by Patricia Stewart | Jan 4, 2009 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
A few hours after the Neptune Explorer achieved orbit around the solar system’s most distant planet, it detected very faint radio signals from Neptune’s largest moon, Triton. The signal was a repeating series of pulses: 1030230233-1030230233-1030230233… Earth based scientists were unsure if this signal was natural or artificial. They instructed the satellite to transmit the same sequence of pulses back toward Triton. Almost instantly, the signal from Triton changed to 3130332-3130332-3130332…
After a minute, Cory Kincaid, NASA’s expert in mathematical concepts and linguistics, yelled “I got it. It’s artificial. “It’s base four, not base ten. I guess these aliens only have four fingers.” His declaration was received with questioning stares, not enlightened nods. “Look, in base ten the first series is really 314159-314159-314159…” Still, only blank stares. “That’s pi, you know 3.14159. The second series is 1.4142 in base ten. That’s the square root of two. They’re the two most basic fundamental relationships in geometry and mathematics. It has to be a signal from an intelligent life form.”
Maria Diorisio, NASA’s Director of Operations, walked up to Cory and patted him firmly on the back. “Congratulations, Kincaid. That little bit of deduction just won you a ticket on a manned mission to Triton, which leaves in two months.”
It actually took three months before the ship left the Docking Station on its seven week sojourn to Triton. During the trip, Cory made significant progress communicating with the Tritons. But the major breakthroughs came after the ship landed. The Tritons turned out to be quarter-sized crab-like creatures that amassed around the numerous geysers dotting Triton’s frozen surface. Apparently, they fed on a food source flowing from the geysers, similar to the chemosynthesis that supported life around Earth’s deep water thermal vents. The crabs walked on four hind legs, and used their two forelimbs to gather food. As it turned out, each of the forelimbs had two “fingers.” The individual crabs were capable of transmitting extremely faint radio signals, presumably for communication, since Triton’s thin atmosphere could not propagate sound waves. The most amazing finding, however, was that each crab was not an individual entity. The estimated one billion crabs were mentally linked together. One brain, so to speak. It was only through their combined, synchronized effort that they were able to gain the attention of the Neptune Explorer. As the weeks passed, Cory was able to work out a rudimentary language, and communication increased exponentially. That’s when the Tritons delivered the bad news.
“Ms. Diorisio,” reported Cory on the hyperlight transceiver, “I need you to focus Hubble II on the following coordinates: RA 284.92475 and Dec +39.436111. It’s important, so please hurry.”
She motioned to her assistant to begin the alignment. “What’s going on Cory?”
“Well, Ms. Diorisio, the Tritons are collectively an extremely intelligent species that have been sentient for almost a billion years. They have an extensive astronomical database. They’ve been trying to warn us for centuries.” He mopped the sweat from his forehead. “They say a long period comet will hit the Earth in nine months. They say it’s over 150 miles in diameter. Please tell me there is nothing at those coordinates.”
After consulting a monitor, Diorisio said “The live image only shows a star. Give us an hour for a longer exposure.” Sixty minutes later, Diorisio’s knees gave way as the time exposure revealed a discernable disc five times larger than Betelgeuse, the star with the largest angular displacement. But the most damning evidence of all was the fog surrounding the disc. The characteristic coma of a comet as it approaches the sun.
by Stephen R. Smith | Jan 1, 2009 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
The pig carcass filled most of the stainless tub where the delivery men had laid it. Freshly slaughtered, but not butchered, it had taken four of them to lift it there. None of them spoke to Rinnovi, only pausing for him to sign for the animal before they left.
On the way to the door, one of the men pointed at the labels affixed to virtually every item in the house; black typewritten names and addresses on white shipping labels. The leader of the group nudged him and shook his head ‘no’, before hurrying him out the door.
Rinnovi poured a scotch, and turned on the kitchen vid display, his own visage peering back at him with a smile. He froze the frame, leaving the remote on the island beside the second stainless tub.
