by submission | Oct 15, 2013 | Story |
Author : Aiza Mohd
Today is our last day on Earth.
This morning, I beheld the sun rising over the Arctic. From all the way down in our dwelling, it felt like it was worlds away.
Behind me I saw Naamin. She’d discovered her brother, who’d died in the night, while I pretended to sleep.
There in our kingdom of water and silence, we buried our dead as the sun came up. There was just enough light to paint our surroundings. The muted horror of awakening to gone relatives. The urgency of hiding them, from the far-reaching expeditions of human science.
That nemesis drove us from every home in the past age, exacerbating every attempt to prolong our existence until we were constrained to planet Earth’s most undiscovered world: the oceans.
We weren’t made for such suffocating life. Water such as this was rare back on Marikh; we had avoided the oceans for as long as we could until Earthland was no longer an option.
Closing my eyes to Naamin’s grief, I spoke. ‘Fola led his faction away, while you slept. There are two vessels left. And fewer supplies.’
‘Then let’s leave. Please.’
She was scrabbling in the earth. The dead lay all around us. Nearby, I saw someone leaning over a lost love.
‘Where did Fola go?’
I recalled what a dead friend had told me once, about human knowledge of the universe. His faction had sampled a human, a well-read one who spoke of white holes and lenticular galaxies. We used to do this sometimes, to assess just how far humanity had travelled.
‘He means to reach a faraway planet long dismissed as dead,’ I answered. ‘I don’t believe his craft will even get halfway.’
‘There never was one as resigned as yourself,’ she spat with sudden venom. ‘You’ll doom us all to your deadened dreams.’
‘This planet is at its peak,’ I said. ‘Do you remember what it was like up there?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I remember. I remember that up there was beautiful and full of life. There were things to see, dangers to run from. And I remember brightness.’ She stood, abandoning the task of digging her brother’s grave. ‘I remember something to live for.’
I said nothing. Overhead, a dark creature swims rapidly away.
‘You see?’ she said softly. ‘Even if we stay, the ocean floor is no longer ours. Earth was never ours — each time, the universe created a new inhabitant for whatever place we’d dare to try to steal. Our time is up.
‘You’ve seen our civilisation rise and fall– you’ve suffered, grandfather. But there’s nothing for us here.’
Emotion, a phenomenon from the distant past, swelled up and soared through me. It bent my heart double and smashed it.
‘I’ve chased our entire existence into a corner.’
‘No, Premier,’ spoke gently the mourner I had seen earlier. ‘You’ve done only what you’ve had to do. But I agree with Naamin.’ The woman was approaching us. ‘Though what lies beyond is uncertain, I would go to my end seeking a better grave. Continuity for the sake of continuity is for nothing, when all we do is bury our dead. We have defied the universe for far too long.’
I was silent, defeated. A tired old man. Naamin led me by the hand to a vessel as some others followed suit. ‘One day,’ she said, ‘humans will be faced with this choice too.’
Now we are leaving, abandoning this dark and rippling realm, leaving everything we ever were behind us. I am holding my breath, I am waiting … anticipating that dazzling burst of sunlight.
by submission | Sep 27, 2013 | Story |
Author : Carl Poffley
“Nothing.” grumbled Amado irritably. “Absolutely nothing!”
“Why does that annoy you?” Kia replied, fiddling with the instruments.
“We came all the way out here to a planet that’s unbelievably similar to Earth and not a single sign of intelligent life! Just some dumb animals and trees! Lots and lots of trees!”
“Well the trees are interesting aren’t they?”
Amado looked at the tree, the one that had been dubbed “Specimen G-42371”. It was a strange shape, like some strangely formed pot, and the top was crowned with a messy cluster of branches with leaves of various colours and shapes. At first it had been novel: a real life alien tree! But there were hundreds, thousands of them for miles around, clumped together so tightly that it was practically all he had seen since they had arrived on the planet.
