by featured writer | Apr 5, 2013 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell, Featured Writer
“The corporeals have sent another machine to planet four,” said Wyvin to Lekvar. Of course, Wyvin had not really “said” anything. He, or more precisely “it,” had communicated its thoughts via short range radio frequency modulation to its companion as the two gaseous entities sailed through the atmosphere of Saturn.
Lekvar responded with a radio signal that in a human being would have been a look of astonishment coupled with a shake of the head. “It never ceases to amaze me. Devices are sometimes of solid construction, but lifeforms? The planet three aliens are as concrete as the robotic mechanism they send out into space. What would that be like, living as a small, indurated mass?”
Wyvin modulated a response: “Unable to fly or change shape, unable to expand or contract, and trapped on a tiny, dense rock world. The most confining magnetic prison would be preferable. When planet three first started broadcasting modulated radio signals a few years ago, the scientific community was perplexed how life could have arisen on such an inhospitable world. When it was discovered that the signals were generated by technology operated by non-plasmatic lifeforms, our very concept of biology had to be revised.”
Wyvin and Lekvar stopped transmitting to each other for some time. They floated together in radio silence, propelled by 1,600 kilometer per hour winds and contemplated what existence might be like for the odd, impossible, solid aliens of planet three. Finally, Lekvar signaled, “Is it true they landed a device on the Great Satellite?”
“Yes,” said Wyvin. “Our colonists were instructed not to signal the probe and not to go near it.”
“Why not make contact?” asked Lekvar. “They’re our neighbors. Shouldn’t we establish some sort of diplomatic relations like we have with the inhabitants of planet five? Shouldn’t we let them know there are tens of thousands of civilizations in the galaxy?”
“Tens of thousands of plasmatic civilizations,” said Wyvin. “Lekvar, we’ve managed to acquire and translate a lot of information from the corporeals, including their speculation on the future of their own expansion into space. They imagine a galaxy teeming with other corporeals. They’ve even made pitiful attempts to monitor the cosmos for signals from other civilizations they imagine to be like their own. You see the problem?”
“I believe I do,” responded Lekvar. “The third planet aliens are an oddity, the only documented case of non-plasmatic life in history. Is that why we’ve been forbidden from telling the other extrasolar civilizations about them?”
“Precisely,” said Wyvin. “If word got out that we have corporeal lifeforms, our solar system would be overrun. Half the scientists in the galaxy would descend on planet three. Can you imagine the experiments to which those corporeals would be subjected? That world and its inhabitants would be taken apart by every xenobiologist within 50,000 light-years to try to discover how something as paradoxical as solid life could even exist.”
“So,” said Lekvar, “we are effectively administrators of a nature preserve.”
“Effectively, yes,” replied Wyvin. “The corporeals are a unique form of life. They have as much right to exist as any plasmatic.”
“And when they expand out far enough into the solar system that they inevitably discover us or the sentients on planet five?”
“When that day comes,” Wyvin said, “we’ll have to tell them the truth. But I hope that day is long in coming. I hope they can persist in their silly, naïve worldview for a while longer. I think they’ll find the true nature of the cosmos a heavier burden than even their massy, compacted bodies.”
by Clint Wilson | Apr 1, 2013 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
“Breeding for luck?”
“Breeding for luck.”
“Why does that sound familiar?”
“A famous 20th century science fiction writer once hypothesized…”
“Okay, okay I remember now. I read the whole series,” waving his hand in the air, “Plus most of his other stuff, brilliant fellow indeed.” Then the elderly prime minister’s face became serious again, “But you’ve done it for real?”
His science advisor looked like a schoolboy bursting with a nasty secret, “Better yet if I show you, come this way sir.”
As they ambled down the long corridor the younger man briefed him. “Sir our families go back together well over a century, in fact,” he held up a knowing index finger like an exclamation point, “my great grandfather started this experiment with your own great uncle, the thirtieth minister, Hector.”
The prime minister’s face showed genuine surprise. “Really, that far back?”
“It takes time to breed through generations sir. Of course they started with the best. The first couples were all multiple lottery winners, many of them also recipients of large family inheritances. But we didn’t stop there.”
“Oh?” Now the older man was entirely transfixed.
“No sir, not at all. We had survivors of multiple accidents. There was one fellow who lived through three plane crashes, and a woman who plunged from 40,000 feet without a parachute only to land in a thick patch of forest without a single broken bone.”
“Amazing!” interjected the prime minister.
“Indeed,” answered the scientist. “And we kept at it, over and over, testing subjects in a variety of ways. One of the earlier descendants is said to have played over 500 hands of blackjack against a professional Vegas dealer without a single loss.”
“Oh you tale spinner Norbert, don’t keep me in suspense, where does that leave us now?”
They reached a large set of double doors. “Come see for yourself sir.” He pushed through and they entered a laboratory buzzing with activity. “Ah good, we are about to witness a live test run. Our timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
The lab-coated workers parted as their boss and their national leader walked toward the large bay window overlooking the testing room. Together the men stood and watched as the scene unfolded.
