by submission | Sep 11, 2010 | Story
Author : Jacqueline Rochow
Private Collins remained at attention as the guard ran the scanner over him. Satisfied that he carried no electronic devices, the guard left him alone with Sergeant Peters.
“At ease, private. Take a seat, will you?”
Nervously, Collins did as he was told. “Sir?”
“You’re here because you ticked certain consent boxes when you joined us seven years ago. Particularly, an automatic consent to top secret missions. I’m a fair man, private, and I know a lot can change in seven years, so I’m going to give you the chance to walk out of this room now. If you don’t, the only way you’re leaving is in the cockpit of a one-man craft with some top secret orders. Understand?”
“Y… yes. “
Peters stared idly at his fingers for several seconds, then looked up to see that Collins was still there. “Good man. Tell me, have you ever heard of Taxcelon?”
Collins racked his memory. “Weren’t there old folk tales about… some hugely powerful immortal entity? Destroyed whole planets before just disappearing one day? That was –”
“A long time ago, yes. The official story was mysterious disappearance; in actuality, we caught it.”
“How?”
“Tricked it. Some genius engineers rigged up a device that imprisons it inside a material body. Such a form severely limited its abilities. It was only as smart as the brain it was inside, couldn’t do much beyond move material objects. No idea how the thing works, but that doesn’t matter; the important thing is, what the hell could be done with it then? Killing its host would cause it to automatically take another, and we were worried that over time it would figure out how to control that. An enemy with no mercy, a huge grudge and the ability to possess anyone? Not a good thing. A prison doesn’t work as a prison if the inmate can suddenly become one of the guards, does it?”
“So… what happened?”
“We built a guardless prison from scratch. A shell, if you will.” Peters slid a small star map across the table. “You know how the entire Alpha Centauri area has been a no fly zone for as long as anyone can remember?”
“Yes…”
“That’s because of this nearby star, here. We picked a planet and seeded the entire thing with single-celled life, left the entity’s poor host there and took off.”
“Oh! So if it dies –”
“Taxcelon reincarnates into bacteria indefinitely. That was the plan. The no-fly zone is to avoid the remote possibility of it hitching a lift off the planet, but in bacteria it shouldn’t be able to remember what it is or think at all anyway.”
“And there’s a problem?”
“The thing about life is that it doesn’t stay the same for long. That planet, see, now has intelligent life. Smart enough that, assuming Taxcelon is inside one of ‘em, it should be able to remember some stuff, possibly even work a little of its old power. And that species is inventing space travel.”
“So you want me to kill them.”
“From a distance. Make sure you get everything intelligent but leave some bacteria or something, enough to ensure that life will continue. Mission details are in your ship. Get going.”
“Yes sir.” Collins’ salute and stride were purposeful. He had a very important mission.
Once he was alone, Peters remotely checked the condition of the explosive charges hidden in Collins’ ship. It was a pity about the kid, but they couldn’t risk him bringing Taxcelon back by accident.
“That’ll buy us a few billion more years,” he muttered to himself.
by Patricia Stewart | Sep 9, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
After unimaginable losses, The Earth Alliance was still unable to breach the Draconian military installation on Hydrae II. The fortress sat safely within a walled city that was protected by sixteen electrostatic cannons strategically placed around the perimeter. When fired, the cannons projected an attenuated subspace energy wave that caused the electrical bonds between atoms to vibrate out of control; similar in some respects to the way microwaves cause water molecules to vibrate in order to produce heat. When the spectrographic sensors identified the target material, the electrostatic cannons fired a specific frequency wave to break the appropriated atomic bonds, i.e., either metallic, covalent, or ionic, depending on whether the material was a metal, polymer, or ceramic. Once the bonds were broken, the object harmlessly disintegrates into its constituent atoms. Any atoms that might be intrinsically harmful, such as radioactive ones like uranium and plutonium, were repelled by the nucleonic deflector shield. Conventional military tactics appeared useless against the Draconian defenses.
After months of brainstorming, a young chemist proposed an unorthodox solution. Although few senior scientists thought the plan would work, it was eventually approved; mostly because nobody could come up with anything better.
A few weeks later, a 250,000 ton computer controlled space freighter was brought into geosynchronous orbit above the Draconian installation. As dawn approached, the on-board computer fired its massive thrusters to begin the deorbiting sequence. The new flight path caused the ship to drop vertically downward toward the military installation. When the freighter passed the Kármán line, the Draconian spectrographic sensors detected the exterior PICA shielding of the spaceship and the electrostatic cannons began to fire. As the covalent bonds were destroyed, the phenolic impregnated carbon layer instantly spalled away. The spectrograph and cannons continued to rapidly detect, and subsequently attack, the successive layers of the ship. Seconds later, the titanium support structure disintegrated. Then the silicon and oxygen atoms were ripped from the fiberglass insulation. The interior sub-structure, including the aluminum bulkheads, copper wires, steel nuts and bolts, etc., progressively disappeared as their metallic cohesion was lost. Eventually, the cannons reached the cargo holds. Wooden crates filled with solid potassium, coal, and sulfur were all vaporized in quick succession. Finally, the oxygen and hydrogen fuel tanks, the nitrogen purge tanks, a briquette of metallic sodium, and the steel engines were all atomized. In less than a minute, the ship was gone, and the sixteen electrostatic cannons powered down. The Draconians cheered, and mocked the Earthlings once again for their continued impotence.
