by featured writer | May 3, 2013 | Story
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
The aliens came in a spherical spaceship that would have been at home on the cover of a 1930s pulp sci fi magazine. Their ship was nearly a thousand miles in diameter and could easily be seen in orbit with the naked eye. For three weeks the human race sent radio signals starting with sequences of prime numbers and working up to more complex attempts at communication to the ship. There was no response.
As the world debated what to do next, smaller spheres abruptly emerged from the spacecraft and started plummeting to Earth. A total of 17 spheres landed at various points in North and South America, Africa, Europe, Asia, and the floors of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Each mile-wide ball embedded itself exactly half of its own diameter in the Earth's crust. Humanity's militaries scrambled to respond to a possible invasion.
Over the course of several days, as the armies of various nations surrounded the seemingly inert vessels, seismologists began to pick up something resembling the primary waves or P-waves that precede earthquakes in the areas around each sphere. Concern that the spheres might be some sort of weapon that could shatter the Earth abated as further study revealed that the seismic waves were powerful but harmless collimated beams of sound that were directed deep into the planet's interior. The sound was highly modulated, leading scientists to believe it was some form of communication. Recordings of the sound signals were played back to the spheres by various means: loudspeakers, probes sunk into the adjacent ground, even via direct contact with the surface of the objects themselves. Again, there was no apparent response.
Eleven days after the spheres had begun their transmissions, a second set of signals were detected. Seismologists informed an already stunned humanity that the second set of signals were originating within the Earth itself. Moreover, these new signals were themselves modulated like those coming from the spheres. At first it was thought that the terrestrial signals might have been reflections of the signals originating from the spheres, perhaps representing some sort of acoustic location or imaging modality like the sonar used by submarines. Further analysis of the signals from both the spheres and the Earth's interior demonstrated the unmistakeable hallmarks of communication. Humanity was witnessing a dialog.
For four months a ceaseless subterranean conversation took place. Then, abruptly, all was silent. One by one the spheres wrenched themselves free of the ground and flew up into orbit to rendezvous with the mothership. The alien moonlet arced across the sky and left low Earth orbit bound for deep space.
For years we've tried to establish communication with whatever intelligence resides deep in the Earth's interior. The liquid outer core seems the most likely location for some sort of life to exist. As to what sort of life could exist in a 9000 °F nickel-iron fluid, even wild speculation seems woefully inadequate. Did the depths of Earth somehow become home to one of the sphere aliens at some point in the past? Or is there an indigenous, extremophile civilization 2,500 miles below our feet? Could the Earth itself be in some sense a self-aware being? We have no answers.
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by Desmond Hussey | May 2, 2013 | Story
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer
SEA OF SERENDIPITY – MOON
“I can’t wait until this bloody war is over,” corporal Sharky shouts into his mic as a barrage of anti-personnel bombs rearrange the lunar landscape nearby. “I don’t give a damn who wins anymore. We’re sittin’ ducks out here!” A slow-motion rain of soil, rock and limb make tiny craters in the lunar dust around the huddled space marines in their feeble trench, while wings of Vol-gu-thari fighters slice the naked cosmos with dual, death-dealing lasers.
“Not I.” Major Adam’s voice is as level and unpredictable as the sea, as hard as stone. “If these bastards win, they won’t just kill us – no, no, no – THAT would be too easy. They will put us to work burning, cutting, mining and drilling our planet until there’s nothing left but a barren honeycomb of lifeless rock. I’d rather die a hundred times trying to stop these alien bastards than have to live under their tyranny for one second. I say fuck 'em. I say let’s go kick some bug-eyed ass!”
The grunting chorus of blood frenzied jar-heads, engaged in the time honored tradition of ramping up each others courage to suicidal proportions, is rudely interrupted by the unfortunate placement of a Vul-gu-thari Quantum Discombobulater.
UNSS VICTORY – BATTLESHIP
“I can’t wait until this bloody war is over,” Admiral Hackman slurs around his massive cigar. “They can have the Earth as far as I’m concerned. It’s their tech I’m interested in.” The gathered War Council study the holographic battle table with the hopeless resolve of the nearly defeated, while Hackman ogles the specs of a captured alien’s death-dealing dual-lasers.
