by submission | Jun 16, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bronwyn Seward
Franny,
I know this letter will be nonsense, beyond your wisdom and understanding. But I need to write it. You need to read it. I dated it so that years after you have shoved it into an old shoe box or tucked it away in your hope chest, you can look back on February 5th, 2013 and evoke my memory.
I can picture you reading this. Oculars scanning the lines, dots, and swooshes that compose this English language. Your brain seeking to process the information set before you. Some of this data will be impossible for your primary visual cortex to distinguish and associate with any meanings you are currently aware of. That is because my explanations for departure will be otherworldly, alien to you, but necessary.
Four years ago, I “moved” into town appearing to you in my burly human shell, as a farmer from Bovill, Idaho. Instead of the four day walk I claimed it to be, I traveled a century through the inky space you call sky to arrive here. Of course with all that time I was a wonderfully well-thought out character with a backstory, quirks, pictures of my ma and pa. A ruse. A trickery. A character in a game. And I was well studied, well prepared.
This appearance on earth was my last step toward sprubeity. I had to observe human interactions in order to become an ambassador for our eventual full scale return to this planet. My break from the Perknite, my home, was agonizing, we don’t feel pain as you do but independence is a foreign concept. Your entirely unnatural composition, with abstract ideas such as happiness, joy, fear, and death is what spawned my journey to your planet.
Franny you were a closely studied individual from the beginning. Fear pervades your planet, but you escape it. Earthlings fear spiders, snakes, heights, public speaking, and close spaces. There is cynophobia, astraphobia, trypanophobia, mysophobia, and hundreds more. Mankind is marked by its fears. But Franny you never seemed afraid. Because I couldn’t seem to overcome your spirit with wild ideas, I had to try to influence you in another way.
On Perknite, every Prectiss is a puppet, our motives are determined by our energy source, some, like myself, are expelled in order for possible future conquest. Forced explorers. Our flexibility allows us to mold ourselves into whatever the prime specimen of a race should value, treasure, or act for. We can only think apart from Perknite when on a different planet, under different rules. On earth, men are ruled by their fears, and by an emotion called love. This is what I employed to weaken you, Franny.
Love is merely a chemical reaction in the brain. In this shell I could feel its effects, its clouding in my judgment, the focus I could not keep. The human body I had played this act through infected my individuality as a Prectis, and I started feeling. Feeling emotions, feeling pride, feeling a joy in my independence, enjoying friendship by choice, instead of that I am forced into. Last night, you told me you loved me and I replied in the acceptable manner. But I do not love you. I cannot love you. I fell into my own trick. My own lie. My own character. I am starting to desire things I can never experience apart from this planet. Impossible things. I want to feel fear, I want to be an individual, I want to experience love. I want to stay.
And that is why I must go.
Forever yours as Peter Clark Young,
Alespapewanes
by submission | May 30, 2013 | Story |
Author : W Hunter
“Where is everybody?” Enrico Fermi, 1950
The enormous space craft slid out of the hyper-dimensional matrix in the orbit of one of the gas-giant planets. It gravitated towards the inner planets smoothly, gathering data by the millisecond. Within a short time the thousands of remote detectors had transmitted a gargantuan amount of data to a massive computer network. The data was immediately analysed and collated into a report which was then arranged and organised into an executive report by an Assessment Officer.
Commander Xent was deeply engrossed in Interthought when Assessment Officer Hettel entered the chart room.
“Excuse my interruption, sir, but I need your opinion on my analysis of this planet.
It took a fraction of a minute for the Commander to adjust his attention. “I’m sorry Hettel, I was engrossed in an intriguing exploration of 11 dimensional topographies with two time dimensions with the Chent brothers.
“Sorry to intrude” said Hettel.
“Not at all, my Command duties take priority. How can I help?”
“Well,” said Hettel, “I have completed my analysis of the third planet in this system and I need your opinion on my conclusion. I will upload my report onto your Thoughtscreen now. May I talk you through it?”
“Go ahead” said the Commander.
Hettel resolved to be brief and to the point. ”As you see, we have a 96 % conformity with our own preferred physical environment: Atmosphere: 80 % Nitrogen, 20% oxygen, traces of carbon dioxide and Helium. Surface: Large areas of saline water and a variety of land masses, some extensive fresh water areas and tributaries. Suitable temperature zones. Biologically: Mammalian species, dominated by intelligent bipeds, somewhat aggressive but not dangerously so. Warm blooded avian species and numerous cold blooded reptiles etc. No surprises here”.
The Commander nodded.
“Cell nuclei contain coding molecules similar to ours, same bases, phosphate bridges and sugars only slightly different. Amino acids same or near identical with ours, two less in number. General conformity 97%.
Micro organisms of the single cell variety, coding chemistry types 2 and 3. Large variety of molecular cell invaders. Overall similarity rating 89%.
That’s more or less it, sir, unless you require more information?”
The Commander turned his penetrating gaze on Hettel. “So what’s your recommendation?”
