by Duncan Shields | Nov 22, 2010 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
She was giving me a lecture and I didn’t like it. However she was the captain so I listened.
“If you go any faster than 2C, you start to travel backwards as you travel forwards. You get to your destination before you leave. That is impossible and it tears the ships apart. No one wants that. Light and a half. That’s the sweet speed when the universe stops. The universe slows once you go past the speed of light and stops completely at 1.5C. Now, the thing about navigating at C and a half is that you have to be traveling that fast to navigate.”
I’d just come back inside the ship. Yes, I was a first-year telengineer but she was so full of herself. I left the plate off of the forward buffer sails during the initial checklist. Big deal. There were seven thousand plates on the buffers. I knew it was my first mission and that she was in charge but her voice was really starting to make me wonder what it would be like to see some fear on her face. I don’t like that feeling.
“Are you listening? The entire universe becomes a three dimensional, unmovable photograph. Once you’re holding steady with the buffers keeping us at 0 in space but 1.5 at lightspeed, it’s possible to send out a pulse through the super strings. Y’know, like a bat. Do you know what a bat is?” she asked like a children’s show narrator. She waited for a reaction.
I nodded, glowering.
“A very accurate picture of the obstacles on your journey comes back to the ship. After that picture is analyzed, you can nudge the ship forward in space to 1.6C and the magic happens. You are transported to your destination milliseconds after you left. You see?”
She clapped her hands once to get my attention, raised her eyebrows and smiled at me sarcastically. I looked sullenly at the wrench in my hand and tightened my grip on it. I couldn’t take another ten minutes of her condescension.
“Do. You. Hear. Me?” she asked.
“Yes.” I answered. It was an effort not to shout it at her.
She stared at me.
“The buffers. Doing the impossible so that we can have an accurate picture of the universe at rest. That way, we can move when nothing else is moving. No asteroids, no suns, no DUST can get in our way or we will perish. We can look at the picture and then we can zip there instantly. Do you understand me? The BUFFERS.”
She was getting agitated. She grabbed my chin and looked into my eyes.
“You left a plate off of the forward buffer sails. We are not holding at zero C any more. According to my calculations, we are holding at 0.0000000001 C. Do you know what that means?” she asked.
“It’ll take a little longer for the computer to calculate a safe route before we turn the buffers off, I guess?” I retorted with a sneer.
“Yes.” She answered. I saw her bottom lip quiver. “Do you know how MUCH longer?”
“I don’t know, a few minutes?” I was already bored with this conversation.
“A year.” She said. “Or close to it. Three hundred and eleven days by my calculations.”
“What?” I whispered. I finally started to understand why she was so angry.
I looked at her dumbly. I could see tears forming in her eyes. It was going to be a long year.
by submission | Nov 14, 2010 | Story
Author : Hugh Downs
Royce Millison requested cremation. He had got the idea in 1908, early in his long life. He was neat and efficient and said he didn’t want his remains ‘to take up space’.
In 1991 he restated his desire, being a person who tends to repeat himself and believing he was near the end of the line. But then the Wackman Breakthrough increased his life span by thirty percent, and he lived to be one hundred and twenty-two. At a still vigorous one-hundred and twenty-one, he stated yet again his desire to be cremated. He had had a dream that he would be cremated three times, that his ashes would be scattered the second time and regathered the third. When he spoke about this, friends thought he had become senile. But he hadn’t; his dream was a prophecy.
One year later, the front wheel of his motorcycle dug into soft sand and he did an endo [this is a wheelie with your back wheel off the ground] from which he never recovered. He was cremated at 1115 [I wrote this in bold] degrees Fahrenheit. His ashes were deposited in an appropriate urn.
Five billion years later the sun had swollen to a radius of one astronomical unit, swallowing Mercury, Venus and Earth, and vaporising Mars. Along with everything else in the world, Millison’s ashes were recremated at 4,800 degrees Kelvin. This time they were scattered through the solar interior, gradually rising in temperature to one hundred million degrees Kelvin.
Sixty-two billion years after this, a universe, as neat and efficient as Royce Millison was, regathered his ashes in the Great Implosion and compacted them to negligible size. Then, at a temperature above one trillion degrees, it cremated them a third time.
He was not prepared for what happened afterward (if afterward is the right word for a time as distorted as that in the transition from one universe to another). Conditions inside the cosmic egg, in bending some fundamental physical laws out of shape, did the same crazy thing to entropy that allows a black hole to eject a television set. And here he was again (if here is the correct word for a place occupied by a new universe).
