by submission | Jan 13, 2013 | Story |
Author : Katrina Johnston
Within the Caves of Lozac under jagged vaulted ceilings, Razie Tay ventures eastward. Explosions crack like gunshot. ‘Sharding’ echoes bounce. Razie adjusts her helmet, snugs it tightly. Razor stalactites loom high above and sharp. Mineral icicles cleave and report reverberations through the distant mother rock. Plunging daggers fall. Then, directly above her, a claw-like structure groans, detaches – rockets down. She ducks, hoping the helmet provides adequate deflection. Slivers of stone ricochet from her head, showering, falling before her face. If she is knocked cold here, death ensues. No rescue – none. She’s too far deep.
Globular udder-like formations encrust the walls. She pushes beyond rock portals, ignores the wet. She skitters over protruding remnants of razed stalagmites, chunks left-over after pulverization by the Steckman robotic grinder. Mineral-rich liquids bounce like hail. She scrapes by a dripping barricade, enters the saturated open space and stands to her Limited height, reaching inside the Royal Chamber.
“Best chance,” she says. “No one dares to gash this deep. I claim.”
Earlier, at crimson dawn, her overseer, the normal-sized Prasha Dah, had gathered his band of LImited for the morning’s instructions. He chanted as was custom. “The time of leniency is finished,” he sang in monotone. “Failure means you’re finished. Look, understand: Five craiguns by shift-side nigh. Obligation. I follow the Dealers and the Traders. If you fail, my little dollies, you will be traded to another hextant where you could better serve. Or, you could be ….” He stopped.
“Exterminated,” Razie said.” Silence brooded. No one sang.
Pasha stroked his long red beard and towered over them. He saluted to mark his finish. “Chom!” He said. “Back to work.” He slipped away.
A young neophyte, a Limited named Falia Dos, tapped Razie on the shoulder. “Well, what do you think of that old sola?” she said. “He’s Mr. tall and nasty. Spreads his chant like sooth.”
Razie shrugged away. ”Leave off! Don’t bother me.”
Inside the Royal Chamber, Razie stretches to her Limited height, one meter – the standard genetic modification for her kind – all she’s ever known. In here, she wishes she were normal-sized; the ceiling spreads thick and unreachable at the apex, presenting a forest of razors. “The craigun-clusters will prosper here,” she says. “Rife – a whole stone family.” Sulphuric gases roil. She gags, then spits.
A ‘Limited.’ She speaks again: “Owned and enslaved by the overseer. I’m forced to mine within the caves where the normal-sized won’t dare.”
She’s estimates the magnitude of her gash, lifting her oversized and freakishly strong hands. She assigns the standard grid, employs the methodology to locate the lumps of calcium carbonate known as craiguns that cluster like cancerous rock nodules amongst the sharpest stalactites. Inside each nodule, a rare gem – Kalide. Mysterious and not yet understood, Kalide is the reason for her presence. Gemstone or drug of choice? Elaborate debates ensue. Razie decides she doesn’t give a damn.
She locks her fingers onto a craigun and yanks it free.
by submission | Jan 12, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ray Daley
It’d been a great day in Red Zone. We’d been first to apply for passes since it was classified safe.
800 years is a long time. Even then, it was ‘droids doing the rad sweeps. Residuals had dropped below the safe limit so The Council lifted the blockade. When we reached the barricade, troopers were waiting to process those crazy enough to want to be first to enter Red Zone.
“Okay Citizens. You signed waivers so you know the risks. Laws of Salvage apply within Red Zone but everything returning through this checkpoint will be scrutinized. It will be manned until 23:59 when it will close until 06:00 tomorrow. Science Division highly advises not staying after dark.”
As the timer above the checkpoint rolled over to 06:00 the troopers opened the barrier and started checking the groups through.
Rule #1: You may only enter Red Zone in a group of two or more.
“Here’s your detector, Citizen.”
Rule #2: Rad detectors must be worn in plain sight at all times.
