by Julian Miles | Dec 7, 2011 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Life has always been hard at the bottom. My grandparents survived the collapse of 2013 and my parents made it onto the first exodus in 2055. It was considered simpler to test the tech and logistics on fifty thousand poor people. If it succeeded then Rockefeller had a head start on cheap labour.
It worked. My folks slaved their guts out along with the fifty thousand people delivered on each of the next three. The fifth Exodus used one of the new Jonah class vessels, bringing a quarter of a million people. The next eight did the same.
Every Exodus caused a rebalancing of social dynamics. We all thought that the overseers and such were planned stages on our way to a new economy. By the time we found out that there were no social architects or any sort of plan beyond whatever the new arrivals could convince the hicks already here of, it was too late. We were at the bottom again when we could have lied our way to the top. Then my family exceeded the population limits when my sister had triplets. So we dug a hidden bunker for them and found more than we expected.
Today I am in court, being tried by a jury of my peers who all look related to the prosecution. I am defending myself. Reporters are here in force and a representative of the Commission has arrived to observe as my crime is unprecedented. They have even let six people in from my commune. They are sat with clear space between them and the first unfortunate who couldn’t get further away. I straighten my smock and stand, raising my hand. The judge smiles indulgently and nods for me to continue.
“I swear by Almighty Tethra that the evidence I give today shall be the downfall, the utter ruination and nothing less than the annihilation of those who condemn me.”
The uproar lasts for ten minutes. The judge has to shout at me.
“That is unacceptable. Under planetary law you must use the oath native to the planet you are tried upon.”
“I am abiding by planetary law. Under the laws of the planet Tethra upon which I stand, set by those who lived overground before greedy men entrapped them, the oath is mete and fair as were my actions as a recognised executioner for the Tethren. With my presence here to answer for that, I call upon all those present to witness as I charge all those involved in populating Tethra or those who profited therefrom to pay edra in the ratio of nine returned to one gained, or face just annihilation by agents of Tethra who at this moment are rising from silos on the garrison planets known to you as Rockefeller Three, Four and Five. Finally, as executioner for the Tethren I am permitted recompense. This is calculated as one ninth of the worth of those I annihilate, to be distributed amongst my clath.”
Into the stunned silence I bow as my shortest companion sheds its human suit and leaps nimbly to land on the chair next to me. In pure Oxford English it speaks from six of the primary mouths hidden within the bushy growth at its top that indicates it is a progenitor of nine nines. Its tentacles shuffle rapidly to find a comfortable rest on the chair as it speaks.
“I am Pethdorline. I am an adjudicator-assassin and am here to notarise edra and clath. Please be prompt as terms must be rendered in exactitude before nightfall or annihilation is the only legal recourse.”
by submission | Dec 4, 2011 | Story |
Author : Donovan Pruitt
“It itches,” the soldier complained, scratching at the data socket on the back of his neck.
Seated across the table, the doctor offered a sympathetic smile. “That’s normal for a new download, Sergeant Jax. Just don’t think about it. Think about something else.”
“Like what? I wasn’t recruited for my thinking.” Jax continued to fidget.
“Why don’t you tell me the last thing you remember?”
Jax pondered briefly. “Inter-continental orbit hop between Houston and Moscow. Cargo transfer for the space program. I don’t remember the ship name.”
“The download is intermittent,” the doctor explained. “If we dropped everything in at once, your mind would, well, explode.” His eyes darted aside as he solemnly reflected on this concept with apparent regret. “The name will come to you.”
Jax’s face turned uneasy as more memories downloaded. “Did I crash?”
“You did.” The reply was hesitant. They didn’t tend to react favorably to the news.
“Well, shit,” Jax replied unexpectedly, chuckling after a few moments. “So how am I alive?”
It was a fair question. “Technically, you’re not, yet,” the doctor admitted, though he looked pleased. “We downloaded your brain and are attempting to parse it correctly so you can be re-appropriated.”
“Re-appropriated, huh?” Jax repeated the clinical term. “That would explain this tan,” he joked, raising his foreign arm into the light. His personality was returning. “So technically, I’m not alive?”
“Not exactly.”
“But I’m not dead?”
“Well, no.”
“So I guess, scientifically speaking, I’m undead.” Jax erupted with laughter.
Pursing his lips with subtle amusement, the doctor offered a nod. “I suppose so.”
Turning pale, Jax straightened his posture. “Sir, I have a question.”
“Go ahead,” the doctor replied, still distracted by the comedic nature of their exchange.
“Did the Zs take the Moon Base, or do we still have control?”
The doctor blinked, focusing on him with narrowed eyes. “The Zs?”