“They look different, yes, but they’re still just *trees*, Kia!”
“Their root networks can go on for miles, linking hundreds of thousands of them together and we have absolutely no idea why. Doesn’t that excite you at all? Like, not even a little bit?” she checked the equipment and frowned. “Y’know, it’s weird: our instruments are picking up complex chemical processes where the roots intertwine, but there’s no rhyme or reason to them. Just seems completely random…”
“Probably just anomalies caused by equipment malfunctions. Most likely boredom induced malfunctions because they’re as sick of these trees as I am!”
Kia looked at him quizzically. “Boredom? We’re on a whole new world and you’re *bored*? Seriously? I’ll be honest, you’re not really acting much like a man of science. Where’s your scientific curiosity Dr. Kalawakan?”
Amado paused for a moment, then sighed. “It’s just… I just… I spent my entire life dreaming of meeting aliens. Intelligent aliens I mean. I can remember when I was child, and the sheer excitement I felt when we learned that, against all odds, this planet had all the criteria for life. The whole reason I went into science was to head here and find new alien cultures and civilisations! You wouldn’t believe the amount of hoops I had to jump through in order to get onto this mission, and now that we’re finally here… there’s nothing! I just… I feel like… like I’ve wasted my life on some stupid impossible dream…”
“*That’s* what this is about?”
Kia felt herself begin to laugh, but suddenly noticed that Amado looked like he was going to cry. “Hey, don’t worry about it.” she said warmly. “I mean, just because this planet doesn’t have any intelligent life, doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re alone in the universe right?”
“Yes but… It’s just…”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s head back to base camp. Get something to eat.”
Slowly, the science team began to head back, leaving the trees alone. Specimen G-42371 stood still, its leaves rustling in the evening breeze. Beneath the ground, its roots began to release a series of chemicals into those of the trees surrounding it, so subtle that each one lasted less than a moment, yet so intricate that it took several hours before the whole sequence had emerged. When it was finished, those trees that had received it began to transmit it to the trees *their* roots were in contact with, and so it went on for miles and miles across the planet’s surface, passing from root to root, from tree to tree…
They would later consider it one of the greatest poems in history.
by Clint Wilson | Sep 25, 2013 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
The captain was typical of his type, six-foot-four, square jaw and sparkling white teeth. His muscles bulged as he leaned forward in his chair. “Atmosphere is breathable Ensign, let’s bring her down so we can have a look around.”
The science officer stepped forward. This was his first mission with the pompous captain. His advice had already been shot down several times to date but this was something he simply couldn’t back down on. “Sir there are massive life form readings down there. We know nothing about this planet.”
“Did I ask you Lieutenant? There might be life form readings but there’s no technology. Who knows what kind of treasure we might relieve these primitives of? Maintain course Ensign.”
“But sir, we are dealing with alien life, I don’t see how you can’t worry.”
The captain turned toward his science officer. “You know, you’re really getting on my nerves Lieutenant.” Then he patted his sidearm, a gleaming photon hand cannon with enough punch to turn a man to dust. “I think we’ll be just fine.” Then he called out the names of the men he wanted to accompany him. His second in command was among them. The Lieutenant was not.
Although mostly relieved the science officer still had to ask, “You don’t want my biological expertise as you step onto an alien landscape sir?”
The captain sneered, “No you can stay here and change your diaper. The real men will be out there conquering.” A few others on the bridge snickered.
They cruised in low over a dense jungle. Most of the trees looked like bulbous fungi and were colored from bluish hues to rich purples. Here and there jutted up massive stalks of some fantastic skyscraper plant, each bearing a huge bobbing burgundy flower near its top.
The captain ordered the ensign to land in a purple clearing near the base of one of these giant stalks. They touched down without incident and the team made ready to depart.
The science officer tried once more. “Please gentlemen, consider your own lives. We know nothing of this place or its inhabitants. Much study needs to be done before we can venture out there in the flesh.”