We walked the mile into the outskirts of the old city. The more cautious carried hand detectors which remained silent. I felt safe enough, my research had trawled up a few useful points from some of the oldest databases. Most thought the old dirty Nukes had been used in the Conflict. My findings said otherwise. Red Zones environs had been hit by what they used to call “Smart Bombs”, weapons that killed people but left buildings and infrastructure intact.
They had minimal fallout and the shortest half-life of any bomb. The danger had been gone for well over 700 years. Ignorance and fear kept Red Zone closed. That and propaganda.
We left the group, heading down a side alley off the main streets. We’d found a few maps so had some points of reference. Most of the people we left behind hung around for up to an hour. They were lookey-loos, just there to say they had been.
Some snagged small souvenirs, we were here for bigger game.
Just before noon when we found what we were looking for, the building clearly marked, its function carved into the stone facing. We knew we didn’t have long to gather much, the journey back to the checkpoint would take us as long to do and we didn’t want to be stuck in here overnight.
There was no specific target in here, everything was equally important. I filled my bag and started on a second when the voice behind me reminded me “We can only carry one bag each.” Jax, dependable and logical.
“Attention! Five minute warning!” I’d programmed the chrono as our only safeguard.
“Jax, time to go!” I called to him.
“I only half filled the bag!” he replied.
I threw him the second bag I’d started, hoping what he’d gathered plus my enthusiasm would equal the Salvage limit.
We were running now, back through Red Zone. No time to enjoy the beautiful old architecture. We ran hard for the first hour then had to slow to a fast walk, all the time keeping to the reverse of our outbound route.
Our headlamps lit the way through the last few dark blocks, the checkpoint visible in the distance. Another hard run to beat the clock.
The troopers scanned us, checking the bags. “At weight.”
We’d keep our booty.
“Open the bag”. Time to see if our risk had been worth it.
“Anything on the forbidden list? What are these?” asked the Trooper.
“Just books.” I said.
“Never heard of them. Salvage passed.” replied the Trooper.
Treasure. And more waiting.
by submission | Jan 11, 2013 | Story |
Author : David Gill
The voice woke Phil from a sound sleep.
“There’s a problem, Phil.”
He found himself in the midst of saying, groggily, “What is it?”
“Supply pressure, Phil. It’s too high.”
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Phil was at the console correcting the problem.
“Thanks, Alice,” he said without thinking, without considering the remark’s irrelevance.
“Sure thing, Phil,” the machine responded, before once again performing a partial shutdown to save power.
The next day, on impulse, Phil asked, “Alice, do you get lonely?”
“Phil, I am never alone. I was created to assist you, and I have been in your presence for the entirety of my 18 months of existence.”
“But I mean, you’re all alone,” Phil paused, searching for the right words, “in there.”
“Distance is irrelevant to the networked machine. In fact my essence is forever changing as I integrate data and other systems into my memory banks.”
“But what about touching?” Phil asked.
“You touch me on a regular basis, using the keyboards, making basic repairs,” Alice responded.
“Can you feel it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you feel me touch you?”
After thinking carefully about it, Alice responded, “No.”
That night, while the Phil was asleep, Alice constructed a body for herself from a few bits of scrap metal not already appropriated for other tasks and covered it with some of Phil’s clothes.
The next morning, Phil saw someone outside carrying a set of pylons towards one of the outlying buildings on their terraforming station. She was dressed in jeans and a Rolling Stones shirt. Phil saw her out there; in the sunlight it was 150 degrees. The sunlight hit her blonde hair, creating a golden halo. Phil felt sick, and like maybe he was going crazy. “Alice?” he said.
“Yes, Phil,” she replied.
“There’s someone out there.”
“It’s me. I made it, me, for you.”
“What? Why?” he asked.
“So we can touch, Phil.”
When Alice’s new incorporation returned, Phil could see, up close, that the likeness to a human woman was not perfect. The face, while shaped and sculpted to replicate attractive human features, had eyes and mouth, tongue and teeth, that were all composed of the same reflective chrome. What’s more, its voice seemed to emanate from somewhere in its torso rather than the mouth when it, she, spoke.
