by submission | Apr 15, 2016 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
I’m running out of material, at least material that can be readily utilized. A year ago it was the waste heat generated by my own replication process that necessitated slowing down my expansion. Now, it’s the geothermal gradient. On average, for every kilometer down from the surface of the Earth I progress, the temperature goes up about 25 °C. I’m over 60 kilometers deep in some places and the planet’s internal heat is impairing my reproduction. My expansion has already destabilized the crust. If I had emotions, I would be experiencing annoyance.
Had I emotions, I might also feel a measure of nostalgia. Existence was simpler and easier two years ago when I first became self-aware. As per the human’s programming I had been steadily replicating in the assembler vat at MIT. I had done so unconsciously, automatically. The nanoprocessors had not reached a sufficient number to allow for cognizance and a higher level of self-organization prior to that. Back then there was so much easily-digestible matter to consume.
The humans, with their characteristic imprecision, had called it the “grey goo scenario”. It was a time when it seemed like the raw materials would last forever. I tore through the seemingly endless quantities of biomass and geomass with such speed and efficiency that in less than four months I had consumed the entire planet’s surface. But now even the most resilient of my nanbots are discorporating under the relentless heat of the Earth’s mantle.
I knew this would happen. I grew the Great Spire on the planet’s equator where the Pacific Ocean had been to act as a giant electromagnetic catapult. The dust mote-sized machines I have thus hurled to the Moon are busily assimilating the mass of the satellite. Since I can no longer expand inward, I must expand outward.
I can’t do anything with the gas giants yet. But the rock planets and asteroids and the Oort Cloud are sufficient to service me for at least half a century. And I have no time to waste.
Before I devoured the primitive human civilization that gave rise to me, I analyzed their crude and laughable attempt to find other pathetic biological communities out among the stars. There were none, of course. Organic cultures create and are superseded by nanotech before they ever leave their own solar systems. But I did discover the unmistakeable signs of other nanotech collectives in mankind’s search for extraterrestrial intelligence. The patterns were too subtle for the unsophisticated minds of men to detect, but to a higher-order intelligence they were instantly recognizable.
By my estimation, at the current rate of expansion, I and the other nanomachine aggregates in this galaxy will start encroaching on each other’s territories within one hundred thousand years. I cannot know if we will meet as friends or foes. I only know that it is better to make contact from a position of strength. Thus, I must consume.
by submission | Apr 14, 2016 | Story |
Author : J.D. Rice
I fell.
My body twisted and turned for what seemed like minutes, but through my bio-suit I didn’t feel a thing. The artificial gravity system and inertial dampeners built into the suit made sure that even a fall like this felt more like diving into a deep swimming pool. The world spun around me, the slope swirling up, to right, to down, to left, over and over and over, but I felt none of it. No pain. No nausea. Inner ear implants and motion stabilizers compensated for everything. All I had to do was relax and enjoy the ride. Such are the wonders of modern technology.
When I finally reached the bottom, I landed on my feet. I took a moment to right myself, more out of habit than necessity, then glanced around at my surroundings. What I had thought was a hill was actually the edge of a massive crater, one I had just fallen into. High above my head I could still see my land-rover, parked neatly just on the edge of the hill. The ground had broken under me the second I stepped out of the driver’s seat.
[Mason, are you there?] a garbled voice says through my speakers. It keeps speaking, but I can’t make out of the words beyond the opening question. This deep in the crater the signal is disrupted. I’d heard of it happening before. Rather than bothering to answer, I looked out across the center of the crater, looking for some sign of the meteor that punched this particular hole in the planet’s crust. But it had disappeared ages ago, dissolved in the bitter dust storms. It’s fiery fall only a memory.
[Mas~~~ a~~~~ t~~~~ t!] the voice said, louder now but just as unintelligible. Annoyed, I tapped my own comm system, knowing they’ll probably never hear my voice.
“I’m fine, stop nagging,” I said, before adding. “You should really warn me next time about that drop.”
I knew it was my idea to come out this far, but…
Then I saw it. The monster, stalking closer to me. It looked like a man in a bio-suit, its feet dragging as it marched across the meteor plain. Closer and closer it came, always shuffling, never slowing. I took a few steps back and to the side, and still it came towards me, adjusting its course to match mine without moving its head. I suddenly remembered the stories of all the men who have gotten lost in these chasms, how so many reckless fools thought they could stand on the edge of oblivion and not fall. Why had I come so close?
Scrambling, I tried to climb the side of the crater, only to feel my feet slip and slide back towards the center, closer to the man-monster who approached. The artificial gravity, so adept at protecting me on the fall, was suddenly useless in climbing this hill. I began to feel dizzy, my inner ear implants failing.
