by Roi R. Czechvala | Apr 21, 2011 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
The skiff shot swiftly across the calm waters of the harbour as if pushed by a giant hand. A young woman, her thick red hair flying wildly in the wind, sat in the stern manning the tiller. Around the little craft, pacific striped dolphins danced. Blissfully lost in the enveloping sweep of the moment, she was shocked back to the present by the subtle buzzing of her iPlant.
She subvoked the ‘plants menu which appeared to her eyes to flutter against the saffron sail. The call was priority from Confed command. “Shit,” she muttered, “not even one fucking hour of peace.” Reaching up to her right ear she pulled away a lock of crimson hair… and as she pulled the lead of the Sony DreamMan from behind her right ear, the dismal reality of her berth congealed around her.
“Murphy here. What is it?”
Only appearing in her brain, but to her perception, materializing before her was a tall broad shouldered man with close cropped hair wearing the uniform of a Marine brigadier general. “IT, is your DIVISIONAL COMMANDER, Captain Murphy.”
Instantly she snapped to. “Sir, sorry Sir, I just thought, I had no idea Sir, I…”
“Never mind. Our base on Pearl was bombed. It’s gone. O’ahu is gone for that matter.”
“Sir I don’t understand. What is going on?”
“The Asiatics. They violated the Earth Non-Aggression Treaty. They brought the fight to Earth.”
“Sir, I am afraid I still don’t understand.”
“You have the captured yacht of Hikachi Muromoto in tow, correct?”
“Yes sir. I am to escort the defence minister, his staff, and the yacht’s crew to the detention centre on Ganymede for interrogation.”
“Captain, destroy that ship.”
“But Sir, they are just unarmed civilians.”
“CAPTAIN! DESTROY THAT SHIP AT ONCE!”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Captain Adelaide Murphy muted the neural connect. “Bridge,” she called, opening a secondary connect, “Cut the yacht free. When she reaches 300 kilometres fire one salvo singularity torpedoes. Maximum spread.”
“Yes Sir.”
She pulled up her main feed. “Sir, I…”
“I heard Captain, I just hope that…”
At that moment, the reaction drive motors of the Asiatic Alliance yacht, Divine Wind, went critical. Her hull breached and washed the Confederate battle cruiser NCS Juarez, and her crew of six hundred in the warming glow of white thermonuclear fire.
by submission | Apr 20, 2011 | Story
Author : Clint Wilson
Even though the thing had now had a couple of weeks to absorb our language I didn’t really think it could understand me, but all the same I still uttered the pre-scripted line.
“Living Being… I address you as a devoted protector of the Terran empire. Know now by proof of this official proclamation, that I have one duty and one duty alone.”
I absent-mindedly massaged the butt end of my still holstered but ready and deadly razer.
“I am to keep an ever-watchful eye as you interact with my fellow Terrans, and should you ever once make any move that I perceive as threatening in the slightest, it is my sworn duty to immediately exterminate you at will and without prejudice. You have been fairly warned.”
The thing was squat and wide, with rough grey skin as tough as rock. But it also had surprisingly hominoid features, two binocular yellow eyes, quite ape-like indeed. It probably stood straight up half a meter shorter than me, but was easily twice my mass.
And what then was its preposterous response to my official yet ludicrous proclamation? I swear to god the thing actually smiled at me.
Still I have never once left my post. I was raised for this position in the empire. I’ve spent every waking minute of every single day with this seemingly somewhat intelligent alien up until now. I have gotten to know it, even developed a respectful friendship with it I guess you could say.
But over the last two and a half years I have never once broken protocol. I go where it goes. I sleep when it sleeps. I have never once turned my back on it as scientists and business magnates alike cajole and frolic with the happy-go-lucky beast. And even though it is officially named, Specimen 3249A, we affectionately call it Clyde.
Yet as always my duty remains the same. I stand at the ready; hand never far from the handle of my razer. I shall never relax my attention.
And as I stand here in the new solarium with its variety of alien trees and foliage I can’t help but let my mind wander to all the happy times I have experienced thus far keeping guard over Clyde, as he readily explores his new expensively sculpted world.
