by Stephen R. Smith | Sep 1, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
It was June when Mark and Alicia kissed each other one last time before strapping in for the long sleep to Caltrani. “I love you”, Mark had said as the canopies had closed. “Elephant shoes”, she mouthed back, and giggled behind the glass that separated their two capsules.
Neither knew it would be their very last kiss, her capsule bleeding out in flight. When they came to wake her she was dried nearly to dust.
They would have no family. He was left alone.
Back home he knew his friends and family would have long passed on. Maybe there were nieces and nephews, or great to some incomprehensible exponent – great nieces and nephews, but they were as lost to him as his love.
Home would have to be where his heart was, where she was planted in the foreign ground.
He worked first as a labourer, helping build the colony up, then as a soldier defending it against those that would see it fail. He’d seen wars before, and was trained for them, but this was a profession he had looked to the stars to escape. Starting anew the cycle of getting close to people with a uniform in common only to see them die would prove too much to bear.
Mark became a nomad, losing himself in the rough jungle of this planet he’d been so keen to make peace with, a planet that had proved so vicious in return.
On a clear night, from the hilltops overlooking Panteran Gorge, he watched the landing lights at Keff, marveled as ships arced out into space, and others descended to take their place on the ground. The horizon was alight with evidence of prosperity. Brightly lit buildings, flying craft, the multicoloured aura of the cities and towns.
“Their prosperity,” he scolded the night, “not mine. Not Alicia’s.”
Slowly he made his way to the edge of the cliff, peeling off his clothing and equipment and leaving it in a trail behind him. Above him Gentle filled the sky, the low moon giant and grey, lighting the jungle and the water below. Beneath it Skittish streaked across the blackness in fast orbit. Less massive and straining against Caltrani’s gravity, it would pass many times before the sun breached the horizon again, desperately trying to break free of the planet’s grasp to fly away into space.
“It’s hopeless Skittish,” Mark spoke out-loud to the sky, “she’ll never let you go.”
Mark dropped from the cliff, barely feeling the water strike his feet, breaking the surface to sink like a stone into the icy depths. Above him the water rushed to fill in the space he left behind, on the surface barely a ripple to show where he’d been.
As he sank, he thought of Alicia, saw her through the water mouthing ‘Elephant shoes’, and giggling as she swam away. He thought of the children they’d never have, of how he’d been right there as she grew old and died, and how he’d been robbed of his chance to share that with her.
“Nothing left to live for”, he thought, as the moon faded out over his head. He kicked out violently at the water. “Nothing left to live for.” His heart pounding as he broke the surface and filled his lungs, “but I’ll be damned if I let that kill me.”
by submission | Aug 26, 2010 | Story
Author : Peter Woodworth
I found them. Nobody else wanted to believe it, but I found them. It’s my truth.
Well, maybe not mine. But not theirs either!
After the Act was signed and the last of the satellites went live, the corporations assured us the link would be continual. But I started twitching. I never twitched before. I’d have these little blackouts. I told people it had to be the satellites, but they said I was wrong.
So I parsed the stream. They let you see it if you want, but nobody really looks. And that’s how I found the gaps. They’re small, much smaller than the human mind can register, so small our technology can barely detect them.
That’s right. Our technology. Not theirs.
I started talking to the technicians who worked on the upload, and they all denied it, until I got angry and used the battery. One finally broke their vow of silence. He told me that they knew about the gap, but insisted it was for calibration.
This I knew to be a lie.
The human brain can handle the link, everyone’s seen the science that proves it. It’s like humming a tune you don’t even hear, they said. You don’t even know you’re doing it.
“So why are there still gaps?” I asked, but he couldn’t answer. I showed him the pictures I extracted from the blackness in the gap. When you look at it long enough, you can see the eyes, the places where the black gets darker than the rest. They’re slitted, the eyes. Like a cat’s.
He had tears running down his cheeks as he looked at the picture. That’s a sign of guilt. There are all kinds of signs of guilt, if you know what to look for. I’ve always been very attentive.
Those eyes kept me up at nights for weeks. I hate cats, always have, but I never knew why until I saw those pictures. Like they were an advance force, or something. Maybe I’m psychic. You see a lot more articles about psychic ability since the link went active. One says that we’re using parts of the brain that have never been touched before. Why shouldn’t psychic ability be hidden there? It has to be somewhere.