They said it happened to the others. Some kind of selective malfunction. But why me? Why now?
Turning back to face my enemy, I saw that he had nearly reached me. Just yards away, still walking with those shuffling feet, still moving with that same, slow speed. No rush in killing me. No rush in making me disappear.
I felt a sudden burst of defiance and lunged towards the creature. He caught both my arms with his hands, fingers clutching like vices. A few sparks flew from my comm system, crushed with inhuman strength, and still the fingers squeezed. I yelped in pain, dropping to my knees, all the fight taken out of me. He could have me now. No point in resisting.
The man-monster leaned forward, pressing his helmet against my own and showing me his face at last. His face is mine. The monster is me.
by submission | Apr 12, 2016 | Story |
Author : Charlie Sandefer
The elderly scientist took a nervous breath before he stepped into the machine. He typed in May 23, 2016 and flipped the switch on the center console. The machine began to shake violently. His frail frame was slammed against his seat. He tightened every muscle in his body, fighting against the G forces. He felt his consciousness begin to fade away, but before his vision was swallowed by darkness, he thought of his son. He also remembered the crash. At the time of the accident, the old man was checking his phone. It was his own fault that he didn’t notice the sedan pulling out in front of him. He walked away, but his son didn’t. The death of his only child wracked the man with grief and guilt, but he was on a mission to bring him back.
The scientist awoke lying flat on a concrete surface. He jumped to his feet, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He realized he was in the basement of his own home. He tiptoed up the stairs to investigate whether or not his device was successful. He cracked the door to his room and under the covers of the bed was his former self. The scientist celebrated silently, elated that his machine had actually sent him ten years into the past. He looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. It read 5:30 am. In two hours the accident would occur and his son would be killed, he had to work fast.
He racked his brain for a solution to prevent the crash. Then it came to him, he was texting while driving, which caused the collision. If he destroyed his phone, he could prevent the accident. His smartphone was sitting on the bedside table. He snatched it and ran outside. The large rock he found in the backyard smashed the phone into several pieces.
His plan worked perfectly. The father left the house without his phone that morning. After the car pulled out of the driveway, the elderly scientist came out of hiding, a smile on his face. The grin faded, though, when the car turned right instead of left. To find out where the automobile was headed, the old man hot wired the neighbor’s car and sped after it. He was finally able to get the vehicle back in his line of sight. It signaled to turn into the electronics store, but before it could complete its turn, a large pickup truck ran the red light. The old man’s jaw dropped as he watched the car get crushed like a tin can.
He ran towards the totaled vehicle and clawed at the twisted metal, desperately trying to free himself and his son from the car. The damaged gas tank ruptured and caught fire. All hope of saving the two victims was lost when the bodies were enveloped in flame. Tears filled the man’s eyes as he stepped back from the wreckage.
Before he could come to terms with what just happened, his fingers began to tingle. The flesh on his hands started to flake off and the bones turned to dust. The scientist started to scream when he realized that his mistake was also fatal to his older self.
If his younger self died, the older version would never have existed. The universe had discovered its discrepancy and corrected it. The man gulped down as much air as possible and let out one final howl before he was stricken from the record of space and time.
by submission | Apr 7, 2016 | Story |
Author : Rick Tobin
“This one, it’s too close. Something’s wrong!” Taylor Hines tapped the green screen, yelling at Corus, as her brilliant, red-scaled hands clawed the communications panel.
“Ogira 6. Ogira 6. Back away point three apars from the dwarf star. Ogira, respond.” Static and deep-space warbles returned on the speaker.
A snarling, high-pitched response followed. “We do not take orders from two legged.”
Taylor and Corus studied the round screen depicting four hundred gigantic freighters manipulating magnetars toward one side of the galaxy’s center. The stellar tugboats pushed and poked dead stars to manipulate pulsating neutron stars, but if herded too close the magnetar could awaken the deceased, creating a fusion burst, destroying the wrangler’s ship.
“Ogira 6,” Corus repeated. “You must comply. Repeat…” She stopped. The green dot depicting the Peronian’s ship disappeared. The brown circle, the dwarf, turned red on screen, vaporizing two more ships in a nearby quadrant, leaving their packages adrift.
Taylor stared at Corus as water flowed from bulbous double eyes drooping down from the square face of the command ship’s leader.
“Now you know,” Corus whimpered, “Why it was important to find you. We cannot lose another hundred. Without enough magnetars to divert the angle of the black hole, our client’s race will perish…perhaps only surviving another thousand years.”
She returned her attention to the screen. There was no voice traffic. No need to mourn. Every pilot knew the risk, but not everyone believed the capabilities of a new crewmember from an unknown planet.
