this model ships core processor and knew the programming like the back of his hand. That it was acting the way it was…
“Skipper, give access of your computing systems to Engineer Hestan.”
Jacob raised his head from his hand to look over to where Keire sat close to the ship, with a remote access terminal resting on her knees.
“Negative”
Keire looked up at him and shook her head, confirming what the ship had already told them.
“Skipper, explain your refusal to cooperate”
Muted white noise sounded in Jacob’s headset. He stood facing the cruiser, blinking slowly as arc-welders and sledgehammers danced behind his eyes.
Keire shifted on her seat, adjusting the terminal. “Maybe if you-”
“I shouldn’t have to”
“But maybe if you were to try…”
Jacob turned his head and looked wearily at her. Keire shrugged and turned her attention to the terminal, randomly tapping panels while she waited. Jacob sighed again and looked back at the ship. Clearly it was going to be one of those days.
“Skipper, can you give system access to Engineer Hestan, please?”
Jacob closed his eyes, unsure of which result he was hoping for. More futile struggles, proving Keire wrong or a chance to get this damn test done. He glanced over to the engineer, noting her smile as the notebook on her lap lit up. A few more taps, and she looked up at him, smiling wide.
“I’m in. Connection’s slow, but it’s steady. We should be able to get the test done fairly quickly now”.
He nodded, noting the commencement of the test in his own log.
“I just don’t know why we have to go to this much bother, each and every time”
“Because you know as well as I do that machine has a mind of it’s own. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was sulking”.
by Collaboration | Aug 2, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer and J. S. Kachelries
Back in 2023, researchers at the Beijing Chemical Company (BCC) discovered a way to reverse the effects of global warming. It involved using a unique new molecule that converts carbon dioxide into atomic carbon and gaseous oxygen. The molecule is called phosphorousdimethylbenzaldpotassiumdicholoroethane, which was ultimately shortened to Carbon Deoxidizer. Carbon Deoxidizer is a catalyst that provides a specific surface geometry that facilitates the splitting of carbon dioxide molecules using ultraviolet light from the sun that has a characteristic wavelength of exactly 24.3 nanometers. This type of ultraviolet light is called “Extreme UV” and is only available in the mesosphere, which begins about 50 kilometers (160,000 ft) above sea level. Below this altitude, the ozone in the stratosphere blocks most of the UV photons, stopping the reaction.
Properly dispersed in the mesosphere, 1,000 pounds of Carbon Deoxidizer is enough to remove approximately two billion tons of carbon dioxide gas from the atmosphere before the Carbon Deoxidizer molecules are themselves destroyed by cosmic ray spallation. Consequently, a replenishing program was initiated to maintain an equilibrium amount of Carbon Deoxidizer in the mesosphere. Since the inception of the Deoxidization Program in 2028, thirty years ago, the average global temperature declined to pre-World War II levels. Now, however, there was a doomsayer beating his drum. Professor Herbert Brewstier was intent on halting the release of any additional Carbon Deoxidizer.
Professor Brewstier had been statistically monitoring the world’s annual rainfall and had concluded that it hadn’t changed in thirty years. Scientist had originally predicted that the millions of tons of newly formed carbon dust particles would be ideal nucleation sites for raindrops. Brewstier believed that since rainfall hadn’t increased, it meant that the carbon dust was not filtering down to the troposphere, but was accumulating in the mesosphere. Furthermore, his model predicted that the carbon dust was about to reach critical density, and would explode in the very near future, releasing 50 quadrillion kilogram-calories of energy, while simultaneously reforming 80 years of carbon dioxide gas.
During the United Nations hearings, Brewstier testified that if we didn’t do something immediately, we would die one of two ways. Instantaneously, if the carbon dust combusted simultaneously; or slowly, if it took weeks for the rarified oxygen in the mesosphere to be replenished. An explosion, or a smoldering fire; either way we would be dead. However, rebuttal testimony from “atmospheric experts” hired by BCC presented enough contradictory data to prevent the UN from acting. Instead, they voted to fund a five year program to study the potential effects to the environment, and to the global economy, if the Deoxidation Program was curtailed. Frustrated, Brewstier gave up and returned to his cabin in Montana to await the end.