That’s when I realized what the gaps had to be. We’d spent all these years beaming messages out into space, and now our satellites are picking up their replies. We’ve got more satellites in orbit than any other time in history, and they’re more sensitive too. We’re finally hearing them.
But they’re being subtle. Tricky. Communicating through negative space, testing our link, seeing what they can insert without our noticing. So far, just their eyes. Understand? It’s like a joke. They’re watching us, so they put in their eyes. They want to see if we’re paying attention.
Nobody is. Nobody but me.
It took weeks and another technician, but I finally figured out how to make gaps of my own. So tonight I’m going to talk back. I’m going to insert my gaps into the link and show them we’ve noticed. And they will spread. The companies clean the link for carriers, but not for anything this size. I’m as clever as they are.
My gaps won’t just watch with black on black eyes, either. No. I’m putting images in my gaps, sounds, and they will be plugged right into the feed. Wars. Disasters. Primates howling. Metal grinding metal. They’ll see what we’ve survived. They’ll know we won’t go out without a fight. They. Will. Respect. Us.
Because I own the gaps.
Not them.
Me.
by submission | Aug 23, 2010 | Story
Author : Clint Wilson
I was in the best place a boy could be when the end of the world came, except for being dead maybe. We knew about it almost three years before it arrived. And while most of the world went insane, my family built the vault. In my case it definitely helped to be born into the upper crust.
And speaking of the upper crust, that’s where we sunk our vault deep. My dad was the project’s top investor, so many people we knew came inside with us.
Of course he was gone now, well protected from the certain ravages of dwelling topside, only to be killed in the impact nevertheless. In fact almost all of them were dead now, save for the handful of us who had had the fortune to be in the sensory deprivation chamber when Hand of God had struck. Our oxygen masks had kept us from drowning while the chamber’s half million tons of water had thrown us around in our hammocks like rag dolls.
No one really knew what the effects of a comet the size of Texas smacking into the planet at almost a million and a half kilometers an hour would be. But my family had nearly every possible contingency covered. Fear of the atmosphere being completely stripped away had caused them to install the giant oxygen tanks and supply enough pressure suits to outfit ten times the people we had left.
Still Dr. Fraser, my dad’s top advisor, couldn’t explain, beyond the certainty of an extreme and cataclysmic change to the earth, the reason for our weightlessness.
We were getting used to it now though. We were mostly children save for a few teachers and the doctor. And with the aid of ropes and makeshift climbing gear we made our way around the facility with ease.
But today was the day we had decided to go topside. Most of the adults had disagreed initially, but they lost in the majority vote, plus we had the doctor on our side. He had explained quite clearly, “We are well equipped with pressure suits, aerosol cans for propulsion, plus our ropes and grappling hooks, and both airlocks show to be in perfect working order. I will only take these selected few who have shown great agility in maneuvering in the weightlessness. We will be back before you know it.”
Together the six of us crowded into the airlock. There was no window in the three-foot thick outer hatch. We all made one last check of our suits and then Dr. Fraser emptied the chamber.
As soon as the outside was exposed one thing became apparent. There was light. We dug in with crampon boots and axes and made our way out.
And there we clung to our tiny perch, looking down at the half exposed steel and concrete survival vault, jutting from the side of a six kilometer-high wall. And then I felt the freezing cold pierce my suit as the sun dipped below the horizon alarmingly fast, revealing a sparkling field of stars against an ink-black curtain. But within minutes it would be back again, to taunt us with a minuscule hint of warmth for its short visit.
Dr. Fraser maneuvered his body around to face us. Through his helmet visor we saw a look of most dismal despair. He addressed us all, “I have no idea how we now continue to survive on this tiny rock hurtling through space, but I know we will not live long. Who’s with me for jumping off right now?”
by submission | Aug 21, 2010 | Story
Author : Scott Angus Morrison
In the end, the planet’s defence hinged on a single man armed with a stick. There had been limited resistance so far – there seldom was when a planet was targeted for reorganization- secure the air, neutralize any radiation weapons, and then we jet- pack in to clean up the politicals. Standard fare, really, a colonized planet reaches the stage of emergent technology and thinks they can control their AI. AI cannot happen. We’ve learned that lesson.
