by submission | Mar 9, 2010 | Story
Author : Daniel Fuhr
The haze of smoke lingered over the sharp nose and into aged eyes. Smoking on spacecraft was strictly forbidden according to regulations. Jascon owned this tugboat; he made his own rules and could give a damn about those regulations.
He squinted to try to see through the smoke covering his eyes.
A few months ago, when the space marines contacted Jascon about using his ship as a decoy and trap for the local space pirates, he scoffed at them. They explained about the local growing number of pirates, calling themselves “The Barate”, not quite pirates, not quite bandits. He rebuffed the space marines, declining to assist them.
He coughed into the smoke, the tightness in his chest making it harder to breathe.
Eventually the request turned into a demand and the space marines requisitioned Jascon’s ship, his annoyance became anger. Under the marines control his craft was turned into a by-the-book regulation ship. Then the problems came. “Not enough lifeboats”, “Unsecured instrument devices”, “Nonworking emergency backup”, “No Smoking”. That last one chapped his ass more than anything. The only way he was able to afford paying his crew the small pittance they deserved was by allowing smoking.
Struggling, he pulled in another breath, he wasn’t sure if it was his last one.
As suddenly as they came, the space marines transferred. They abandoned Jascon to a condemned ship. His craft wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t good enough to run cargo runs anymore. It wasn’t even good enough to leave the dock the space marines placed it in. The government revoked his license and the ships registration.
So he stole it.
The foot on his chest put another ounce of pressure on his chest. The number of strangers on his bridge was uncomfortable. The knowledge that he could be killed was uncomfortable.
“So you want to become a Barate?” the rough voice came through the smoke.
by Duncan Shields | Mar 8, 2010 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
I woke up with pain in my head and a shrieking in my ears. All I could hear was this horrible sound ringing around in my head. It was like car tires and screeching baboons and fire alarms all mixed together. A migraine pounded through my skull.
I stood up and I nearly passed out. The pain eased when I took a step south. I kept walking in that direction. When I got to the wall of my apartment, I screamed because I knew that meant I had to double back to go to the front door and make it outside. With a deep breath, I cried and walked backwards, grasping behind me for the doorknob while I sobbed and whimpered.
I found the doorknob. I yanked it open and dove outside. I ran in the direction that eased the pain, my pajamas flapping in the early-morning August. The direction took me away from the city. Luckily I lived on the outskirts of town and there weren’t many cars on the roads at this time of day. The pain was too great to have me worry about traffic lights or looking both ways. There was no way I could have driven a car. It was all I do to put one foot in front of the other.
All that mattered was stopping the sound and the pain.
I walked and ran for eight days. I didn’t stop to go to the bathroom. I didn’t stop to eat. I tipped my head back when it rained to drink.
Luckily, I haven’t been arrested. Luckily, I haven’t been beaten up. Luckily, I haven’t been hit by a car or bitten by a snake.
I have been walking a straight line.
I first saw the first person like me two days ago. Just a dot on the horizon of the desert I was walking through when I crossed into Arizona. I have seen twenty-seven others since. I can see them off to my right and left, getting slowly larger, one step at a time. We are all converging on the same point.
This is good news. I can feel the pain in my head being slowly replaced with pleasure.
We are being called. I don’t know how many of us have been killed or hurt during our blind migration towards the end of the pain. I can’t even imagine what it would be like for someone who got the call in a prison or a hospital. The pain would have driven me insane if I’d been constrained.
I can see the other walkers more clearly now. They are all stained, stinking, shambling messes with smiles on their faces, smiling wider as they get closer to the place of no pain and no shrieking sound in their ears.
There are helicopters over the horizon, over the patch of earth where all of the walkers’ paths meet.
There is something underneath the helicopters. A bright blue flying saucer. A floating, glowing alien ship that has no place in the middle of the desert. It’s hard to see details because the sun is setting near it. There is a hole in the clouds above it.
We walkers are all stumbling towards it, powerless to stop ourselves and not knowing what we’re walking towards or why we’ve been chosen.
I’m scared of the helicopters. I don’t know if they are there to monitor us or kill us. They look out of place.
I keep walking towards the blue ship with the other walkers into the dying sunset with a smile on my face.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Mar 7, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
Put on the armour of God…
to stand firm against
the tactics of evil.
Take the helmet of salvation
and the sword
of the spirit,
the Word of GOD.
from Ephesians 6:13-17
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” With his prayers complete, Oberleutnant Johann Kurtz of the Papstliche Schweizergarde rose from his knees and geared up for combat.
For Terran based troops, his quarters were nothing more than a closet, but aboard the troopship, they were considered almost lavish. They contained his rack, a fold out desk and chair and combination collapsible shower and lavatory.
Above the hatch was a small crucifix, and painted on the hatch itself, just as it was painted on his reactive nylar armoured vest and the front of his HUD helmet, was a red cross limned in gold.
