by submission | Apr 23, 2013 | Story |
Author : Dave Rigby
Steve sat in the beige waiting room idly flipping through channels on the tv, not stopping on any for more than the few seconds of allotted free viewing so as to not incur an automatic charge. At home he had a pretty decent entertainment package with no overrun fees but he couldn’t afford the roaming package so any entertainment here would cost him. He went to run his fingers through his hair but stopped when the stump of his right elbow came in to view. Phantom limb syndrome had been tough when he first lost the arm, it was ten times worse when the prosthetic was removed, but he knew at least that meant that it was still transmitting from wherever it was.
At last his name was called. Entering the room he knew straight away that he wouldn’t be leaving with his arm today. The cardboard box waiting on the table was all too familiar.
“Sorry Steve” Andy the technician emerged from an adjoining room “We won’t be able to get it fixed today. The knuckles are shot and we don’t have enough spares for your model”
“When?” asked Steve glumly.
“Tuesday at the earliest. You can manage without for a few days or you can take the loaner. Your choice”
It wasn’t a choice really.
“I’ll take the loaner”
“Ok cool. You know the drill, take a seat, prep your ports and get ready to sync.” The technician picked up the box and slid out the loaner. It was at least 3 generations older than Steve’s current arm. It hadn’t looked realistic when it was new but now the imitation skin had taken on a yellow colour in-between the assortment of stains and scratches it had acquired through years of service. It was a basic arm, no networking, no display, not even realistic fingernails. On the hand the rubbery skin was stretched and thin so you could almost see through to the aging gears and servos below. Steve had brought gloves just in case “Have you given any more thought to upgrading? I can keep repairing your arm but it’s not going to last forever”
“Can’t afford to upgrade” said Steve as he slid his stylus out of a slot on his arm and ran it around his stump. Tiny latches released and the port caps opened all the way around. He moved the stylus behind his left earlobe in preparation for the re-synch.
Andy moved the arm in to place then slid back a panel on the back of the wrist to reveal the sync and power controls.
“Ok here we go, powering on, ready to sync. Hit it”
Steve braced himself and hit the button behind his ear. His phantom arm disappeared as his mind severed its connection. A moment of almost pleasant release and lightness came and went then was replaced by sickening feelings of pain and loss from his shocked nerves and memories of the accident. He almost cried out, and then it was over. The new arm felt heavy and cumbersome but it would do.
“A quick check and then you can go. Make a fist for me” After a moment of concentration Steve did it. “Good. Now move each finger one at a time” Steve did that too, much faster this time. “OK great, now finally play me some Rachmaninoff” Steve showed Andy his middle finger instead. Andy chuckled. “I guess that will do. You’re good to go. Call if you have any problems and I’ll see you Tuesday”
“See you Tuesday” Steve said as he pulled his gloves on.
by featured writer | Apr 22, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
“Ensign, report!” yelled the captain over the ring of klaxons and the groans of metal fatigue that filled the bridge of his starship.
The young officer didn’t respond. His eyestalks were fixed on the kaleidoscope of stars streaking past on the forward viewscreen.
“ENSIGN!”
The slug-like being seated in front of the ship’s navigation panel jumped as if he’d been physically struck. “Sorry, sir!” The ensign tapped on a control with one of his tentacles. “We’re down to 1773c, Captain. Engineering reports we can’t decelerate any quicker or the ship will come apart.”
We’re still traveling five times faster than the ship was designed to go, thought the captain as the creaking of the vessel’s shuddering superstructure went up in pitch.
“Hull breach on deck five, section two!” said a crewman seated at a console starboard aft. “Venting atmosphere. Emergency bulkheads have sealed off the section. That area was empty at the time of the breach.”
“Acknowledged,” replied the captain. He thought of the four crew members whose lives were lost in the explosion in the engine room. In the unlikely event his ship actually made it back home, what would he tell their families?
“Down to 600c,” said the ensign.
“Captain to engineering, how long until we can re-enter normal space?”
The haggard image of the chief engineer appeared on a small screen next to the captain’s left tentacle. The damaged quantum impulsion drive was flooding the engine room with radiation. Even if the ship survived, the remaining engineering crew almost certainly wouldn’t.