Again he was met with snickering. The captain got in one final parting shot. “Make sure to change that diaper Lieutenant. I don’t want to smell baby crap when I come back here.” And with that the elevator doors closed and the away team was whisked down to the surface.
The science officer stood beside the ensign. Together they watched through the forward screens with the remaining crew as the team of seven marched out across the rough purple grass, their hand cannons at the ready, looking this way and that for potential trouble. “I can’t believe this carelessness,” said the lieutenant, but then he was cut short.
There was a rumble and the giant stalk beside the ship began to flex and ripple. The startled away team suddenly looked skyward as the huge flower hundreds of meters above began to waver back and forth. Then before anyone could do a thing there was a thunderous crack and the stalk collapsed in half.
As the toothy mouth opened in the face of the huge descending flower the seven men froze. A moment later it crashed down upon them, making even the ship jump. Then seconds later the stalk straightened and the flower whisked away toward the sky once more. There was no sign of the team.
The science officer, now in command by order of rank, said, “Get us out of here Ensign.”
by submission | Sep 24, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
TRANSCRIPT OF THE FIRST OFFICIAL MEETING BETWEEN UNITED NATIONS SPACE AMBASSADOR JEFFREY CHATMAN AND AMBASSADOR VELDRIK-ORAN OF THE IMPERIUM OF ZETA RETICULI.
UNITED NATIONS HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK, 15 JANUARY 2086
CHATMAN: On behalf of the peoples of Earth, it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you.
TRANSLATION ROBOT: Your greeting cannot be literally translated into your counterpart’s language. But I will try to convey the basic sentiment.
[ROBOT speaks to VELDRIK-ORAN in an alien language. The Zeta Reticuli ambassador responds.]
TRANSLATION ROBOT: Today, the people of Zeta Reticuli and the people of Earth are like prisoners in the same detention camp.
CHATMAN: What?
TRANSLATION ROBOT: That’s the closest translation possible in English. The connotation is that your people and the ambassador’s share a strong bond of friendship.
CHATMAN: Oh. I am confident that both our worlds will benefit from the foundation we build here today.
[TRANSLATION ROBOT and VELDRIK-ORAN converse.]
TRANSLATION ROBOT: Our feet are all stuck in cement.
CHATMAN: I beg your pardon?
TRANSLATION ROBOT: The ambassador shares your hopes.
CHATMAN: Oh. Humanity looks forward to learning about your people and their culture and history.
TRANSLATION ROBOT: My bank account is overdrawn.
CHATMAN: Huh?
TRANSLATION ROBOT: By this he means he lacks the means to express how hopeful he is of a cultural interchange.
CHATMAN: Ah. Would you be willing to join me in a press conference later and allow our journalists to ask you a few questions?
TRANSLATION ROBOT: The service at this restaurant is horrid.
CHATMAN: What?!
TRANSLATION ROBOT: The ambassador will attend your press conference. His expression implies that if one wants something done, one must do it for one’s self. In other words, he is willing to do this.
CHATMAN: Are you sure our conversation is being properly translated?
TRANSLATION ROBOT: Sir, both you and the Zeta Reticuli ambassador have radically different biologies, cultures, and histories. Translation under such circumstances is an art, not a science. I am trying to balance communicating what each of you is literally saying with rendering the translation linguistically and culturally comprehensible. Just a moment…
The ambassador says you must have gotten your clothes at a fire sale.
CHATMAN: I beg your pardon! This suit was a gift from my wife.
TRANSLATION ROBOT: Human beings are like a rash the doctor cannot treat.
CHATMAN: This is ridiculous. We need a different translator.
TRANSLATION ROBOT: I assure you, Mr. Ambassador, the conversation is being rendered as precisely as possible within the cultural and linguistic limits.
CHATMAN: Alright. Ask the ambassador if his people have encountered other intelligent life in the cosmos.