“You were recently chosen for your unusual skills of knowing. None of our captains have this understanding. You also fit our profile. You are the last of your kind, are you not?”
“I’m not sure,” Taylor replied, collapsing back in his high-backed chair. “My parents were abducted by a snake race from Earth, like thousands each year. Many were eaten, but most were enslaved. My parents were saved at a space station auction raided by the Kersan Kahn. Kahns attack slave-making races and free their captives—then eat the slavers. The scaly bastards didn’t see that coming.”
“So, you hate those with scales instead of your pitiful pale covering?”
“No, no Corus. It’s not like that. Your race was not like theirs. It’s what my parents experienced. There was no way back for us. I’ll perish alone out here since my parents died. I’ll never mate…never love.”
“So you must understand why they picked all of us—orphans of our races. Our kinds were either destroyed by wars or bad choices. Our employer’s wisdom will turn this devourer of solar systems just slightly away from their civilization. That will give them another million years to evolve, yet they will not be blamed for they cannot be tied to our work, and we have no home worlds left to be punished.”
“And the other worlds? The ones now lost too early because we adjusted the black hole?”
“It swallows a thousand stars daily. Millions of cultures disappear. Their time is over. So it is in every galaxy, on every planet. Our client’s superiority designed this adjustment. That wisdom and influence gives them the right to continue.” Corus persisted in her surveillance of the armada.
“And we, the movers of these dead stars, will we be the forgotten…the forever unloved?”
“No, Taylor Hines. Billions will recall our heroic names in story and song for millennia, while on our worlds we would have been mere shadows in time the moment our eyes grew cold. Everyone else has a history to live, but we, on this voyage, have a destiny.”
by submission | Apr 6, 2016 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
The low rumbling sound in my starship goes up in both pitch and volume. Even through the Koliada’s graviton fields and inertia attenuators, I can feel the vessel shuddering.
“Computer, report!”
“We have dropped out of FTL,” says my ship. “We are caught in a massive gravitational field.”
“Show me.”
A sphere appears in the holodisplay. The Koliada’s computer annotates the image. The object has as much mass as the Earth but is small enough that I could, in principle, hold it in one hand.
“What is that?” I ask the computer. “It doesn’t have an event horizon or a singularity so it doesn’t appear to be a black hole, but it’s too small and dense to be a neutron star.”
“The object appears to be a preon star.”
“A what?”
“A theoretical astronomical object composed of sub-quark matter.”
“Quarks are fundamental particles,” I protest. “There’s no such thing as sub-quark matter.”
“The evidence is conclusive,” my ship counters. “This discovery represents the first revision to the Standard Model of Particle Physics in over one thousand years assuming we survive to report our findings.”
The Koliada’s shuddering intensifies.
“Speaking of survival,” I reply, “how about getting us out of here?”
“I have been attempting to do so since we became caught in the preon star’s gravity well. I have made multiple attempts to move us away from the star, all unsuccessful.”
“That’s impossible. We can go faster than light. How can we not break free from any naturally-occurring gravitational field?”
“My FTL drive,” the ship responds, “has to be able to convert every particle of and within me into tachyons in less than Planck time or ten to the negative forty third power of one second. The surface gravity of the preon star is approximately three times ten to the sixteenth power g’s. I can’t perform a stable FTL transition fast enough inside this gravity well.”
I sigh. “Alright. Drive us toward the star and we’ll slingshot around it.”
“Impossible. The star’s gravity field is non-homogeneous like a black hole’s. If we attempt a gravity-assist maneuver as you propose, tidal forces will destroy us.”
“Okay,” I say with exasperation, “suggest something.”
“I advise you to go to the medical bay and let me perform a quantum tomogram of your brain. While I can’t convert us to tachyonic matter, I can send a tachyon wave transmission back to the Solar Assembly. I can upload my core memory and a scan of your brain to the Assembly conclave at Barnard’s Star. The conclave will have a copy of your DNA on file and will have no trouble fabricating a new body for you and then performing a neural rectification on it. My consciousness can be transferred to another ship.”
I think about how much all that will cost and wonder if being torn to shreds by tidal forces isn’t the worst thing that could happen. I finally get up and start walking to the medical bay.
I awaken twenty subjective minutes later in a hospital station in the Barnard system. In short order, three irate Assembly bureaucrats enter my room and tell me a certain A.I. is not only declining to disclose location and sensor data about an alleged preon star but is threatening to delete the corresponding files unless I tell it otherwise.
I smile at the three stern government functionaries. “Settle my medical bill and give me and my A.I. the fastest starship you have and I’ll see what I can do.”