And it is in that exact same moment that I realize in sudden and utter defeat that I have let my guard down.
I had always suspected that Clyde was more intelligent than he had let on to be… but also always remained optimistic that all of his mysterious idiosyncrasies were part of some sort of harbored wisdom reserved for our eventual discovery.
But alas I failed to recognize what I have always been so extensively trained to spot; the telltale signature of alien clandestine maneuvers afoot. In other words, the unexpected.
So what an opportunity for him in this lovely garden paradise, to take final advantage of my failure to adhere to my duty as a protector of the all mighty Terran empire.
I feel a warm breeze caress my face as Clyde drops down on me from the foliage above. The last two words I ever vocalize are, “Oh shit,” as, in an instant, a set of claws not unlike a panther’s, tear my throat to ribbons.
by submission | Apr 19, 2011 | Story
Author : Jake Wagner
Space was our grandparent’s final frontier.
Nobody really noticed when the satellites started falling. And even if they did, nobody cared. They burst into flames, streaking brilliantly across the night sky as they tore to pieces in our atmosphere. But nobody cared enough to look out their windows to see.
Space grew so much colder and darker and so much more infinite in our lack of knowledge when we turned our attention away. Sometimes my grandfather would visit and we would talk about how exciting space was back in the day. About how they sent people to colonize other planets, and that as he spoke there were people out there begging to reach out to us. To make contact.
And I would laugh at him. The idea was ridiculous.
People out there!? Why would anybody want to go out there? It’s so cold, and boring and empty.
Old timers and their stories of outer space. Distant planets. Stuff of the past, full of planets and galaxies, and universes. I’m sure it was cutting-edge once. I’m sure it was interesting once. But like I said, that’s just old people stuff. They can continue searching out that way as much as they want.
Nobody cares anymore.
Inside. That is where the excitement is.
Thousands and thousands of people make the transition yearly. They sign the contracts, say good bye to their friends, and give their homes and objects away. They don’t need money where they’re going. They don’t need homes, or food, or pets, or clothes. None of that is important when you transition.
I learned in school that every week newer and better things are added inside. That they have automated programs that keep their body and mind in absolute perfection as they just go around living their lives. Inside you don’t need to worry about being hungry, or needing to pee. Things like cancer and diseases don’t exist. Everybody is happy inside. Everything is perfect.
My teacher said that in three to four years it’s expected that everyone will have made the transition inside. Everyone will be living in the new space. Except a few old timers or crack-pots who think that the real world is better.
This won’t be the real world after long. In there will be.
Eventually, I suppose, only a few of us will even remember Earth. The oceans, and mountains and stuff. I guess some aspects have been brought inside, recreated to mimic the real world. But in there it’s just so much better. Colors are so much more vibrant. Everything is so fantastic and exciting inside; as opposed to the dull things out here. Or the cold boring out there.
Grandpa says that when mom and dad and I make the transition next week, he’s going to stay outside. He’s going to watch over the Earth and watch the sky as all of us march inwards.
He says that after long people won’t even remember the magic and beauty outside holds. And he says that my children would think I was stupid for ever even living outside. He says that they will look at Earth the same way I look at space. Something old, and boring, and forgettable.
But I mean, what’s so great about out here? Or even out there? It’s nothing but emptiness.
Inside is so much better.
by Duncan Shields | Apr 18, 2011 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
No one misses prisoners with life sentences. That was the key. Mars was turned into a prison planet.
NASA had set up fledgling terraformed domes on Mars and teleportation technology was a reality. After a life sentence was passed on a criminal for a crime, they were teleported to Mars.
There, it was alleged that they were put to work as slave labour. It was astounding what humans could do once they set their minds to it.
Leroy Pedersen was being escorted to the teleportation chamber by two burly guards. He’d been found guilty of killing three families in upstate New York. His sentence was life imprisonment on Mars. He was walked in chains into the capsule that would scramble his atoms and rearrange them on Mars.
