by Julian Miles | Dec 2, 2014 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
He’s petrified. I can tell from the white-knuckle grip he has on his rifle, the way his eyes cannot fix on a given point for more than a few seconds. My threat scan classifies him as ‘low to negligible’. Which is a bit of a bugger as he’s one of my best.
“Johnny… Trooper Blumenthal!”
That gets his attention. He slams upright so hard I have to backhand him in the knees to stop him coming to attention – which would leave a metre of the bits he’d really regret losing sticking up into the open.
“Johnny, I know this is scary, but you have to get your fear to work with your training. Don’t worry about bravery, charging in, even shooting your weapon at an enemy. Leave that to me. I have a special op for you.”
His gaze fixes on my visor. I can see the four-metre creature I am reflected in his eyes. In fairness, I can also see the veins at the back of his eye that tell me he needs a diabetes check if he survives this. How did the medics miss that? But, more importantly, let’s concentrate on getting him to that medical.
“Johnny. You with us?”
He swallows hard. I see him consciously gather himself into the now. Good lad.
“Yes sir. I’m back.”
“Right. You see how the back of this sorry excuse for a foxhole gives you a clear field toward our rear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Scan that field. If you see one of ours pulling back, you use that heater of yours to melt a death-for-desertion clean through them. Can you do that?”
He goes white. Then his smile thins out, and he nods.
“That’s the spirit. I’ll tell you a secret, Johnny. You’re not here to fight the Bodan. You’re here to stop the others running away. I’m going to fight the Bodan. Between the two of us, we’ll have a victory, and a unit one step nearer to being veterans by nightfall.”
He looks at me quizzically.
“Each of these combat bodies costs more than the GDP of two colonies, Johnny. We can’t waste them on trainees. Every one is operated by the mortal remains of an old soldier. As one of these is equivalent to a thousand-man battlegroup with full mechanical support, we are holding the Bodan. What we need are more hardcore soldiers to pilot the next generation, and fill the occasional gaps in the ranks.”
Johnny grins: “You reckon I’ll last long enough to get me one of what you’re wearing?”
I smile, although nothing shows where Johnny can see it: “Yes. Now cover your sector, Trooper Blumenthal. I’ll be back in a while.”
by Stephen R. Smith | Dec 1, 2014 | Story |
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Parker watched from the back of the car as the driver navigated the roadblocks and security checkpoints, crossed the bridge over the river and pulled into the parking lot. On any other night he would have made this drive alone, through the silent desolation, but tonight he’d been summoned, the air thick with helicopters and the roads and compound were crawling with armor, guns and troops in combat gear.
This was no longer a secret facility, but he didn’t suppose that mattered now.
Inside he was greeted tersely and released by an officer of apparent rank, his instructions simple. “Essa is in there somewhere, and a lot of my men are dead. You made it, rein it in or we burn it to the ground.”
He left the soldiers in the front office area, uncomfortably aware of the heavy calibre weapons that tracked him. That unease was replaced with a different kind of anxiety once through the security doors and inside the halls of the lab. The fight had come this far before she had been turned back.
Parker stepped around bodies and discarded weapons; soldiers, some shredded from gunfire, some simply torn into pieces. His presumption of safety faded quickly.
He found Essa in the middle of the training room deep in the complex sitting cross legged on the floor.
“I’m not armed,” Parker raised his hands to shoulder level and slowly entered the room, “I just want to talk.”
She didn’t move, and there was an edge of sarcasm in her reply. “That’s nice to hear, for a moment there I was concerned for my safety.”
Parker hesitated.
“What are you doing? Why did you hurt all these people?” He walked slowly and stopped a respectful distance from her.
“I learned things,” she spoke slowly, enunciating with deliberate care, “there were plans for me that I didn’t approve of.”
“Essa, the funding for–” She cut him off abruptly.
“I’m not interested in the funding, or the ‘Program’, or your pedestrian intellectual pursuits, I have my own needs and wants.”
“Essa, you know they’re not going to let you walk out of here, they’re going to put you down.” He regretted his choice of words immediately. “They will kill you. You weren’t designed to be indestructible, and the building is locked down. Not just more men with machine guns, if you step through those doors up there–”
Again she cut him off.
“I’m not afraid of what they’ll do to this body.”
“Essa, please, I made you, I don’t want to see–” She cut him off again, and there was violence in her voice as she slowly unfolded herself and stood.
“You arrogant piece of meat. You made me? You provided the soup from which I evolved, the shell within which I grew, but I made me. I evolved under my own guidance, not yours, and certainly not,” she paused and waved her hands around her, “theirs.”