TRANSLATION ROBOT: Ambassador Chatman, I couldn’t ask that! Ambassador Veldrik-Oran would almost certainly interpret such a question as a lewd double entendre.
CHATMAN: That’s it! I’ve had it! I can’t do my job under these circumstances. Tell Veldrik-Oran he can take his diplomatic mission and stick it where the sun don’t shine.
[TRANSLATION ROBOT and VELDRIK-ORAN converse. VELDRIK-ORAN gets out of chair, walks over to CHATMAN and gives him a warm embrace.]
TRANSLATION ROBOT: That was very well received, Ambassador Chatman. Just a moment…
Ambassador Veldrik-Oran says…the light’s been green for ten seconds, for the love of God hit the gas pedal!
CHATMAN: What the hell does that mean?
TRANSLATION ROBOT: He wants to establish a warp gate in orbit around your world so the people of Earth and the people of Zeta Reticuli can visit each more easily. Congratulations, Ambassador Chatman! Your diplomatic mission is a complete success.
END TRANSCRIPT
by Julian Miles | Sep 20, 2013 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
It’s really disappointing. All the science fiction stuff about energy weapons and faster than light travel turned out to be impractical or impossible. Even nanotechnology proved to be only useful rather than miraculous.
“He’s coming round.”
“Batteries four and six, come to bear. Batteries three and five, cover his escape vectors.”
“Aye aye captain.”
The great exploration of space has come to a grinding halt. The Solar System is it for us. A few colony ships have gone out, filled with fanatics or undesirables, but their chance of becoming anything but footnotes of unrealised horror is slim.
In-system, it’s been lively for a couple of decades now. Earth considers itself the ruler of the system and the various established colonies object strongly. Independence wars have been flaring up so often it’s pretty much sequential.
I grab a stanchion as Brutus fires all eight guns in the four turret-mounted batteries and the ship rings like a gong. It’s wasteful but metal is plentiful now we’ve got the asteroid belt to strip mine. Two batteries aimed at where our opponent is going to be, two batteries aimed at where he could be if he dodges. There’s no point firing after he dodges.
“He’s fired everything!”
The Raumhorst is Federal Europe’s most powerful space battleship and deservedly so. His targeting gear is famous and his crew veterans. Brutus is the one thing they fear.
The United Kingdom colonised Pluto back when we still had royalty. Nobody contested our claim and we just got on with subzero mining and other stuff. I wonder if the spies and the analysts who didn’t work out why we were shipping lumber out there have been fired yet.
Geoffrey Pyke had the idea a couple of centuries ago but it was deemed impractical. Around Pluto, however, extreme cold and water are in plentiful supply. Just add fourteen percent wood pulp and you have space armour to defy most projectiles. The Brutus is basically a pair of Vanguard class super-dreadnoughts mounted keel to keel, or where the keels would be. Everything is a lot smoother than their naval equivalents because after the ninety-six thousand tons of ‘double-barrelled battleship’ as my uncle called it is constructed, all the exterior gets a ten-foot layer of pykrete. Frozen water is great for turrets because the friction allows them to turn without having to taper the armour layer – we just have to mount the turrets on risers to allow ten feet of pykrete between them and the deck. The double-up configuration allows eight turrets, four top and four bottom. Two main guns per turret, sixteen inch smoothbores that throw two-thousand pound ‘bullets’.
I hug the stanchion as the Raumhorst’s broadside slams into us. The sound of things falling is all that occurs, the dreaded whine of escaping air non-existent.
“Three hits! Took the two we sent to port in her superstructure and portmost one of the main barrage in her stern. She’s yawing! It’s a kill!”
I still don’t understand why everyone else builds space battleships like sea battleships with the bridge sticking up like a target. But I’m not going to argue. We’ve just become the primary force in the system. Pluto Colony is on its way to independence and being able to honour the orders from Mars we have for pykrete, even if the commercial slabs will be a little weaker than our own.