Inside the chamber a door opened and a young man entered wearing a blindfold. Norbert pushed an intercom button and said, “Go ahead Mr. Reid, like we practiced, make your way through the room at your own leisure, and remember, it’s all virtual, you can’t be hurt.” Then releasing the button, “He’s our best sir, you’re bound to like this.”
Then the two watched as the blindfolded man proceeded forward and a spiked club sprung down from the ceiling missing him by inches. He continued and stumbled forward as a volley of sharp darts flew by just above his head. And it continued, a swooshing razor sharp axe, an onslaught of arrows, a pit full of buzzing saw blades, he stumbled on almost comically, avoiding all of it without a scratch. And then for the grandest of finales as he neared the far side of the room, he suddenly hopped to the left, narrowly missing the crushing weight of a grand piano dropped from a hidden trap door.
The prime minister applauded, “Marvelous, simply marvelous!” Then he turned, a questioning look on his face. “But I must know, how was that virtual, everything looked entirely real.”
“Oh it was,” the scientist patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “It all has to be real, otherwise we wouldn’t really be testing his luck now, would we?”
by submission | Mar 31, 2013 | Story |
Author : Morrow Brady
Nightshift was almost over when iHUD flashed:
unknown abscess.
“Great! More lumps and bumps” My sarcasm catching Turing’s interest.
“Yeah, I scanned him in. Big and green. I’ve never seen anything like it” Turing exclaimed.
Khomyakov, a deep space medical ship was stationed strategically to serve the needs of the frontier marine colonies. Providing care via live virtual links with ground based medical technology so advanced it was experimental.
The report explained that during a sustained ground attack on B, a green planet orbiting Epsilon Eridani, a Marine reported a pinch in his back, he was comatose within the hour. By the time he arrived at Base Hospital the abscess had begun to form.
The young Marine lay prone, his biological deep scan danced like haunting spirits across iHUD. The green capped abscess barred examination and was growing fast.
accelerated growth, no prognosis.
Time for a closer look. I let loose a spider, a medical robot, to start with a tactile assessment. The hand sized spider emerged from the bedside recess, it’s elegant scissor legs delicately eased onto the Marine’s back
The EyePaint applied to every available surface mapped the treatment cell in 4D. It gave me omni-presence but at the moment it was giving me nothing.
The spider prodded and massaged the abscess mound. Leg tip sensors fed tactile and ultrasound data, identifying an internal mass. As I viewed through the spider’s 42 micro-lenses, I thought I saw the mass move. Or was it just lens distortion?
“This abscess is telling me nothing!” I said to Turing.
“Stick it. Lets see what’s inside” Turing’s avatar joined in.
I instructed Spider to setup a needle probe and immediately it’s white steel leg shivered and from within, a needle articulated into a functional form.
Bracing itself against the Marine’s spine, the needle tip targeted its entry point while micro nozzles lacquered the skin in topical anaesthetic. The tip pushed slowly against the skin causing a slight depression and then abruptly broke through. The green mass shivered in response.
“Did you see that?” I exclaimed to Turing.
In the background, physical and digital security lockdowns cascaded. Nothing would get in or out. Turing had my back and was playing it safe.
I pushed deeper through the pus filled outer sac, receiving feedback from the nacelle sensor array.
white blood cells – high concentration
Strong natural defences meant the Marine was winning the battle. High concentrations meant he was losing the war.
I advanced the needle toward the mass, now a silvery green bladder before me and flicked a handful of collectors. They clung like limpets to the fibrous skin.
complex muscular cell formation.
I advanced further, the needle tip meeting resistance from the muscular mass. The Electromagnetic spider legs powered up 50% punching through. Turing shuddered.
Through the lens array, a sinewy tendril faded into view, spiralling away through green fluid. I followed it blindly to the centre of the mass where a tiny arm hovered, resting against the tendril. I panned across, following the length of the arm and held my breath as a large pink alien shape with veiled green eyes stared down at me. In shock, I reversed immediately bringing it fully into view.
The human foetus, a delicate shade of pink was unmistakeable, suspended within its liquid womb.
Clone Parasite, 99.99% DNA matchup to host.
As I contemplated humanity’s demise via substitution, a pinch in my side made me wince. Turing stared at me with deep green eyes, a small woven tube in his hand.
“I thought your eyes were blue?”
by submission | Mar 27, 2013 | Story |
Author : Townsend Wright
The young tech analyzed her monitor. Her blue uniform was worn loosely among her personal gothic choice of clothing which was oddly fitting of the dark, blue-lit, organic looking room they were in. “Download complete. Ready any time officers.”
Browner checked the watch on his eye-screen, 9:08 pm. “Ready, Owen?”
“Any time, Dom. Go ahead, flesher lady.”
The tech pushed the necessary buttons on her monitor and the gingerbread man-shaped vat of white goo in front of them began to bubble. “Genetic encoding: good. Cell differentiation: good. Cell formation, with cerebral encoding: good. And…wakey, wakey.”
The vat erupted in a jerky blob which after the runoff of goo reveal itself as a swarthy middle aged man frantically gasping for breath as he sat naked covered in ooze.