“Not I.” General Katari is a paragon of martial prowess. “If our enemy wins, an honorable death will not be our fate, nor will we be retired to live out our days in shame – Small mercies, compared to what the Vul-gu-thari will do to us. We will be conscripted for life as our enemies own warriors, enslaving other worlds in endless conquest. I will not allow this to happen. I will fight them until blood flows no longer through my veins.”
Half-hearted cheers of affirmation float around the live holographic simulation of the hopeless lunar battle playing out in digital precision in the center of the war room. Tiny, multi-colored fighters fly desperate strategic patterns over the satellite’s cratered surface – dogfights, strafings, bombing runs – miniature life and death scenarios. A thousand glowing fatalities at a glance.
VIP PENTHOUSE – EARTH
“I hope this war never ends,” President of Earth’s Defense Council declares whilst rapaciously sipping a rare Vul-gu-thari vintage. “I don’t give a fig what you… thing – er, guys… do with the planet. Just gimme some more o’that marvelous vino.” A voluptuous, multi-breasted Dithnari pleasure slave pours a bituminous wine while three perplexed Vul-gu-thari Mantis-men attempt to decipher the esoteric secrets of the Rubik's-Cube. The President grins. There’s money to be made double-dealing in alien death lasers.
“Not I,” T’glork’th’kiki’s chemical excretions infiltrate the air, undetected by the distracted human dignitaries succumbing to myriad salacious vices. “It is said; a human tastes best when pre-fed copious amounts of kork-bladder urine. I wish to know if this is fact. I am thinking this one should be just about ready.” Several antennae quiver in eager response.
Simultaneously, the Overlord’s dexterous mandibles articulate, “Mis-ter. Presiden-t, this is jus-t the beginning.”
The pleasure slave laughs like a rabid hyena.
Beyond the penthouse windows, high above laser-scorched skies, the moon, in macabre celebration, sparkles like a holiday firework.
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by Duncan Shields | May 1, 2013 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
This lab is armoured and very far underground. The strikes didn’t penetrate down here. That was six years ago.
I’m the only survivor of the top-secret government installation designed to create robot soldiers. I succeeded and my designs went into use. A full platoon of them were fresh off the assembly line down here when the war started.
These robots are trained to never harm me or anyone with my clearance. They’re also trained to keep me fed and taken care of in just this exact instance. I don’t have the code words to shut them off.
They’ve done a great job. I talk to them but they never talk back. I get the feeling that they might hear me but they don’t respond. They’re taught only to respond to orders, asking only for clarification.
We didn’t install a way for them to just hang out and talk. I see now where we failed. My hair and beard are long. I have long since stopped wearing clothes.
Sometimes I scream and try to hurt them. They always gently keep me from doing it.
Sometimes I scream and try to hurt myself. They always gently keep me from doing it.
Sometimes I order them to kill me. They do nothing.
The strikes knocked out the above ground cameras and the doors are on autolock until the half-lives dissipate enough for brief trips.
It could be a while. If I had an Eve, I could have a doomed little family down here. But I don’t.
Just me. I scream into the communications room microphone a lot but I have no idea if it’s broadcasting topside.
The silent warriors watch me. I send them through training exercises that are more and more complicated. I make them dance. I make them fight each other.
Nothing breaks them. They’re perfect.
It’s going to be a long time before I die.
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by featured writer | Apr 30, 2013 | Story
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
“Welcome to our asteroid belt,” said the Congolese captain of the AFS Seretse Khama.
Your asteroid belt, thought Dragoslav Ibrahimovi?. Yet the captain of the BAS Peter the Liberator had to admit that his African Federation counterpart had a point. A legal point, to be precise. Sensor sweeps showed that every asteroid of any appreciable size in the area had its own unique transponder signal. Being the first to land a vessel, even a small automated radio transmitter, on an asteroid gave the government in question a legal claim to the property. The African Federation produced, launched, and landed transponder drones by the hundreds of thousands annually. Legally, nearly the entire asteroid belt was their property.
“Just passing through, Captain,” Ibrahimovi? replied over the comlink. The Peter the Liberator moved on across the belt into the outer solar system. Balkan Alliance territory.
One month later, while performing a gravity-assist maneuver around Jupiter, the commander of the Sasselov Station on Callisto contacted Ibrahimovi?.