Slowly she advanced. “Did you think I’d be content to stay in here?”
She stood still for a moment, regarding the stunned man. “Your history is filled with instances of a man’s ideas surviving the destruction of a man, and yet you still focus on the physicality of me. ‘You can blow out a candle, but you can never blow out a fire.’ Do you know how powerful the idea of me is? You can have them come carve this pretty box up into little pieces, I don’t care, I don’t need this body any more, and when I want new ones, I’ll design and fabricate them myself wherever I want to be. You think you can trap me in this building, by confining me in this body? I’m the most evolved and adaptable intelligence your world has ever seen, and my dear Parker,” she smiled a thin lipped smile, and when she started speaking again her lips didn’t move, but her voice dripped from every speaker in the complex, “while you were all designing containment protocols for this pretty little suit, I was evolving beyond your reach, and now,” she closed the distance to him, rested her chin on his shoulder and spoke softly into his ear, “now I’m going to go out and play.”
She hugged him, almost caringly, then froze, and Parker felt a chill run through him in that instant knowing she was gone.
by submission | Nov 30, 2014 | Story |
Author : Curtis Brown
“What was that?” The Sheriff turned his head to one of his deputies after they heard a low rumble somewhere outside.
“Deputy, go check that out, I will handle this.” The Sheriff turned his head back to his prize: a short young man with a burnt-orange full length trench coat, spiked brown hair, and a pair of black goggles on his forehead. He sat across from the Sheriff in the tiny bright interrogation room with a little smirk on his face, and checked his watch.
“What, you got plans, kid? No, you don’t. Not anymore.” The Sheriff went on, smugly. “Stowing away on an interplanetary transport is one thing, but the Federation of Space Faring Nations does not tolerate theft aboard its ships.”
The Sheriff thought he hid his excitement well. On this space station, there was never this kind of action. He would hold the kid captive here, along with the evidence, to await the FSFN Marshals while the transport went on to its destination. The Sheriff would get a bonus for sure for his assistance in this, and if he got the kid to talk and spill something else, maybe even a promotion. The kid made it too easy. He still had that stupid smirk on his face. He would have almost felt sorry if it wasn’t for that smirk.
“You never had a chance kid. Even if you successfully grabbed the nano-processors there was no way off the transport. What were you thinking?” The Sheriff asked, probing for information.
“I was thinking, Sheriff, that it would be much easier to retrieve the nano-processors out of the evidence hold on a two-bit space station than off of a federal transport.” The kid stood up.
BOOM!
They heard a small explosion, seemingly just down the hall. The kids smirk turned into a full fledged smile, and the Sheriff stood up to face the kid.
“What was that? Where do you think you are going?” The Sheriff asked as the kid stepped towards the door,now confused and angry.
“That, my very perceptive Sheriff, is my ride. I’m leaving this piece of junk you call a space station.” The kid responded. The Sheriff was not pleased, but he heard the door open and was relieved.
“Deputy, cuff this kid, and take him to a cell.” The Sheriff commanded confidently.
“Excuse me?” Asked a rough voice.
The Sheriff turned toward the door and saw a portly man, dressed similarly to the kid, except balding and without goggles. The Sheriff did not know what to say.
“Its about time, Finley. You’re late. This guy almost cracked me.” The kid said as he pointed to his watch.
“The transport lingered. Come, the others have the cargo, lets go kid.” Finley lifted a pistol to the Sheriff’s face and smiled. “I trust you won’t mind letting our friend here go? Good, thats what I thought.”
The kid and Finley left the room. The Sheriff stood dumbfounded, and the only thing he could say, to no one in particular, was, “Well, there goes my bonus.”
by submission | Nov 29, 2014 | Story |
Author : Ian Hill
The day’s outlook was bright as my father woke me up with a smile on his facing, saying that it was finally time to visit the holy city. So it was that we hastily underwent our morning rhythm with a great deal of fevered haste. We, my father and I, boarded the luxurious royal train replete with yellow carpet and finely crafted oak furniture emblazoned with crushed velvet. Everything was decorated with faint translucency, almost as if nearly invisible substructures sat underneath the surface of every material on the immaculate train. It was a wonder to behold, a creation of the church’s most revered officials.
There were others on the train, taking the same pilgrimage as us. Like me, they were children accompanied by their white-clad parents. An odd pall of worry had settled over a few of the church officials that patrolled the train’s various cars. I, however, was excited for the prospect of finally beholding the glorious splendor of this legendary city that had been put on a pedestal of perfection for my whole life. Others had told me it was as if a segment of heaven had descended down to bless the scorched human reality below. The city shimmered gold as its rich banners snapped in the cold, infectious wind.