“Osiris, prepare to renew.” He spoke aloud to the empty room.
“Preparations underway.” The voice, angel soft and faintly Irish filled the room seemingly from everywhere at once. Both of the tubs began to fill with a steaming viscous liquid, spattering against the steel, and slowly enveloping the cooling pig.
In the morning, he knew he’d awake and remember nothing of this. He’d find the remote, curiosity would lead him to play the journal he’d recorded of his work over the past year.
January would be spent shipping pieces from his house, following the instructions laid out on the labels attached to them. Physical things acquired over the past year would hold no value or interest to him come morning, and so they would be gifted to those friends who stood by him.
The first of January would be Rinnovi’s forty first birthday. It would also be the twenty sixth time he’d been reborn as a forty one year old. Restored once more to a version of himself a year younger, from a pattern captured over a quarter century ago. Perhaps this time, this year, he’d get it right.
He took one last walk through the rooms of his home. In his office, laid out on screens and strewn across whiteboards and table tops, a years progress towards unlocking the gene-code of his own existence. Another years failure to solve the riddle of his hard coded untimely demise.
This year, surely, a reinvigorated him would solve the puzzle, find the key. Perhaps one day he’d see his forty second birthday.
Returning to the kitchen, preparations complete, Rinnovi placed his empty glass on the counter and paused a moment to pat the now submerged swine. However bad he felt for the animal, using a pig for genetic building blocks was much safer and easier than finding fresh human cadavers. Fewer questions; far less expensive.
“Ok Osiris, let’s try this again.”
“As you wish, I’ll re-brief you in the morning. Goodbye Rinnovi.” The voice soothing, the tone, a hint of sadness.
He poured himself another scotch, this time lacing the drink with powerful sedatives and paralytics, and dropping his bathrobe over the back of a kitchen chair, climbed into the bath of warm liquid. He downed the drink quickly, putting the glass on the counter before slowly slipping beneath the surface. He could feel the chemicals take away control, feel his lungs slowly fill with fluid as the air escaped. The lights of the room dimmed as his eyes unfocused. By the time the nano-tech started reverting to his backup, he could no longer feel anything at all.
Tomorrow, a new day, a new man, a new chance.
As his consciousness dissolved, he thought of his son, frozen beneath his home. A boy waiting for a father to undo the error of his creation.
Perhaps he could make it safe for his son to age again this year.
by submission | Dec 29, 2008 | Story
Author : Greg R. Fishbone
Agent Stanley, six-time salesman of the month, cut a trail through the switch grass with his machete. His motions were effortless, hardly distracting from his practiced patter about low interest financing.
Behind him trudged the Forrester family. Mr. Forrester swatted mosquitoes from his arms and neck. Mrs. Forrester quietly bemoaned her mud-caked designer shoes. The Forrester children, Gerald and Roxie, fought over a tuna sandwich that represented the last of their daily provisions. The family’s first weekend of house hunting was already a miserable affair.
Agent Stanley’s trailblazing ended abruptly at a precipice with a view of the steamy valley below. “This is a good place to begin. Most of the homes in this valley migrated inland after Hurricane Ronaldo, with a few holdovers from the ’36 flood and some recent foreclosures.”
The Forresters peered down into the fog, where a few house-shaped outlines could be seen moving together toward the northeast. “Do they always travel in packs?” asked Mr. Forrester.
Agent Stanley shrugged. “Not always, but homes by the same developer sometimes form neighborhood associations for their mutual protection. They needn’t worry about burglary, here in the wild, but the security systems don’t know that. Watch your footing on the descent. I tagged a lovely three-bedroom colonial last week that would be perfect for you, if we can find it again.”
The valley was thick with grass and, as Mrs. Forrester loudly noted, a particularly clingy tan-colored mud. Ground cover and trees were common, but not thick enough to prevent houses from moving through. While Mr. Forrester applied more insect repellant and Mrs. Forrester brushed mud from the hem of her skirt, Gerald and Roxie argued over which of them needed more closet space.
