by featured writer | Apr 30, 2013 | Story
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
“Welcome to our asteroid belt,” said the Congolese captain of the AFS Seretse Khama.
Your asteroid belt, thought Dragoslav Ibrahimovi?. Yet the captain of the BAS Peter the Liberator had to admit that his African Federation counterpart had a point. A legal point, to be precise. Sensor sweeps showed that every asteroid of any appreciable size in the area had its own unique transponder signal. Being the first to land a vessel, even a small automated radio transmitter, on an asteroid gave the government in question a legal claim to the property. The African Federation produced, launched, and landed transponder drones by the hundreds of thousands annually. Legally, nearly the entire asteroid belt was their property.
“Just passing through, Captain,” Ibrahimovi? replied over the comlink. The Peter the Liberator moved on across the belt into the outer solar system. Balkan Alliance territory.
One month later, while performing a gravity-assist maneuver around Jupiter, the commander of the Sasselov Station on Callisto contacted Ibrahimovi?.
“We've downloaded your manifest. It says your ship is full of supplies and heading for Neptune. But our sensors say your hold is almost totally empty. And you're the sixth empty supply ship to come through here in the last four months. Looks more like you're bringing something back, not hauling supplies out. What's out there?” asked the commander.
“Just helium-3 processing stations,” Ibrahimovi? replied.
“Did you find something that will put us out in front of the African Federation? Something better than a bunch of rocks floating in space? No more of that being a distant second to the world's only superpower stuff?”
“I'll inform Bucharest your station sensors are malfunctioning,” said Ibrahimovi?. “I suggest you have a good explanation for why you didn't report the problem four months ago.”
Ibrahimovi? cut the comlink.
The Peter the Liberator sailed out into space for many more months, performed an aerobraking and course correction around Neptune, and finally after a long, slow powered deceleration, settled into orbit around Charon, the largest Moon of Pluto. Twelve hours later a shuttle carrying Dr. Aris Kosionidis rose from the surface of Charon and docked with the Peter the Liberator.
“We've got it mostly unburied now,” said Kosionidis to Ibrahimovi?. “We know it was a ship, not a robotic probe. We were able to get inside and we found the remains of the crew.”
“Do you know where it came from?” asked Ibrahimovi?.
“We have no idea. We do know it crashed into Charon around 16 million years ago.”
Ibrahimovi? let that sink in.
“We also know,” Kosionidis continued, “that we can't even guess yet about what half the technology on that ship is for. And the half we can identify is as far in advance of 2299 as we are from the time of the pharaohs.
“We could study it for a hundred years and still not figure it out,” said Ibrahimovi?.
“That might not be necessary. The ship has been trying to talk to us,” said Kosionidis.
“What?!”
“Verbally. Whatever powers it is still functioning at a very low level. Apparently it's been listening to us talk inside the pressure dome we erected around it. At first it just repeated back what we said but in the last four days it's been trying to converse. We're hopeful eventually it can tell us about its origins and explain its technology.”
“Better than a bunch of rocks floating in space,” Ibrahimovi? muttered with a smile.
“Captain?” said Kosionidis.
But Ibrahimovi? didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere. Keep your asteroid belt, he thought. Welcome to our galaxy.
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by Clint Wilson | Apr 29, 2013 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
The thundering blasts of the plasma cannons hammered us relentlessly like meteor-sized fists, as the Zalkanthian war ship maintained its attack position directly outside our cockpit bay windows. There was no escape. Their bizarre hive-mind intellect had outwitted us once and for all. Their battle strategies were better, their technology superior. Our batteries drained, our forward shields almost decimated, we couldn’t take another direct hit and they knew it.
There would be no mercy, there never was. We knew this. So for the next dozen seconds, before the final volley came, I mustered up everything I knew about the Zalkanthians. Truly alien creatures sharing collective consciousness yet showing immense individual ambition, they were our betters in almost every way. But as I said, they were also truly alien, and prone to a truly alien metamorphosis once subjected to the correct stimuli.
You see the one similarity between them and us was that each of our planets contained but a single large moon visible in our own respective night skies, in fact theirs was eerily close to our own Luna in mass and proximity.
