by Patricia Stewart | Nov 3, 2011 | Story |
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Doctor Letum stood on the bridge of the Galaxy Explorer, staring at the forward viewscreen anticipating his first up-close look at Wolf-Rayet 104. It was not easy getting to this point, he mused. Ten years of filing applications, dozens of interviews, endless bureaucracy. “We’re sorry, Dr. Letum,” they would say, “but we have a finite number or warp capable starships, and they are all being allocated to expeditions to G-type main-sequence stars with potentially life bearing planetary systems. We cannot squander our limited resources solely for the purpose of academic research. Yes, yes, we know that it’s pre-supernova. Yes, yes, we understand the potential benefits to astrophysics. But seriously, Doctor, have you even seen the dynamic holographs from Rho Indi? They’re simply breathtaking. And Rho Indi is only 86 light years from earth, not 8,000. Perhaps you can try again next year. We are adding two new starships to the fleet. Maybe we can piggy-back you onto one of the older ships as the fall-back mission, in case the primary target turns out to be a dud.” If he hadn’t married the sister of the Secretary of Space Exploration, he presumed that he’d still be studying Wolf-Rayet 104 using the deep space array on the far side of the moon.
Doctor Letum was snapped from his rumination by the captain of the Galaxy Explorer, “Disengage the warp drive, Mr. Thomas, and turn on the main viewer.” There was a momentary inertial lunge as the ship returned to normal space, but Letum maintained his balance with a reasonable degree of respectability. When the viewscreen came to life, there was one star shining brightly.
“Captain,” said Dr. Letum, “these are not the right coordinates. Wolf-Rayet 104 is a binary system. There should be two stars.”
The captain consulted the ops readouts and replied, “We’re at the right location, Doctor. Maximum magnification, Mr. Thomas.” A few seconds later, the original star was off-screen, and a faint ribbon of gas could be seen spiraling into the gravity well of a black hole. “Ah, there’s the problem, Doctor. Your star already went nova. Sorry, I guess you missed the fireworks. Doctor, are you alright? Doctor?”
Dr. Letum stared at the viewscreen in horror. “Oh my God. This was not supposed to happen for another hundred thousand years. I thought we had more time. Quick, Captain, launch the probes. We need to find out the black hole’s axis of rotation.”
“I don’t understand, Doctor.”
“When Wolf-Rayet 104 went supernova, it omitted extremely powerful gamma ray bursts from both poles. Before we left earth, my data indicated that one of those poles was oriented directly at our solar system. If that’s correct, then earth has less than 8000 years before the radiation kills every living thing in the solar system.”
The following day, their worst nightmare came to fruition. The black hole’s axial inclination was only 0.005 degrees off sol’s position. “Is that enough, Doctor?” ask the captain.
“No,” Letum replied. “We need to find out how much time earth has. If we go back to one light year from earth, and can still see Wolf-Rayet 104, then they’ll have a least a year to prepare. Then we’ll keep jumping in one light year intervals until we can’t see the star any longer. That’ll be how much time we’ll have.”
When they came out of warp, one light year from earth, they focused the telescope on Wolf-Rayet 104. They saw two stars. “Thank God,” said Letum. “At least we have a chance!” However, as they watched, one star began to brighten rapidly. Seconds later, gamma rays vaporized the ship.
by featured writer | Nov 1, 2011 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Featured Writer
“So this is it?” I asked, more than just a little depressed and disappointed.
“Well what did you expect?” asked Grrrrshnk. The giant veins in his bulbous blue head pulsated visibly through his space helmet.
