by submission | Sep 30, 2006 | Story |
Author : J.S. Kachelries
Kram Vidda occupied one of the twelve holographic cubes in the Executive Conference Room of the Planetary Reclamation Corporation. He would be the presenter in the meeting to discuss the possibility of salvaging Sol-3. The images of ten board members, transmitted via hyperspace relays from distant Sectors, sat patiently waiting for the Chairman to appear. When the Chairman, known only as Hapal, came into focus, the meeting began.
Vidda bowed his head respectively toward the Chairman. “Hapal, it’s good to view you again, as well as the other prestigious members of the Board. I know you are all very busy, so I’ll get right to the point. Sol-3 is probably the worst case of planetary self destruction that I have ever seen. Most of our previous projects involved salvaging planets destroyed by simple, mutual nuclear annihilation.†He smiled slightly as he delivered his favorite axiom. “After all, it’s the extinction method of choice for ‘intelligent’ species that have chosen to remove their genome from the evolutionary mainstream of the universe.â€
As holographic pie charts appeared and slowly rotated in the center of the room, Vidda continued his presentation. “But the inhabitants of Sol-3 pulled out all stops. As nearly as our engineers can reconstruct, they started through the wormhole of self-destruction the usual way. Petty disputes between various political and economic factions prevented them from forming a consensus world government. The more powerful countries exploited the available resources without any thought of the consequences. They consumed their non-renewable carbon-based fuels recklessly, released copious amounts of green house gasses, destroyed their ozone layer, and they poisoned their air and water. The inevitable tactical nuclear devices were detonated, which escalated into a global holocaust. That’s usually where they exit and we enter. But somehow, the species was hardy enough to survive thermo-nuclear war, and they continued the conflict even as they had one foot in the disintegration chamber and the other on a tutber leaf. They created and then released biological weapons that attacked their own species. But, that wasn’t good enough, so they exterminated all animal life, followed by the destruction of all plant life. They also released some kind of silicon-based nano-mites that are still reorganizing the molecular integrity of the inorganic infrastructure of the planet. It’s a real mess. They actually developed a…â€
Hapal, who was seriously doubting that Vidda was ‘getting right to the point’ interrupted. “The bottom line, Mr. Vidda. Can we reclaim the planet profitably, or not?â€
“Sir, we will need 1748 atmospheric purifiers, 815 ozone regenerators, 2122 radiation neutralizers, over 5000 anti-toxin synthesizers, a full sub-space sterilization field, more than 14000…â€
“Mr. Vidda, will you please focus. Profitability?â€
Vidda was somewhat taken aback by Hapal’s directness. “Ah…well…Yes, sir. Four sextillion decknars after five years. Then 25% growth each year for the next…â€
“That’s enough, Mr. Vidda. Start transporting the equipment, and begin the damned reclamation project while our genome is still on the ‘evolutionary mainstream of the universe.’ Meeting adjourned.†Unceremoniously, Hapal’s hologram abruptly vanished.
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by Stephen R. Smith | Sep 20, 2006 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
With an almost discernible sigh, the bridge ceased its seemingly endless attempt to shake the crew unconscious.  Captain Jax waited until he was sure the worst was over before instructing the muscles in his body to unbrace themselves from his seat, and it took some time before those muscles began to obey.  The space around him was filled with a haze of smoke and sublimated material that before the storm had made up control surfaces and various other parts of his ship. The giant view screen was dark, and as the fire suppression systems shut down, and the environmental control systems began to scrub the air, he realized that large portions of the bridge were dark also.   Around him restraints eased, and tired bodies released themselves into the slack tethers.  The immediate danger, at least, had passed.
‘Django, damage report.’ The captain’s voice carried easily across the cramped space, and he waited as the engineer struggled to coax a console to life. Reams of text chased themselves across the screen before flickering out only to begin again.
‘Engines are up, warp drive is down.’ Yellow fluid oozed from a crack in the engineers craggy forehead which he dabbed at absently with a sleeve as he continued. ‘We’ve all but lost the recyclers, the atmosphere reserve is online but degraded, estimated hours of breathable air – thirty seven.’ The captain instinctively began to slow his breathing. ‘The storms knocked out our eyes and ears sir, we’ve got instruments for navigation, but no visual.  Our distress beacon is broadcasting, but only from the bow, and the long range sensor on the bow is alight, but it’s the only one.’
The captain slumped back into his chair, pushing the hair back from his sweating forehead. His eyes tried to focus on a point beyond the blackened display, as though expecting to see somehow through it into the void of space.
‘Weapons Django?’
‘Ballistics are offline sir, the light spear appears intact’
‘Direct whatever energy we’ve got to the beacon and sensors, we need to find a ship.’ The crew began to execute his commands even before he’d finished speaking them.
Nearly a dozen hours passed before the long range sensor panel lit up and the comms officer, Sharak, broke the silence. ‘Sir, there’s a ship straight off the bow, quite some distance, but she’s parked and in our line of sight.  She’s in a line to receive our beacon sir.’