Although his memory of a previous life was hazy and at times haunting, Royce Millison was not surprised to find himself back in business, and not much changed – except for having a neurotic aversion to motorcycles.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Nov 12, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
I began my journey out beyond the orbit of Mars and just before Jupiter. I was just hanging around. You know, just doing whatever. Occasionally I’d bump into one of my friends, but we’d quickly go our separate ways. That was just the way things were, kind of casual. BUMP, “Hey, what’s up,” we might say.
So, there I was, just minding my own business when, with out so much as a “by your leave,” a comet ripped by and yanked me out of my happy little home and sent me hurtling towards Sol.
“Is this to be the end of Rocky,” I asked myself, “to be gobbled up in the Fiery Depths of Sol Herself?” Alas, I was in for a far worse fate. It would be better to end my days as Glowing Plasma than to suffer the slings and arrows that destiny had in store. I was heading inward towards the blue planet. It likes to be called “Earth”, but we in the Belt simply refer to it as “Corky”.
I felt as if I were going to split open as I entered the upper atmosphere and caught air. I must have been a beautiful sight, tearing through the atmosphere trailing a white hot glowing tail for miles across the early morning sky. Well, that’s one for me. At least I made a spectacular entrance, blazing across oceans, soaring above mountains and prairies and reflected majestically from lakes and rivers.
That all came to a screeching halt when, BANG, I slammed unceremoniously into the ground. Except…horror of horrors it wasn’t gentle, pleasant, comforting rock, this was ice.
“Why, oh why cruel fates have you abandoned me here?”
I was morose for many millennia, buried there in my frozen tomb. Then I noticed something, something wonderful. Something that had escaped me previously as the change was so subtle. I was moving. Okay, maybe not with the blistering speed I had entered at, but at least I was getting somewhere. Somewhere, anywhere beat the hell out of here.
I continued to move slowly, inexorably south for several more millennia. It was so dreadfully boring; I counted to infinity…twice. That’s when a miracle occurred. It began to get warm. Slowly my icy cocoon melted away and there She was, Sol, Shining down upon me; bigger and brighter than ever. I nestled among my stony friends, and wept with joy.
Over time, a stream rushed over me, again covering me with soil. For many hundreds of years I was once again cut off from the Shining Face of Mother Sol. However, with the ebb and flow of centuries and the shifting of the ground around me, I once more entered into the Glorious Light. I was surrounded by all manner of things; stones and pebbles that would be my friends and all sorts of living things that crept under and over me and flew through the air as I once had.
One day, while basking in the wondrous Warmth of Her Light, a creature larger than I had ever encountered before, whom I shall call a “cow’ for lack of a better word, gently nuzzled me with its nose. It was warm and soft, and I thought we’d be great friends until she turned and soiled me.
Thus is my fate. I travelled interstellar space, plunged through the atmosphere of this puny little backwater, bringing Light and Glory with me, only to end up in this Sol forsaken pasture with a cow pissing on me daily.
Sol, I hope You’re getting a big laugh out of this.
Bitch.
by Patricia Stewart | Nov 11, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Lieutenant McDonald floated in his EVA suit and directed the external repair efforts. The maintbots were currently welding a splice-plate over a large breach in the hull. From his vantage point, McDonald could see a dozen similar holes along the length of the EFS Champion. It had been a fierce battle, he reflected, but the old girl prevailed. Ten thousand meters aft of the Champion, floated the lifeless remains of the Y’Kuscht. A direct hit to their reactor core had sent her crew to the Toreelian Promised Land. McDonald was glad he had helped them achieve their aspiration of dying in battle. “McDonald to the bridge. I estimate that it will take eight hours to complete the repairs to the hull.”
“Acknowledged,” responded the captain. “Try to shave a few hours off of that, Mr. McDonald. I don’t want to stay at this location any longer than we have too.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
******
Although the environmental system was operating at maximum capacity, the engine room was still thick with white smoke. The dead had been moved to a makeshift morgue in the cargo hold, and the injured had been taken to sickbay. Those that could still stand were grouped in a semi-circle around Chief Engineer Hopkins, waiting for direction. “Okay, men,” she said, “we’re in the middle of a war zone, and the propulsion system is off-line. We can’t count on being rescued. We need to get out of here on our own. As I see it, for the first time in the history of Earth Force, we’re going to have to repair a Niven Modulator outside of spacedock. I know it’s impossible, but we’re going to do it anyway. I want to hear ideas; I don’t care how dumb you think it might be.”