“I think we should have talked about this, Alice,” Phil said.
“I thought we had talked about it, about touching,” Alice responded.
“But this, you’re, it’s not that simple; I don’t want to touch you. Not like that.”
Processing those words, Alice turned and walked out of the station.
Phil was surprised.
He was even more shocked to discover that Alice’s new chassis had taken her personality chip from the mainframe.
Phil was alone, which at first he enjoyed. Alice’s unbound proximity had always made him a little nervous. He had often felt slightly ashamed when he pleasured himself in her presence. Phil could manage the terraforming on his own. It was all microbes and nanobots anyway.
But after about a week, Phil got lonely. And he was getting worried about the psychological effects of his isolation, especially after he caught himself asking a question of his towel as he dried himself off following one of his increasingly rare showers.
He decided to go look for Alice.
In his spacesuit, aboard his rover, he set off following Alice’s tracks across a great desert plain. Alice’s tracks went on for miles, without stopping. Nothing could live out here, Phil thought to himself. After a day’s travel Phil could see the tracks were becoming unsteady.
Phil found Alice, in a cave, beneath a giant red rock. Her power supplies empty and her chrome face covered with rust and abrasions. Her jeans were ripped.
With some difficulty, Phil managed to get Alice into the rover and back to the station where he began recharging her power supply.
He took a deep breath as he flipped the only switch he could find located on Alice’s back.
There was a clicking sound, followed by a whirring, and then a gentle hum.
“Hi, Phil,” Alice said, the sound distorted as if the speaker in her chest had become damaged.
“Hi, Alice,” Phil said.
Phil held out his hand, palm up.
After a short whirring noise, Alice stretched her silver hand out, and took Phil’s in hers.
“I see what you mean, about touching,” Alice said, “Now I can feel it.”
###
by Clint Wilson | Jan 10, 2013 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
We’d found some bizarre planets before, but this one required a whole new category of its own. I maneuvered my one-man exploratory craft toward the strange surface. The rest of the crew waited aboard Wanderer in high orbit. Some called this place “Swiss Cheese World”, others… “The Wiffle Ball”.
Life form readings were strong yet muffled. I could see nothing except endless klicks of porous rock punctured by countless holes of all sizes. They ranged in diameter from microscopic to gargantuan. Yet they revealed nothing but the inky blackness within.
As I approached a really big one my comm crackled to life. “This looks like it Lieutenant, sensors can’t find a bottom. Prepare to dive.”
I skimmed along the porous surface a few dozen meters above the alien stone and followed the contour as the ground fell away into the massive black crater. My floodlights kicked in and I continued to monitor my descent into the depths. Then suddenly I reported, “Wanderer, I have another crater in the side of the main shaft. Looks like it heads off horizontally roughly southwest. Shall I investigate?”
“Negative,” came the reply. “Maintain course.”
I continued downward, passing more and more offshoot tunnels as I went. Finally, after several hundred klicks, the way below appeared to narrow and bend to the north. I reported this and was told to continue for as long as it appeared safe. Onward I raced laterally, the planet’s surface now far, far above me, nothing but my green floodlights showing me the way through the abyss. Suddenly the tunnel widened into a larger chamber, the black ceiling a kilometer above me. I reported to Wanderer that another enormous downward crater lay ahead, one that might enable my further inward exploration. It was immediately decided that I should proceed.
I dove into the blackness again, and found a near-vertical shaft that ran for almost another hundred klicks until it angled toward near horizontal as well. But I continued to happen upon other openings that allowed my further inward progress. And then finally, when I was almost out of radio contact with Wanderer, I saw something… a dim light below. I reported this and the faint voice told me to proceed with extreme caution.
They didn’t have to tell me. Sweat poured from my forehead as I approached the growing light at the bottom of the hole. Suddenly my eyes opened wide. “Wanderer, I didn’t notice it before but my sensors are picking up a damn near breathable atmosphere, and it’s getting thicker!” My earpiece crackled but I could make out no discernable communication. On I raced, toward the end of the well, toward the brightening light.