‘Django’ The captains voice boomed with new found purpose ‘All ahead full, let’s catch up to that ship’
The engines wound valiantly to life, shaking loose bits of the bridge that had been tenaciously holding on while they’d sat at idle, filling the cabin with the clatter and dull thuds of falling alloys and polymer composites.
‘Sir – the ship ahead is in motion sir.’ Django struggled to read the flickering display in front of him. ‘We’re accelerating sir, and they’re matching our speed.’
‘We need to catch that ship and we’re a little low on options right now’ The captain knew it was pure luck a ship happened across their path and he wasn’t going to let it get away. ‘Bring the light spear up, fire a volley up his ass and see if we can’t take his engines offline.  Mobility we’ve got, it’s his atmospherics I want. If he’s ignoring our beacon he’s brought this on himself…’
Sharak spoke over her shoulder ‘Captain, the aft transceiver array’s come back online, and there’s a ship back there, it’s broadcasting on the emergency channel but it appears encrypted sir, I can’t make out a message.’
‘Forget them, we’ve got our own problems, we’re in no position to help anyone else right now.  If we can catch this ship and make repairs, we can think about going back later.’ The captain was leaning forward now, straining his eyes at the void of the view screen for some glimpse of the space outside, an image that wouldn’t come.
‘Sir… the ship behind us, it’s fired on us…’ Sharak was afraid, and her voice could do nothing to hide the fact.
‘Fired?  Fired!  We’re broadcasting a distress signal, what kind of bastard fires on a ship in distress?’ The captain, giving up on the dead display stood and wheeled on the comms officer, gripping his seat back to steady himself against the surging of the wounded engines.
‘Sir… the signal from the ship behind us.  It’s not encrypted sir, I don’t know how I missed it, it’s inverted and sir,’ The comms officer’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘Sir, it’s from our bow beacon.’
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by J.R. Blackwell | Sep 18, 2006 | Story |
Author : J.R.Blackwell, Staff Writer
Russell came home hungry. When he walked through the door he was thinking of lasagna, steak and sherbet. Leo often had dinner waiting on the table when he came home, their three children occupied in their study pods. When Russell came home he expected warm smells and a quiet house. When he walked thought the door, the children were running around in the kitchen with seven bags of raw, unprocessed, unpackaged food. Seeing Jeremy play with tomatoes, his little fingers crushing the flesh made Russell want to vomit. In the middle of all this chaos was Leo, smiling like a wicked child.
Russell randomly picked an object from a bag and dangled it from between three fingers. “What’s this?â€
Leo rolled his eyes. “It’s a cucumber.â€
“Yeah, I know it’s a cucumber. Why isn’t it sliced up in a salad, packaged and clean?â€
Leo put his hands on his slender hips. “Russell, I’ve decided we should stop eating food from other worlds.â€
“What?†Russell threw himself into a kitchen chair.
“The food here on Greenwald is good. It’s grown in the southern continent. We should be supporting Greenwald’s farmers, not some off-worlders.â€
“Leo, I don’t want to be involved with one of your political movements. If you want to do something, that’s fine, but I don’t think you should force it on the children and I.â€
“The children like going to the market and picking out the food with me.â€
Russell pointed to a parsnip on the counter. “The children like getting filthy, and this food is filthy.â€
“It is not filthy. It’s local.â€
“Same difference.â€
“Russell, I saw a program on the NPH Holo-Cast-“
“Not again-“
“They said that our packaged foods are shipped from three star systems away. They have been folded and molecularly warped through space-travel.â€
“So what?â€
“So what? Russell, this is what we are putting in our bodies!â€
“Leo, you are acting like a hippie.â€
Leos jaw dropped open. “Russell! Don’t curse, not in front of the children.â€
“I like the shipped food! It comes pre-sliced and delivered to our door. I hate putting all that stuff through the processor, programming the damn thing to make whatever, making sure it has all the ingredients. I like my food simple, arriving all ready for me to eat. I don’t have time to process.†Russell slumped over in a kitchen chair.
Leo shrugged his thin, tan shoulders. “Then I’ll process the food. If supporting Greenwald isn’t important to you, if the sacrifices your father made to make this world a success when he immigrated here-“
“Oh give me a bag, I’ll help.†Russell peered inside. “Fresh plums?â€
“Yes. They have fresh plums.â€
Russell squeezed the purple fruit. “I can never find those on the order form. I didn’t know they grew plums here on Greenwald.â€
“Well, they do.â€
Russell put his arms around Leo’s waist. “I guess if they have fresh plums, then it can’t be all that bad.â€
“Apology accepted. “ Leo dumped the last few pieces of food into the processor and wiped his hands clean.
