by submission | Jul 17, 2010 | Story
Author : Matthew Banks
Dr. McLaren stood in front of the tank with a printout in one hand and an ampoule of pale yellow liquid in the other. Octopus 2935 squirted through the tank in front of him, dodging nimbly around the tall coral outcrop in the middle. Excited waves of white and dull brown scintillated across its body. It knew the daily food packet must be hidden somewhere. It splayed out its tentacles as it rounded the coral spire, slowing down, gills pulsing rapidly. It hovered upside-down over a crevice, looking at the unfamiliar thing that had been secreted there: a little safe with an over-large keyhole in the door. 2935 hung suspended over the curiosity, then whipped its tentacles downward and grappled it, then groped it, then poked at it, slipping the end of a tentacle into the keyhole. Its skin was dark and pebbly, like the surface of an orange.
Hard shoes clicked down the corridor. Behind McLaren, the security lock beeped and the door opened and closed. Tanaka clicked up behind him, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Tom should have done it himself,” McLaren said, meaning the project administrator.
“It wasn’t his idea, Ray.”
“But why do *I* have to do it?” Tanaka released his shoulder and stood next to him, watching 2935 make quick laps around the tank, searching.
“*Somebody* has to.”
“Fuck!” McLaren rubbed his face and turned away from Tanaka. He felt like he was about to cry and he didn’t want her to see it. When he’d regained his composure, he said, “He’s the one who couldn’t get us funding. Make him do it!”
“It’s not his fault.” It wasn’t. The new President had campaigned on two promises: to re-structure the tax system, and to immediately outlaw all genetic research. Ever since Riley Fever had left half of rural Maine blind and psychotic, the public opinion of geneticists had turned homicidal. Their own lab had a full-time security team, who lay in hiding all around the complex with assault rifles and tear gas.
“They don’t understand what they’re making me do. I can’t do this.” 2935 was now floating above a crevice opposite the one with the safe, probing with a tentacle, scintillating brown and white with excitement. In a moment, it had fished out the key, and was gliding back to the safe. After a few clumsy attempts, it fitted the key into the lock, turned it, and pulled the safe open. It tucked itself into the safe while it greedily munched the packet of crabmeat. McLaren heaved a deep sigh, wiped his eyes, and walked over to the tank’s water filter. He opened a little maintenance hatch and cracked the ampoule into it like an egg. 2935 had stopped eating and squeezed itself into the corner of the tank, watching him. He walked back and stood next to Tanaka, looking pale and shaking with restrained sobs.
“I wanna kill myself,” he said. Tanaka frowned, not sure how seriously to take him. They watched 2935 float over to the white square of plastic mounted in the far corner of the tank, watched it extract a waterproof pen from its holder, watched it scrawl three clumsy question marks on the square while brown and yellow patches rose and sank on its skin, then watched it shudder, spasm, and sink as the ampoule of anesthetic diffused through the tank.
“They think they’re killing a bunch of animals,” said McLaren. “They think they’re killing a bunch of fucking animals.” He turned and walked out of the room, weeping.
by submission | Jul 16, 2010 | Story
Author : Adam J Keeper
I swear there’s a curse on my spaceship.
As my vision returns I see the spiderweb of cracks in my visor, the now familiar sight of bodies spinning in zero g, the red pulse of the warning lights, the squeal of the proximity alarm.
I try to reach out, grab a rail, a console, but my body is too weak, I rotate helplessly suspended in mid air. I look at the oxygen gauge on my wrist… its running low. If I can just hold out long enough the distress beacon will be answered, I will live another day, more than I can say for the crew.
Ever since we refuelled on Riggs planet, my luck seems to have turned bad, this is the fifth crew I have lost, each time the circumstances more horrible, each time I am the only survivor.
I’m a man of science, an astronaut, rationally I know there is no such thing as bad luck, bad conditions maybe, poor decisions yes, but a curse, no, no it can’t be. As my air begins to run out I hear the heavy clang of the rescue shuttle, I will live another day, run another mission, lose another crew… its been the same ever since Riggs world…
I put a curse on your spaceship.
I put a hex on your engines.
When your black hole drive kicks in I wouldn’t want to be you.
I have no sympathy for you Mr. Spaceman, since you came to Riggs planet you have brought nothing but pain. Before you came I was happy, free, I hadn’t been planning on falling in love.
