by submission | Jun 17, 2012 | Story |
Author : Brian McDermott
“What’s the market?”
“68.23 bid for a hundred thousand.” Joh said.
The price of Iridium was rising. And out here in the farthest sector, a place the whole galaxy said was populated by floogbags and rim-holes, my little collective was one of the only sanctioned metals traders on our back-orbit exchange.
The planet Gestaglon had Iridium coming out their yim-flangs. In most systems, Iridium was as valuable as a hooloon fart. But on Caldux, they used it in everything. When those two planets went to war, Caldux stopped buying. The price of Iridium fell like it was caught in a gravitational vortex.
Then last week everything changed. Gestaglon and Caldux began negotiating a treaty. The financial universe was suddenly interested in Iridium and I had a cootch ton of new clients.
“Goldy’s on my comm. He want’s to know what to do?” Joh shouted.
“Tell every client to keep buying.” I said. “This fargminx will be a two bagger in five minutes.”
Everyone and their pleasure-bot knew Iridium would double as soon as the treaty was signed. We were beaming the live holo of the signing ceremony to the center of our trading floor. The Calduxian Gov’nors looked like a bunch of yug lickers in their colored helm-jacks while the Gestaglian Politmongers stood scratching their bilge-sticks. They were already blathering about new beginnings and peaceful coexistence. Our whole trading floor was watching. None of us could tell you what Iridium looked like, but today it was the most important hootch in our universe.
“83.54 for five hundred thousand. If we’re buying on the house account, now’s the time!”
“Not yet” I said.
We watched the ministers on the holo present the treaty.
“92.32 for two hundred million! I’m gonna buy!”
“Not yet” I said more forcefully.
On the holo, the Calduxians were just about to sign the treaty.
“Why the floog are we waiting?” Joh blurted “ We got Goldy bidding 103.43 for a billion!”
As calmly as I could, I leaned over to Joh and said, “Sell it to him.”
Joh looked stupefied. “WHAT? You want to SELL? Naked short?”
“Yep. From the house account.”
“Sell to Goldy…our own client?” He shot back. “It’s unethical and suicidal! When the treaty is signed the price will…”
“It already doubled!” I screamed. “Sell or I’ll shove a fargminx up your rim-hole!”
The whole room watched Joh hit sell. No one inhaled. No one exhaled. Then every eye shot straight to the holo. And our tiny, back-orbit, rim-hole company was short 1 billion units of Iridium.
It only took another thirty seconds. When the Calduxians signed the treaty, the Gestaglians were offended for some far sector, floogbag reason. Just as I guessed. Those bungsackers hated each other for eons. Blasters were drawn, chaos exploded, and our holo went blank.
Joh turned to his screen. “All trading suspended in Iridium!”
For three seconds on that tiny trading floor you coulda heard a wolabat break wind. Then it was pandemonium. Everyone was cheering. Guys were hugging androids. Androids were hugging lamps. I popped the bottle of Dom I’d been saving, shocked I hadn’t whizzed my pantaloons.
“Iridium will be back to 20 tomorrow. And the whole galaxy will be snarked. At us.” Joh said looking like a man who got kicked in the hoohoo while winning the lottery.
“And we’ll cover our short position and be rich.” I replied, “Besides what’d they expect? Out here, we’re all just a bunch of floogbags and rim-holes.”
by submission | Jun 16, 2012 | Story |
Author : Brian McDermott
The hall was cavernous and dark. At one end, standing on a ledge, were the two high ranking Gondrian Council members. Doxenag, an elder, and young Watuu, newly appointed to his position.
Doxenag called out. “Come forward.”
A light flashed and an entrance revealed a Gondrian Commander of considerable age. His imposing physique and swagger boldly disagreed with his years. He slowly stepped forward into a circle of white light. He shimmered before the the cabinet members in his cobalt battle dress.
Doxenag hardly moved while Watuu shifted nervously. Doxenag spoke firmly.
“You are here because you have killed…”
The Commander interrupted, growling, “I know why I am here.”
Doxenag calmly continued, “Because you have extinguished the lives of thousands. You have stolen their last breaths and sent them to their beyonds.”
The Commander hissed while he quickly surveyed the hall.
Doxenag raised his voice, “For this killing, you are to be commended. You have killed well and all of Gondra will sing the praises of Commander Hikkol for generations. But as every cycle must find its end in a new beginning, so must yours. You are to be relieved of your command. The glory of the kill will no longer be yours.”
Hikkol would not hold his tongue, “If you believe I am done you are a fool.” He quickly reached into his boot and produced a pulser unit. For one moment, the only sound in the massive room was the hum and echo of the pulser’s activation sequence.
Watuu called out nervously “You cannot do this Commander! You are sworn to obey superiors!”
Hikkol growled, “I knew what you planned to ask of me. To never again revel in the glory of the kill. But reveling in that glory is what I am sworn to do, youngling. And I have two deaths left to give. Beginning with yours.”
As the Commander aimed the pulser towards Watuu, Doxenag casually waved a hand and the white light enveloping Commander Hikkol shifted to a hazy blue. As the light thickened, Commander Hikkol’s body began to fail. His legs crumbled, his arms collapsed into his torso. Within seconds he was dead.