But slowly, the original momentum of the plummeting ship continued to carry the cloud of dispersing atoms ever downward toward the Draconian fortress. The atomic gasses rolled into the city and through the streets. Finally, when the sodium atoms contacted the morning dew they started an exothermal reaction that caused the oxygenated atmosphere to spontaneously react with the thousands of tons of carbon, potassium, and sulfur that had once been inside the cargo hold. In a tumultuous fireball that could be seen from space, the payload exploded with the force of a nuclear bomb. The churning mushroom cloud turned itself inside out as it swirled upward from the leveled city. This time, there were no Draconians to mock the Earthmen.
by submission | Sep 6, 2010 | Story
Author : Helstrom
The blank page seems to stare at me – it always does. It’s an anachronism. I am of an older generation of writers. I like the feel of keys submitting to my fingertips, the facsimile of a sheet of paper presented on a luminescent screen. It is the only light in the room now. On the desk, a full glass of scotch, and a threateningly empty bottle beside it. Smoke curling up from the ashtray. The little wooden Komodo dragon I bought in Indonesia once.
A bit further off, more anachronisms. Books, lined up sternly on a set of shelves. I don’t have mine for nostalgic flair, I actually read the damn things. Something about the touch of paper, the smell of ink, the actual turning of a page. Writers are supposed to be like that, I guess. I’m not that much older, really, that’s bullshit. I just like the taste of it – “an older generation of writers”.
I think about the tens of thousands of words I have committed to this blank page, only to be erased and forgotten forever. Times like these, I wish I could call them back somehow. There must have been something good in there. Something I could salvage now. Jesus Christ, anything to get this blank page to fill up. Blank pages seem to fill up by themselves once you get them started – getting them started being the trick, of course.
Chasey stirs on the bed, the dim blue of the screen shining on her curves. Chasey? Stacy? Maybe she’s called Charlie, even. It’ll be short for Charlotte but I’ve always been a sucker for girls with boys’ names. Like Charlie or Sam or Alex. There might be some bi-curiosity in that. Given the night we just had, though, I think Charlie would beg to differ. Maybe I should write something about her.
A few words come out but they’re pretty vulgar. Not bad, per sé, but more like something you would start off a racy novel with. The kind they sell at gas stations. The cursor backs over them quickly. I’ll hang myself before I start writing dreck like that. Or at least I’ll stop paying the rent.
I light up another and take a sip of scotch, which I know I’ll regret once the glass is empty and the bottle gives out nothing but fumes. Charlie mumbles in her sleep and rolls over, two soft blue crescents highlighting her butt. I turn away and stare back at the blank page again, hoping it wi—
— Getting back in your own head is a little disorienting at first, but you get used to it —
“Hey man,” I say, tossing the chip on the counter, “What soft shit you call this?”
“You wanted something long.” Says the dude.
“Yeah, something long-time. Fuck is this?”
“It’s good stuff. Don’t worry, has sex too.”
“Right, just after I write the great American novel? Give me something else.”
“Philistine.”
The dude takes the chip back, hands me another from the regular box. I slip it in and right before it starts, I notice he’s tapping at an antique laptop. Idio—
—I’m on a circular bed, must be at least ten feet across. Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice. Two Asian girls in platform heels, nothing else, walking up to me. This is better.
by submission | Sep 5, 2010 | Story
Author : Clint Wilson
After eight long years in his lush prison Martin finally woke up one day to something new.
A woman for god sake, the bugheads had actually brought him a woman! She wasn’t exactly sexy by his old standards, short cropped hair and quite plain looking, but after this long without setting eyes on another human being she was the best damn thing he had ever seen.
She cowered on the floor beside one of the sofas near the outer window, hugging a cushion to her body. He hopped down off the bed and moved toward her, “Hello,” he said.
She made a startled sound and looked at him as if she had just noticed him there for the first time. Her voice came out weak and shaky, “Who… who are you? What is this place?”
“You don’t remember much do you hon? It’s okay; I remember when the bugheads first grabbed me. It was, and still is the most traumatic thing I’ve ever experienced. And the sad thing is, we aint ever getting out of here.” Martin ventured a little closer to her but she instinctively pulled back as close to the wall as she could. “It’s not all that horrible you know. We’re pretty well cared for.”