“Captain,” said the chief engineer in a tired voice, “we’ll need to come out of quantum impulse near a moderately sized gravity well. A small to medium planet, ideally.” The engineer paused and took two wheezing breaths. “The structural reinforcement grid is barely holding the ship together as it is. There’s less turbulence re-entering normal space near something with a bit of mass.”
“Alright, I’ll wait for your word,” said the captain.
“Sir,” said the chief engineer, “would you be so kind as to tell my wife and children–”
“You’re going to tell them you’re a hero because you saved this ship!” the captain interjected.
The chief engineer knew the captain had said that for the benefit of the bridge crew. He knew he was done for and knew that the captain knew it, too. “Yes, sir,” he said and his image faded from the screen.
The captain sat and waited. He heard someone muttering from port aft. He turned one eyestalk in that direction and saw his communication officer fumbling with a small, crystal solicitation dodecahedron with the digits of his left tentacle as he whispered a prayer for deliverance.
“We’re at 25c and dropping!” said the ensign with an inflection of optimism. The squeal of structural fatigue was getting quieter.
“Engineering to bridge. Uploading real space re-entry coordinates to the conn. Going to try to come out close to a planet in a nearby solar system. Hang on. It’s gonna be rough ride.”
The ensign at the conn positioned his tentacle over a flashing blue button.
“We’re going to make it,” said the captain as the strange but beautiful blue and white planet rapidly filled the viewscreen. “We’re going to make it.”
The ship emerged into real space a moment too soon and slammed into the planet at relativistic speed. It hit with the force of an asteroid. The ship’s impact crater wouldn’t be discovered by the planet’s inhabitants for 65 million years.
by submission | Apr 21, 2013 | Story |
Author : Stephen LaGioia
I stand anxious and apprehensive in the corner of the hallway near the top of my front door. I crawl to the peephole and squint through it, surveying the empty sky below me and blades of grass protruding upwards, my eyes frantically searching for help.
Cars and Hovers speed past, criss-crossing one another, just far enough to be out of earshot.
I shout through an open window to a man floating blissfully across the sidewalk, but of course he is wearing headphones and too far into his own world to break his trance and help me.
Finally a voice sounds on the other end of the phone, which I have been holding to my ear for what seems like an eternity. My knuckle begins to grow tired as I clutch the phone tightly, both from rage, and to prevent the disastrous prospect of letting go.
It is a relief to no longer hear that repetitive music being played on a loop as a crackling male voice interrupts it.
Gravity by John Mayer – how original.
“GraviTech Service and Rescue. What can we assist you with today?”
“Well, for starters, you can send a Dispatcher over here immediately! I have been trying to get through for half an hour! I have a serious problem here, thanks to your capsules.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, you sold me the wrong tablets. I bought the damn Moon Walkers and you guys must have filled the bottle with the wrong pills. Now I’m stuck on my own ceiling.”
“You mean you floated too high and can’t regain control?”
I sigh, trying to hold back an anger that threatens to boil over.
“No… I didn’t take the damn ZeroGravs. What I’m saying is that I FLIPPED and now I’m sitting on my ceiling! You people put Reversals in the Walker bottle!”
A concerned gasp could be heard on the other end.
“Our deepest apologies, sir! Do you have a receipt?”
“I got it from a GraVending… What do you think?”
“Well, unfortunately we cannot permit a return, but we will gladly replace your bottle with a bottle of Walkers. Or perhaps we can interest you in some LiteGravs? They are great for sleep; very relaxing.”
“Look, I don’t care about any of that. The only way I can relax right now is if my feet are back on my own floor! Just send someone over here right now with the Stabilizers! Maybe you people can use your damn Floaters to get here quicker.”
“Alright, alright. We are sending a GravTech Dispatcher right away. And sir? Whatever you do, DO NOT step outside your home!”
“Honestly, do you think I’m stupid?”
I slam the phone down angrily and collapse onto my back, shaking my head in disgust and staring thoughtfully up at my floor.
by submission | Apr 20, 2013 | Story |
Author : Ulrich Lettau
“This has never been done before.” I blurted out, watching the massive instrument continue to magnify the fluorine atom image. The gauge rapidly passed the billion power mark and continued toward the 1,750,000,000 times, the theoretical maximum.
