by Stephen R. Smith | Feb 8, 2016 | Story |
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
They waited at the mouth of the service corridor, the mezzanine railing just a few meters away. Above them somewhere, the heavy thumping of the security spider marked its progress in its pursuit of them. Across an open space broken at intervals by tree trunks and greenery, the armored glass of the laboratory stretched floor to ceiling, and out of sight in either direction.
“That going to present a problem?” A rhetorical question. Mett knew Gaez wouldn’t have signed on for this if it wasn’t going to present a challenge.
“Working on it” the disinterested reply. Gaez was more interested in their stalker.
They broke cover and sprinted left, hugging the wall. Cameras hung limp and blind at frequent intervals from the ceiling, one of the many indicators that Gaez had taken ownership of the facility’s less deadly security systems.
A whine from above, rising in pitch, was abruptly punctuated by a volley of sabot rounds fired across the garden atrium into the laboratory windows. Large pieces of their armored surface buckled under the impact.
“Work faster, those aren’t anti-personnel rounds,” Mett chirped, picking up the pace of his sprint. The spider, realizing it had been firing at reflections, began recalculating and relocating to obtain firing options on their actual position.
“No, they’re not. As far as the security system is concerned, we’re an intruding spider.” Across the atrium a heavy section of weakened wall crumbled, their pursuer having none-too delicately ripped a gaping wound through the only thing left keeping them out of the lab. “See, told you I was working on that.”
Mett’s communication alarms flashed red at the edges of his vision as Gaez had started speaking over an open channel. He grabbed Gaez by the shoulder, tapping his mouth and making a slashing motion across his throat with one hand.
“I know, I opened the channel. We’re encrypted, so it can’t understand what we’re saying, but it’s listening intently. All good.” Gaez grinned.
They continued to the end of the mezzanine and ducked back into another service corridor leading away from the open area as the spider on the floor above clambered out on a walkway, cannon noisily searching the space where they’d been.
“Keep talking, it’s time to turn off that ugly bug.”
Mett kept the pace, but couldn’t keep the doubt from his voice. “Those things aren’t hackable. I’d have heard about–”
Gaez cut him off.
“No, not directly hackable, but I know a few useful service codes.”
Another volley hammered down the hallway as they turned left again – the spider was picking up speed, anticipating their movements as they doubled back on the route they’d taken a few moments ago.
“Service codes? You hacked TacComm’s network?”
Gaez shook his head, obviously concentrating as he ran code through the broadcast system in his head. “Not TacComm, but they outsource service for some of the local deployments.”
“So you hacked one of those?”
“No, but the local service providers can’t all manage the spider’s heating and cooling systems, so they outsource that to some other companies. I hacked one of those.”
As they reached the first hallway heading back towards the atrium, Mett grabbed Gaez by the shoulders and stopped him just short of the opening, seconds before the spider unleashed another volley of shells into the space it had predicted they should have occupied in that instant.
Mett turned his partner around, locking eyes. “And what the hell good is that?”
Gaez grinned again.
“While we’ve been talking, the spider’s been listening, and I’ve been spiking the comms with temperature-sensor code-shrapnel.” He pushed Mett back slowly the way they’d come. Down the hallway the spider’s cannon was spinning down, no longer firing. “The polarity of the firing systems temperature sensors in the ammo storage compartments has been inverted, and the spider is compensating for the fact that it thinks it’s starting to freeze. The more it turns up the heat, the colder the thermo sensors will report, until–”
His words were drowned out by the sudden ignition of every remaining round inside the spider’s armored chassis, coupled with the rupturing of its fuel cells.
When the noise subsided, Gaez patted his partner on both shoulders, and turned to pick through the wrecked hallway towards the opened lab.
“Consider it worked on. ”
by submission | Feb 7, 2016 | Story |
Author : Suzanne Borchers
Within a huge classroom, Professor Stella watches what appears to be a wild party. Twelve divergent beings converse in languages of uttered speech, thought, movement and touch. Shouts, laughter, and slaps resound. Is this a scene of galactic insanity?
No. It is an experiential warehouse of virtual reality learning which spins in space billions of parsecs from the nearest star. Images of cooperative and competitive thought-architectures fill the shelves, spilling onto the floor and piling upon each other.
Stella calls to Xerus who immediately blows a gust of laughter at his tottering bot to prevent it from smashing into his partner’s project. Stella turns her attention to another team.
Often during this past season, Stella had contemplated how she would feel on her last day of teaching. Would she regret the seemingly infinite number of seasons she had spent here? Would she regret her sacrifice of personal time and relationships for this full-time network? Would she find another vocation in her mandated retirement?
Stella’s breathing is heavy and her two hearts pound.
Last day is here.
Stella smiles as she gathers her students into a circle. The playful shoving, poking, and guffaws take time to settle into place. Each “other worlds” student has grown in personal and interpersonal confidence. This season has been successful. Now is the time to release their images back to their own worlds. Her smile falters a moment at her future loss, but again Stella smiles.
“The universe survives by intertwining cycles with networks. Use these to prosper the spheres of light in our worlds.” She breathes deeply. “I am satisfied you possess the tools to network successfully.” Stella reaches out her rainbow-colored fin toward each student. “Network wisely, my children.” Professor Stella closes her eyes. “Power out.”
The darkened room becomes empty space promising a new season.
by submission | Feb 6, 2016 | Story |
Author : Christos Tsirimokos
You would think living in paradise is easy.
And it is, physically, since our creations provide for everything.
But mentally? Have you tried to keep sane when you have nothing interesting to do?
Even the most extreme experiences can become trite given time and we have all the time in the universe to try everything. It’s not like we can die from disease or accident anymore, so why not?