“We've downloaded your manifest. It says your ship is full of supplies and heading for Neptune. But our sensors say your hold is almost totally empty. And you're the sixth empty supply ship to come through here in the last four months. Looks more like you're bringing something back, not hauling supplies out. What's out there?” asked the commander.
“Just helium-3 processing stations,” Ibrahimovi? replied.
“Did you find something that will put us out in front of the African Federation? Something better than a bunch of rocks floating in space? No more of that being a distant second to the world's only superpower stuff?”
“I'll inform Bucharest your station sensors are malfunctioning,” said Ibrahimovi?. “I suggest you have a good explanation for why you didn't report the problem four months ago.”
Ibrahimovi? cut the comlink.
The Peter the Liberator sailed out into space for many more months, performed an aerobraking and course correction around Neptune, and finally after a long, slow powered deceleration, settled into orbit around Charon, the largest Moon of Pluto. Twelve hours later a shuttle carrying Dr. Aris Kosionidis rose from the surface of Charon and docked with the Peter the Liberator.
“We've got it mostly unburied now,” said Kosionidis to Ibrahimovi?. “We know it was a ship, not a robotic probe. We were able to get inside and we found the remains of the crew.”
“Do you know where it came from?” asked Ibrahimovi?.
“We have no idea. We do know it crashed into Charon around 16 million years ago.”
Ibrahimovi? let that sink in.
“We also know,” Kosionidis continued, “that we can't even guess yet about what half the technology on that ship is for. And the half we can identify is as far in advance of 2299 as we are from the time of the pharaohs.
“We could study it for a hundred years and still not figure it out,” said Ibrahimovi?.
“That might not be necessary. The ship has been trying to talk to us,” said Kosionidis.
“What?!”
“Verbally. Whatever powers it is still functioning at a very low level. Apparently it's been listening to us talk inside the pressure dome we erected around it. At first it just repeated back what we said but in the last four days it's been trying to converse. We're hopeful eventually it can tell us about its origins and explain its technology.”
“Better than a bunch of rocks floating in space,” Ibrahimovi? muttered with a smile.
“Captain?” said Kosionidis.
But Ibrahimovi? didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere. Keep your asteroid belt, he thought. Welcome to our galaxy.
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by Clint Wilson | Apr 29, 2013 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
The thundering blasts of the plasma cannons hammered us relentlessly like meteor-sized fists, as the Zalkanthian war ship maintained its attack position directly outside our cockpit bay windows. There was no escape. Their bizarre hive-mind intellect had outwitted us once and for all. Their battle strategies were better, their technology superior. Our batteries drained, our forward shields almost decimated, we couldn’t take another direct hit and they knew it.
There would be no mercy, there never was. We knew this. So for the next dozen seconds, before the final volley came, I mustered up everything I knew about the Zalkanthians. Truly alien creatures sharing collective consciousness yet showing immense individual ambition, they were our betters in almost every way. But as I said, they were also truly alien, and prone to a truly alien metamorphosis once subjected to the correct stimuli.
You see the one similarity between them and us was that each of our planets contained but a single large moon visible in our own respective night skies, in fact theirs was eerily close to our own Luna in mass and proximity.
And in the same way that so many earthly creatures are affected by the Terran full moon, the Zalkanthians themselves were also greatly affected by their own world’s fully illuminated satellite. And it was an extreme affliction to say the least, one that completely altered those deadly creatures for one lone night each and every month on their home world.
Like most other humans I had never actually seen the phenomenon take place, but I dearly hoped to be able to witness first hand these fierce, numerously tentacled gelatinous beings, as they suddenly collapsed harmlessly into their defenseless vegetative state. The ten or so hour interval would be more than adequate to recharge our batteries and launch a 20 megaton photon cluster into their ship’s engines while we made our jump to light speed.
Knowing full well that every one of the multifaceted telescopic eyes belonging to that enemy command crew were at that very moment monitoring us almost microscopically here on our own bridge I loosened my belt. And as I watched the tips of their plasma cannons heat up to a glowing yellow for the final onslaught, I dropped my federation issue flight pants, hoisted myself up onto the navigation console, and pressed my fat white ass cheeks against the cockpit window.