“Dr. Cronus, you will certainly receive the Titan Prize for Physics when this achievement becomes publicized. I am tremendously proud to have assisted.”
My green face flushed with a tinge of bright magenta, as it often does that when I am embarrassed. “Please, Prometheus, there are others that made invaluable contributions, laying ground work for this project.”
We turned our attention to the plasma screen, watching what we thought to be an image of a nucleus and nine electrons enlarge. Conventional theory had erroneously predicted that all electrons would be equal in size, and the nucleus to be inert. We had also assumed that the electrons would circle the center at angles randomly.
Prometheus exclaimed, “Look Doctor, there is a seemingly minute amount of energy being released from the nucleus, like a tiny sun.”
“Yes, while it may appear infinitesimal to us, it has an immense bearing on the electrons. Energy expelled in the form of light.” The magnification gauge had reached 1.5 billion power. “See how the electron’s orbits are in line, progressively further from the epicenter. The closest is small and burnt. The second is grey. Number four is red.”
Prometheus was captivated, “Look at the gigantic size of number five and the sixth has rings.”
I interrupted, entranced by the third, a unique sphere, “It is exquisite, brilliant blue, with large green forms, capped with white poles.”
by featured writer | Apr 19, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
The President of the United States smiled as the press photographed and video recorded her handshake with the Un’Vidik representative. The tall, spindly alien showed no emotion. How could it, encased as it was in its stark white encounter suit? The alien and the President left the photo op and entered the White House.
It was with reluctance that the captain of the immense Un’Vidik starship had agreed to the meeting at all. But its vessel had had to touch down on the Moon to replete its ship’s helium-3 supply and as the United States was the only nation thus far to have landed astronauts on the Moon, the American request for a personal meeting had been the one that the aliens had at last agreed to honor.
After the President and the alien sat down, the American spoke. “Captain, I sincerely hope that this is merely the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial relationship between your people and the human race.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Madame President,” the Un’Vidik replied through its encounter suit’s speaker. “But I’m afraid further contact between our peoples is unlikely. This current meeting is itself highly irregular to say the least. If you will forgive my bluntness, humanity has a certain…reputation in the galaxy.”
The President sighed and nodded. “You’ve monitored our television broadcasts. You know that Man is a violent species. But, Captain, a good many of our wars have been fought to preserve freedom and justice. And surely you must know many of history’s most revered figures have been men of peace? Mohandas Gandhi of India, for example. And my own country’s Martin Luther King, Jr.”
“Madame President,” said the Un’Vidik, “mankind’s history of violence is not at issue. Conflict, while most regrettable, is universal. There are five separate wars being waged across the galaxy at this very moment. And the combatants hail from worlds that have produced great works of literature, music, and philosophy.”
The American looked surprised. “Well then, Captain, is it humanity’s religious beliefs? Is agnosticism the norm in the galaxy?”
“Far from it,” said the alien. “Many advanced and civilized worlds possess one or more faiths. I happen to be a practicing member of the Communion of the Cosmic Superintendence myself.”
“Then what problem is it that the rest of the galaxy has with the human race?” asked the President.
“To be quite frank,” said the Un’Vidik, “you humans can’t drive.”
“What?!” exclaimed the American.
“There are 24 distinct interstellar polities,” the alien captain said. “They represent a myriad of political structures, religions, and philosophies. Yet one common feature to all of them is the deep-seated belief that the ability to operate vehicles is a hallmark of civilization. There are more motor vehicle accidents on Earth than in the rest of the galaxy combined. To say one ‘drives like a human’ is considered a harsh insult on over a hundred worlds.”
“You’re telling me Earth is considered a backwater because of bad drivers?” The President was stunned.
“Madame President, I hope the day comes when Man will learn not to drive slowly in the fast lane and that a turn without a turn signal is an act of utter barbarity. When that day comes, you will be ready to join galactic civilization. Until then, know that the Un’Vidik are grateful for the use of your Moon to refuel our ship. And on a personal note, I will pray to the Cosmic Superintendence that your people will learn how to manage a four-way stop.”
