by submission | Aug 8, 2013 | Story
Author : Bob Newbell
The pup frolicked along with his two bigger brothers in the synchrotron radiation of the Crab Nebula. As they played, their bodies soaked up the powerful electromagnetic radiation emitted by the pulsar at the nebula's center. The little pup wondered why their mother wasn't playing with them as she usually did. He noticed she'd moved out nearer to the edge of the nebula.
The pup's mother had folded her many tentacles over her half-mile wide, disk-like body. She was scanning for predators. There! Closing in on that section of the nebula she saw a much smaller animal. It was roughly spherical and covered with numerous beak-like mandibles. Between the beaks extended protrusions that fanned out into membranous magnetic sails. The mother scanned left and right. More of the creatures. She scanned upward and downward. More still. They were surrounded. That was how the predators operated. They would envelope their prey at a very great distance and then move in closer. By the time they were detected, it was often too late.
The mother called her pups to her with a modulated graviton beam. She then scanned the sky. She turned back to the pups and sent another graviton pulse: coordinates.
“Jump,” she signaled the pups.
They did nothing. She could tell they were afraid.
“Jump!” she repeated.
The largest of the pups seemed to shimmer and ripple. A moment later it was gone. The next largest pup vanished a few seconds later.
The mother turned her attention back to the predators. They were closing in fast. The little pup was still in the nebula. He was scared of the approaching monsters but was more afraid of being separated from his mother.
“Jump!” she signaled the pup. She didn't dare leave the nebula herself until her children were safe first. The pup signaled back that he was terrified and didn't want to leave her.
“JUMP!” she roared with a graviton pulse that made that part of the nebula shudder.
The little pup jumped. The nebula, the stars, his mother, and the approaching creatures all seemed to iris down to a single point of light which immediately unfolded itself back outward again. But the point of light sprang back out to reveal a different part of space. The pup was now somewhere else. His brothers were with him but their mother was not.
“Where's mommy?!” the frantic pup graviton-pulsed to his brothers.
The pup scanned the area. He detected the nebula in the distance. It was now several light-years away. His mother must still be there. He wanted to jump back there but he didn't know how. In some vague, instinctive way he understood that he had moved over or under or around the space that now separated him from his mother. He was too small and too young to fold spacetime without first getting jump coordinates from his mother.
“Mommy! Mommy!” the distraught pup signaled toward the nebula with a graviton pulse that would take over seven years to reach its target.
Suddenly, the pup's mother jumped into the vicinity with a flash.
The little pup sailed over to her with such speed and force that it sent her tumbling backward for a moment. The other two pups quickly flew over to join them. All four embraced in a tangle of tentacles.
The mother contemplated the Orion Nebula. A stellar nursery was a nice place to raise a family. But jumping there could wait for a while.
“We love you, mommy!” the three pups pulsed.
“I love you, sons!” she responded.
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by Clint Wilson | Aug 7, 2013 | Story
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
The normally white bulbous head of the spacer became yellow as he indulged in triple Rotten Roxathdons on the rocks over the hours. He had been watching the fat Boojardin make his way drunkenly around the bar engaging one patron or another with his riddles and anecdotes. Now he stumbled this way.
Zitenius wanted nothing of it, he had come here to drink and reflect. But it was too late. The fat pink rolls undulated toward him, a slimy two fingered paw extended in friendship. The interloper slurred, “Related to the Thacktizites eh? Had a few too to be sure.” The repulsive being licked his lips. “You look different than them though, stockier,” he eyed the stranger some more, “but you’ve got their trait all right. Yer head’s about as yellow as a Reigel 9 radish!”
Zitenius refused the paw and kept drinking.
The drunken Boojardin didn’t seem to slow at this. He snapped his pink flipper toward the automated bartender and shouted, “Another double Evil Eargrub and another of whatever my yellow headed friend here is having.”
Metal arms, accompanied by the whirring of electric motors, quickly served the drinks. Zitenius took his without thanks, just a barely imperceptible nod as he tipped back the fresh Rotten Roxthdon.
The fat Boojardin kept right on. “Say pal, now that you’ve accepted my hospitality, how about a little story?”
Zitenius neither accepted nor refused. The interloper plowed on.
“Buddy of mine… spacer from the inner donut hole, says he ran into a strange fellow at the Century 4000 Tavern who told him that he was of a kind that never had portraits of themselves ever until their recent intergalactic integration introduced them to other species. Can you believe it pal? How nutty is that?”
The thus far quiet stranger suddenly slammed his cup down and turned his stare toward the portly pink drunkard. “Yes, I can believe it, because that was one of my people!”
The Boojardin looked positively excited at this. “Excellent! Now you must tell me, why good spacer, why no portraits?”
“Don’t you understand? We had no portraits of anything. Not ourselves, not a landscape, not a single thing!”
For the first time the fat Boojardin looked concerned. “But no, how you could never want to represent anything in facsimile?”