Watuu turned to his superior in disbelief. “Gondrian Commanders are renowned for their adherence to the hierarchy. Yet he choose to ignore your orders and you knew he would!
Doxenag spoke calmly, “Gondrian Commanders are trained to kill. From the moment they are identified as younglings and assimilated into the Academy. They are awakened in death. With every kill they draw life to themselves. The kill is all. To take away the kill is to take away meaning. It is the only thing they are trained to do”
Watuu wondered out loud, “If that is so, then every Commander who is to be relieved will reject their proceeding.”
Doxenag was impressed, “Yes. Which means every Commander will directly disobey a superior. A crime punishable by death.”
“So, every Commander dies in their proceeding.” Watuu looked at the fallen Commander Hikkol, “Has any Commander ever accepted their proceeding?”
Doxenag turned to him, “Only one. He still lives. Yet continues to kill, destroying those of our own kind.”
Watuu cocked his head, “Why?”
“Because…” Doxenag’s eye caught a faint glimmer of the hazy blue light as he spoke, “…it is the only thing I am trained to do.”
by Julian Miles | Jun 15, 2012 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
He’s sitting in the car waving without a clue as to what’s about to happen. Below me, the repository window opens and a man who only wants to make a point by scaring the most powerful man in the world is about to make history.
I manifest the wormhole with a wide entry funnel because he’s not a great shot. The bullet enters the funnel just off-centre. It whips down the hyperdimensional tube, momentarily everywhen and nowhere. For years to come, veterans passing this place will duck as they hear a bullet going by. My concentration slips and the suction from the wormhole pulls his head backwards after the bullet hits. That’s going to get me a reprimand, but does handle the one event aspect our projectionists couldn’t explain.
Time to be elsewhere before the grey on the grassy knoll realises he’s been pre-empted. Affairs route me automatically while an indirect delivers my brief into mind.
Herr Hitler is raving again, his high-pitched diatribe audible over the U-boat’s engines as it flees for Argentina. Herr Muller is trying to calm him down while Herr Brunner is making love to Fraulein Braun in the aft torpedo room. The vessel is stuffed with art, gold and enough war criminals to make Weisenthal sing hosannas. The entire crew are all hardened Schwarze Sonne. Given the amount of stuff on board, making this vanish with everything is going to take some ingenuity. Scuttling it as planned will not work. Too many bits of crap to crop up at inopportune moments.
I run a direct to my disc, high above me. It routes my suggestion uptime and passes permission back within moments. No delays for decision making when you can monkey with time. I push the disc into a stable high orbit and have it charge and push a locus attractor through an in-system warp. Now for the wet bit.
The water ahead and just abeam of the sub is cold, dark and crushing. I manifest the wormhole as soon as the shock of the water registers. I feel unconsciousness pull at me as U-3531 vanishes into the tunnel along with some surprised fish and several million gallons of Atlantic. With the last of my will I iris the tube closed. Three hundred thousand kilometres above Sol, a U-boat appears in a brief cloud of steam before starting a searing fall.
Time to be elsewhere before I drown.
I appear somewhere dusty and hot. Orientation yields New Mexico but no brief. I’m just starting to dry out when a direct initiates.
“Ten, we have a problem.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“We’re not omnipotent. To prove it, Eleven has just frisbee’d a grey dropship. Made a mess of him but ruined them. Need you to fetch him and finish any survivors.”
“You don’t sound too upset. Has he unravelled another unknown event aspect?”
A chuckle comes over the feed: “He’s way ahead of you now. This one is a whole unprojected event. You’re fifteen clicks outside Roswell in June forty-seven. You have carte noir to completely mayhem the event. As a consolation prize, One says that you can take the gloves off and just have fun.”
Somedays I love my job.
by Clint Wilson | Jun 14, 2012 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
We had endured the slum for generations now. I came from a long line of survivors. Here behind the tattered patchwork fence of our family compound we had fought off countless invaders. But we wouldn’t have to worry about such things anymore. It was almost time.
And the moment couldn’t arrive any sooner as government food drops had been recently cut back even further. Folks were getting desperate.
When father had originally set up shop all those years ago here next to the maglev track with all of its noise and vibration people had thought him crazy. But there had been a method to his madness.
Everyone finally gathered in the courtyard… relatives and close friends, the people I had known all my life. We held hands as father recited a quick ceremonial prayer. I looked over as labor bots rolled the rusty hanger doors aside. It was the first time they had been open in decades. Father turned to the dozens of people in his extended family and shouted, “All aboard!”
The sun shone on the nose of the space freighter with its dusty cockpit windows. It was clearly aimed at the massive steel ramp erected next to the maglev track. It all seemed so unlikely. How could this possibly work?
I for my part held no doubt though, because I was the gunner. I had been practicing all my life. I could lasso a bird at half a kilometer with one eye closed. This would be easy for me.
