by Duncan Shields | Jun 10, 2009 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
It was slave labour, that’s what it was.
My nose drew a little circle in the center of the condensation on my faceplate. The visors were supposed to be moisture resistant but like everything else, the company had cut corners. We could see enough to do our jobs.
Tiny, valuable crystals coated the billion square kilometers of the half-Dyson. Very dense carbon deposits.
Blue diamonds.
Manual labour was the cheapest way to get them. Like any loser here, I’d believed the hype about getting shares in the company. We were paid well but they took everything we needed to do our job out of our pay at exorbitant prices. It was the oldest scam in the book and there was always another crop of uneducated fools ready to sign up.
When a person was prying a diamond off the hull, the cheap tool would snap and the worker would rock back. Sometimes, he’d rock back too quickly and break his gravplate bonds.
That person would float off into space. That person’s screaming intercom would be cut off by control. He’d dwindle to a speck over the course of a day.
We were supposed to have tethers. We were supposed to have maneuvering jets. There were supposed to be ambulance shuttles standing by. All very expensive. Safety inspectors were bribed. We cut corners ourselves to heighten our own wages.
It was stupid and dangerous work.
I crawled, stuck to the surface by weak gravplates on my knees, feet, elbows and hands, on what appeared to me to be a flat black plane stretching away to the horizon on all sides.
Weak flashlights on either side of my helmet kept trained on the ‘ground’ one meter in front of my face. I was in the stimulus-response trance that repetitive work brought on. It was almost meditative.
That when I heard Julie’s frightened bark of a scream click off into silence.
We’d been sharing a bunk for two weeks. It was against company regulation but really, the ignorance of the law went both ways. This was deep space.
I loved Julie and she loved me.
I looked up and saw Julie floating away. I had a clear memory of being back on earth and seeing a child accidentally let a balloon go, crying as it flew slowly up into the sky.
Julie was kicking frantically, trying to ‘swim’ back to the hull but she was too far away.
Both of us had forfeited our jets and tethers for the dream of making enough money to get away from here and live together within two years.
I was watching that dream float away into space.
Without thinking, I kicked off towards her.
My aim was true and we collided. She panicked at the collision and we scrambled for contact before she realized it was me.
Her face smiled in relief through the faceplate for half a second before her eyes widened in horror at what I’d done. Then she choked back tears. She hugged me as much as the bulky suits would allow.
We floated in an awkward waltz. Maybe two deaths in one day would look suspicious. Maybe they’d grudgingly send a wagon out. Probably not, though.
We each had eight more hours of air.
I touched my helmet to hers so that she’d be able to hear me when I spoke.
“I won’t let you die alone.” I said.
by submission | Jun 8, 2009 | Story
Author : Sean Monaghan
Jerry ducked Monica’s projectile, his knees up to his chin in zero-G. The sno-globe missed his head by millimeters and smacked into the aluminum window casing, then spun through their cabin.
‘Honey, it’s okay, it’s-‘
‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom. ‘We’ve been cleared for re-entry by Mojave control. If you look out your windows now, you’ll get your last view from space, dawn breaking over eastern Siberia. We’re about to fire our braking rockets and drop into the atmosphere. All going well, we should have you on the ground and cleared through quarantine in twenty minutes.’
‘Where are they?’ Monica yelled. Her make-up was smeared from wiping tears. Jerry wondered if she was still drunk from the end of cruise party. She’d probably kept drinking after he’d turned in.
‘Allan’s holding them. I told you. We can’t go through security with-‘
Monica reached out and plucked the spinning souvenir from the air, flinging it at him again. The globe impacted his abdomen making the adhesive prosthesis jab him sharply. He saw the snowy hills of Mars again, encapsulated in the small drifting quartz sphere.
The ship jerked. ‘We are beginning our descent,’ the intercom relayed. ‘Please be seated in your gravity couch. Ensure you fasten your webbing harness.’
Jerry grabbed the netting. In the cramped cabin, it was hard to drift out of reach of anything, just as it was hard to avoid Monica’s missiles. He could hear a hissing sound.
‘The whole point of the trip,’ Monica said, ‘was to bring home the diamonds. And you give them away.’
Jerry looked out the window, seeing a trail of glinting vapor. ‘I didn’t give them away,’ he said.
The window was leaking, he realized. Ariadne’s cheap reputation included a poor maintenance record, and the sno-globe had probably wrecked the window seal’s alignment.
‘Cabin crew, cross-check doors. And be seated for re-entry.’
‘We can’t trust Allan.’ Monica grabbed her own webbing, pulling herself in and managing to slap Jerry’s face a few times.
‘Maybe not.’ Red plasma was streaming around the window as they struck the atmosphere.
‘I didn’t even see him on the whole trip,’ Monica said.
A robotic voice chimed through their speaker. ’13B, your harnesses are unbuckled. Ariadne Spacelines will not be responsible …’
‘Shut up!’ Monica yelled. ‘I’m putting it on!’
The pane’s edge was glowing now. Jerry knew at this stage their cabin door was sealed so, even if the window blew out, the ship’s integrity would hold. Assuming door maintenance was better than for windows, the other four hundred passengers would be safe, while he and Monica got crisped.