And in the same way that so many earthly creatures are affected by the Terran full moon, the Zalkanthians themselves were also greatly affected by their own world’s fully illuminated satellite. And it was an extreme affliction to say the least, one that completely altered those deadly creatures for one lone night each and every month on their home world.
Like most other humans I had never actually seen the phenomenon take place, but I dearly hoped to be able to witness first hand these fierce, numerously tentacled gelatinous beings, as they suddenly collapsed harmlessly into their defenseless vegetative state. The ten or so hour interval would be more than adequate to recharge our batteries and launch a 20 megaton photon cluster into their ship’s engines while we made our jump to light speed.
Knowing full well that every one of the multifaceted telescopic eyes belonging to that enemy command crew were at that very moment monitoring us almost microscopically here on our own bridge I loosened my belt. And as I watched the tips of their plasma cannons heat up to a glowing yellow for the final onslaught, I dropped my federation issue flight pants, hoisted myself up onto the navigation console, and pressed my fat white ass cheeks against the cockpit window.
by submission | Apr 28, 2013 | Story
Author : Paul Williams
I meant to pay. Kept twenty Euros in my pocket, you can see it on the camera. I kept it all night. It was still there when the hookers and machines stopped serving. Check their cameras.
We had to run for the train, the barrier was down and no serving machines were about. Not my fault they’re trying to save money by switching off early.
The others drank on board. I never did, you can check the cameras. Front coach. Just us then just me left when the computer announced Aston Station.
The barrier there was down too, like the lights, but a machine still worked. I wasn’t trying to hide in the shelter, check the cameras. I knew it had seen me before it asked for the ticket. Yes, it was polite and clear.
I held out the coins, check the cameras. I couldn’t see the slot. It was card only. Not my fault they’re trying to outlaw cash.
I tried to explain like I’m doing now. It wasn’t programmed to listen. Not my fault they don’t have discretion. Yes, it gave the official warning twice. Yes, I understood it. Isn’t fair though. I didn’t see any warning posters, how could I when the lights were off?
Yes it told me about the right of appeal. That’s why I’m here. I know you have to uphold the machine law as voted for by the majority. I voted for them too. Didn’t realise this would happen. Didn’t think they would find an excuse to start culling us. Execute the real criminals yes but this is just a train fare. You’re half-human, not just a machine? You know this is unfair.
I’ve accepted responsibility, I’ve given you the names of the other worse offenders, apologised and offered to pay all the fare and the fine. Dad has it, legally. Check his tax records. There was no intent to steal, honest there wasn’t.
No, I realise that intention is not relevant under the machine law. Yes, I realise that everyone must be treated equally but that’s unfair isn’t it. You’re a person. A human. You’ve got children. Sons or a daughter like me. A child who made a mistake. I regret it. I’ve learnt my lesson. I’ll repay. I’ve said that. Dad has the money here. He can give you extra if you want.
Well, say something. I’m asking for clemency here. Asking for you to apply common sense. To listen. To understand. I’m not like the other guys. I know we had to do something about criminals. I understand the need for mandatory sentencing and for machines that cannot be corrupted to administer it. I get that. I really do. I just want another chance. Please.
Daddy he’s not listening. Daddy, help me. Someone tell them it’s wrong. Someone. Anyone. Please.
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by submission | Apr 27, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bill Drummond
We three, the only survivors of the wrecked starship Buoyant, are Captain Bertrand Kelmond, Sergeant Rosalind Druley and me. The Captain has suffered a head injury, leaving him confused and ineffective as the leader. I am not happy with being assigned his attendant and neither is he.
Captain Bert believes that he is still in charge of the team. Sergeant Druley has assumed the leadership role of our tiny group. I am glad for that. If we are to make it off this planet alive, there is no one to help us. We must rely on each other. Repairs on our rescue beacon are constantly interrupted by Bert’s incessant bickering and obtuse orders. Just how, exactly, am I to “hoist the mainsail”? These bouts of his wear on us all.
To make matters worse, neither Bert nor Rosa considers me, in their own words, “a satisfactory companion”. They actually laughed at me when I explained that this hurts my feelings. Personally I think they are rude and inconsiderate. They say that I am only a robot. I believe that I am less a tool than they.