The industrial transport engine block was already loaded into the starboard zip launch. I took careful aim at the maglev track and pulled the dual triggers. There was a dusty recoil and the thousand-kilo hunk of scrap sailed upward to its apex, and thumped down perfectly onto the huge track high above. Less than a minute later we heard the train.
There was no doubt that the automated system would follow protocol. Sure enough we watched the distant vehicle slow to a halt. We could not perceive the train’s custodial bots as they disembarked to retrieve the engine block. But we watched the shape grow in the sky as the hunk of metal careened back toward the compound. It made a good-sized crater as it crashed to the ground near our main gate.
“She’s on the move boy, get ready!” shouted father’s voice into my earpiece. I did not hesitate or falter, moving over to the portside zip launch seat. Two kilometers of coiled carbon rope attached to a Targathian grappling hook awaited my command.
I had to concentrate as all around me the derelict freighter’s long unused engines roared to life. Through the scope I saw the glimmer of the quickly debarking sonic train, and launched my projectile. There were long and painful seconds before the grappling hook burrowed itself deeply into its target. Then we all cringed and waited.
There was a whip, whip, whip, as the last of the coils unfurled, then a mighty twang as the nearly indestructible rope became taut.
We all felt it in our guts as the ship lurched forward with a metallic scream. In a second we were racing up the long ramp, hot sparks accompanying our progress, and then in another instant we were airborne.
My last official duty of the launch was to make sure that once we passed the speeding train far below I detached the carbon rope. I executed this flawlessly. Soon after I would be able to relax for a spell, and dream of a wonderful new home on a far away world.
by submission | Jun 13, 2012 | Story |
Author : Susan Nance Carhart
The Children of the Lonely Moon charged, screaming their bloodlust. The Crimson Champions hewed them down, blades flashing, muscles bulging, armor gleaming.
Adam Firedrake banged his sword pommel on his shield, taunting a troll, while Lyra darted in, burying her daggers in giant kidneys. A sizzle of mage from Ithuriel’s staff, and the troll toppled face-forward, dead.
“Yay! We win…again!” cheered Lyra.
“Who needs healing?” Ratzak called out, lean and brown. He passed out potions, while Lyra searched the bodies for loot.
“Oh, good,” she chirped. “Another diamond.”
Another triumph for the Crimson Champions. Another key to the ancient and wicked city of Karandash, Another parade, another celebratory feast, another round of admirers at their feet. Tonight Queen Tamarys would grant Adam Firedrake her highest accolade. In her bedchamber.
They debriefed, as always, at the Tabard Inn, over predictably foaming tankards.
“So what’s next?” mused Adam “Firedrake” Schlegel. “Do we do the bandits in Wilderdeep, or the Sacred Ruby of Ispahan?”
“I’m sick of those bandits,” Ratzak sulked. “I always get hurt, and Kristi always has to rescue me.”
All dangerous curves in her black armor, Lyra Daggerhand—once Kristi Flynn—flicked bits of foam at him.
“Don’t whine,” she said. “Wouldn’t you rather be uploaded to the game and be a handsome and immortal hero, than be old, grey, and wrinkled back home in the world?”
“Or maybe dead of leukemia?” suggested Ithuriel, the blue-skinned drow. She was the smallest of them, with huge liquid eyes and delicately pointed ears.
Her fellow Champions were surprised, since Ithuriel never responded to her pre-canon name of Rachel, and ordinarily pretended there was no reality other than canon. She said nothing more, dismantling her mystery meat pie with exquisite care.
Ratzak prodded his own meat pie suspiciously. They always tasted fine—everything did—but you never knew… “I’m sick of being Ratzak the Healer! There’s nothing wrong with being David Lee.” Seeing Adam’s skepticism, he shrugged. “Handsome and… immortal David Lee.”
Adam snorted a laugh, but Ratzak/David had more to say.
“I was thinking that—well…we don’t have to follow canon at all! We can just…live. Read books. Hang out together here at the Tabard Inn.”
Shocked, Adam sputtered, “But what about the fate of all Yggdrasil?”
Kristi frowned, thinking it over. “If the world is destroyed, somebody always reloads it. Big deal.”
“Personally,” said Ithuriel, “I intend to seek out the survivors of my clan and restore it to its ancient glory.”
The edges of reality blurred and crackled. The Champions looked wildly at each other as their faces distorted and flattened. With a sudden spark, they abruptly snapped back into three dimensions, dropping their tankards in the process.
“What was that?” David demanded.
“Nothing. It was nothing,” Adam said, trying to reassure himself. “Just a temporary glitch.”
“Which, by the way, is not supposed to happen,” David shot back. “I had higher expectations of Support.”
The door burst open, and a wild-eyed woman rushed toward them.
“Champions! The Manticore of Elboracum is ravaging the valley! Only you can save us!”
The Crimson Champions stared at each other, nonplussed.
“I don’t remember that,” Kristi said slowly, “and I memorized the entire wiki before I was uploaded. How are we supposed to know what to do?”
Adam was bewildered. “A manticore? I don’t anything about manticores.”
“Oh, shit!” David slapped a hand to his brow in despair. “They’ve developed new downloadable content!”