The stranger downed the rest of his drink. “I don’t understand it either. Now that I see all these other intelligent races I wonder how we missed it all this time.”
“Missed what good sir?”
“Why, art of course!”
“Art? You never had art?”
“No! And that’s why we never had a single portrait you see. Where your people once represented relations and ones deeply cared for by way of smearing colored ingredients into shapes and likenesses, which in turn developed into capturing images through light sensitive chemicals, which then evolved into moving pictures…”
The Boojardin interrupted dreamily as the light of recognition came on in his huge red eyes. “…which developed into digital imaging which quickly became three dimensional digi imaging. I see… truly fascinating.”
“Fascinating? Perhaps. But we don’t find it all that humorous or exciting.” He went on. “We have achieved great things; artificial intelligence, interstellar travel, amazing wonderful things.” He sighed and drained the rest of his cup. “But our world is plain and gray, without artistic curve or the simplest decoration. I feel we have missed the meaning of it all.”
The suddenly sympathetic Boojardin patted him on slumped shoulder, and pointed around the garishly decorated establishment with its multitude of diverse patrons. “There’s still time friend!”
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by Julian Miles | Aug 6, 2013 | Story
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The sun clears the mountains and shines across the sylvan landscape, it’s rays sparkling from the dew on the grasses, bringing out the myriad shades of green on the leaves on the trees, lifting cries from the unseen throats of the hundreds of winged creatures, and stretching a long shadow from the black tetrahedron, a two-dimensional isosceles triangle that points toward Ibripspur, the capital city of the Vardissian Concordance.
As the first rush of cries wanes, there is a bone-jarring ‘thrum’ as the pyramid rises into the air, travels forward one length and slams down with an impact that shakes the countryside into silence. Thirty-four minutes later, it does it again. Behind it, the land is compressed by the incalculable weight of the two-hundred and fifty metre a side edifice. Nothing survives, everything pressed into a memorial rug that lays a metre below the ground’s natural surface.
It has done this without cease for the last four hundred days. The only deviation was when it landed on the military base at Tserges. It spent a day moving sideways, then ahead, then sideways to ensure the entire base was levelled.
We have thrown everything at it. Seven hundred kilometres behind its current position, there is a nuclear desert where a teraton warhead failed to even scratch the matte-black finish whilst ruining what had been the county of Sapur.
It is a terror weapon like nothing we have encountered. We know that on our nearest moon, a pyramid like this one, but smaller, has appeared. We presume that it contains the masters of this horror. They are also imperturbable by teraton nukes.
Yesterday our courier returned from Old Earth with an answer to our desperate queries. I look down at the thin metal sheet, hoping that this twentieth time of reading will yield a detail I missed: the one that will save us.
Guardian Jefflyn.
The researches you requested have proven to be correct. The Great Pyramid is indeed likely to be the remains of one of these devices. An intensive review of all records, research and apocrypha in the light of this revelation has revealed only one fact: Our pyramid was halted by the edifice we call The Sphinx. Indeed, conjecture is that the presence of The Sphinx was necessary to prevent the device’s function until the passage of time rendered it dysfunctional. We also concur with your other hypothesis; the presence of the third pyramid on the Giza Plateau indicates an attempt by the pyramid users to reactivate their weapon. As to why this failed and how the edifices functioned at all are things beyond our current scientific understanding.
Reluctantly, EarthGov agrees that your proposed action is the only viable recourse.
I bow my head, then raise my hand to summon my personal guard and aides. They assemble in a semi-circle behind me. I turn to face them, letting them see the tracks of my tears so they will feel the gravitas of my words.
“Abandon planet.”
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by Desmond Hussey | Aug 5, 2013 | Story
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer
The endless sea of torches before me is reminiscent of the once star-riddled firmament.
“Civilizations are like stars”, I begin, my message echoing and rippling endlessly outward through the crowd like some acoustic earthquake, my voice the epicenter.
“A star’s origins are buried deep within the annals of time. They begin as loose affiliations of individual elemental particles, “citizens” eking out a mutual existence, sharing “Neighborhoods”. Many “Neighborhoods” unite to form “Villages”, clusters of organized energy, which, in turn, grow and envelope other “Villages” until the star finally ignites into a power far greater than the sum of its parts.”
I can’t help but look upon the towering mountain of technological triumph dominating the landscape beyond the sea of humanity. All of the Human Race’s achievements have led to the creation of this colossal testament to survival. Humanity’s hope weighs precariously upon its success.
“Some stars are titans, cosmic dynamos whose influence spreads far and wide, their ambition often exceeding their limitations. While their “citizens” become innumerable, consuming vast amounts of energy, their cores become covetous, hording matter like cosmic skinflints. Uniting forces become unstable until the short lived star ends in violent cataclysm. The few surviving refugees are scattered to the cold, uncaring winds. Their ruins radiating strange energies for dark eternities.”
