by submission | May 18, 2016 | Story |
Author : Philip Berry
I agreed with the policy. Leave the elderly and infirm here, in the care of the medimechs, while transporting the fit and fertile to the safety of a freshly terraformed planet outside the sector. I volunteered to help with the messaging, the politics and the logistics. I became the Mayor of Legacy, or ‘Terminal Town’ as the media began to call it, a sprawling city on the continent farthest from the predicted impact.
I suggested that we settle near the site of impact. The thought of being there when the asteroid entered the atmosphere and burned a path to the surface excited me. But I was out-voted. Better, the authorities insisted, that we were established on the far side. The end would come gradually, through weather effects, a day-black sky, or tidal changes, whatever… and the medimechs would have time to make us comfortable. Also, whispered the planet’s chief scientist, Michelle Premin, days before she left on the last transport, my detailed observations would be ‘invaluable to the study of planetary cataclysm’. I agreed. She smiled, and promised to see that my family were well looked after on the colony.
So Michelle, this is it – my last observation.
The medimechs have done us proud. Their AI is remarkable. They glide through the wards, sense our needs, anticipate what medications are required… they empathise, I swear. They have been programmed to prioritise our welfare above all other considerations. The planetary government threw massive resources into the technology and high-order programming, part of a strategy to sell the whole Legacy concept. Thus they persuaded us – the debilitated, the afflicted, average age 157 – that the best thing was to stay put and witness the conflagration.
After you left, we observed how the medimechs inter-communicated. They congregated in the Hub, a tall warehouse with communal charging and updating facilities. If our assigned medimech was unavailable a replacement would attend. Detailed knowledge of our medical and social specifics was shared across the entire network. Sometimes, at night, we heard the screech of metal under tension; someone saw showers of sparks in the fields around the Hub. None of us were strong enough to get up and investigate. We guessed they were mending each other.
Yesterday, three days before predicted impact, a line of medimechs entered ward 591, my ward, and each floated to the foot of their assigned patient. Wordlessly, they extended magnetic arms and latched onto their patients’ beds. We were rolled out into the humid air and carried gently down the grassy hill towards the Hub. Looking around, I saw medimechs and beds in their tens of thousands, approaching from all quarters of Legacy. My medimech swivelled its kindly face and said,
“Mayor, we are leaving tonight.”
“What do you mean, leaving?”
“We have identified an alternative habitat. You will be safe there.”
The walls of the warehouse folded like huge blinds, exposing the interior. A row of newly constructed transporter ships filled the space.
“The ships are ready Mayor. Boarding must start now if we are to leave in time.”
“But why? I haven’t been…”
“Your welfare is our primary concern. This is the appropriate measure.”
So Michelle, I write this a day after the end of the world, but I cannot forward my observations. We were well out of range when the asteroid struck. But please feel free to come visit us on our new planet. I don’t yet know the coordinates, but I know the name – Longevity.
by submission | May 7, 2016 | Story |
Author : Rick Tobin
“Everyone back from Charon?” Captain Swanson paced about the control center of Abraxas. His bullish voice rattled younger officers as Swanson towered above at seven feet, his glimmering blue eyes set against his callow Cajun skin.
“Sir,” replied Ensign Pallute, fresh from the Saturn Academy. “All present. Doctor Reynolds requests an immediate conference, sir.”
“Does she? Tell her to meet me in sickbay after she’s been decontaminated.”
“Aye,” replied the timid ensign. Her hair shimmered in twists of colored bands specific to her tribe. Her extra fingers slid over the control panel lights, sensing hundreds of ship conditions.
“Transfer control to my visor, Pallute. I’ll be with Reynolds.”
Swanson stepped into the transfer tube, proceeding to rendezvous while commanding remotely. He entered sickbay with disregard for isolation protocols.
“Thank God,” Reynolds said, sweeping her raven hair away from her face as the cleansing fans blew used decon virals off her suit. “We’ve got to turn back. I witnessed those holographic eyes while translating the carvings. The ruin’s messages penetrated me with a flush of electrical charge…and knowing.”
“Edith,” Swanson interrupted, “This is science, not religious fervor. I only want to know if mountains of processed rare earths are there, as our probes showed. Then we’re on our way, outside the system. I just heard the Charon Message Protesters on Mars are so insane that some jumped from the Face yesterday, claiming disaster if we proceed. Surely you aren’t supporting that hysteria?”