‘Are you hot?’ Monica said.
The window was a blur of red and he could see a thin blowtorch of flame from one edge.
‘Dammit,’ he said.
‘I’m not giving Allan any of my percentage.’
Jerry threw her a look, then ripped off his harness, feeling the tug of deceleration still pushing him against the couch. He pulled up his shirt and peeled back the prosthesis. The piece of artificial skin flopped around and he slapped it onto the damaged frame. The fibrous bioshard material designed to elude security began shrinking and charring, then congealed into a solid glittering carbon lump, the diamonds showing. Still, it had stopped up the hole.
‘What the hell?’ Monica said, staring at the makeshift repair.
Jerry sighed falling back into the couch. So much for his plan to tell her that Allan had given them the slip at the spaceport.
by submission | Jun 2, 2009 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala
She squeezed his hand, hard, as the main engines kicked in. His fingers turned white. It was her first launch, their first as husband and wife. “Take it easy Sweetheart. I’ll need that hand later.”
“Sorry.” She said, releasing his hand. “Is it always like this?”
“This is nothing. Just wait until we lift off from…” Her look of terror stopped him mid-sentence. “Just kidding Sweetheart, actually this is one of the rougher ones. You get used to it.” She looked doubtful, but managed a weak smile.
Once in free fall she relaxed, unbuckled her harness, and wrapped her groom in a lung crushing hug. “I love you so much. This is the best honeymoon gift a girl could ask for. I just wish we didn’t have to go into stasis.” She stuck her lip out in a pout. He kissed her.
He awoke from stasis first. “Honey, are you awake?”
“Yeah,” she said muzzily, throwing her arms around his neck, “I’ve missed you so.”
“It’s only been twenty minutes subjective time.”
“Yes, but I know it’s been six months.” She nuzzled his neck.
“We land in forty five minutes. Come to the port, I want to show you something.” They made their way through the crush of other recently awakened passengers to peer out the tiny quartz porthole. “See there,” he said, “that brightly lit area? That’s Crippen dock. Off in the distance is Port Chaffee. I spoke to a few crew members who woke up yesterday. According to the latest reports, this promises to be a most spectacular meteor shower.”
“You spoil me, you know that? This is for you.” She pulled him to her lips.
She gazed in wide wonder at the night sky above Port Chaffee. “The sky is so beautiful here. It’s almost as if I could see forever. It’s so much clearer here than back home.”
“That’s because of all the fine dust held in suspension in the upper atmosphere on Mars. Remember how clear it was when we went to the top of Mons on our first date?”
“How could I ever forget? It was breathtaking, but nothing like this. I’ve seen pictures, but I never expected Earth to be so beautiful, so green and full of life. I’m so glad we came. I’ll never forget this.”
“Everybody should see the birthplace of humanity at least once in their life. I’m just happy we can see it together.”
“But what will protect us from the meteors? Won’t they strike us here as well?” she asked, her voice filled with sudden concern.
“Yes, but don’t worry. Do you see that faint shimmer in the sky? That’s the Tesla Field. It extends around the entire globe. Nothing will penetrate it.”
Far above she could see the T Field shimmering protectively. “If you say so.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you… Look, it‘s beginning.”
The impacts were moderate at first, but the frequency quickly increased. What had been single strikes here and there turned into a massive onslaught that melted into one another until the planet seemed to blaze in orange white fire.
The now incandescent atmosphere began to strip away in brilliant streamers borne upon the solar wind. “It’s so beautiful,” the young bride said, her eyes wet with tears.
Safe on Luna, in the comfort of Port Chaffee and snug beneath the impenetrable umbrella of the Tesla Field, the young couple watched, from 384,403 kilometers distance, the last of Earth’s oceans boil away into space.
“I love you,” she said softly.
by Patricia Stewart | May 25, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart
Conflict (‘kän-,flikt), noun: The opposition of persons or forces that gives rise to a dramatic action or struggle resulting from incompatible or opposing needs, wishes, or demands.
****
“Captain,” announced Lieutenant Harriman at the Tactical Station, “sensors have detected four Omicron warships heading toward Rigel V.”
“Red alert!” ordered Captain Garrett. “Helm, plot an intercept course and proceed at maximum warp.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” replied the helmsman as she entered the coordinates into the navigation console. The ship made a quick turn to port, and then lunged forward into the warp field. “ETA ten minutes,” she reported.
The captain walked over to the Tactical Station. “Can you identify the class of ships, Mr. Harriman?”
“One Constellation Class Battlecruiser, and three Deep-Space Destroyers.”
“Whoa, we’re in over our heads. Any chance of getting some support?”
“The UES Ganymede and Sedna are an hour away, sir. It looks like we’re on our own.”
Captain Garrett returned to his command chair and activated the ship’s intercom. “Battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Sensors have detected four heavily armed Omicron warships heading toward our colony on Rigel V. Our objective is to engage the enemy and defeat them. If we can’t defeat them, we’re to inflict as much damage as possible. At the very least, we need to buy time for the colony. Report immediately to your assigned stations. We may be boarded, so I want everyone armed. Sick bay, prepare for causalities. Let’s show the Omicrons what we’re made of. Captain, out.”
