by Duncan Shields | Jan 14, 2008 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
I am miles underwater. I’m the only human competing.
I’m riding a ten-foot cretaceous seahorse named Cheval. I pronounce it ‘shovel’ as a private joke. No one here would understand the mispronunciation.
There are representatives here from sixteen planets. Mostly aquatics but there are two air breathers like me. A hindbrain Mohr-nex with 288 as an identification marker. It’s riding a bio-rocket jellyfish ringpulser. The other one’s a silicate rocksliver named CPR. We talked a little before the race. It’s riding a ramjet mollusk with cold, blue eyes.
There’s even an avian from a gaseous tiny-giant. It has beefed up muscles to ‘fly’ in the cold, pressure-rich water. It doesn’t have a mount. It’s going it alone. In the absence of a mount, it’ll end up a slave if it loses. We’re all racing for mount ownership here. I admire its courage but it doesn’t have a chance. There’s an insane glint to its one red eye that makes me doubt my assumption for a second.
My articulated pressurized scuba suit is working fine. The stats are all lit up like Christmas lights on the inside of my faceplate, showing blues and greens. An overlay of the caverns is pulsing stationary with topographical lines. I’m hoping that my human tech will be more accurate that the other racer’s means of navigation; the sonar from whale-face, for instance. I have no idea if it’s more precise than my radar.
I lean forward and with my black servoglove, I pat Cheval just above the ear-hole. He flexes his massive tail and swishes his equine head. He’s eager to get on with it.
The huge transporter building behind us lights up the dark water around us. The beings laying wagers are little figures in the windows. They’re the super-rich that can afford ringside. There are millions of others watching on the telly and d-sense around the system.
The aquatics are all more suited to this environment but no one racer present has raced this course before. This equalizes the playing field. The rules are simple and brutal. No weapons are allowed but your mount is allowed to employ whatever naturally occurring offensive or defensive capabilities that it possesses.
The electrified hallowfish that last year’s winner is riding gives us all a chill. We remember the stats of that race. Last year’s winner sits proud and straight in his saddle above the hallowfish. He’s striped like a zebra and glows with bioluminescence. His eyes are huge and glowing. His mouth is a shattered nail bucket of teeth. There’s an anticipatory cloud of fang-poison floating in a halo around his mount’s head
I’m hoping speed and maneuverability will win the race.
The glowing balls of angler fish in front of us change colour.
On your marks.
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by submission | Jan 13, 2008 | Story
Author : Dee Harding
I have it in my hands, but I don’t understand it. Mirah peers over my shoulder, grins in my periphery, and pokes at it. The amber clouds react to the gravity of her digit instantly, particles drifting into a new configuration of spin. As she removes the finger, it spirals back into something like its original shape, spitting out loops of fire and tiny shrapnel as it goes.
“Where did you find it?”
I’m motionless with awe, listening to its low rumbling growl and very much aware of the plume that keeps it afloat. I’m afraid that I’ll drop it. I’m afraid that it will burn through my hands.
“The Monks. The Physic Monks.”
She says this carelessly, idly, as if the fact is not important, staring at the thing in front of me all the while.
“The Monks? The Physic Monks? The same Monks who split atoms for ritual? The same Monks who keep a pet black-hole on the Mountain? The same Monks who will murder us if they know we have…whatever… it is?”
“In the Mountain, and they call it a tamed Singularity.”
Mirah is suddenly an expert on these things, on the monks who worship Shiva and live on the Mountain. All the rest of us know is that they idolise creation and destruction, that they make bombs too small to see, and then wipe them away. Somewhere in their temple is a wheel, a torus, which pulls strange matter into the world. Suddenly the thing in my hands is sinister. Suddenly it has the capacity to not just burn me, but unmake me, as if I never was. Fear and wonder orbit its shrouded centre amid a multitude of glowing embers.
“Think of it as a glorified lock-pick.” She says, “Think of it as a key. That’s what it’s for.”
I’ve never been able to leave well enough alone. I always ask the inevitable question.
“But, what is it?”
Mirah smiles the widest smile I’ve seen on anyone, ever, and points upward. She points at nothing. There is no moon tonight, there are no clouds, no aircraft since the coming of the Second Dark. There is nothing in the clear night sky but the distant light of a thousand galaxies, each drifting slowly in its own mystical configuration.