“I’ll find a way back here, bitches.” He said to the guards as they finished strapping him into the sender.
The guards smiled politely and left the room. A scientist came in to operate the machine.
“You got a wife and kids, egghead? I’ll kill them. Just you see. I’ll make friends up there. We’ll hijack a ship and come back. You’re a dead man.” Leroy snarled.
The scientist smiled. “You think so Leroy? You know, I’ve never told anyone this but I worked on the terraforming domes up there. That’s why I’m happy to throw the switch.”
Leroy tilted his head like a dog to listen to the scientist’s words. There was something not quite right about his attitude.
“Here is some top-secret information, Leroy. Decades. That’s how long it will take before a human can breathe unaided on Mars. You know what?”
Leroy stared coldly at the scientist.
“Decades.” He said, staring at Leroy. His smile was gone now. “We do have teleportation technology. What we lied about was how long the terraforming will take. We’re beaming you prisoners to mars but there’s nothing there. We’re thinning the herd.”
He threw the switch and Leroy screamed. The tang of ozone hung in the air and Leroy’s molecules zipped through space to the receiving station on Mars, a receiving station set outside of the domes on the naked surface.
Leroy’s breath crystallized as he collapsed and died, gasping like a fish and bleeding on the red sands. The terraforming robots came out to collect the body.
The one thing Mars needed most for the next few decades was fertilizer.
by submission | Apr 17, 2011 | Story
Author : Marlan Smith
Rob ran into the bar and slammed the black leather bag down on the counter.
“Done! Gimme!” His eyes were wide with fear.
Hal looked at him, then down to the bag. He casually emptied his drink between thin lips and then smiled. “You know the arrangement. Not until I count the money.”
“Come on, Hal. This isn’t funny anymore,” Rob was trembling, a silent countdown running through his head. “I did everything you asked.”
“Oh, I agree,” said Hal. “Next time though, maybe you’ll think twice before claiming such an extravagant loan, eh?”
He looked at Rob from down his long, thin nose. He thought for a moment then presented the liquid-filled, synthetic diamond glass, which Rob snatched away from him.
It was a yellow mixture, on the rocks, and slightly cloudy from the millions of nanomachines that swarmed inside the liquid. Each tiny device, no larger than a single cell was a hunter-killer drone designed to track down and destroy the same number of microscopic robots currently swimming through Rob’s bloodstream. Only Hal knew the exact number.
Rob lifted the glass, but Hal gripped his arm abruptly. A shrill little whine escaped Rob’s lips as he thought he might spill the drink. Even one drop lost could mean thousands of artificial prions roaming unchecked through his brain. He estimated roughly a half hour before they began burrowing like tiny drills through his soft gray matter.
“It had better all be here,” said Hal, his cold eyes level on Rob’s. “Maybe next time you’ll toast a business deal a little more carefully, eh?”
He laughed and released Rob’s arm. The glass trembled. Rob gripped it in both hands, carefully lifting it to his lips. The cocktail slid frictionless over the nano-tempered glass, specially engineered to allow every molecule to pass over its surface unscathed. Not a single drop was wasted.
Rob swallowed greedily, slammed the glass down and ran a hand through his spiky hair, crunching the ice in his teeth. He swallowed and let out a long, lip-pursed breath, a silent “whooooo!”
Hal opened the bag, blinked. “I think we have a problem here, Rob. You’re short.”
“I think you have bigger problems than that,” said Rob, now smiling. “About how much Mad Cow Special would you say someone could purchase with all that money?”
Hal scowled back at him, knuckles white on the handles. Then suddenly his expression softened. His eyes went wide, then glassy. Hal blinked. Looked up at the bartender. The tall man winked back. As Hal’s hand began to tremble, Rob stretched lithely along the bar.
“It can buy quite a bit,” Rob said. “And with money left over to bribe the barkeep.”
A tick formed along one side of Hal’s face as Rob stood up, adjusted his collar and took a second bag, handed to him by the bartender. He then bounced out the door as Hal slumped in his stool, staring at nothing.