I’ve seen most of my friends get more and more bored as time passed. Someone found it a good idea to die and not come back. He started a trend. I’m not the only living person yet, but I know us all by name.
Truth is I don’t know how long this situation will keep me interested. I have already made my decision to follow everyone else and I keep smiling these days, not from insanity, nor from relief, but the irony.
Who would have thought that humanity would end not in some terrible disaster but in utter boredom?
by submission | Feb 1, 2016 | Story |
Author : Bryan Pastor
An officer sprinted down the hall, past superiors and subordinates alike. Nearing the end of the hall, he slid to a stop, upsetting two chairs outside the deputy legate’s office. He quickly set them back in place, then checked himself in the reflection of a picture’s glass. Confident that he was in order, he marched around the corner toward the Marshal’s office.
A pair of guards flanked the high officer’s door. A young female officer sat behind a desk, upon noticing the officer’s appearance, she fixed him with a dower glare.
“The marshal is not to be disturbed.” The female officer growled, even as he was only halfway down the hall.
“I have an urgent message for Marshall Kana.” He replied, snapping her a salute.
“You can give it to me.”
“It’s for his ears only ma’am.” He replied. “It’s is about…” he paused and cleared his throat.
“Alpha.”
“Send him in.” a voice barked from the office.
The interior of the Marshal’s office was decorated in deep red and gold. A wooden desk sat opposite the door, a rare item this far from the home world.
“This better be important.” Said the Marshal, a half-finished plate of food sat among maps and troop deployments.
The officer steadied himself then made the ten steps to the front of the Marshall’s desk.
“Who are you?”
“Second Corporal Lew, intelligence corp.”
“Spit it out, Lew.”
“We have him, sir.” Lew beamed.
The marshal’s hand reflexively shot to the patch over his left eye.
“Where?”
“On an inbound transport that will be docking in less than ten minutes. I have an interrogation room ready for his arrival.”
“Good.” The Marshal chuckled. “I have been waiting a long time for this.”
Four heavily armed guards led a shackled and hooded man down a dimly lit corridor. They marched on for what seemed like an eternity until they came to a plain, unmarked door.
“You sure this is the place?” a guard asked.
“This is where we were directed.” His superior replied. He knocked on the door.
A camera dropped from the ceiling, scanned the small group then retreated. There was a clank and a hiss, the door and surrounding wall faded. In its place were a dozen more guards.
Second Corporal Lew stepped forward.
“We will take him from here.” He dismissed the men.
“There is someone who is eager to see you again, Duren’La” Lew grabbed the prisoner by the arm, pulling him toward a table. The Marshal sat behind it.
“Duren’La, my old friend.” The Marshal laughed, “I haven’t seen you since…”
“You lost your eye?” A voice offered from beneath the hood. Lew motioned to have the hood removed.
The man squinted as his eye’s grew accustom to the light.
“I am going to make the last days of your life as miserable as possible.” Kana rose, anger emanating from every fiber of his being.
“Six long months I languished on that desolate rock waiting to be found. Then another six months spent in a field hospital. It’s a pity I don’t have an asteroid to plop you down on.” Kana jabbed a finger at his prisoner’s chest, it sank in nearly up to his knuckle.
Kana stared, a look of incredulity crossed his face. Duren’La looked at him and smiled, before collapsing into innumerable nanobots.
“You brought me to the center of your citadel, right?” Duren’La’s voice seemed to come from everywhere.
Men screamed as the swarm engulfed them in a maelstrom of destruction, none louder than Marshall Kana.
by submission | Jan 31, 2016 | Story |
Author : Chris McCormick
There was no dramatic music swelling, no handsome actor reciting prose. Instead there was my friend the dev, lying on her back in the grass convulsing as the electricity ran through her, arms and legs unfolded from the lotus position she had assumed only moments before. The police drone floated over her, lights flashing blue and red, blades whipping.
When the drones had first descended, and the silence of the crowd with them leaving only the whirring of their wings, I had known exactly what she would do. I’d whispered to her fiercely “Submit to the search! Let them do it.”
She had turned and looked at me strangely, her eyes full of something like quiet curiosity.
“If you’re not doing anything wrong, why not submit to the search?” I followed up. One too many excuses for the powerful.
Her eyes burned with calm intelligence and her voice was low and steady, just above a whisper. “You’re asking the wrong question.” She paused and I could see her pupils expanding gently. “Are they doing anything wrong?”
Now she lay there on the grass in the afternoon light, convulsions over, a moment on pause.
The drone above her seemed to quiver slightly, the pitch of its engines changing down an anharmonic octave. If a machine can sound sick then that is how this drone began to sound. It gently, comically tilted and began an awkward sideways sliding descent, parting the crowd before plouging into the ground with its angled blades, churning the dirt and lofting clods of grass into the air like a pile of manic robot worms. Then it suddenly stopped, dead.
Other drones began to sputter, wobble, gently dive, lights flashing out of time. One by one they dropped clumsily to the ground, mashing into it and flailing on the ground like bugs after spray.
When they had all fallen and the last flickering light had faded, a cold wind blew across the grass. Nobody wanted to look at anybody else. Complicit in our weakness, except for one lone hero, our collective cowardice now revealed by the silent aftermath.
I crouched down where she lay. Skin white and clammy, I saw a tiny black cube with a single flashing green LED in her left hand. I thought I saw a weak smile tickle at the corner of her mouth and in that moment I knew what she had wrought.
“This is fucked. I’m fucking out of here,” somebody muttered and the crowd began to slink away like jellies sliding off a table, rivers of people moving off between the trees.
That is how the fight began.