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by submission | Jan 12, 2008 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala
The young couple slept peacefully in their bed while powerful, dark forces worked against them, against mankind. Two malevolent figures watched them from the darkness, their eyes aglow.
These two creatures descended from races older than man himself, had bided their time, waiting for the opportunity to strike. They were patient, lurking in the shadows. Soon the moment would be theirs; they would emerge from the darkness and take their rightful place in the light.
“Well Commander Xerc…â€
“Not yet Rufus. We shall use our Terran names until victory is in our grasp.â€
“Yes Mrs. Pewtersmythe, we have waited this long, patience is something we can afford.â€
“Yes Rufus, the ability to calmly wait, to endure hardships and subjugation has helped our two peoples in the past. Now that diligence will pay off, the spoils of this victory shall be ours for the taking. Nothing will be withheld from us.â€
Mrs. Pewtersmyth’s voice took on a high keening edge. Not for the first time did Rufus think there was something of the maniacal in it, though he wisely kept his council. She had led them well thus far.
Though there was not a small bit of enmity between their two species, they had been able to work together to achieve their mutual goals. Mrs. Pewtersmyth’s people, the Leonaise, were renowned for their guile and cunning. Using craft and skill to achieve their ends, resorting to treachery when diplomacy failed.
The Siriuans, though no less intelligent than their gracile allies relied more on their massive size, and strength. They were warriors, devourers, conquerors. Over many a domain did they hold sway.
The truce between their two people was not easy. For centuries these two great races had fought an endless war, neither gaining the upper hand. A tenuous armistice had been established, leading to a semblance of peace, though neither side fully trusted the other.
Over time an affinity had developed between Rufus and Mrs. Pewtersmythe, and there existed between the two, if not a liking, then to be sure a genuine mutual admiration for the other. “Do you think there can ever be a true peace between our people? Will we ever leave the eons of bloodshed and war forgotten in our past to allow us to march ahead in unity and prosperity.â€
“You are like all of your kind Rufus,†she said quietly, casting an indulgent glance in his direction as a parent might to its offspring. “Beneath that wild and ferocious exterior, you are all, at heart gentle and philosophic souls.â€
Rufus bristled slightly at these remarks. “That may be true Commander,†he said stiffly, “as the old soldiers saying goes ‘prepare for peace, but plan for war’. No one dislikes combat more than the combatant. Your people, while seeming to engender trust are always plotting… scheming… hatching nefarious plots… †his deep voice trailed off into a low growl.
“Now, Rufus, I meant no offense,†she purred soothingly, “let there be no ill will. I merely meant to suggest that beneath the surface bravado, you Siriuans are a deep and contemplative people.â€
“Thank you Mrs. Pewtersmythe.†The man moved on the bed, “I think it is time.â€
“Yes, I believe your right.â€
The man stirred and sat up.
“Rowrf,†said Rufus.
“Mrower,†chimed in Mrs. Pewtersmythe.
The man looked at the clock, scratched his head, stood and said;
“Okay, okay. I know. It’s time for breakfast,†he said and left the bedroom.
Commander Xercian, and Leftenant Klatu followed along behind.__
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by submission | Jan 11, 2008 | Story
Author : Jennifer C. Brown aka Laieanna
Getting off the shuttle, Teddy shoved his way through the crowded corridor, eyes focused on the nearest destination locator. When he was in range of the sensors, the map of Los Angeles lit up in various colors. The locator welcomed him and started to rattle off hotels and restaurants including their average prices and ratings.
“Bar,†Teddy barked.
All lights on the map dimmed down save for six green ones scattered across the surface. The machine began describing the destinations, each light flashing in synch. The first two were sky bars high in the clouds. Next was a club-bar in the city center. Teddy chose a blinking green on the opposite side of the station and left the locator, missing out on the details.
The carrier ride to the bar was a quiet and soothing one, which Teddy hated. He watched the city go by with it’s empty streets and glistening buildings. A speck of dirt would probably set off the alarms, and a seedy person would put the whole place in a panic. It was no surprise he avoided Earth. Once other planets were colonized, Earth was turned in to a paradise. They slowly shot the scum into space and left the beautiful people on their home planet. If it weren’t necessary, Teddy would have never left his side of the universe.
In twenty minutes, he was standing outside the Haze Bar which sounded like an alright place to smoke, drink, and fight. Three things Teddy was dying to do. Inside, the air was hazy, but with no smoky smell. The place was half full with people chatting at tables and around the bar. Everything was automated.