Each night, Brewstier would sit on his deck and watch the sky for the first signs of the ignition. Finally, one December evening, he noticed a feint glow coming from the southern horizon. It became as bright as an aurora, but was in the wrong half of the sky. He sighed as he watched the reddish light gradually expanded northward, drowning out the fifth and sixth magnitude stars. The snow covered mountaintops turned a pale blood red as they reflected the light from the slow burning mesosphere. “Damn,” he whispered as he realized that it was not going to be a quick catastrophic end. Instead, it was going to be the slow, agonizing death. But not for me, he thought, as he cocked the 12 gauge shotgun that he’d been holding in his lap.
by Duncan Shields | Aug 1, 2009 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
We called the rich kids ‘Upgrades’.
They were the ones that had been born with all of the benevolent tweaks and cellular advantages that money could buy. Longer life spans, all possible congenital defects erased, optimum health, even faster mental response times.
You’d think that we would envy them. Well, we certainly envied their bodies. They looked like gods. Like they’d stepped out of commercials and into real life.
What we didn’t envy, though, were the mental changes that the parents felt justified in doing to their children.
The Pixelator was one such augmentation. The rods and cones on the back of the eye were enhanced for better-than-perfect vision. However, a filter was placed between the brain and eye to make sure that all nudity was seen as pixelated blocks of colour. It was put there to keep the kids from seeing naked flesh before they reached the age of majority or until the parents deemed it acceptable to remove the block.
Of course, it didn’t work. Kids were having sex anyway. The entire experience for them visually became a jumble of oversized flesh-tone boxes. They lied to their parents about being virgins.
When the mental/visual block was lifted, some of the kids went and had it secretly reinstated. One glimpse of actual nudity, of actual sex, and they were turned off. Their entire sexual awakening had been in a haze of blurry cubism and they wanted it back.
Playing with the body is one thing, but playing with the mind was always something I felt uneasy about.
I’m grateful that my parents never had enough money to change me.
by submission | Jul 31, 2009 | Story
Author : Helstrom
Paydirt rolled deftly away from the asteroid we’d hid her behind and launched a volley across the Wayfarer’s bow. Some junior officer now had the task of rushing the captain out of his cabin. It was exactly those few minutes we used to put all the dominoes in place. By the time anyone qualified was in the big chair, the whole match would already be falling on him like a house of cards. Checkmate!
“Drop the birds, Jerry!” I shouted at the coxswain, “It’s time to show these fools they’ve met their match!”
“It’s Jeff, sir,” Came the tired reply, “Launching your squadron.”
I gripped the controls of my fighter as she was flung from the Paydirt’s rotating section. Going from artificial gravity to free-fall sure got the adrenalin going in a rush! The boosters kicked in and I pulled her into a tight bank towards the Wayfarer. We had her cornered against the vast expanse of interplanetary space – there would be no escape.
“Tumbling Dice! Are you with me?”
“On your lead, sir. Ready when you are.”
I switched to the hailing channel: “Wayfarer! This is Zack Daring of the Tumbling Dice – you’re up the river without a chance here, prepare to be boarded and pillaged! Surrender now and no-one needs to get hurt much.”
“Tumbling Dice, this is Wayfarer,” – sounded like the captain, guess he liked to get up early – “We are unarmed and well insured. We are ready to surrender all valuables and cargo in exchange for the safety of our ship, passengers, and crew.”
“Huh! I’d expected more fight out of you. Very well – pack everything nicely and jettison it out your port cargo bay. And don’t even think about opening fire… We’ve got you pinned down like a jumpy cat!”
“Uh… Repeat, Tumbling Dice, we are unarmed. Please stand by to receive our valuables out the port cargo bay in fifteen minutes.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that, I’d never get any work done! Make it ten.”