“The zombies, sir,” Jax clarified matter-of-factly.
Turning from the table, the doctor rubbed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes to release the tension. “Undead,” he said aloud, identifying the trigger word. Sighing, he reached into the folds of his lab coat as he turned back, producing a pistol that he easily leveled at the man’s head and fired. Gore splashed against the wall and the body collapsed forward on the table, lifeless. Tilting his head to the ceiling, the doctor stoically spoke his report, “Subject twenty-seven terminated due to faulty data transfer. Download incomplete.”
The main door opened into the room, giving way to an officer dressed in a formal uniform with numerous trinkets shining proudly on his chest. Casting a disapproving look at the fallen soldier, he redirected his disdain to the doctor. “What happened this time?”
“General,” the doctor offered a lackluster greeting. Replacing the pistol, he braced both hands atop the table with a heavy, weary push to his feet. “The system still isn’t able to separate actual events that the subject experienced from dream sequences that he perceived as real. He apparently remembered a dream fighting zombies on the Moon. The word undead must have caused the server context recognition to give him a packet of information that he thought was real.”
“Well, fix it,” the general demanded, turning around to exit. “We’ve got plenty of vegetables left for you to practice on, but let me know if you run out of bullets.”
Frowning after the general, the doctor took a moment to recuperate before looking up to the ceiling again. “Sally, send in someone to make arrangements for the body, please. Then contact the coma ward. We’re going to need another blank disc.”
by submission | Nov 30, 2011 | Story |
Author : Steve Jopek
A man lies gripping a slowly tumbling boulder of ice and stares into the distance of space.
His broken femur pokes sharply into the material of his white skinsuit threatening to rupture it. His foot and leg are numb, his boot full of thickening blood. Here, deep in the planetary rings, the light is weak and the shifting ice unnerves him. In his concussed state waves of vertigo sweep over him, making orientation painful.
His spaceship will be crossing the planet’s terminus soon, allowing him perhaps one more chance at rendezvousing with it. An explosion has ripped the jetpack from his back and shredded the sample bags he was towing. Now he can only improvise a method of propulsion by cannibalizing his remaining suit pressure.
He’d been trailing Sharon back to the ship when the explosion flung them apart. She had nearly reached the airlock. Twice already he has glimpsed her body for scant seconds before she is eclipsed by the drifting ice fragments.
He can make one last effort to try and reach the ship when it comes about its orbit again, although he has no idea how badly damaged it is. He sights the blue corona of the ship’s tail flare and tracks it unsteadily.
Her body appears then in his peripheral vision, emerging from the ice field, floating amidst mangled metal and accretion stones. As he gapes, suddenly a pocket opens, a random confluence of space with her at its center. The scarlet bloom splashed across her torso is punctuated by the bright yellow lumishaft protruding obscenely from her chest. The lumishaft has activated upon impact and splays morose yellow light in all directions.
He finds the ship again, now arcing towards its closest approach. Through blurred eyes he watches her broken body drifting closer. He feels like he is falling, falling, falling, but the ship is nearly there. Nearly. The ship is coming for him — she is coming for him. The watery reflection of red and yellow in his eyes is joined by the shocking blue of plasma thrusters.
A man lies gripping a slowly tumbling boulder of ice and stares into the distance of space.
by Julian Miles | Nov 23, 2011 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“What do you mean you lost her? This is Central, the most surveilled planet in the galaxy. How do you lose a two meter tall three armed gal?”
Gens Adamant had the grace to look crestfallen, and so he should. He may be from a long line of scientists, but by all the Sacred, he should have kept the gal under tighter survey.
“With respect, eminence, your last directive enabled her escape.”
The bald-faced cheek of the man! Trying to turn his failure of ward into my problem. I let my frustration tinge my voice as I replied.
“How exactly can ‘pretty by late twentieth century standards’ cause that?”
Gens looked about as if seeking an escape route. Good. Maybe he finally understood the scale of the disaster he was party to. He ran his hand through his un-gelled hair and tried to straighten his rumpled low-weave suit.
“Because she seduced one of my technical staff.”
I raised my hand for silence as I composed myself through the waves of disgust. How depravedly venal. I waved for Gens to continue.
“He gave her access to his terminal. Your eminence knows of her capabilities?”
Stupid man. Of course I knew about her specification, she was built for me, the ultimate in privacy drones, and decorative too. Smart enough to anticipate interruptions and dynamically stall trespass into my data space. I nodded curtly to him, not deigning to reply.
“She didn’t do much, he told me before he was cauterised. Just used the access to fill gaps in her education.”