She continued to peer at him from behind the cushion, eyes wide and darting. He held out a reassuring hand. “Stand up, look out the window behind you.”
She hesitated for nearly a minute but he waited patiently, his outstretched hand never wavering. And then finally she tentatively got to her feet, refusing his hand, and turned around.
Together they looked out at the bughead home world. They were over a hundred stories in the air and had a fantastic view of lush green swamps stretching to the horizon where an orange sun was creeping up into an early morning sky.
After a time she finally allowed him to show her around the posh accommodations their alien captors had provided. “The best I can figure is we have about ten thousand square feet of living space here, including the gymnasium and swimming pool upstairs. The bugheads haven’t forgotten anything as far as comforts go.”
“But why? Why have they brought us here?”
“Come on,” he said as he led her to the inner window.
There they looked out into the shaft and it was evident to the frightened, bewildered woman that this massive building was a circular tower with a hollow center. And the inside was lined, as far up and down as could be seen, with windows like the one they were now looking through. Then she gasped as she realized what was behind all those other windows.
Martin pointed at a group of green slouching bipeds a couple stories up, “I call those guys the lizard gang.” Then referring to a pair of large, horned, red quadrupeds directly across from them he said, “Morning Mr. and Mrs. Buffalo.” Then he continued for some time to tell her his own pet names for creatures and beasts of nearly unlimited design and description. And as he said, “That fellow down there? I just call him Mr. Ugly,” She suddenly grabbed him and spun him toward her. “We’re part of a fucking zoo?”
“Zoo, collection, call it what you want. At any rate,” he hesitated, sizing her up for a second, “I guess they thought I needed a mate.”
“Sorry,” she said pulling back firmly. “They should have done their research a little better.”
And he suddenly knew exactly what she was going to say next.
“I’m gay.”
by submission | Sep 3, 2010 | Story
Author : Brendan Garbee
My ex-husband shows up on my doorstep on a blustery day in the middle of a sunshower, and he puts his hands in his pockets and sways in a way that tells me he’s a little bit drunk. He smiles at me sheepishly and says, “I heard you didn’t live here anymore. But I guess I knew you’d be here, anyway.”
Fourteen years ago, a Black Hole opened in outer space and everyone started getting younger instead of older. Scientists say that time is getting pulled into reverse by the Black Hole’s gravity. I don’t know about all that, but last year the subdivision where I was living fell apart. The plot of land turned back into an abandoned stone quarry. My ex-husband and I separated 32 years ago, I sold this little house back then and moved away and now I’m 78, I’m physically 46 and I’m living somewhere I never thought I’d be again.
I offer him a seat on the porch, and go inside to fix us some drinks. When I come back out, he’s got his boots up on the banister just like he would have had them when this was his porch, and you can see in his face that he’s thinking about that. He hands me a cigarette.
“You quit years ago,” I protest as he holds the light for me.
“I smoke all I want, and each morning I’ve got healthier lungs than the day before.” He says. “Why not smoke?”
I shake my head. “They’re gonna fix this someday and time’ll go forward again.”
And he grunts and says, “No they won’t.”
He tells me that his niece has gotten so young that she’s in the hospital. “We’re all gonna turn back to zygotes someday. And in another couple million years the solar system will fall into the Hole and that’ll be that.”
“Jesus Christ,” I sigh. “I hope you don’t act that way when we lose our children.”
Distracted, he frowns. “I’m sure I won’t.”
He’s restless, tapping his foot in a way that would have irritated me the last time I was 46. “I quit drinking, you know. Completely quit. I was going to church, really trying to get my life in order. And I stuck with it after the Black Hole.” He sighs. “A few months back, I just stopped giving a damn. I don’t know why.” He grinds his teeth a little. “I tell myself I’m still an 80 year old man. I don’t have to go through all the bad stuff again,” he says, and I think that it sounds like he’s asking a question. I don’t have any answers for him, if he is.
I hug my knees to my chest. “When I got a job offer back here in town, I was astonished. When this old house showed up for rent, I was mortified. I didn’t even consider taking the place until a few months ago. Partly for fear that you’d be here.”
He smiles. “What changed your mind?”
I scoff. “I didn’t change my mind about you, buster.” Then I sigh and stretch my legs out in front of me and I’m quiet for a little while. “You remember that day we went out on Marty Larmine’s sailboat? Molly and him were still together then, and Randy and Cheryl were there. Our kids were just babies.” We glance at each other and then both turn away quick, shy like teenagers.
“I’d like to do that again,” I say after a minute, sighing. And we sit there on the porch watching the puddles collect in the street and ripple and then send their raindrops hurtling upwards into the billowing heavens.
