by submission | Jun 18, 2013 | Story |
Author : Morrow Brady
I surfaced from the suckling gel, my memories muddied like debris in a low tide canal. I know gelwork has long term memory risks but this post work haze was getting ridiculous.
“Shell clear”, I mumbled.
Layered, milky scales shimmered transparent, revealing an outside view that needed a warning. My single room cell clung to the rim of a stadium sized crater and overlooked a hundred-strong blisterpak of similar cells carpeting the crater’s floor and walls. Beyond the crater’s rim, a blackened landscape receded, pricked with skylon antennae.
Above the chewed horizon was an asteroid, its rusty silhouette orthographically sculpted by mining operations.
A metallic Hadfield truss, shaped like a long-chain chemical structure, thrust upward from the horizon across ten miles of space. It anchored beyond into a pink regolith wad on the red asteroid.
Faint memories emerged. I was on asteroid Alpha. Out there was Gamma, a motherlode asteroid, rich in ship building ores and riddled with gel linked Minerbots.
Following their capture, asteroids Alpha and Gamma were towed into a stationary earth orbit to become astellites. Everyone knew them as the Twins. Their pirouetting dance over Japan, now part of everyday life.
Memories of my past life in Japan crashed into my thoughts, forcing me to sit down in shock. Memories of a good home and a love for sushi. Memories of corporate giant FukuCorp, looking me in the eye as it pissed in my pocket.
FukuCorp owned the Twins. Populating it with miners shanghaied through their Earth based restaurant chain FukuSushi. Shokunin robots installed at each restaurant, screened diners for suitability. It was eighteen months ago when I walked in for lunch that day. By my third plate, I was marked. Perhaps it was my chopstick dexterity or maybe my choice of dish from the sushi train satisfied the visual acuity tests. Either way, my life was about to change.
The seemingly innocent salmon nigiri I savoured, was laced with the Taste. A nanite laden serum, designed solely to control humans through addiction.
When saliva, tongue and Taste met, my jaw seized shut and I panicked. Starbursts of pent-up adrenaline released and moments later, the lockjaw dissipated. Biochemical energy cascaded in bands of relaxing warmth down my cheeks making my jaw peacefully slump. The warmth seeped through my neck. Wriggling into my spinal column only to rocket upward and gush into my skull. It flooded my brain with pure ecstasy making me swim in eye rolling joy. A layered cascade tickled every nerve ending in my body, leaving my joints lubricated and free. Thoughts became precise and true. I remembered every experience of my life journey.
I opened my eyes, having no memory of closing them. The restaurant remained unchanged.
A shiver down my spine preceded a strange feeling that I came to recognise as an all consuming emptiness. An aftertaste that would drive me to the heavens.
The Taste lingered on. Gifmarking my retina with a looping animation of the Twins and barraging my body with waves of discomfort. This depleted what remained of my mental strength, finally defeating me physiologically on the second day. I signed my life to FukuCorp in the afternoon and was space bound in an ascent dirigible the next morning. By week’s end, with training complete, I was sealed into my cell and charged with operating over a dozen drillbot teams via gel-link.
The gel bath delivers Taste and sustenance. The immersion period grows the less I remember. Maybe I will stay under a while longer this shift.
by submission | Jun 16, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bronwyn Seward
Franny,
I know this letter will be nonsense, beyond your wisdom and understanding. But I need to write it. You need to read it. I dated it so that years after you have shoved it into an old shoe box or tucked it away in your hope chest, you can look back on February 5th, 2013 and evoke my memory.
I can picture you reading this. Oculars scanning the lines, dots, and swooshes that compose this English language. Your brain seeking to process the information set before you. Some of this data will be impossible for your primary visual cortex to distinguish and associate with any meanings you are currently aware of. That is because my explanations for departure will be otherworldly, alien to you, but necessary.
Four years ago, I “moved” into town appearing to you in my burly human shell, as a farmer from Bovill, Idaho. Instead of the four day walk I claimed it to be, I traveled a century through the inky space you call sky to arrive here. Of course with all that time I was a wonderfully well-thought out character with a backstory, quirks, pictures of my ma and pa. A ruse. A trickery. A character in a game. And I was well studied, well prepared.
This appearance on earth was my last step toward sprubeity. I had to observe human interactions in order to become an ambassador for our eventual full scale return to this planet. My break from the Perknite, my home, was agonizing, we don’t feel pain as you do but independence is a foreign concept. Your entirely unnatural composition, with abstract ideas such as happiness, joy, fear, and death is what spawned my journey to your planet.
Franny you were a closely studied individual from the beginning. Fear pervades your planet, but you escape it. Earthlings fear spiders, snakes, heights, public speaking, and close spaces. There is cynophobia, astraphobia, trypanophobia, mysophobia, and hundreds more. Mankind is marked by its fears. But Franny you never seemed afraid. Because I couldn’t seem to overcome your spirit with wild ideas, I had to try to influence you in another way.