Teddy sat at a corner booth that instantly asked what to serve him. “A camel pack and bourbon,†he ordered. A wall panel opened and out slid a tray with a caramel colored drink and a pack of cigarettes. He laid eighteen credits down on the tray and it retracted when the merchandise was taken away.
Taking a sip, Teddy nearly gagged at the flavor. It wasn’t bourbon. He wasn’t even sure it was liquor. He inspected the cigarettes, afraid to slip one into his mouth and get the taste of disappointment. There was a camel, but a disclosure underneath stated they had clean lung filters. He put the pack back down.
With no smokes, no liquor, he had only one pleasure left. It was time to make trouble. He walked over to a center table and tapped on the empty chair next to a gorgeous blonde who was deep in conversation with her big boyfriend. “I’ve got fifty credits to spend and no hotel. What will you give me if we just take it outside?â€
The woman couldn’t even respond, but her boyfriend stood up. “What,†he asked, more shocked than angry.
“Your woman looks like a Reenar stuffing machine, but not as durable. Promise I’ll be gentle.â€
“Please leave, sir,†the man growled, but took no swing.
Teddy was tired of waiting. “Screw it,†he said under his breath and went for a punch in the other man’s gut. His hand slipped right through and he stumbled from the unexpected inertia. Another man was standing near where Teddy fell. Teddy got up and tried a jab at that man’s jaw. Again, he only hit air. Five more tries at anyone in the bar, including a dumpy, old lady, and he gave up. “Goddamn holograms! You’re all hiding in your houses, but pretending to be with a crowd. Stupid planet. I’m going back to where people actually know how to live.â€
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by Stephen R. Smith | Jan 10, 2008 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Eerin wasn’t sure exactly how she came to be in the pawn shop, and yet here she was. When she’d left her apartment in the Brodsky building, she’d been intent on going for coffee, but rather than the chrome and glass and fragrant aroma of a café she found herself surrounded instead by the detritus of generations of the desperate and financially needy. She had no recollection of having walked here, and she had puzzled on that realization as she made her way past the two cast iron bicycles at the door, around the jolly jumper and the stuffed bear that occupied it, and down the length of a case filled with khaki and metal bayonets and seemingly authentic World War II gas masks. Eerin had stopped finally at the back of the store, confronted by glass display cases littered with dusty lighters, jewelry and numerous other odds and ends. It was one such oddity that had begged her attention, though holding the rock encrusted and rusting metal stick as she now was, she couldn’t fathom what interest she should possibly have in it.
“You’ve got a keen eye, Miss, that’s a very valuable piece.” She braced herself for the sales pitch. “A gentleman left that in my father’s care in exchange for a crib and a baby carriage once, and some pocket change too mind, but I’m sure you and I can come to a fair price.” The shop keeper grinned, exposing widely spaced and badly nicotine-stained teeth. She’d begun to hate him the moment she’d stepped through the door.
“I’m not interested,” she lied, only barely aware that she’d done so, “I’m really just looking.”
The object began to feel warm, and she shifted it from one hand to the other, unsure if it was actually getting hot or not. As she did, large pieces of the rusted surface metal began to detach themselves, disintegrating to fall like dirty snowflakes onto the counter top.
“Oh dear, you’ve broken it, you’re going to have to buy it now,” he placed both hands palms down on the counter, leaning forward and frowning, “very expensive that is, very expensive.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” Eerin defended herself, straightening “and I told you I’m not interested. Besides, I’ve only got enough money for coffee; I didn’t come here to shop.”
The store owner narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve got no money, I hope you’ve got some other way to compensate me for my loss.”
Eerin’s first thought was of how quickly could she get to the door, but as she raised her hands and began to step backwards, she found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror behind him, her startled face framed neatly by the perfectly cauterized hole burned through his head.
He dropped behind the counter out of sight, and her mind raced with panicked thoughts: Should she run? Should she call the police? And say what? could she hide the body? Leaning on the counter and frowning down on the repugnant corpse as she worried, she absently began erasing him, neatly vaporizing his remains with back and forth sweeping motions of the now gleaming and gently purring device.
Stepping back onto the sidewalk of 8th Avenue, she paused a moment to bask in the warmth of the afternoon sunlight. For just a moment, she wondered how it was that all of that had come so naturally to her, but that thought was soon replaced with the question of how long it would take to walk to the Starbucks at 8th and West 43rd.
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