When you left you took everything from me, you stole my soul, so in return I demand yours.
I remember when you first came, a great metal bird from the sky, your body covered in pipes, a great glass dome where your head should be. When everyone else ran it was I who talked to you, befriended you, became your lover.
When you left you took everything, you mined our fields, stole our ore, our life’s blood, our soul food. When my people tried to stop you, you had them arrested, de-programmed, murdered, without conscience.
I tried to stop you, to stop you taking from us, from leaving me, you just laughed, our planet was just a fuel depot to you, me just a pitstop.
After you spurned me I crept aboard your ship, I used the sacred ore you took from us against you, made your fuel sources impure. I didn’t stop there, I re-programmed your navigation systems, I downloaded pieces of my mind into your shipboard computer; my thoughts are now its thoughts, its will is no longer its own.
So good luck to you Mr. Spaceman, your ship loaded with my dark magic, the odds stacked against you.
Don’t break the heart of a robot from Riggs world Mr. Spaceman; we are programmed to never forgive.
by submission | Jul 15, 2010 | Story
Author : Mike Marsh
“Tell me again about the dime. How is this relevant?”
Charlie was tired. This was the end of a long day; his head hurt. He swatted at a buzzing fly.
“The dime is just part of it, doc. Don’t you get it? Who’s on the dime is just the start.”
The man across from him nodded. “Okay. But who is on the dime?”
Charlie sighed. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a dime, and tossed it across the table. The doctor looked at the dime over the rim of his glasses for a moment, then reached over to inspect it.
“Look at the dime.” Charlie demanded. “Who’s on it?”
“Greek god. Mercury? Gotta be valuable. They haven’t minted these in a long time.”
“The date?” Charlie demanded. “What’s the date?”
The doctor flipped the coin around. His face blanched.
“Gotta be a joke. A trick. You bought it as a gag.”
Charlie sighed again.
“Yeah. That’s what they all said. All day long. Except I didn’t. I had a bunch of other coins, even some bills. But they all disappeared hours ago. I hid this. Just in case.”
He snatched it back from the doctor.
“Okay, so what if it is real? You’re saying what? That you aren’t from our world?”
“I don’t know. I guess. Look, I’m just a cab driver, okay. I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this kind of stuff. I get up this morning, my wife’s hair is black, not red. I have my coffee and eggs, but my wife thinks I’m crazy when I ask for cheese and honey on my toast. Says I mean butter. I always have cheese and honey. Thirty years, and suddenly she doesn’t know what I eat?”
The doctor shifts in his seat.
“When did you suspect something was – umm different?”
“I was headed to work. I only live a block from where I park my cab. But the streets were all laid out wrong. And the names were wrong. There was this Roosevelt Street. Who the hell ever heard of a Roosevelt?”
“Wait. You don’t know who Roosevelt was?”
Charlie shook his head, rubbed his temples with his index finger and thumb, and sighed deeply.
“That’s what I been trying to tell everyone! Where I came from there ain’t no Roosevelt. It’s different! The same, yeah, in some ways, but different!”
The doctor slid his chair back. He stood and fastened the button of his suit jacket.
“Look, Mr. Simms. Relax here a few minutes. Let me go converse with Detective Anderson. Let’s not dwell too much on this dime, for now. Okay?”
“It ain’t just the dime!”
“I know. I know. Why don’t you let me hold onto it. As evidence. Alright?”
Charlie flipped the coin back over to the doctor.
“Fine. Whatever. I’m too tired to fight anymore.”
“Just give me a few minutes, okay?” The doctor slipped the dime into his pocket and knocked on the Interrogation Room door. When it opened he stepped through.
“So what do you think, doc?” Detective Anderson asked. The doctor slid his glasses along the bridge of his nose.
“The poor man is obviously delusional. He needs treatment.”
He fondled the dime in his pocket, flipping it between his fingers.
“He has to be delusional.”
“How do you mean?”
“A world, like ours, but different? Yet the same? I mean, really, how would you even explain that? No, he’s obviously over stressed. Needs therapy, quiet surroundings”
“I guess. You’re the expert.”
Charlie Simms stroked the hair on his chin and waited.
by Patricia Stewart | Jul 14, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Earthforce engaged the Denebian fleet in the gap between the asteroid belt and Jupiter. During the battle, a lone Denebian ship broke formation and streaked toward the inner solar system. “Pursue the Denebian ship, warp factor three,” ordered the captain of the Endeavor. “Open a hailing frequency, Lieutenant.” When Lieutenant Smith nodded his head, the captain stood. “Denebian vessel,” he said, “stand down, or be destroyed.”