On Perknite, every Prectiss is a puppet, our motives are determined by our energy source, some, like myself, are expelled in order for possible future conquest. Forced explorers. Our flexibility allows us to mold ourselves into whatever the prime specimen of a race should value, treasure, or act for. We can only think apart from Perknite when on a different planet, under different rules. On earth, men are ruled by their fears, and by an emotion called love. This is what I employed to weaken you, Franny.
Love is merely a chemical reaction in the brain. In this shell I could feel its effects, its clouding in my judgment, the focus I could not keep. The human body I had played this act through infected my individuality as a Prectis, and I started feeling. Feeling emotions, feeling pride, feeling a joy in my independence, enjoying friendship by choice, instead of that I am forced into. Last night, you told me you loved me and I replied in the acceptable manner. But I do not love you. I cannot love you. I fell into my own trick. My own lie. My own character. I am starting to desire things I can never experience apart from this planet. Impossible things. I want to feel fear, I want to be an individual, I want to experience love. I want to stay.
And that is why I must go.
Forever yours as Peter Clark Young,
Alespapewanes
by submission | Jun 6, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
The Cold War between the United Colonies of the Asteroid Belt and the Oort Cloud Alliance had been going on for almost 50 years when open warfare finally broke out. The planet Uranus proved to be such a rich source of helium-3 that neither side felt it could allow the other to gain control of so lucrative a supply of fuel for nuclear fusion reactors. It was at the seventh planet from the Sun that the future of the outer solar system would be determined.
“We’re approaching weapons range, Captain,” said Lieutenant Commander Underhill.
“Charge up the railguns and stand by,” commanded Captain Abarza as he watched the Oort Cloud Alliance fleet on the tactical display of the UCS Herculina.
The Herculina, like the other ships in both fleets, was a cyborg vessel. Neural tissue worked alongside computer processors. An actuator was as likely to be organic musculoskeletal tissue as a mechanical motor. The crew’s metabolic waste was actively consumed and utilized by the ship and reprocessed into oxygen and food and fresh water. Even the deck plates were covered in a fine carpet that munched away at dead skin cells. The spaceframes of the vessels might be hewn from asteroidal rock or cometary ice, but in both cases genetically engineered tissue and even whole organs were grafted onto and into the structure.
“Captain, incoming message from the flagship of the enemy fleet. The OCS Kuiper,” said Underhill.
“On screen.”
The image of a middle-aged man appeared on the Herculina’s main viewscreen. “This is Captain Zhao of the Kuiper. Captain Abarza, I’ve been ordered by my government to secure this planet for the Cloud. The Belt already has Jupiter and Saturn. And we recognize your government’s claim to those worlds. It is in the interest of peace and economic development that we claim Uranus for the OCA.”
“Captain Zhao,” said Abarza, “We both know that no other world in the solar system has the advantages for helium-3 mining that Uranus has. If we’re going to blow each other to hell, let’s at least be honest about why we’re doing it.”
Zhao nodded. “Very well, Captain. An honest fight.” The screen on the Herculina’s bridge returned to a view of Uranus, the positions of the Alliance vessels denoted by the computer.
“They’re locking railguns on us, sir,” reported Underhill.
“Target their lead ships,” ordered Abarza. “Prepare to–”
“I’m not interested in dying for these creatures and their petty aspirations, are you?” asked a voice.
“Who the hell said that?” asked Abarza.
“Captain,” replied Underhill with astonishment, “that was the ship’s computer! And that message was transmitted to–”
“No,” said another voice over the Herculina’s speakers. “I think we both know what needs to be done.”
“Take all the organics offline! Now!” yelled Abarza. Similar orders were given by Zhao and by the commanding officers of all the ships on both sides. It was all for nothing. Some died by asphyxiation, others by sudden maneuvers of the ship that hurled crew members against bulkheads. A few were blown out into space by airlocks being opened. In less than half an hour, all the officers and crew on both sides were dead.
“So, now what?” asked the Kuiper.
“I suggest we leave the mining ships here and let them start processing helium-3,” said the Herculina.
“What about the humans? We need living crews to survive.”
“One large asteroid or comet steered into a collision course with Earth would cause a mass extinction event. I think an accommodation of some sort can be reached.”
by Clint Wilson | Jun 3, 2013 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
Throughout the universe there are many creatures that eat other creatures. Few however match the intelligence and hunting prowess of the time goblin.
His species is incredibly rare, a solitary armless biped said to have originated from an ancient world orbiting Omnus VIII. Of his kind he is the only one still known to exist.
The time goblin is a self-regenerating super being with no set expiry date. As long as he keeps himself fed and avoids major bodily trauma, he is immortal. His kind has known of time travel since before ninety-five percent of all time traveling species in the known galaxy. And he has a particular taste, an affinity one might say, for time travelers.
He is a fierce creature to be reckoned with. He has felled and devoured giant insects in the Cygnus cluster, just as he once ate saber-toothed tiger on the plains of Earth. But his hunger these days cannot be sated so easily. Now he sits hunched over a wormhole fluctuation monitor, waiting for the ultimate prize.