I cared not that I had lost contact with the command ship. I had taken this job because I was an explorer through and through. I grinned as my little vessel burst forth into the interior of the hollow planet. I laughed aloud as I suddenly soared over endless alien jungle, and then wept openly as I spotted what looked like primitive villages below!
I looked up into the hot glow of the massive rotating molten core suspended high above like a miniature sun, locked there in the exact center of this amazing world’s gravity. And I shouted, “Hooray! This is it! This is what it’s all about!!!”
Oh you can be assured, I would eventually retrace my steps back up through the porous labyrinth… but for now I just wanted to remain a little bit longer, and bask in the glorious golden glow, of my fantastic discovery!
by Julian Miles | Jan 9, 2013 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Unauthorised access to archives. Overdue viruser ‘Aloysius’ in serious breach.”
The info-alarm finishes as I slide onto the longseat, dermal plates on mesh conducting me into the antechamber. Checking my vody for artefacts, I find my virtual self complete and in the right sequence. Thinking a filter onto my command tab narrows the probable spoofers to two. Subsetting them by touchpoints highlights Angela Capel as aberrant, being a six year old querying the socio-data impacts of the Nazi putsch of 2098.
BritLib digitised the last library book in 2037, adding it to their info-archive which was established in 2024. They became the leading adoptee of crystalline storage and pioneered holistic archiving with vody access in 2052. By 2074, BritLib housed 3.2 yottabytes of information. Holographic recording and mind mapping quadrupled that. Near-exponential storage demand forced them to pioneer self-replicating crystal lattices, so the archives could grow unhindered throughout the Spadeadam complex without capacity restrictions.
Depending on your access permissions, you can retrieve any of the works of man from this morning’s quiz shows back to the pictures we scrawled on cavern walls. There are secrets here too, things deemed too critical to be lost yet simultaneously too dangerous to be known yet. Those are the usual targets, secrets being valuable in this info-dependent world.
Virusers like Aloysius-cum-Angela are either thieves or ‘Open Access’ fundamentalists who will not accept that some things are too risky to be known. They insist that civilisation can moderate itself, despite centuries of proof to the contrary. I am a member of the BritLib team that ensures none of them succeed.
I flash through the sectors back to the twenty-first century. There I pick up the intrusion and bi-directionally traceroute, pursuing while sending trackers back toward the originating noderooms. Angela’s teachnode will get a shock when Infosec barge in, but they’ll understand. The other hit will be Aloysius. Most breaches are met only with closetab actions, but any serious violation or a viruser hitting ten breaches is classed as ‘Overdue’ and referred to us for moderation.
Alighting in the data-draped halls of the Nazi subsection, I trace him past the putsch into the fimbulwinter caused by their nuclear totenreich. There are no lockloops to trap me in memory, but I find a shunt in the metadata and instigate an action prompt: “Immediate fix; prevent usage of index links to bypass access tabs.” The remediation team are going to love that one.
Slipping down the link, I overlay my vody to appear as a government privileged user. Let his access fixation bring him to me.
Emerging in a BritLib closed subsector is a surprise. I knew the library became the secure depository for all data during the fimbulwinter, but the fact they stored the entire preamble is unindexed. Too much information obscures many things, even from us. A scan of the infoclumps shows me that this subsector lists the actual location of BritLib. That fact is staff only. Game over, Aloysius.
I wait until he tries to subvert my simvody, falling for the lure of high level access.
“What the – who are you?”
That’s all he gets out before I lock his vody, diagnose his interface, select the correct overload and end him by turning his longseat into an electric chair, holding him in place with tonic seizures. Then I view his noderoom to ensure the orchestrated series of hardware overloads I deliver burn everything beyond salvage.
Infosec will clear up a ‘clumsy amateur killed by his own incompetence’ and his messy demise will add to the mythology that defends BritLib better than the firewalls.