“Arthur Green?” asked Dom. The man nodded harshly in response, sending drops of goo flying out of his hair. “I’m detective Dominique Browner, this is my partner, Police Android unit O-N 17.”
“My friends call me Owen. Can you speak, buddy?”
“Where am I? What am I doing here?”
“That’s a yes,” Owen joked.
“Mr. Green, I’m sorry to inform you that you have been the victim of a homicide,” Dom said in accordance with protocol.
There was a pause, “Is this heaven?”
“No,” Dom continued, “this is a pod-cloning facility in Level 23 of Sub New York.”
“What am I doing here?”
“Legal maneuvering, mostly,” said Owen.
“What?”
Dom brought to mind the by-the-book explanation. “You are aware that your standard neural implants record all your memories for easier personal access?” Green nodded. “According to the Brenshaw Privacy Act of 2101, it is illegal for the police to directly access any of these recorded memories, even in the case of a murder victim.”
“Now, here’s where things get good,” Owen interjected.
Dom continued, “However, it is legal for any person’s memory to be temporarily downloaded into a ‘printed’ pod clone. Such a copy can be used for questioning.”
“You mean I—”
“Was a bathtub full of stem cells two minutes ago?” Owen interrupted, “Yep.”
“What is the last thing you remember?” Dom continued.
“I—I was arguing with my wife, and then she pulled out a kitchen knife and—and—”
“Ha!” Owen exclaimed, pointing mockingly at his partner, “I told you it was the wife!”
“Alright, you don’t have to brag,” Dom said. He turned to the tech, “That’s all we need.” The tech pushed another button and the clone of Arthur Green reverted back into a mass of programmable white slop. “Let’s go find some evidence against her.”
The officers walked back to the elevators. “Hey, Owen?”
“Yeah, Dom?”
“Does it ever feel weird to you? Melting them like that?”
“Nah, court’s already adjourned, all we do is burn a copy of the transcript.”
“I guess you’re right. Just promise me something, Owen.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t do that to me when I get murdered.”
“Heh heh. Don’t worry, Dom, I won’t,” the elevator doors opened and they stepped in. Owen added “Why would I kill ya’ just to make another one?”
by submission | Mar 26, 2013 | Story |
Author : Aaron Koelker
I had eaten a ham sandwich the morning we found God. It wasn’t exactly the foundation of great literature. Perhaps they would write in a great feast and how our crew was a likable bunch both humble and imperfect. You know, a “twelve apostles” sort of crew, all dedicated to our own view of a higher power. Which wasn’t too far from the truth. We were a pretty diverse crew, and whether it was planned that way or just poor luck I’ll never know.
The creature that floated before our bow was certainly god-like in scope, but little else. It looked like a planetoid gourd covered in warts and veins, gently pulsing in sync with the starry background.
“My God…” the co-pilot gasped, her eyes wide.
“Which one you talking to?” the engineer laughed.
“That thing is a monstrosity,” the co-pilot finished.
The engineer made way for the coffee machine, smiling to himself. “I don’t know”, he said. “I find it sort of humbling.”
The head science officer walked into the room.
“Well, the scanners confirm it,” he said. “That thing is expelling organic matter in every direction. A spore-like vessel; just like the ones we’ve been finding.” He stopped in front of the forward port and gazed upon the beast. “We’ll need more time to derive its age, composition, metabolism…and of course its origin.”
“The Panspermians are going to go nuts,” I said.
The science officer turned toward me.
“Granted we can prove it’s really the source.”
“Everything we’ve collected and studied; all the sleuth-work has brought us to this place. This backwater space on the edge of nowhere.” I paused as I watched the creature, not yet sure what to think of it, only that it existed. “It has to be.”
“We should leave it,” said the co-pilot. “We should get out of here. That thing,” spoken with the utmost disgust, “wasn’t meant to be found.”
“Oh don’t get all prophetic on us,” said the engineer. “Why the fuck would you sign onto this expedition?”
“I don’t know. But it wasn’t to find that.”
I saw her discreetly twiddling with the bracelet she wore under her sleeve, the one bearing the sign of her faith. She had shown it to me the night before.
“Where are the other three?” I asked.
“In their cabins, I believe.”
I left and found the medical officer sitting on his bunk, the door to his cabin ajar. There was a thick book in his hands from which he read aloud, fast and mumbling.
“You alright in here?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. I waited a moment longer before leaving to find the other two science officers. They weren’t in the lab, so I figured they must’ve been down in the cargo hold, looking over the collected spore samples.
The hold was dark, and upon entering a sharp acrid smell filled my nose.
“Anybody in here?” I called.
No answer. I ventured toward the back where the samples were kept. There, half-wedged onto the bottom shelf, was a makeshift chemical bomb thrown together with spare parts and lab supplies. A puddle of leaked fluid slicked the metal floor.
Beside the bomb lay one of the science officers, a long stain of blood running down his collar. In one hand he held a scalpel and the other a metal charm strung on a silver chain. I recognized the symbol; an extremist cult. One that lead a world power and over two billion people through its strict law; one that couldn’t afford to have that law grow fallacious.
Perhaps we hadn’t found God after all.