“I dunno,” I replied. I mean, sheesh… ‘the edge of the universe’ you’d think there’d be more than just this hard black surface.” To add emphasis to my proclamation I stomped on the unyielding solidness that was apparently the end of all space and time. I was greeted by a dull clack, the sound of my boot hitting the end of infinity and reverberating back up at me through my pressure suit.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Let’s go to the site and see how we are progressing.” We did not skip off into space as we walked back to the federation lander. Incredibly the endless plain had a soft pull of just a little over a G, one-point-zero-eight to be exact. Together we got back into the little ship and made our way above the ever-stretching flatness. Then suddenly the scenery ahead began to change. In the far-off distance were mountains of pure blackness. But what could cause this, here along the impenetrable plain of the universe’s edge?
Grrrrshnk explained. “This is the debris we have thus far excavated from the hole.” He maneuvered the craft deftly between mountainous heaps of shredded piles of the black material. Here and there massive robotic dozers, loaders, and trucks moved about piles of the obsidian gravel. “It goes for several thousand more kilometers before we reach the bore hole.” He hit the accelerator and we sped along toward the monstrous drilling rig.
Soon we could see the ever-reaching silver sliver of the diamondite bit stretching up into the blackness of space.
I am not a stupid man by any stretch, but when Grrrrshnk debriefed me on how diamondite was actually created in reactors and then later controlled at the subatomic level by super computers manipulating quadrillions of miniscule nanobots in unison, I barely kept up with him, but I got the gist of it. Here was an infinitely strong material that could be stretched, shaped, spun, manipulated in any manner, and forced to do your bidding. Here was the massive diamondite drill bit that continuously churned downward toward the unknown.
As we approached the constantly turning gleaming silver shaft I of course recorded everything for the people of Earth. They were definitely curious about this expensive federation project of drilling to find a parallel universe beyond our own, as was I.
“Tell me Grrrrshnk,” I pronounced it as best as I could, “How deep have you bored down thus far?”
The blue-skinned alien beamed, ” We are just about to hit a milestone.” He paused for a few seconds for dramatic effect, smiling somewhat smugly. “Half a light year! Can you believe it? We have gone nearly fifty percent of one entire light year!”
This I understood well to be an incredible distance to say the least. “Does the drill bit show any signs of twisting yet?”
“Not a millimeter in all that length. Remember, the nanobots act as one, but are still all distinct individuals.”
“Okay I have enough footage for my news story. Thanks for your cooperation.” Then as he turned the craft and shot upward and out toward my waiting transport I thought of one last question for the proud site director.
“So Grrrrshnk,” this time I pronounced it almost perfectly. “How much further do you think you will have to go?”
His answer was honest and direct. “As far as it takes.”
by submission | Oct 30, 2011 | Story |
Author : Suzanne Borchers
Bea stared through the 10 mm thick window at the metallic mining equipment covering the gray landscape. One more plate to wipe then she’d be able to read and escape this. She’d be in a colorful world filled with fascinating sights and enchanting friends.
“Dammit, I hate this place,” she muttered. She swept her gaze around the kitchen area. Had her husband heard? He must be outside securing one more plate on the roof. She caught her breath as she stifled a laugh. “How long has it been since I’ve seen one drop of rain? How long have we been here? Forever?”
“Lonely?” The quiet question came from behind her.
“Oh, James. You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Bea turned to wrap her arms around her husband’s waist.
“I never should have married you, Bea. This is no place for a woman. You were happy with your family…, friends…, parties…, travels.”
She wanted to say that this godforsaken rock was no place for a man either. Instead, she drew him closer and rested her head on his chest.
A motion outside caught her attention.
“It’s the supply shuttle! Maybe they’ve brought more library chips!” She pulled away from James’ arms, running to retrieve the case holding the old chips.
“Bea.” His voice seemed to stick in his throat. “It’s not the supply ship.” He drew her over to the window.
Bea’s eyes widened at the sight of the approaching white suited androids. Their measured steps inevitably brought them to the outside airlock door. She didn’t see them enter and close it, but her heart knew. Soon they would be inside.
“James! Hide me!”
She pressed against him.
“There’s no place to hide.” Tears crowded his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Bea ran through the room, from one wall to another and then back, like a mouse searching for a hole. Meanwhile, metallic appendages pounded the door.
