by Duncan Shields | Sep 5, 2012 | Story |
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
Season six of Starfleet Academy had just started on the television. Pizza boxes were stacked high around him. The lights were out. Underwear and dirty clothes lay strewn about the place.
Jim’s laziness was catching up with him. He was growing fatter by the month. His uncle had gotten him work as a janitor in the science wing of the university but he wasn’t liking it. It was only part-time but it was hard on his back and the boss kept disrespecting him.
He reached forward to turn up the volume on the remote control when a flash of light erupted in the front of the television and a large figure stood blocking his view of the show.
He pushed back from the television, scraping the floor with couch. The effort left him wheezing.
“Jim, don’t freak out. I only have a few minutes to talk to you.” The figure fumbled around the boxes and clothes and turned on a desk lamp.
Jim looked up into the face of the intruder and froze. It was him but a few years older. Still grossly overweight and unkempt but with less hair and more grey.
“Jim, I’m you. I’m still the janitor in the science department. They’ve invented time travel. I’m one of the only people that has a key to the place after hours. The whole team has gone out to celebrate and I’m here alone. I’ll probably get fired for doing this but here.”
He handed over a few pieces of paper with some numbers on them.
“These are lottery numbers. Use them wisely and don’t get greedy. Keep the janitor job and don’t spend like a crazy person.”
As he spoke, he grew several gold rings out of his fingers and a gold tooth appeared in his mouth. A diamond stud sprouted out of his ear. Modest but expensive.
“Also, do some pushups and hit the gym. Even a little regular exercise will do the trick. My heart is ready to burst and I’ve been told that I only have a year to live before I need a transplant. Luckily I can afford it so that’s not too worrying but please do that.”
As older Jim spoke, fat melted off of him. He didn’t grow buff but he did look decidedly trimmer. The missing hair didn’t look so bad. There was confidence and a healthy glow to his eyes. His posture improved and he seemed less panicked.
“And Jim, please go back to school. We both have a natural aptitude for math. It’s how I could figure out how to use the controls here. Imagine what we could accomplish if we really applied ourselves! Jesus, if you’d have studied then maybe I wouldn’t have ended up just being a goddamn janitor.”
The older Jim’s stained jumpsuit whispered away in fragments and was replaced by a lab coat and clipboard.
“My colleagues will be back soon. We can’t use the time machine for personal use so I’ll no doubt face disciplinary action if I’m caught. One more thing. Ask Janine out. While my work is fulfilling, I regret not having kids and she was the one.”
There was a pause while an expression shuddered across older Jim’s face.
“Okay I have to go. I need to get home and tuck the kids in and tell my wife the good news. Remember what I’ve said.”
There was another flash of light and he disappeared.
Jim sat staring at the empty space where the older version of him had stood. He slowly put down the remote control, looked around, and started cleaning up his apartment.
by Patricia Stewart | Sep 4, 2012 | Story |
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
“You know, Albert,” said Thomas Hoofnagle, “this has all the makings of a stereotypical science fiction story.”
“How so?” asked Albert Arnold as he made some final adjustments to the torpedo’s structural integrity field.
“Surely you are not oblivious to the fact that the UN is about to launch that torpedo into the sun with the specific intent to inhibit the rate of nuclear fusion in its core. You don’t see a million ways that plan can go wrong? Like the sun can go nova, or it could condense to a white dwarf. That kind of stuff.”
“Don’t be an idiot Tom, you know as well as anybody that this is the most understood of scientific principles. There is as much a chance of this going wrong as there is the sun not rising tomorrow.”
Hoofnagle spread his arms sideways and made an expression implying “That’s exactly my point”.
It took Arnold a second to realize what he had said. “Stop it, Tom. You know what I mean. The inhibitor’s effect is thoroughly understood. It will slow down the fusion rate in the sun’s core by exactly 0.12838441 percent. And, one hundred years from now, the amount of energy emanating from the surface of the sun will be reduced by the exact amount needed to compensate for the effects of global warming. Just in time to bring the Earth back from the edge of the cliff that the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change had predicted in their climate models. Our names will go down in history as the men who saved mankind from their own shortsightedness.”