Today Bert kicked at the hull of the Buoyant and walked out, mumbling obscenities of course. “He’s in a mood again.” I commented to Sergeant Druley. She sighed and tossed the wrench in a bucket. “Leave him alone and he’ll come around” she muttered, leaving the communications room. “I meant no harm Rosa. I merely mentioned that he might benefit from the use of my psychological analysis program.” I said to the empty room.
Walking down the hall she responded, “in effect you told him that he should have his head examined.” I said to her “well I suppose that is another way to say it, yes”. “Well” she said, “I suppose that you should adjust the level on your humanities programming a bit.” “What is that supposed to mean?” I said to her as she walked away from me. Rosa turned to me shrugging, her hands palm up. I scanned my human image database and found a correlation. “Ha, sarcasm. That is quite petty you know.” I said to the empty hallway.
I have entered all the events of today in my personal log. The interactions noted here are quite typical of our daily routine. This moody demeanor on Rosa’s part is not productive and I tire of it. I am seriously considering adding a mild sedative to the drinking water for harmonies sake. My reason for not having done so to date is my fear that this will stunt Rosa’s creativity and resourcefulness. I rely on her greatly, though not exclusively, to successfully complete my mission.
Their behavior the next few days will determine my next course of action. My sincere hope is that we can peacefully co-exist. On the captains good days he is exceptionally helpful. These times, unfortunately, are becoming more infrequent.
“Captain Kelmond, do you have anything to add to the testimony given by the Buoyant?” asked the inquisitor algorithm.
“No, I will stand by my full report on the Buoyant’s malfunction and attempted suicide after murdering most of the crew.” replied Bert. He added, “If it were not for Rosa the Buoyant would have killed me as well. In the end that android was the only one the Buoyant seemed to trust.”
“Very well Captain. The court rules that the Buoyant be decommissioned and the wrecked hull sold as scrap.” responded the court computer, “The Buoyant’s higher functions will be stored in a maximum security facility for the remainder of its natural function.”
by Patricia Stewart | Apr 26, 2013 | Story |
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
The shrimp trawler ”Treadin’ Water” plowed through the calm gulf seas on its way to Baratana Bay. Clasping the wheel in his massive hands, Captain Noyent eyed his son skeptically. “So, your mother and me spend half our life’s savin’s putting you through Hopkins, and instead of becoming a doctor, you built that contraption.”
“I told you, Pop, it’s an ultrahigh frequency subliminal neurostimulator. If it works like it did during the lab trials, we’ll have enough money to buy a fleet of trawlers.”
Still doubtful, the senior Noyent prodded his son, “How so?”
“You know how the size of your catches has been declining every year. That’s because the shrimp are diving deeper into the gulf because the surface water is so much warmer than it was a decade ago. And you can’t put your nets down that deep because of the risk of snagging them. However, when I lower my neurostimulator into the water, I can transmit a signal that will make the shrimp want to swim to the surface. For a radius of about a tenth of a mile, we’ll have so many shrimp at the surface you’ll be able to scoop up a pound by dippin’ your ball cap over the side.”
“Sounds like science fiction to me. I won’t believe it until I see it.”
“Well, you’re about to, Pop. Drop your nets right here, and I’ll deploy the neurostimulator.”
Thirty minutes later, millions of shrimp could be seen disturbing the calm, mirror-like surface surrounding the ship. Captain Noyent nudged the throttle forward and began trawling at 2.7 knots. To his amazement, the shrimp boat filled her nets in less than a hundred yards. Within two hours, the hold was filled to capacity, and Captain Noyent was smiling from ear to ear. That’s when all hell broke loose.
From out of nowhere, thousands of fish suddenly converged on the shrimpfest surrounding the idle trawler. As the schools of fish started their feeding frenzy, the shrimp’s instinct to flee to deeper water was being countermanded by the still transmitting neurostimulator. As a consequence, the crusteans, and the pursuing fish, whipped the sea into a caldron or foaming, bubbling, froth. Father and son watched in stunned silence as the water surrounding the ship turned from blue to white. Only then did they both realize that the ship was losing buoyancy due to the incessant churning of the aerated sea. Water started pouring over the gunwale, and into the open hold. The ship went to the bottom is less than a minute.