“No!” she screamed.
James opened the door and let the androids into their santuary, their home.
She beat his back with one small, tight fist. “No!” Then she sunk onto the floor, still clutching the case in her other hand.
One android blocked off James from interfering while the other android herded Bea into the tiny room in back.
“James! Don’t let him touch me!”
James stared at the floor. “I can’t stop them. I’m so sorry. I wish I could. Damn that supply ship.” His head swayed with each word. He wiped tears and cursed beneath his breath.
“No! Get away!” Bea’s voice echoed through the cubicle. “But, I’ve never seen the Martian Vaults, or the Baths of Otics, or…” Her voice died away.
The android emerged into the main cubicle and turned to James. He held the case of chips. “Rules cannot be broken. There is a waiting line.”
“But the supply ship didn’t come on time.” James said. “We couldn’t trade for other chips. We haven’t seen a ship in months. Have pity.”
“Rules cannot be broken.” With that, the two androids left James standing alone.
Bea staggered out from their sleeping pod. The chip insertion socket was gone from the tiny cavity in her temple. A small drop of blood intermingled with a tear down her cheek.
“No more worlds to view,” she murmured.
Bea turned and scanned the tiny colorless cubicle. “Ever.”
James moved to Bea.
She whispered.
James leaned toward her.
“They never let you borrow another chip when…” She touched the empty cavity with a finger. “Never.”
“We’ll still have each other,” James said.
He drew her in close.
Bea felt nothing, enclosed her endless gray world.
by submission | Oct 27, 2011 | Story |
Author : Damien Krsteski
“One more and you’re done,” the bartender informs me. I nod, then take a large sip from the bottle.
Due to the nature of their work, bartenders tend to know certain things about people. Fortunately, the multiversal collapse that would lead me to her is a concept he’d never grasp. See, I have a secret to tell. I’ve lived and seen plenty, as much as all the people who have ever walked on this Earth put together. Probably even more so. I noticed it first in my early childhood. What a strange thing for a kid, to be able to leap back and forth. Sideways too. Well, if you think about it, every leap is a leap sideways. To be quite candid, it’s sort of difficult to explain even now. My family considered me sick, asocial. Never tried to disprove them, really. I ran away at the tender age of thirteen and never went back.
So here I am, me and the bearded bartender, half-bent from the alcohol, waiting. Just as I am about to pay my tab and leave, she enters.
Of course, I recognize her. I’ve seen her an infinite-fold times before. Elegant as always, immaculately dressed. That’s her, right there in the doorway. She enters with a bald, toothy guy. He’s talking his head off but she seems bored as hell, and I pick up the cue to intervene. I get up, try not to stagger, and walk over to her.
“Mind if I buy you a drink?” I ask, totally unsure of myself, knees shaking.
“Sure,” She’s beaming. Beautiful black hair waving, breaking right above her shoulders.
She ditches the asshole and sits by my side at the bar. Bartender Mike serves us both beers. We drink in silence, smiling at each other.
Thing is, I know what happens next. She doesn’t.
“I have a confession to make,” I say.
She widens her eyes, anticipating. There must have been a billion guys who’ve told her the same thing before. You’re the most perfect creature I’ve ever seen, she thinks I’ll say. I’ve never seen such beautiful eyes before. She’s almost sure of what I’m about to say. I ponder all possiblities and decide to tell her the truth this time.
“Listen Lisa,” For a brief moment she wonders how I know her name, then decides to go with the flow. “Believe it or not, I’ve practiced this for ages. We have met before, I’ve done this many times before.” She’s almost ready to get up and go back to Mr. Baldy. “Both of us live in a different instance of our universe, everyone does, but the funny thing is, ours overlap at this exact moment. At this instant, where we meet. I have yet to understand why, but what I know for sure is we belong together. Take my hand, and let go. Trust me, and our probability equations will collapse together into one.”