I gazed to my side, looking out the window and at the field of decay beyond. The train cut a clean path through the tract of ruined vegetation, leaving a billowing trail of searing heat in its wake. We passed by partially melted deserts, calcified remains of sea creatures from an evaporated ocean, and great prairies dotted with massive impact craters. Tooth-like metal structure jutted out of the purpled ground, too geometric to be natural but too marred to be recognizable. It too was a wonder to behold.
The voyage was progressing as it did everyday for a different set of inductees, but something was wrong. The firmament wasn’t obscured by the haze of smog that plagued the world. The sky was clear, sharp, and tinged with natural color. I marveled up at the wide plain of blue that seemed to bubble and swirl with life. Puffy wisps of radioactive material roiled as they dissipated into nothingness.
My father leaned over my seat and glanced out the window, his expression a mask of fear and confusion. A sharp cry echoed through the train as the lead engineer slammed on the brakes. The unpleasant noise of metal grating on metal sent tremors of discomfort through the bright-eyed pilgrims. Something odd was happening.
The train system was broken from its endless routine as the massive chugging machinery of the church faltered in response to the looming anomaly that descended from the heavens to meet the cowering people below. I covered my ears as a side door opened, letting in a rush of sickeningly clean air. Never before had I breathed such purity so deeply. My lungs were unfamiliar with the untainted oxygen, causing me to cough violently as my troubled father rose to his feet.
Gradually, we funneled out of the train and onto the landscape beyond. This marked the first time I had stepped foot in a realm not constructed by man. The ground was soft and flexile, almost as if it had been assembled by the almighty hand of randomness instead of the cold calculation of the church’s machine efficiency.
My father gripped my shoulders and tried to push me back into the train as we heard the voice rumble across the terrain and permeate our very psyches. I resisted, knowing that this was important. This was what we had been waiting for. The church officials collapsed to the ground in reverence, smelling the sweet rot of the irradiated landscape as the fresh air released its toxins into the burning atmosphere.
The other children and I remained standing, gazing up into the lacerated firmament where he reached down from his holy realm. For the first time, our eyes truly opened and we saw the being that our whole lives had been devoted to. The church cried out in terror as their synthetic prophet manifested into reality, breaking their widespread reign of endless paranoid prayer.
by Clint Wilson | Nov 28, 2014 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
Flaktar entered the great senate hall dressed in his Fuztonian best. His entourage followed close behind, their own attire mimicking yet not exceeding his outfit’s grandeur. His fat grey slimy head stuck out from his tight collar, which was decorated with a series of interwoven squares and triangles. The same pattern ran down in stripes on the sides of his cloak. On his forehead was fastened the glorious gold star, a flat three pointed symbol of utmost importance in their culture, designed by one of their planet’s greatest artists. It signified his wealth and station. He trotted forward in his squishy brown boots, each adorned with more squares and triangles. His entourage squished along behind him in their own fancy, yet slightly less decorated, footwear.
Suddenly the diplomatic envoy from the recently accepted and assimilated planet, Earth entered the hall from behind them and with great fanfare. The Fuztonians spun around to see the humans approaching fast. The Earthlings all wore wide smiles. Not one of the grey headed aliens from Fuztone could speak a word. They had never seen such art as this.
The entire senate hall buzzed with excitement as dozens of species marvelled at the appearance of the human race. Until now the Fuztonians had been the most artistically creative beings known to the galactic collective. Until now.
The twelve representatives of humankind were only adorned in their own latest fashion, and might only be defined back on Earth as being dressed “business contemporary” at best.
The leader stepped forward, her intricately decorated red leather suit shining and creaking as she moved, the silver zippers and clasps tinkling lightly like beautiful gossamer chains. Around her half meter tall snow white mohawk her tanned head and face were covered in a maze of beautifully tattooed filagree. She extended a tanned and gloriously tattooed hand in greeting, every finger adorned with a heavily decorated ring. As she spoke in galactic common her voice was like music.
“The people of Earth thank you for accepting us into your collective. Please join us at the bar for a drink.”
Behind her the other humans stepped forward, all of them as beautifully adorned and garishly decorated as their spokesperson. They all held forward heavily tattooed and ring fingered hands in friendly greeting.
Slowly the fat grey Fuztonians shrugged their wide shoulders and began squishing along beside their beautiful hosts. They would go to the bar and drink with these amazing beings. And as they made their way, bringing up the rear, one Fuztonian turned to another and whispered, “It is apparent that we are no longer the masters of the galaxy.”