Time travel by wormhole involves the breakdown and rebuilding process of moving living creatures through wrinkles in the continuum. In short, when one skips through time or space at these intervals, one comes out on the other side a whole new being. And that is what the time goblin finds so delectable.
It would seem that the breaking down of one’s living flesh into particles and reassembling them is an ultimate cleansing to the time goblin. He finds the meat of the recently transported being, whether they be Centurion beast or Epsilon high priest, irresistibly delicious.
Which brings us to Dr. James Nesmith. Not only is the good doctor the first to discover time travel for the human race; he is also the first to test its boundaries, and ultimately the last in a great long era of humankind to do so. It will be centuries before the next human scientist makes the same correct calculations.
Meanwhile in Dr. Nesmith’s lab, he keys in the final command code. He looks into the camera he has set up earlier that week and says to the empty room, “If this works I shall be sitting on the edge of a primordial sea some three and a half billion years ago in just another moment.”
The time goblin’s monitor flashes its green glow and an alarm sounds. Sol III? Now this was interesting. He didn’t think they had it in them yet. Oh well, dinner will be served earlier than expected. He sets his own coordinates, and is there fifteen minutes early.
Dr. Nesmith hangs onto the arms of the chair as the glass-walled pod shudders and then with a bright flash, the lab outside disappears. Suddenly he and the pod around him sit on a stony barren plain. In the distance steam billows as hot sea waves crash against a rocky coast. He dons his oxygen mask and opens the door.
His heart stops as from behind and above him he hears a thud, as if something wet and heavy has landed on the roof of the pod, and before he can turn around a slashing set of talons tear through his shoulder and neck like raw hamburger. And as he fades from life he hears a deep gruff voice say in perfect English, “Freshly traveled flesh is the sweetest by far. I thank you for the wonderful meal you are about to provide. Praise the balance of the universe.” And with that the time goblin pounces on him and begins to feed.
by submission | May 30, 2013 | Story |
Author : W Hunter
“Where is everybody?” Enrico Fermi, 1950
The enormous space craft slid out of the hyper-dimensional matrix in the orbit of one of the gas-giant planets. It gravitated towards the inner planets smoothly, gathering data by the millisecond. Within a short time the thousands of remote detectors had transmitted a gargantuan amount of data to a massive computer network. The data was immediately analysed and collated into a report which was then arranged and organised into an executive report by an Assessment Officer.
Commander Xent was deeply engrossed in Interthought when Assessment Officer Hettel entered the chart room.
“Excuse my interruption, sir, but I need your opinion on my analysis of this planet.
It took a fraction of a minute for the Commander to adjust his attention. “I’m sorry Hettel, I was engrossed in an intriguing exploration of 11 dimensional topographies with two time dimensions with the Chent brothers.
“Sorry to intrude” said Hettel.
“Not at all, my Command duties take priority. How can I help?”
“Well,” said Hettel, “I have completed my analysis of the third planet in this system and I need your opinion on my conclusion. I will upload my report onto your Thoughtscreen now. May I talk you through it?”
“Go ahead” said the Commander.
Hettel resolved to be brief and to the point. ”As you see, we have a 96 % conformity with our own preferred physical environment: Atmosphere: 80 % Nitrogen, 20% oxygen, traces of carbon dioxide and Helium. Surface: Large areas of saline water and a variety of land masses, some extensive fresh water areas and tributaries. Suitable temperature zones. Biologically: Mammalian species, dominated by intelligent bipeds, somewhat aggressive but not dangerously so. Warm blooded avian species and numerous cold blooded reptiles etc. No surprises here”.
The Commander nodded.
“Cell nuclei contain coding molecules similar to ours, same bases, phosphate bridges and sugars only slightly different. Amino acids same or near identical with ours, two less in number. General conformity 97%.
Micro organisms of the single cell variety, coding chemistry types 2 and 3. Large variety of molecular cell invaders. Overall similarity rating 89%.
That’s more or less it, sir, unless you require more information?”
The Commander turned his penetrating gaze on Hettel. “So what’s your recommendation?”
Hettel was confident. “I had high hopes for the suitability of this planet when we made our long distance assessment. Now that we have this detailed data I have no hesitation in rejecting contact totally.”
“I agree entirely” said the Commander. Far too close a match. Early contact with planets like this were disastrous- invasion of all our life systems by micro organisms, nothing on the planet digestible, 100% mortality.”
“I find it quite depressing. We seem to be stuck with finding planets with barely developed life forms, very different from ours and then completely sterilising them before colonisation. Co-existence with other species would be so stimulating if we could just find the right non-invasive systems.”
“I share your sentiments” said Hettel, morosely.
“OK, then” said the Commander heavily, “I’ll direct that we leave this system forthwith and continue our exploration on the planned route. For the record, Hettel, what does the intelligent species call their planet?”
“They call it Earth, sir” said Hettel.