As I speak I become aware of how fast the words rush out of my mouth. She eyes me suspiciously, like I’m the homeless weirdo from the street corner.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” she says, gets up, pats me sympathetically on the shoulder and goes over to wrap her arms around the asshole on the next table.
“But you don’t understand,” I holler out as reality starts dissolving, “we’ve spent a lifetime together already.”
Everything becomes dark.
“And it was perfect,” I whisper into empty space.
Out of nowhere, pieces of the nothingness emerge and rearrange themselves into a bar scene. Bartender Mike tells me something, but the words reach me garbled, devoid of meaning. I’m sitting at the bar, finishing my last beer. Just as I am about to pay my tab and leave, she enters.
I take a deep breath and brace myself for what is to come, my heart trembling with the hope that this might be the time our realities finally converge. I muster courage and walk over to talk her into it.
by submission | Oct 26, 2011 | Story |
Author : g.a.harry
Such heat. Wave upon wave. Through air thick as tapioca. Brutal oppressive. Under the awning, the shade makes it worse. Adding weight, piling on heavy. A bead of sweat starts to form on his forehead. Welling up till gravity pulls it down the side of his head to dangle itching on his chin.
The waitress brings him a glass of frozen tea. Leaves boiled, sifted, separated, the run-off poured into a glass and put into the freezer over night. He watches it melt. The water in the air condensing, making a little puddle, darkening the wood of the table. The wait is unbearable. When enough has melted he slurps at it greedily. The ecstasy of cool. He bites into the ice, impatient.
The next table over, a man, lank skinny, sits, tapping a finger on the table, mumbling some kind of devil voodoo through the solid air. The words come soft, unintelligible. Edges dulled by the soupy breeze. His leg jiggles. The fear of god in his eyes. They flick wildly around. Paranoia written all over his face, a terror of everything.
The waitress comes over, carrying his drink on a small, round, cork-bottomed tray. As she sets the drink on the table, his eyes widen with fear. His hands are at his head. Scratching, pulling,
“Get ’em off me!”
He stands up, jerks vertical, the table tipping. The menu flickers, goes out. The glass of tea smashes, the ashtray dumps ash and butts all over the stone. The people around him stand up, backing away, afraid. It might be catching, borne from his stinking mouth on the moist air, to infest their blood, bring the madness down on them.
Falling to the ground, writhing screaming. Kicking. His skin, torn by glass beneath him, wet from the expanding puddle of melting tea, begins to bleed. Slowly at first, until he is a flailing red mass of lank hair sticky sweet tea.
When the van arrives, medics spill out wearing latex gloves, medical facemasks, he is picked up bodily. Dragged screaming onto a stretcher. They shoot him full of something. Finally he subsides, the animal violence dulled to an occasional twitch. He is put in the velo and taken away.
The matron, thin emaciated, emerges from the cafe pushing a mop and bucket. She struggles to get the small castors over the uneven stone. Her tiny arms, withered thin, look like they might snap under the strain. She grunts, breathing heavily.
As she slowly sweeps the mop across the flags, diluting the bloody tea, spreading it out more evenly, she sings to herself. A song from her childhood, maybe, that her mother used to sing. The melody a memory of happiness, a youth now long gone. Words from an old language spoken to the tune of three little notes.
She notices him watching her, gives him a friendly smile. He can see the shape of her skull through the sagging skin of her face. Watery grey eyes, a hint of jaundice yellow around the iris. She replaces the mop in the bucket, coming over,
“I am sorry. He is a lonely man. He got lost some time ago never managed to make his way back.”
She leans over, taps the menu in the table,
“Order anything you like.”
He looks down at the table. Everything heavy. Meat potatoes rice. He orders the gazpacho.
She smiles, returning to the mop bucket and struggles it back inside. The patrons return to their tables and are reabsorbed by the air. They appear gelatinous, thick custard statues, moving slowly. Sipping their cold, sweet tea.