Six-nine and I work well together. She’s one mean mother, and that’s a compliment. We were assigned to begin a “prejudicial reorganization”. That usually meant locating whatever palace the local politicians and generals were holed up in and getting messy. But when we touched down, there was nobody here, and the building was empty – except for the old guy in hood with the stick.
The Citadel was a large round building of columns and arches and a funky floor with swirly markings on it. I’ve organized a lot of buildings, but this was weird – and empty. No seats, offices, rooms, or even doors – nothing but the swirly floor and the old guy.
Six-nine and I are Pointers – we take point on most live encounters. As soon as we flew into the building and touched down, Six-nine looked over at me and tapped her helmet, “Can you hear me?” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied, “But I think we lost Mother.” The silence that filled our earpieces confirmed we were out of touch with the mother ship.
Six-nine shrugged it off and we swept forward. After 100 metres of empty arches and columns, we neared the centre of the building. There was a large sphere that swirled like the floor, except the swirls were … swirling.
A man stood in front of the sphere. He gave the appearance of being elderly without being frail. In his right hand was a stick that was something more than a cane, yet less than a staff. He was dressed in a brown cotton tunic with a hood knit onto it.
“Darius.”
“What?” I whirled on Six-nine. Pointers don’t go by name, and she didn’t know mine, unless I had told her that time we got drunk on Tara-4.
“I said nothing. You gonna start this or what?” Six-nine was always a little touchy before the fireworks.
“Yeah.” I turned back to the man. I was close enough that when he blinked, I saw it.
“Relax, Darius. Your killing is almost done.” His lips didn’t move, but somehow he was talking to me. I had a seen a man go down with space sickness. It started with voices.
“I’m not sick!”
“Then shoot him, One-Seven! Just shoot him!”
“You’ve only arrived, and already the truth is terrifying your poor friend. I think Marion’s ready to shoot you.” The voice sounded serene as he spoke in my head, but my pulse continued to race.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Science … science …science… I pointed my weapon at the swirly floor and turned to Six-Nine. “Marion,” I said, “He knows your name.”
“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” She screamed and I watched her chamber her juice cube, level her barrel and hold the hammer down.
As the blast of energy ripped through me I was hurled back against a nearby column. In my head I heard a wistful sigh, and as I could see that the old man was glowing … orange, and as my soul was disintegrating, I heard him once more, “Relax, Darius,” as the swirling and the glow increased, “the truth has set you free.”
by Patricia Stewart | Aug 19, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
There were many heroes that day; men and women, drones and gynes. Two evenly matched warships, each led by brilliant military commanders, and crewed by battle hardened soldiers. Fighters swarmed like angry hornets, as antimatter torpedoes and photon cannons unleashed their furry. For eighteen hours, the two massive starships engaged in their mortal bout. But in the end, they had only succeeded in destroying each other, and the two lifeless battlecruisers drifted aimlessly apart. However, amongst the halo of debris and floating bodies, two lone fighters faced each other like old west gunslingers, waiting for the other to draw first.
The human activated his head-com and translator. “Okay, cockroach, prepare to meet your Queen.”
“And you Satan,” was the crackling reply.
But neither adversary fired. What was the point? They were both dead already. Neither fighter could survive without the mothership. If they killed the other, they’d die alone in the cold empty void of interstellar space. Nothing to do but listen to subspace static until your oxygen ran out.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” snapped the earthman. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Are all humans so eager to die?” inquired the drone.
“What? No, of course not. I don’t want to die. I have a wife, and two kids.” He glanced at the holograph to the left of his instrument panel. “I want to see them again. But that isn’t going to happen, is it?”
“No. I suppose not,” was the solemn reply. “I too will not see my family again. Hundreds of my brothers and sisters have died today.”
“Hundreds? Oh, that’s right. I forgot that you’re all related. It must be hard having family die before your eyes. At least I can fight knowing that my family is safe, back on Earth. Listen, this isn’t personal. I’m just a soldier, doing my duty. Hell, I don’t even know why we’re fighting this war. Look, if it means anything, I’m sorry about your family. If it’s okay with you, let’s talk a little while longer. I’m not ready to have it end like this…”
Just then, the alien ship exploded as a missile slammed into its port side. “Wooooeee. Great work, Joe. You had him so distracted, he didn’t see me coming. I think that was the last one, buddy. Looks like we won, eh?”