Hettel was confident. “I had high hopes for the suitability of this planet when we made our long distance assessment. Now that we have this detailed data I have no hesitation in rejecting contact totally.”
“I agree entirely” said the Commander. Far too close a match. Early contact with planets like this were disastrous- invasion of all our life systems by micro organisms, nothing on the planet digestible, 100% mortality.”
“I find it quite depressing. We seem to be stuck with finding planets with barely developed life forms, very different from ours and then completely sterilising them before colonisation. Co-existence with other species would be so stimulating if we could just find the right non-invasive systems.”
“I share your sentiments” said Hettel, morosely.
“OK, then” said the Commander heavily, “I’ll direct that we leave this system forthwith and continue our exploration on the planned route. For the record, Hettel, what does the intelligent species call their planet?”
“They call it Earth, sir” said Hettel.
by submission | May 28, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ray Daley
The Misthkthos had been on Earth over a year when I talked to my first one. They’d come in peace, landed in a quiet region and strolled out of their ship into the night to check out our planet.
Easy enough to spot them as aliens you’d think? Then you’d be thinking wrong because they look just like me and you. Admittedly with subtle differences but you could have sex with one of them and never know it. Don’t worry, no chance of them getting you pregnant or leaving you with a nasty alien STD. Our blood chemistry differed slightly.
But that slight difference was enough to mean we couldn’t catch their diseases and they couldn’t catch ours.
So how did I spot him?
Sitting at a table in the truck stop diner wearing a faded red plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. He looked like every other wanna-be cowboy in the joint.
“Mind if I sit here?” I asked, gesturing to the empty seats opposite him.
“Help yourself, free country or at least that’s what they say.” He had the twang of the accent and the world-weary cynicism down to a tee.
I started eating my burger and fries. “Damn good food here.” I said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he replied “I always stop in here when I’m in these parts.”
He hadn’t blinked, his poker face was near perfect. His one mistake, the subtle tell that gave him away.
I figured I’d see if I was right.
I lowered my voice. “Hello Space Boy.”
He said nothing. He took another gulp of his coffee with his right hand.
“Tell me I’m wrong then.” I said quietly.
Again he said nothing.
I fixed him with a gaze. “I could repeat it, only louder if you want? Or you can tell me I’m wrong?”
He put his coffee cup down onto the table and looked me right in the eyes. “What was it?”
“What gave you away, you mean?” I said.
“Yeah. I thought I had this whole routine perfected. No-one ever noticed before.” he said.
I glanced toward at his left hand. “Pass me the salt.”
He was probably unaware he’d been fiddling with the salt cellar from the moment I’d walked in and almost certainly from the second he’d taken his seat.
His people had a glut of many of things on their planet. Salt however was in very short supply. They’d seen our oceans full of the stuff and made their way across the stars to trade with us. But as they’d learnt our many languages from TV and radio transmissions they thought they had a good idea how visiting aliens were received.
IE:- very badly and with deadly force.
So they’d chosen to hide amongst us until the time to trade was right.
“Damn. Was it that obvious?” he asked me nervously.
“Only if you know what to look for. And I did.” I replied.
“So what’s it going to cost me to keep you quiet? You know we hate violence. I’ve got plenty of great technology I can trade?” he asked me.
I smiled at him. “I guess that ship of yours is pretty well hidden?”
He nodded.
“Good,” I replied “then you can give me a lift home. I’ve been stuck here ever since I crashed in Roswell a few decades back. I promise I won’t tell if you don’t?”
He smiled at me. “When do you want to leave?” he asked.
I looked over to the counter and called to our waitress. “Miss, can I have this to go please? I think I just got a ride home.”
by Desmond Hussey | May 2, 2013 | Story
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer
SEA OF SERENDIPITY – MOON
“I can’t wait until this bloody war is over,” corporal Sharky shouts into his mic as a barrage of anti-personnel bombs rearrange the lunar landscape nearby. “I don’t give a damn who wins anymore. We’re sittin’ ducks out here!” A slow-motion rain of soil, rock and limb make tiny craters in the lunar dust around the huddled space marines in their feeble trench, while wings of Vol-gu-thari fighters slice the naked cosmos with dual, death-dealing lasers.
“Not I.” Major Adam’s voice is as level and unpredictable as the sea, as hard as stone. “If these bastards win, they won’t just kill us – no, no, no – THAT would be too easy. They will put us to work burning, cutting, mining and drilling our planet until there’s nothing left but a barren honeycomb of lifeless rock. I’d rather die a hundred times trying to stop these alien bastards than have to live under their tyranny for one second. I say fuck 'em. I say let’s go kick some bug-eyed ass!”
The grunting chorus of blood frenzied jar-heads, engaged in the time honored tradition of ramping up each others courage to suicidal proportions, is rudely interrupted by the unfortunate placement of a Vul-gu-thari Quantum Discombobulater.
UNSS VICTORY – BATTLESHIP
“I can’t wait until this bloody war is over,” Admiral Hackman slurs around his massive cigar. “They can have the Earth as far as I’m concerned. It’s their tech I’m interested in.” The gathered War Council study the holographic battle table with the hopeless resolve of the nearly defeated, while Hackman ogles the specs of a captured alien’s death-dealing dual-lasers.