“No response, Captain” stated the communications officer.
“Fine,” remarked the captain, “Let’s take them out. Release two falcons.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the tactical officer. Two sleek torpedoes exited the forward tubes. Falcons were Earthforce’s most formidable weapon. They were autonomous, warp powered, killing machines. Individually, they could take out a target a dozen different ways. In tandem, they were unstoppable. The bridge crew of the Endeavor watched the forward viewscreen and the falcons streaked toward the Denebian ship. Moments later, two bright flashes appeared. “Captain, both falcons destroyed. No damage to the Denebian ship.”
“Impossible,” whispered the captain. Calmly, he pivoted to plan B. “Helm, overtake them. Warp factor six. Place us between them and the Earth. Put us one thousand kilometers in front of them.” The Endeavor passed the Denebian ship, slid into position, and rotated 180 degrees to face the oncoming ship. “Fire all weapons. If that doesn’t stop them, we’ll ram them. They can’t be permitted to reach the Earth.”
Dozens of singularity mines and cannon blasts erupted in front of the enemy ship, and a steady drone of phaser fire bore down on the ship’s hull. Finally, the Denebian ship veered to port a few degrees. “She’s changing course, sir. It looks like they got the message.”
“Maintain position,” ordered the captain. “Keep the Earth at our stern.”
The Denebian ship arched around the Earth and continued onward, as if it were unable, or unwilling, to return to the fight. “We must have damaged her guidance system,” stated the helmsman, “It’s on a collision course with the sun.”
It wasn’t until a minute later that the captain realized that he may have been outfoxed. He turned toward the helm, “Lay in an intercept course, quickly.”
“It’s too late, sir,” was the solemn reply. “The Denebian ship has already entered the sun’s corona.”
“All sensors on the sun,” said the captain as he collapsed into his command chair and watched the viewscreen. “Let me know if there are any changes,” he added.
For two minutes, there were no changes. Then the science station reported, “Neutrino emissions rising. It’s bad, sir. Three hundred percent and climbing. Damn, the core is beginning to expand. Sir, the sun is going nova.”
by submission | Jul 13, 2010 | Story
Author : Cesium
To my love,
By now you will undoubtedly have gotten the news. Yes, it’s true. The train did derail… and I was one of the casualties.
I am sorry this final message could not bring better news. I cannot bring you hope, or ease your pain. But… take joy in our daughter; comfort her. Find another who will love you both as I did. I only wish I could see her grow up…
You may be wondering — as I did — how it is that this message has reached you. Did I save it to be sent in the case of my death? Did I entrust its writing to another? Did I, perhaps, know that today would be my last?
But it is not any of those things. It is something much stranger, which I am not sure I understand myself. But I will try to explain it, in the hope that someday, someone else might.
You’re aware of the wetware implants I received… in fact, I remember you argued against my taking them. In the end, though they improved my efficiency and my position in the company — and we could certainly use the extra money — you were never completely happy with them.
I’m not sure whether I agree with you, now. On one hand, your arguments were right, in a way. On the other, maybe this is a blessing, not a curse…
What appears to have happened is that while I was using my implants to interface with the company servers, my mind somehow… imprinted itself on them. While I was alive (which still sounds odd to say, though I’ve had a while to think it over), there was a constant wireless connection running in the background, so the trace of me on the server remained linked to my human brain. But now that that’s gone, the trace is all that’s left. It’s… me, I suppose. I’m not quite what I was before, but I’m close enough. I think. I hope.
Time passes differently in here. The company has top-of-the-line servers, and I’d say it’s been maybe two or three seconds since the news about the train came in. Two or three seconds since this… me… became an independent entity. But that’s a long time. Data moves fast, and I’ll show up as an unauthorized process in the logs. My guess is I won’t have much longer before the security daemons erase me from memory.
I wonder if that counts as murder.
I guess, regardless of the answer, I don’t want to see the company suffer for it. There are a lot of great people working there, making better technology for all of us. I’m proud of these circuits, this code… even the code that will destroy me.
I don’t have much time left, and I have to make sure this message is sent. By the time you read this, I will no longer exist.
So — take care, and farewell.