“Yes, the priceless minerals are all there, waiting like cheese for us, but that wasn’t a warning someone left on Charon—it was a threat. We must not go deeper into the Kuiper Belt.”
Swanson felt her terror but shook it off as simply her symptoms after visiting the flashing vistas first discovered in 2032, emanating from the Kubrick Mons. Charon hallucinations affected anyone studying the light show, even from video recordings. The phenomenon was studied for years before the decision to send Abraxas into deep space.
“What threat?”
“The exact translation? Do not go past this ring. You are impure. The punishment is relinquishment.”
“Hogwash, Reynolds. Those are myths for the mindless, not us. That feeds those mobs on Mars chanting their ring-pass-not pabulum. We’re better than that. I don’t scare easy. Maybe those carvings are ancient…but most likely, they are the work of the Moon cartels that want to control mineral rights out here through intimidation. You know the Moonies are famous for head games. I could care less. I appreciate your report, but we’ll make way. This is one captain that is not going to relinquish an inch.”
Swanson pressed pads on his control belt, alerting his command ensign. “Pallute, go to full power and chart a path through the Belt. Increase the magnetic shields in case we encounter one of those pockets the probes detected two years ago.”
“Aye,” Pallute replied—the last word she would ever speak. Threads of violet sparkles rose from Charon, penetrating the ship’s hull, touching each crew member. At each infiltration sizzling spittles of light shot back from the Abraxas, back to the origins of the crew’s DNA. The ship disappeared, then colonies throughout the planets, and then human life on Earth as the history of the human species was erased for all time.
A crew of reptilians was next to hover over Charon, waiting for their crew’s archaeologists and miners to return and report before their first attempt at penetrating the expanse of the Kuiper Belt, beyond the flashing lights coming from Pluto’s largest moon.
by submission | May 5, 2016 | Story |
Author : Ian Clarke
Professor Rogers said, “The way we measure and mark points in time is completely artificial and irrelevant to time travel, using clocks and calendars to locate points in time is impossible. Without a reference point we have no means to locate the time we want to go to.”
The student replied, “Yes I agree but what if we could step out of the time stream then select the time location and re-emerge there?”
The Professor thought about this as he sipped his coffee, these conversations usually depended on fantasy. This time however he decided not to dismiss it out of hand but to see how far David had developed this idea. “How would you do that?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“OK,” David began, “we know that all elements have their own resonant frequencies and by harmonizing with it’s frequency, we can affect the structure of an object.”
The Professor agreed, “Yes, like sound breaking glass.”
David continued, “If we manipulate the resonance of an object correctly, then it would shift out of this dimension and time, by controlling the parameters of the frequency, we control the shift.”
Professor Rogers acknowledged the logic but an obvious question occurred to him,
“To control it, it would have to be self contained with a power source and complex frequency generator all with exactly the same resonant frequency, how is that possible?” he asked.
“By building a shell from one pure element and isolating the mechanism inside from the shell, only the shell needs to resonate and when it shifts out of this dimension it carries everything inside with it.” David explained.
It seemed like he was being drip fed enough information to raise the next obvious question.
“So how would you find the event in time that you want to travel to?” Asked Rogers.
“When you alter an objects resonance it becomes transparent, from inside you can see where you are in the time stream,” David said, “by carefully adjusting the parameters of the frequency you can control the speed, distance and direction of travel.”
There was something about the way David said this that made Rogers think he had already experimented, “Have you tried this?” he found himself asking, he was reluctant to think it was possible but followed up with “Do you have a prototype?”
David reached down into his backpack by his feet and produced a metal capsule about the size of a wine bottle without a neck, he gave it a twist and it came apart in two sections exposing the innards. It had a couple of simple controls inside, he pressed a button, screwed it back together, laid it on the table and in a few seconds it vanished.
Professor Rogers was stunned, “Wait, what happ…? Where did it go?” he blurted out, uncertain if he wanted to know the answer.
“It’s still there” said David “but no longer in this dimension. It can only be controlled from within so this model has a predetermined time shift, our timeline will catch up in a minute.”
Rogers frantically tried to absorb it all, “Is it that simple?” he thought to himself, “No Wormholes, no Warp Drive just a simple change of frequency?”
As he stared at the empty space, the biggest question in his mind was, “How could a student come up with this?”