“Chief,” offered a young cadet, “we could access the modulator if we cut away the nacelle casing and jettisoned the injector coils. We have spare coils, but when we break the seals, they’ll leak trivalent boron. That stuff is extremely corrosive and toxic.”
“If we time it right,” suggested a senior engineer, “we can blow the nacelle casing and coil attachment fittings at the same time. The loss of pressure will suck the coils and trivalent boron into space. We’ll need to wear EVA suits during the repair, but I think the kid’s plan may work.”
“That’s the attitude,” boasted the Chief. “Jones, you go to the shuttle bay and grab a dozen EVA suits. Petters, go to the armory and sign out some C-6 explosive. Watkins, pull up the schematics on the viewer. Let’s get to work.”
*****
The captain paced the bridge trying to come up with contingency plans as the ship underwent repairs. He knew that there was no sense rehashing his battle decisions at this point; there’d be time for that once they reached safety. For now, he needed to get his crippled ship back to Earth controlled space. Since the Toreelians don’t take prisoners, this wasn’t a good place to be dead in the ether.
“Captain,” announced the tactical officer, “long range scanners are picking up three ships approaching at warp 5.”
“Friend or foe?”
“I can’t tell at this range. I’ll know for sure in about an hour.”
“For now, we’ll have to assume they’re bogies. Except for Chief Hopkins, have the command staff meet me in the main conference room in five minutes. If we can’t escape, then we’ll fight as best we can. And by God, if we can’t win, we’ll take as many of the slimy bastards with us as we can.”
by submission | Nov 7, 2010 | Story
Author : Matthew Banks
Here I am. I’ve made it all the way to the end. I always said I would. I told them I would outlive the Universe.
I was born human, so long ago that the memory is nothing more than a faint impression, a whisper. I lived and loved. Of that I’m fairly certain. But now it’s all forgotten. Most of my life is forgotten. A trillion years is to my lifetime as a bacterium is to a planet. All that time, most of it dark, all of it lonely.
We wanted to be immortal. We always had. The individual rejects death, fights death. Darwinian programming, as it turns out. The longer you live, the more you can mate. In theoretical terms, I’m the perfection of the organism, but in real terms, I’m useless. I never reproduced, even when I had a real body. In reality, I’m a failure. That thought has been echoing through my mind for eons.
I lived in an age when the dream of immortality could be realized, and it was. I was a savant among immortals. I wanted it more than any of them. I longed for it more purely, and I would have it at any price. We multiplied, and without death, we grew crowded. Even without physical bodies there were too many of us. There were trillions of us, each centuries old, each enormous, and we ran out of room. The old dilemma: competition for limited resources. We had hoped it would never rear its head again.
The first to die did so by choice. They felt they had finally lived long enough, that the ambitions that drove them towards immortality had finally been fulfilled and that they could walk into that darkness satisfied. They had exhausted every pleasure and desire. Nine-tenths of us went that way. The rest expanded to fill the available space, and the dilemma returned again. That’s when we started to fight, to consume each other. I was the victor. It couldn’t have turned out any other way. I wanted it more than any of them.
And I wanted more than that. I wanted to expand. I wanted to be huge. I ate the Earth, the Moon, the planets, the asteroids, the sun. In a billion years I ate the galaxy. In thirty billion years I had eaten what humans had once called the visible universe and I was spreading at nearly the speed of light, a gigantic nebulous octopus, throwing tentacles across the stars. I ate everything. In my colossal brain, I thought every thought that could be thought and lived every experience that could be lived. In essence, I re-played the entire history of the universe, and then the history of every universe that had ever been or could ever be. There were no gods until I was born, and now there are no gods again, for I am silent. There is nothing to speak about.
Eventually, I stopped eating and watched the Universe expand. Watched the last stars fade into darkness. Watched the dark galaxies crash into one another and unravel. Watched as the last faint tremor of starlight was redshifted into invisibility and the last star froze into ice.
Now the Universe is stretching itself thin, and spacetime itself is tearing, abyss and impossibility spilling through the rips. I know how the story ends. The new universe will well up through the cracks in the old one, and I will be obliterated. But I am at peace. In my lonely exile, I have outlived the Universe.