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by submission | Sep 14, 2006 | Story |
Author : Dr. Alexanders
Kevin stared upward at the “Arrivals/Departures†sign in the main concourse of the Europa Delta Interplanetary Spaceport. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The information didn’t change, not a single number. It read:
IBSF #452
Europa Delta, Jupiter to Gatwick, U.K., Earth
Scheduled Departure: 18:45, Aug. 23, 2159
Scheduled Arrival: 03:22, Aug. 29, 2159
—DELAYED— 83d 13hr 27min
Glancing around the concourse he saw a customer service desk on the other side of a throng of Brazilian tourists. When they didn’t immediately part for him he simply pushed his way through so that when he finally reached the desk he was followed by strings of what he assumed were Portuguese curses and swear words. A slender, blonde woman wearing the standard spaceport uniform took a second to finish whatever she had been typing and then looked up at him with a false smile.
“And how can I help you today, sir?†Her eyes flicked past him for an instant to the Brazilians who were still shouting at him incomprehensibly.
“I think there has been a mistake… my flight, ummm, here’s my ticket; the board over there says that my flight’s going to be over eighty-three days late.†He started to laugh and then stopped when he realized she wasn’t laughing with him. Instead she looked at her computer and his ticket, typed something and faced him once again.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the board is correct. Here at Icarus Budgetary Space Flights we offer flights at a quarter of the price of other space liners by passing on savings to our customers. One of those savings is reduced fuel costs by taking advantage of optimal flight windows and I am afraid that your flight just isn’t going to make this next window due to spaceport congestion.â€
“What!? And the next window isn’t for 83 days? I have a meeting in Prague in two weeks!â€
“I am sorry, sir, but you booked a flight at our minimal fuel cost price. There is only a ten day window between arrival and departure and today is the last day in that window. I could book you on our premium flight that leaves tomorrow, though it would cost a little bit more.â€
Kevin sighed, “Fine… how much?â€
The woman checked her screen again, “An upgrade will cost 1,345 credits.â€
“But that’s more than four times what I paid for the flight to begin with! I can’t afford that!â€
The woman gave him a sympathetic smile, “I am sorry, sir, but there really is nothing else I could do. Can I give you a voucher for a free night in the spaceport hotel?â€
Kevin cursed, violently.
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by B. York | Sep 9, 2006 | Story |
Author : B.York, Staff Writer
The trick is to never underestimate the power of normal. One has to believe that everyday life can somehow bring wondrous adventures because of its unpredictable nature. If this effort fails in the mind then the heart can never be happy. –Oxford’s Guide to Happiness Amongst the Stars
Javier Marx was trying his best to remember these things from the guide when his shuttle arrived at Newfoundland Spaceport in August. Earth was a blue dot in his memory and he hadn’t been able to shake the idea of returning to settle in a gravity bubble during the last three months of his tour.
“Fourteen years…†He muttered to himself as the re-entry began to flash against the outer hull. Fourteen years had passed since he stopped moving. This would be his final stop at the ripe Earth age of 43. Javier thought silently to himself if this was a mistake. He thought about the multitudes of wonders he had seen and experienced outside of a globe.
Javier wondered about a life he’d have to get used to again. This thought was compounded by artificial gravity shut down as they entered atmosphere. He felt the real push of his weight and almost became sick. Most people couldn’t tell the difference or even notice when one switched to the other. Not Javier. He felt the way the balanced pressure became almost rounded when it switched to natural gravity. It was all he could do to not get ill at the feeling almost as if he despised it.
The shuttle doors opened after arrival and the man from space exited with the other more content humans with nothing but a vac-bag strapped over his shoulder. Bags looked better after being caught in the wake of a meteor. This one had traveled with him for the entirety of his adventures and now to end here at Newfoundland Spaceport.
Masses of people walked around, greeting their families and their friends here. The cries of joy and laughter rang in his ears and yet he preferred one thing to din of it all: the silence of space. His brow was moist with sweat and he could feel his muscles ache from the balance of solid ground.
It was then he glanced up to see his family. His wife and children had all smiles broadening as they recognized his features. They waited just beyond the orbital glass gates to celebrate his arrival.
Javier looked down at the weathered bag and glanced to the shop to his left where he had bought his first. He took a glance back to his wife in a look that turned her smile into a face ready for tears. It could be made out from the movement of her lips that she protested his decision greatly. With a smile he mouthed “I’m sorry†and stepped quickly into the store.
“How much for one of these?†He asked the clerk while pointing to a bag of the exact model as his own on display.
“Fourteen Credits, sir…†The well-dressed clerk smiled as he gladly accepted Javier’s credits, watching him empty the old bag into the new one.
Turning his back on the globe he went for the terminal desk. “One ticket please†he said in confidence to the lady standing behind the computer.
“Your destination, sir?â€
Javier smiled to himself, tossing the old bag in the garbage disposal unit next to the desk. The sweat had already begun to subside upon his face as he thought of weightlessness again. “Doesn’t matter… just as long as it’s a journey to somewhere.â€
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