“Not I.” General Katari is a paragon of martial prowess. “If our enemy wins, an honorable death will not be our fate, nor will we be retired to live out our days in shame – Small mercies, compared to what the Vul-gu-thari will do to us. We will be conscripted for life as our enemies own warriors, enslaving other worlds in endless conquest. I will not allow this to happen. I will fight them until blood flows no longer through my veins.”
Half-hearted cheers of affirmation float around the live holographic simulation of the hopeless lunar battle playing out in digital precision in the center of the war room. Tiny, multi-colored fighters fly desperate strategic patterns over the satellite’s cratered surface – dogfights, strafings, bombing runs – miniature life and death scenarios. A thousand glowing fatalities at a glance.
VIP PENTHOUSE – EARTH
“I hope this war never ends,” President of Earth’s Defense Council declares whilst rapaciously sipping a rare Vul-gu-thari vintage. “I don’t give a fig what you… thing – er, guys… do with the planet. Just gimme some more o’that marvelous vino.” A voluptuous, multi-breasted Dithnari pleasure slave pours a bituminous wine while three perplexed Vul-gu-thari Mantis-men attempt to decipher the esoteric secrets of the Rubik's-Cube. The President grins. There’s money to be made double-dealing in alien death lasers.
“Not I,” T’glork’th’kiki’s chemical excretions infiltrate the air, undetected by the distracted human dignitaries succumbing to myriad salacious vices. “It is said; a human tastes best when pre-fed copious amounts of kork-bladder urine. I wish to know if this is fact. I am thinking this one should be just about ready.” Several antennae quiver in eager response.
Simultaneously, the Overlord’s dexterous mandibles articulate, “Mis-ter. Presiden-t, this is jus-t the beginning.”
The pleasure slave laughs like a rabid hyena.
Beyond the penthouse windows, high above laser-scorched skies, the moon, in macabre celebration, sparkles like a holiday firework.
zp8497586rq
by submission | Mar 26, 2013 | Story |
Author : Aaron Koelker
I had eaten a ham sandwich the morning we found God. It wasn’t exactly the foundation of great literature. Perhaps they would write in a great feast and how our crew was a likable bunch both humble and imperfect. You know, a “twelve apostles” sort of crew, all dedicated to our own view of a higher power. Which wasn’t too far from the truth. We were a pretty diverse crew, and whether it was planned that way or just poor luck I’ll never know.
The creature that floated before our bow was certainly god-like in scope, but little else. It looked like a planetoid gourd covered in warts and veins, gently pulsing in sync with the starry background.
“My God…” the co-pilot gasped, her eyes wide.
“Which one you talking to?” the engineer laughed.
“That thing is a monstrosity,” the co-pilot finished.
The engineer made way for the coffee machine, smiling to himself. “I don’t know”, he said. “I find it sort of humbling.”
The head science officer walked into the room.
“Well, the scanners confirm it,” he said. “That thing is expelling organic matter in every direction. A spore-like vessel; just like the ones we’ve been finding.” He stopped in front of the forward port and gazed upon the beast. “We’ll need more time to derive its age, composition, metabolism…and of course its origin.”
“The Panspermians are going to go nuts,” I said.
The science officer turned toward me.
“Granted we can prove it’s really the source.”
“Everything we’ve collected and studied; all the sleuth-work has brought us to this place. This backwater space on the edge of nowhere.” I paused as I watched the creature, not yet sure what to think of it, only that it existed. “It has to be.”
“We should leave it,” said the co-pilot. “We should get out of here. That thing,” spoken with the utmost disgust, “wasn’t meant to be found.”
“Oh don’t get all prophetic on us,” said the engineer. “Why the fuck would you sign onto this expedition?”
“I don’t know. But it wasn’t to find that.”
I saw her discreetly twiddling with the bracelet she wore under her sleeve, the one bearing the sign of her faith. She had shown it to me the night before.
“Where are the other three?” I asked.
“In their cabins, I believe.”
I left and found the medical officer sitting on his bunk, the door to his cabin ajar. There was a thick book in his hands from which he read aloud, fast and mumbling.
“You alright in here?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. I waited a moment longer before leaving to find the other two science officers. They weren’t in the lab, so I figured they must’ve been down in the cargo hold, looking over the collected spore samples.
The hold was dark, and upon entering a sharp acrid smell filled my nose.
“Anybody in here?” I called.
No answer. I ventured toward the back where the samples were kept. There, half-wedged onto the bottom shelf, was a makeshift chemical bomb thrown together with spare parts and lab supplies. A puddle of leaked fluid slicked the metal floor.
Beside the bomb lay one of the science officers, a long stain of blood running down his collar. In one hand he held a scalpel and the other a metal charm strung on a silver chain. I recognized the symbol; an extremist cult. One that lead a world power and over two billion people through its strict law; one that couldn’t afford to have that law grow fallacious.
Perhaps we hadn’t found God after all.