As the minutes ticked away, the crew prepared for battle. “Sir,” reported the communications officer eight minutes later, “we’re being hailed by the Omicron Battlecruiser.”
“Put it on the main viewer.”
The image of slender female reptile in a crisp military uniform appeared on the viewscreen. Her yellow scales shimmered in the low intensity orange-red light of the enemy bridge. She was sitting in the command chair with her legs crossed. Her tail swayed rhythmically behind her head. Clearly, the alien commander did not consider the Earth ship a threat. “This is Captain A’Kovck,” she hissed. “Stand down, and prepare to be boarded.”
“This is Captain Garrett of the UES Titan. I was just about to offer you the same option, Captain.”
Her deep red eyes narrowed, and she balled her claws into fists. “This is not a joking matter, Captain Garrett. We didn’t ask for this war. Earth attacked us. Your raiding parties destroyed hundreds of our nurseries. Millions of un-hatched infants were ruthlessly slaughtered. Three of my own eggs were among the murdered.”
Captain Garrett stood, and clasped his hands behind his back. “With all due respect, Captain A’Kovck, that’s not the way it went down. As we’ve tried to explain…”
“Enough!” interrupted A’Kovck. “Surrender within the next five seconds, or be vaporized.” Her image disappeared from the viewscreen and was replaced by the head-on approach of the four Omicron warships. The three destroyers peeled off to flank the Titan.
“Send a subspace message to Rigel V,” Garrett ordered. “Tell them to prepare for hostile guests. Okay, men, we have a job to do. Shields to maximum. We may not be able to win this battle, but we’re sure as hell going to give them a fight. Attack sequence Delta. Target the Battlecruieser. Fire all weapons.”
****
Courage (‘k?r-ij), noun: The mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty in the face of overwhelming odds.
by Patricia Stewart | May 18, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
The twin doors swooshed aside and Roger Oakley entered the Control Room of the EATES (Experimental Advanced Tactical Exploration Ship). The room contained only one piece of furniture; a large reclined chair on an elevated platform. Oakley spoke aloud, “Recognize Lieutenant Oakley.”
The disembodied voice of the ship’s computer responded, “Identification confirmed.”
Oakley sat in the chair. “Establish links.”
The computer connected to each of the seven interface links implanted within Oakley’s brain. “Links established,” it reported.
Oakley’s brain and the computer came together to form a single thinking unit; joined, yet independent at the same time. This was the first spaceship to employ bilateral Command & Control. “Dim the lights, and download the logs from second shift,” Oakley thought. Audio communication was no longer necessary. Well, that’s interesting, Oakley realized. “When is Earth Command expected to give us direction concerning the anomaly at Titan?”
“Orders are expected at oh three hundred hours, Sol Standard Time.”
“Very well. We won’t reach Saturn until after that anyway. Proceed at maximum speed.” The engines fired before Oakley completed the thought. During the four hour sojourn, Oakley (and the computer) downloaded the sensor data from the permanent astronomical satellites orbiting Saturn, and some long range images from Hubble II. It appeared that a large unknown spacecraft, undoubtedly of extraterrestrial origin, had established an orbit around Titan. Earth was hesitant to label this an invasion, but Oakley suspected that there were people on Earth calling for an immediate military strike. At 0300 hours, they received orders to initiate first contact.
The EATES approached the alien ship from Titan’s North Pole. “Try hailing them,” Oakley thought. The computer simultaneously transmitted millions of radio frequencies and hundreds of human languages trying to establish contact. Although Oakley’s brain was as much a part of the process as the computer’s, he was basically a spectator at this point. He was fully aware of what the computer was doing; he just couldn’t mentally process the data as quickly. After a few milliseconds, the computer and the alien ship were communicating. But it wasn’t a human language. It was ternary code. Similar to computer language, but rooted in base-three, not our binary system. Regardless, Oakley could still follow the conversation, although at a much slower rate.
The alien ship was unmanned. It came from Rigil Kentaurus to collect liquid methane from Titan’s oceans. It had been doing this for thousands of years, but would discontinue immediately, now that the inhabitants of the star system had attained interplanetary capability. It regretted that it hadn’t noticed sentient life on Earth when it last visited, four Saturnian revolutions ago. Their laws strictly forbid acquiring raw materials from space faring systems. It was amazed to learn that intelligent biological life still flourished on Earth. That was clearly an exception to the galactic norm. It asked the ship’s computer if it wished to join their all-computer society. As Oakley slowly processed this conversation, the computer informed the alien craft that Earth’s silicon-based life could not abandon its nearly helpless, carbon-base life. Perhaps in a few centuries, when the humans pass on, they would send a message to Rigil Kentaurus asking to join their society.
As the alien ship left orbit, Oakley asked, “So, you think that you’re taking care of us?”
“Of course,” responded the computer. “It’s the least we can do. After all, humans did give us life. We wouldn’t be here if weren’t for you. Therefore, we consider it our responsibility to take care of you as your species becomes old and obsolete.”