At the head of his rack was a framed painting of Christ praying at Gethsemane; below that, a photo of Pope Ignatius XXIV bearing his trademark avuncular smile.
Kurtz studied himself in the mirror, kissed his rosary, pocketed it and retrieved his “sword“, an H&K multi-linear plasma rifle, from his locker and stepped into the corridor.
On the parade deck, he took his place before his men as Papa company’s commander “Good Morning men,” bellowed Oberleutnant Kurtz. “This is the day we have been training for. Our objective is the settlement of New Mecca on Phobos. Alpha company will assault New Medina on Deimos simultaneously. We’ll bring those raghead bastards to their knees.”
The oberleutnant’s words were greeted with a thunderous “Corpus Christi”.
When the commotion had died down, one of the troops raised his hand.
“What is it Soldier,” barked the young officer.
“But Sir, there are Christians in New Mecca as well as Muslims, Sir.”
“Your point, Soldier?”
“Well…, what do we do about them, Sir?”
The young Oberleutnant hesitated for only a moment before calling out “Kaplan!”
The chaplain, Oberstleutnant Karl-Heinz, standing behind the formation came to quick attention, snapped his heels and marched to the front of the formation to take temporary command of the company from its leader. While ostensibly a superior officer to a mere oberleutnant and holding the titular rank of oberstleutnant, the chaplain was a servant of God first and foremost. As such, he publicly disdained his formal military rank.
The CO executed a crisp, about face, threw an equally crisp salute and relinquished command.
The Kaplan, a kindly, scholarly man smiled beneficently and asked, “What was the question again young man?”
“Well Sir…”
“Vater, bitte.”
“Well Vater, it’s just that there are Christians as well as Muslims at New Mecca, students, business people, even religious scholars such as yourself, Vater.”
“Yes, what of them,” he asked, his kind eyes twinkling behind pince-nez glasses.
“Well Sir… Vater,” he corrected, “how will we know the heathens from the chosen?”
The older man chuckled softly before answering. “Kill them all son. God will know his own.”
by submission | Mar 6, 2010 | Story
Author : Patrick Kennedy
“Mom, there’s something in the front yard!”
“What is it, Billy?”
“A robot, Mom! What’s a robot doing in our yard?”
“I don’t know, Billy. It must have gotten past the fence somehow.”
“But I thought the fence was supposed to keep them out!”
“It is, Billy. So let’s go see what it’s doing here.”
Janice looked at the robot through the peephole in the front door. It was an old one, rusted and breaking down. It must have wandered straight through the spam-filter without even registering. She sighed and opened the door.
“Hello!” said the robot. “Your house looks like it hasn’t had a weatherproofing in some time! Without a regular application of our patented and trademarked Weather-Stop product, your home is exposed to the elements, which can cause damage and reduce its value. I’m here today to tell you how we can do a demonstration application which will be good for thirty days at no cost!”
Janice pointed her shotgun at the robot and said, “you’re in violation of the neighborhood’s no solicitation policy, and you’ve bypassed our household spam filter. You will give me your employer’s contact information and then leave immediately.”
“My apologies. I just wanted to share with you this incredible opportunity. May I just offer you this brochure?” As it spoke, the robot’s third arm came around from behind its back, a small pistol in its hand. “I think you’ll find this offer quite compelling.”
Janice fired first. The shotgun took the arm off at the shoulder and damaged the robot’s head. It fell to the ground in shock. Janice planted a small thermite burner on it’s chest and went back inside as the robot melted.
Damned sales-bots. Getting pushier every day. Time to get a new spam filter and upgrade the fence again.
by submission | Mar 5, 2010 | Story
Author : V.L.Ilian
“Hogwash! There was a mathematical proof the sound barrier could not be broken even tough they were breaking it with cannons in Newton’s time!
There was a mathematical proof the light barrier could not be broken even tough they were breaking it in Einstein’s time!”
“Yes… but that’s different.”
The senior researcher was continuing to pull levers and instructing computers to start sequences while his colleague stood there helpless with a stack of tablets full of mathematical proofs.
“Nonsense! The proofs of the time were based on an incomplete understanding of the universe.”
“True… but those inventions were not this high risk”
A robot opened a large safe an pulled out a liquid-filled cylinder holding a suspended seed of blue light.
“Poppycocks! When trains were invented everyone feared the human body could not survive such accelerations. Endless tests were conducted to see if passengers would lose consciousness.
When the teleporter was invented everyone cried the soul was being lost. We all know how that turned out don’t we?”
The robot inserted the cylinder in a complex assembly. Immediately the seed of light was sucked into the multifaceted sphere in the center of the machine.
Light appeared to reverse itself and the sphere went completely dark.
“Doctor! This won’t work!”
“Absurd! No more buts!”
The senior researcher put on his favorite goggles and hovered over a big red button.
“Let’s make history… literally.”