“Ah… Affirmative… Tumbling Dice, we will comply in ten minutes.”
I allowed myself a wide grin as I craned my head around to survey the little masterpiece unfolding against the backdrop of Jupiter’s swirling crescent. Paydirt was slowly circling Wayfarer, brandishing wicked broadside guns against the cruise liner’s pristine panorama decks. Behind me, in a tight V formation, were my other fighters, each armed with high-powered lasers and nuclear missiles easily capable of ripping apart a ship ten times the Wayfarer’s size – but radioactive loot was hard to sell these days!
It took the passengers seven minutes flat to dump all their valuables into the cargo hold and have them flushed out into space. The retrieval boat picked them up and reported a pretty penny aboard.
“Wayfarer! We have taken our loot and we’ll be on our way. I’m not surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight, you’ve got as much spine as a sloth!”
Josh or Jack or whatever the hell his name was chimed in: “Sir, sloths are vertebrates. They have spines.”
“I know, John – but take that away and all you have left is a lot of… Fur. Now let’s get the hell out of here and mosey along!”
So, there was no fight today, but we caught a good booty jumping a defenseless ship – hell, I was a pirate, and with a name like Zack Daring, what else was I going to be?
by submission | Jul 30, 2009 | Story
Author : Ross Baxter
The ducting was tighter than expected, and full of choking dust and accumulated detritus. Filth caked my uniform, the billowing clouds of dirt coating the inside of my mouth and making my eyes stream. But I was nearly there. I struggled forwards to the mesh vent to lever it open and it crashed to the floor below with a painfully loud clatter. I held my breath; there was no knowing where in the ship the pirates were, and capture would result in a swift and violent death.
Dropping heavily to the floor I painfully focused my grit-filled vision. The Control Room of the Happy-go-lucky was mercifully empty. The irony of the vessel’s name still brought a thin smile to my lips; the ship was anything but that – the last six months since signing on being both unpleasant and humiliating. The other eight crew members, all relative youngsters, had been together since being cadets and formed a tight clique which bordered on the incestuous. Being more then twice the age of the eldest, and a decorated veteran of both Segmentum Wars, had instantly singled me out. They could barely bring themselves to talk to me, and when they did it was usually a joke at my expense. Long days passed without a word being said or even an acknowledgment, but I preferred that to the snide comments. The others referred to me sneeringly as “Mister Experience,” which stemmed from when the skipper, playing to her sycophantic audience, had inquired as to exactly how I’d got to be so old, given heavy losses of the last wars. I muttered something about guile and experience, which had earned both loud guffaws and my new moniker.
But they were not so cock-sure now. The cloaked pirate vessel had clamped itself to our forward accommodation section before we even knew they were there. Within minutes they cut through the outer hull and boarded us. We had only enough time to retreat to the citadel, a small armoured section of the ship designed to provide a modicum of security in events such as this. The skipper had not even managed to send a distress signal.
The panic in the citadel was almost comical. Pirates never spared anyone; once they had taken what they wanted, which may include the ship itself, a quick death would be the best one could expect. Only now did the crew of the Happy-go-lucky turn to “Mister Experience”, and I assured them I would put my guile and experience to good use. Christ knows how they expected me to turn the tables on the cut-throat boarders, but they were happy to clutch at whatever straw was offered.
Quickly scrutinizing the plasma-engine controls, I closed all vents and maximised the port and starboard feeds. I withdrew the over-ride key and pocketed it; the plasma drives would be critical in around two minutes and could not now be closed down. Claxons screamed throughout the ship but it was already too late.
I bolted for the aft-escape pod and strapped myself in. With only myself in the ten-man craft there was plenty of room, and enough rations to last for weeks until rescue. Yanking the red launch control I braced myself against the acceleration as the pod fired itself into the void. I braced again moments later as a huge shockwave, the violent epitaph of the Happy-go-lucky and the pirate ship, flung the pod still faster away. I smiled; living proof of exactly how guile and experience can ensure one reaches old age.