I pause to take a breath, the chill air burning my lungs and robbing my body of precious heat. Every second is colder than the last and as warm as it’ll ever be again for a long time.
“Other stars grow larger still”, I proceed, “until their woeful urge for dominion becomes an irresistible pull, a dark, oppressive force which draws all life, all matter into their illiberal folds; wells of consumption. As masses swell, depression reigns. Pressures mount. Centers cannot hold. Always, inevitably, there’s a quick, violent upheaval, a yearning for freedom, for liberty, but in vain – The tyranny of gravity prevails. Everything becomes lured inexorably into morbid, unknowable vortexes. Inescapable places. Lightless places. Places of death and futility.”
The silence of a million thoughtful minds fills the empty air.
“But smaller stars”, my voice now charged with pride, ”enjoy a long, prosperous existence. Their forces are stable, dependable, conservative. When the inevitable end comes, it comes slowly, predictably. The sun grows, reaches the limits of it’s resources, then, welcoming oblivion after a long life, it fades serenely into non-existence. Its “citizens” disperse, returning to a life of individuality within a universe of endless potential – Wanderers amidst the Great Unknown.
“We were both blessed and doomed. Blessed with a small sun, yet doomed to survive our own violent growing pains only to bear witness to the unstoppable heat-death of the Milky-Way.”
A low rumble shakes the ground, permeating my bones. Small stones tremble. Anticipation swells as I raise my voice.
“Just as we have watched, during the long life of our people, the stars in our galaxy die one by one, their energies extinguished by the brutal power of entropy, we have witnessed countless civilizations of our own become consumed by their own darkness.
“But we are, each of us, the inheritors of our own unique and ancient heritage. We are survivors and we will not wait for the end. We will not go gently into that good night! We will rage, rage against the dying of the light!”
The roar of the crowd is deafening, but the ignition of the World-Engine drowns all other sound. Slowly, relentlessly, we begin the dark voyage across the galactic gulf, searching for a new home.
We, the Sunless, shall endure!
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by submission | Aug 4, 2013 | Story
Author : Alex Sivier
The large door at the bottom of the chrome craft opened with a faint hiss and white clouds billowed out into the cool Swiss air.
A creature slithered out and slapped dozens of wet tentacles against the plush red carpet to propel it towards the podium, where the president of the United Nations stood waiting.
On one side sat representatives from all nations, and on the other side, reporters from all the major news organisations peered out from behind a wall of cameras and microphones.
The president let out a nervous giggle, cleared her throat and slowly extended a shaky hand.
“On behalf all the citizens of planet Earth, I welcome you to Earth,” she said in a well-rehearsed, but slightly wobbly, voice.
The creature, dripping purple slime from its gelatinous body, raised its head on a serpentine neck and peered closely at her with seven, bulbous, unblinking eyes. It held up a small box and manipulated it in a series of quick twists, while tense security guards fingered their handguns.
Suddenly thousands of tiny dazzling lights burst outwards. The president flinched and jerked her hands in front of her face, but it was just a hologram of the galaxy, zooming into a region at the outer edge of a spiral arm. In the space directly between them, a single unmoving red star was the focal point of the zoom. Gradually, as the hologram grew closer to it, it did start to move, gradually picking up speed and increasing in size. The reason for its motion was because it was not at the centre of the zoom after all. The target was a small brown planet with three tiny moons.
The dark side of planet was covered in lights in intricate geometric swirls and lines, like the earth at night, except that the patterns were more regular and covered the whole of the unlit hemisphere.
Sounds began to fade in as the camera zoom slowed to a halt. Chirps, beeps and bubbling noises, mixed with static. It was like listening to the sounds of a forest on a radio with bad reception.
Suddenly a black cloud drifted into the frame, growing more opaque as it neared the centre. Tiny sparks exploded from the planet like welding embers, sweeping curved paths towards it. The cloud swallowed them and flashed from within, but did not stop or dissipate. Very soon it had engulfed the entire planet.
The sounds stopped abruptly.
The president gulped and a drop of sweat trickled down her temple. The whole world held its breath and stared, wide-eyed, at the writhing ball of smoke.
Finally it drifted away, leaving a charred, black planet, devoid of light and life.
With a flick of the box, the stars rushed in again, whizzed past in blurry streaks and then flung outwards once more as the hologram zoomed into a planet near a small yellow star, which was far more familiar. A patchwork of blues, greens and browns, capped with white, and partially hidden beneath swirling pale smears. Its single cratered moon swung around in a slow waltz.
More sounds faded in amid crackling static. A cacophony of words in a variety of human languages. Some accompanied by music, others with laughter, some were the sombre tones of newsreaders and a few were the passionate rants of dictators.
The creature moved its face very close to the president, who leaned back with a nervous frown. It pressed a long, slender tentacle against the larger of its two mouths and let out a single, soft, sustained sound.
“Shhhhh!”
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