“I’m sure they will throw you a big parade when you come out of stasis.”
“About that, Tom. You should reconsider your decision. Don’t you want to be around to see the fruits of your labor?
“No thank you. I’m content living out my life in this century. Now, let’s launch this puppy, so I can go home and get drunk, and forget that I ever heard of the United Nation’s Initiative to Curtail Solar Radiation.
***
Arnold’s return to consciousness happened quickly. He sat up, and immediately recognized that he was in the stasis recovery room. He blinked his eyes into focus and looked out the large picture window toward the Houston skyline. It was snowing outside, and the wind was howling like a banshee. He looked at the calendar that was hung on the opposite wall. It said “August”. Oh shit, he thought, Tom was right. But it can’t be. I’m sure our calculations were correct. “Nurse,” he yelled.
Arnold hadn’t seen the young man napping in the chair next to his bed. “Damn,” he exclaimed as he fell out of the chair. He quickly jumped to his feet and explained, “Thank God you’re awake. Sorry, Mr. Arnold, but we had to bring you out of stasis twenty years early. There’s a problem.”
“I can see that through the window. What the hell happened? The inhibitors shouldn’t have…”
“No, no, sir. You don’t understand. It’s not the inhibitors. It was the climate models. Those bastard ‘scientists’ from last century fabricated so much evidence to ensure their perpetual funding that they hid the real problem, an impending ice age. We need you to turn off the fusion inhibitors. We need every available BTU in order to stop the oceans from freezing solid.”
“You don’t understand the science, son. The inhibitors did what they had to do eighty years ago. It just takes a century for the effects to percolate to the surface. The sun is going to cool, and we can’t stop it.”
by submission | Aug 19, 2012 | Story |
Author : Townsend Wright
They came when I was young. Crash landed, really. Science said it was a great discovery, but they couldn’t live in our air. But they could do something to their own DNA, made their offspring suited to earth. Big bug things, we started calling them figits. They latched to our buildings and scampered through our streets. We used bullets but they just adapted again, gave their young a hard shell. So we used fire. Fire retardant shells. Gas. Learned to breathe it. Chainsaw. Repair cuts in themselves. We ended up switching methods every so often just to keep them dying.
One day I’m walking with my young son and stop in a crowd to watch a figit extermination. It’s fire month. Ugly-ass thing, big as a car, latched to an office building, squirming, screeching in the flames. My boy looks up at me.
“Daddy,” he says, “what did the figits ever do to us that made us want to kill ’em so bad?” I looked down at him. So did the folks next to us, and behind us, and in front of us. Whispers spread his question through the crowd and all conversation stops. One by one all heads turned his way, even the exterminators stopped to look and the figit’s screaming stopped. In the dead silence my boy still looks to me.
Nobody has an answer.
by Patricia Stewart | Aug 10, 2012 | Story |
Author : Patricia Stewart
The patrol ship SS Rakki was approaching Moonbase Delta when the science officer announced, “Captain, I’m picking up an emergency distress signal from the Ultragravity Research Station orbiting Jupiter.”
“Are they requesting assistance?” asked the captain. “Surely they know that there are much closer ships patrolling the outer solar system.”
“Negative, sir. It’s a system wide broadcast. They are reporting a runaway cascade failure in their graviton stress–energy tensor experiment. They are warning everybody in the solar system that if they can’t contain the breach, it may initiate a graviton tsunami.”
“A graviton tsunami?”
“Yes, sir. Concentric ripples in the curvature of spacetime. Somewhat analogous to the waves created by dropping a stone into a pond. Only, much, much larger, and they spread outward at the speed of light.”
“If that occurs, Commander, what can we expect?”
“That depends, sir. For example…” Just then, overwhelming nausea caused the bridge crew to double over, a few collapsed into unconsciousness.
Fighting to regain his composure, the captain crawled back into his command chair. “Report,” he ordered.
“I suspect that was the graviton tsunami, sir,” replied the science officer. “Evidently, the breach occurred shortly after they transmitted their warning.”
“That was milder than I expected,” remarked the captain. “Shouldn’t there have been more damage?”