So the gal was knowledgeable now? She would need flushing before adding to my domestics. Gens maundered on,
“But she did something else. I presume you gave her your imprint to ready her for staging?”
Of course I had. What use was my privacy drone if she couldn’t see my data to protect it? Really, the man was just fishing for a way to escape blame. I nodded again.
“She used your imprint to add some additions to her directives.”
I looked at him. His disingenuous look hid something. I gestured for him to continue.
“She increased the breadth of the suites you ordered for her, and added features from your private guardsmen.”
I composed my voice before calmly querying him;
“But she couldn’t get anything offensive? It would be beyond her design protocol.”
Gens nodded.
“Of course, eminence. Nothing like that at all. But she seems to have interlaced the privacy suites you gave her with the personal combat countermeasures from your guards.”
Really, I wish he would get to the point. I fixed him with a gimlet stare and brought him back on track.
“This is all very informative, but how does this relate to the fact you have lost her?”
Gens reply was immediate,
“We have lost her because unless she wants it, she cannot be seen by any form of surveillance.”
I sat there and ruminated. Gens had the effrontery to interrupt my deliberations.
“Eminence, I realise the potential here, but you have more serious problems.”
The gall of the man! How dare he come here with his failure and attempt to advise me. I simply glared at him. He paled, but continued.
“She has your imprint, eminence. She knows about the three year duration you place on your drones.”
Ah, that could be awkward. She could take umbrage at that.
“Your recommendations, Adamant?”
“Revise your security and data space. Change your imprint and move your funds…”
I raised an eyebrow as Gens trailed off. He seemed to be struggling with something. Finally he spoke again.
“Pray.”
by Patricia Stewart | Nov 17, 2011 | Story |
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
A torrent of sea water gushed from the six meter in diameter penstock into the Sirenum Ocean, Mars’ largest body of water. Twenty-eight minutes earlier, that sea water had been in the South Pacific Ocean, before beginning its long sub-space journey from the Atafu intake gate on Earth, to the Aonia discharge gate on Mars. This Mass Transfer Conduit (MTC) was one of twelve that had been offloading excess water from Earth in an effort to avert the coastal flooding caused by runaway global warming.
Mars’ four living Presidents stood together and watched the historic event on holovision. The announcer counted down in unison with the one hundred thousand spectators crowding around the Aonian observation deck, “Three, two, one, that’s it, twenty quintillion liters. Mars is now officially self-sustaining. With our oceans fully established, the ecosystem will be stable for the foreseeable future. Congratulations to President Tholus for making this day poss…”
Using the remote control, President Tholus turned off the holovision and raised his glass to his three predecessors. “No, that’s unwarranted praise, my friends. We all know that most of the credit belongs to President Pettit. Congratulations, Number Fourteen.”
“Thank you, Number Seventeen,” said Pettit, who also raised his glass. “And a special thanks to Al Gore, for laying the groundwork for the greatest con job in the history of humanity.” The four men toasted Al Gore, and enjoyed a hearty laugh. “It was almost too easy,” continued Fourteen. “When Emperor Yoo found those climate models published in the twenty-first century by Gore’s pseudo-scientists, he practically begged me to siphon off the top sixty meters of Earth’s oceans before the melting glaciers flooded his Summer Palace in Zhanjiang.”
“It amazes me,” commented Sixteen, “that Earth politicians put soooo much faith in ‘scientific’ studies where the grant money was contingent on giving the government agencies, or the ‘Independent Foundations’, the answers that they wanted, even if they had to use tricks to manipulate the data. But, let’s not forget, that if Fifteen didn’t act when he did, they might have caught on to us.”
“Yes, that was a close one,” reflected Fifteen. “When Earth’s global sea levels started dropping, some of the ‘deniers’ started making noise again. I quickly lifted the Antarctic gate from the Weddell Sea for ‘maintenance’. I linked it with the Gate we had left on Venus, back when we were terriforming Mars. We pumped so much carbon dioxide into Earth’s atmosphere that we actually started causing the glaciers to melt. After three months, we put the Gate back into the water, and no one suspected a thing. And let’s not forget Sixteen. Setting up those mini-gates on Titan was visionary. It’s what truly gave us independence from Earth. With Titan’s hydrocarbons pouring into our refineries, our industrial revolution took off exponentially.”
“Yes, my friends,” said Seventeen, “We’ve achieved a lot in the last few decades. A stable ecosystem, unlimited energy, and prosperity and independence as far as the eye can see.” President Tholus walked over to his desk and picked a small wooden humidor. “Have a cigar, men. I just got a shipment in from Acidalia Planitia.” They all lit up and took long drags. Tholus blew a smoke ring and added, “Damn, it’s a great day to be a Martian.”