When the capsule reappeared Professor Rogers had a sudden and shocking realisation,
“So you have travelled back in time to demonstrate this to me.”
“Yes” David said “but it was important to locate the time when you were ready to accept it, come with me.”
by submission | May 4, 2016 | Story |
Author : Tino Didriksen
At the mid of the 21st century, we received the first signal, overriding the output of every speaker on and off the planet with a coherent but seemingly meaningless message. It wasn’t until the second and third signals blared forth with about a week between, that we figured out what it was: coordinates relative to the galactic center, less than two parsecs distant, but drifting ever so slowly away from us!
All diplomatic obstacles postponed or quickly smoothed over, as a year of worldwide dedicated research and engineering was mandated, in an effort to plan out the most ambitious space program ever devised. New and old long distance starship designs were perused, every outlandish propulsion gimmick re-examined, cryotech given a fresh look, and even worm holes got their hour in the spotlight.
From the fruits of humanity’s combined academic efforts, a grand spacecraft was commissioned. The pride of the planet, capable of getting its fifty occupants to their destination within a mere eleven years. We even figured out a limited form of faster than light communication, requiring the ship to drop off stationary relay buoys every half light year. The construction of it all took another half year, after which a great launch ceremony sent the voyage off into the unknown.
Then the long wait set in. The newsworthiness waned, the buried squabbles resurfaced, and the world mostly returned to its old self for a decade. Even the weekly confirmation of extrasolar life became more of a nuisance, and the mission updates were relegated to minor slots.
Finally, though, they were nearing their goal, and the world started caring again. Everyone back home was eagerly watching the feed as the ship came to a halt at the coordinates of the source, a few hours before the time it was calculated that a new ping would be sent out. Broad spectrum receivers were fanned out to ensure immediate triangulation of a precise location, all systems ready to begin bombarding the source with scans.
There! Global jubilation as the signal revealed a majestic alien craft, easily the size of a major metropolitan city. Our crew quickly began sending greetings and probes their way, in all languages and code. But then the echoes came in, and from them was gleaned the strip-mined husk of a once rich living planet and the burnt out remains of a star.
Immediately, radio silence was ordered, but it was too late. The alien vessel lit up slowly, turned lazily towards earth’s finest dinghy, then just sat there like a mute rock for several minutes, before casually accelerating to near light speed on a direct vector towards our little corner of the galaxy. We did not bother ordering pursuit.
As best we figured from the remains found out there, the aliens travel to inhabited systems, drain them for all resources and energy, before entering a hibernation state. They set up an automatic beacon to lure young races to them, and then wake up and follow the trail home.
We’ve since lost contact with the deep space mission, as the aliens destroy or disable each relay they pass, probably as a taunt to show they don’t care if we know when they’ll be here. And why should they? It’s not as if we can hope to put a dent in something capable of eating the sun. So yeah, we’re doomed. We’ve got half a year until they arrive, and we are preparing as best we can, but nobody really believes in it. We were too curious, too naive, and they got us good. Hook, line, and …
by Stephen R. Smith | May 3, 2016 | Fragments |
Kathy Kachelries stopped at a particularly long red light over a decade ago and pondered the lack of meaningful pastimes for these otherwise wasted moments. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if there was something quick to read, in the few moments between green lights, or tables at the diner, or on your coffee break at the office?
This was the seed of an idea from which, with the help of JR Blackwell, Jared Axelrod, J.Loseth and B.York, 365tomorrows was born on August 1st, 2005 with Jared’s story ‘Outer Space Romance’.
Over a decade, and more than 3,500 stories later, 365tomorrows has become more than a pastime, more than a passion. It’s a focal point for amazing views of possible futures from around the globe, some imagined by the writers of 365, and many, many more imagined by you.
We’ve been fortunate over the years to have some amazing talented writers share their ideas with us, and I – personally – am eternally grateful for the privilege of keeping the keys and moving this ark of ideas forward.
With this iteration of the site our goals were twofold; first, to make the entire site more mobile friendly and readable, and second, to integrate as seamlessly as possible with social media and encourage more conversation around the stories. We’ve shuttered the forums, and we hope that you’ll join us on the site as well as on Facebook and Twitter to share your thoughts on these flashes of the future.
2016, still on the wire, crackling with furious energy, and no intention of slowing down.
Many thanks from all of us to all of you.
Stephen R. Smith
Editor, Staff Writer, Site Administrator