“As I was about to explain, Captain, the effect is proportional to mass. The mass of our ship is only eight million kilograms. The tsunami passed around us like an earth-based tidal wave would pass around a fish in mid-ocean. But the gravity well of a large mass would magnify the effect like a funnel shaped harbor. Ensign Baker, put Jupiter on the main viewer.”
When Jupiter appeared on the screen, it was more than a thousand times brighter than Sirius. The gravity wave had apparently initiated hydrogen fusion in its core. “Oh my God,” exclaimed the captain, “Put the Earth on the main viewer.” Seconds later, the night side of Earth was awash in the glow of the nuclear Jupiter, but no artificial lights dotted its surface. Fearing the worst, the captain turned to his communications officer, “Lieutenant Albright, see if you can raise Central Command. Tell them we are prepared to assist, and ask for instructions.” Turning back to his science officer “How bad do you think it is Commander? Do you think there are survivors down there?”
Commander Roberts had turned ashen gray, his eyes filled with hopelessness. “Perhaps, sir, but only for another fifteen minutes, or so.”
“Explain,” snapped the captain after the cryptic reply.
“The graviton wave is traveling at the speed of light, sir. Although we just saw Jupiter become a protostar, it actually happened more than forty minutes ago. We didn’t know about it until its light finally reached us.”
“Your point, Commander?”
“Eight point three minutes after the wave hit Earth, it will reach the sun, the largest gravity well in the solar system. I suspect, sir, that eight point three minutes after that, we’ll see the sun go nova.”
by submission | Aug 9, 2012 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
“We beat it!” Those were the words my lawyer had said to me right after sentencing. “It” was the death penalty. “Son, you shouldn’t have done this in Texas,” he’d said to me the first time we met. “This” referred to killing a man.
It happened in the middle of July. It was one of the hottest summers on record. There had been a power failure at the office. Power wouldn’t be restored until the following day. Nobody was too broken up about going home early, least of all me. It was about half past one when I pulled into my subdivision. There was a car in my driveway. I immediately recognized it as belonging to Jimmy. Jimmy and I had been best friends since elementary school.
I’d felt that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as soon as I saw the car, but I tried to ignore it. Jimmy had come by to see me, I told myself. Probably been here all of two minutes. Wait another minute and he’ll come right back out that front door. Of course, I knew what I would find when I went in the house.
This is where it starts to get blurry. It was a really long time ago, after all. I remember catching Jimmy and my wife in the act. I remember a lot of yelling. I remember the gunshot. I remember the cops cuffing me. The blood on the bed. My wife shaking uncontrollably.
The prosecutor had tried to get the death penalty. Maybe I deserved it. But I had a good lawyer. Maybe too good. He got me life without the possibility of parole. I was 45 years old when I was convicted. I had high blood pressure and high cholesterol and I’d smoked a pack-and-a-half of cigarettes a day since I was 17. My dad had died of a heart attack at 51. A life sentence didn’t seem all that bad.
I’d been in prison for about ten years when the Nanotech Revolution happened. Everything started advancing really quick. Robots, spaceships, all that science fiction stuff the movies and comic books predicted that never happened all became commonplace in just a few years. And everything became really cheap. “Self-replicating molecular assemblers,” they called ’em. Like tiny little robots that could build almost anything from dirt, water, and sunshine. Medicine got real advanced, too.
First they cured diabetes. Didn’t just come up with a better way to treat it, they really cured it. Heart disease, colon cancer, Alzheimer disease. One by one, nanotech cured all man’s ailments. Eventually, they announced they’d found a cure for aging itself. “Cell repair nanobots” and “telomeres” and a bunch of other stuff I never understood. And because all this nanotech medicine was so cheap, everybody was able to get it.
Including prisoners.
I’ve tried to commit suicide four times. They monitor me ’round the clock now. “They” being the machine guards, of course. Guarding prisoners is one of those jobs humans (and transhumans) won’t do.
Nations have risen and fallen around the prison. The Greater American Federated States is the name of the country that Texas belongs to at the moment.
I’ve been locked up for 485 years. They keep saying they’re gonna pass legislation to free us. Or to let us die. They’ve been saying that for almost 300 years. I wish to God that prosecutor had done his job right and got me the death penalty.