Agent Stanley knelt to examine a tree stump. “These cuts are fresh, and the treads lead off in this direction.”
“Houses cut down trees?” asked Gerald.
“They do in the wild, son,” said Agent Stanley. “There aren’t any lumber yards out here, so houses have to make due with what materials they can find.”
“Why do they need lumber if they’re already built?” asked Roxie.
“Repairs. Wear and tear. Or sometimes they feel the need to build a dormer or an addition.”
“Maybe it’s installing crown molding in itself,” said Mrs. Forrester. “I always imagined my first house would have crown molding.” Mr. Forrester put an arm around her shoulders.
The Forristers, with Agent Stanley as their scout, tracked the house through the trees and across the plains. The whine of a buzz-saw grew louder as they approached until, over a small rise, they came upon a team of robotic house-scutters working on a single-story structure with two wide openings in the front.
“We’re in luck!” Agent Stanley exclaimed. “That’s a detached two-car garage–very desirable!”
Mr. and Mrs. Forrester nodded appreciably, while Gerald and Roxie ran forward to play with a robot that seemed to be fashioning shingles from strips of bark. “Be careful, kids!” called Mrs. Forrester.
“Don’t worry.” Agent Stanley chuckled. “Those fourth generation house-scutters are great with children. They cook, they clean, and as you can see, they’re quite handy with home improvements. If you’re ready to make an offer, I’d be happy to–”
He was interrupted by a loud crash, as a four-bedroom Tudor-style house burst into the clearing with red lights blazing in every window. Agent Stanley looked with alarm toward the detached garage, where Gerald Forrester was carving his initials into the door frame with a pocket laser.
“That’s trouble,” said Agent Stanley. “Tudors are notoriously protective of their out-buildings.”
by submission | Dec 24, 2008 | Story
Author : Mark Ingram
Filius was elated. He elatedly embraced his elatedness. His skyship soared just above the bulbous clouds, kicking up wake-mist when it graced the fluffy canopy. Before him, the sun appeared to be permanently stuck in its descent at the twilight hour, casting rays against the purple sky. Purple was his favorite color, and twilight was his favorite time of day; both filled him with a deep sense of blissfulness. He blissfully brimmed with bliss.
On the deck of his majestic ship, Filius bathed in the most soothing of oils, ate the most scrumptious of comestibles, and listened to the most exquisite of melodies. He viewed the most gorgeous of sceneries, smelled the most ambrosial of aromas, and perceived the most serene of affects. All his senses were immersed with the finest delights that he could desire. He gratifyingly indulged in gratification.
And he had Omni to thank for it.
Omni was infinitely benevolent, powerful, present, and knowing. In Omni’s immeasurable wisdom, Omni had created beings in Omni’s image, and Filius was among them. Of course, Omni wanted Omni’s creations to experience the most fulfilling lives possible, so Omni, possessing the inexorable aptitude to do so, fashioned a universe without pain or negative emotions—a universe overflowing with everything pleasurable.
For the beings involved, this included the unbridled capacity to act as they willed. Any idea could be conceived of; any object could be manifest; any action could be performed. Filius knew of Omni. He could envision this infinite designer who had bestowed immeasurable potential among his children and was more potent still. He could comprehend the proceedings of the members of his species and would be joyous because of them. He joyously enjoyed his joy. He could grasp the concepts of sadness, anger, and suffering and was able to rejoice that those would never befall him. His luxuries always brought him felicity, and if for some reason they ever lost their value, he could imagine a new time, a new place, and new comforts—all as valuable.
He felicitously contemplated his felicitousness. For a second, he visualized a universe without Omni or Omni’s influences. Down to the subtlest detail, he pondered the features of the organisms there. In his mind’s eye, Filius saw them—squishy, meaty beings fighting daily to survive without Omni’s gifts in hopes of shedding the surface layer of their misery. Without a second thought, he forgot their displeasure with a smile.
As his ship sailed off toward the eternal sunset, he happily resumed his happiness.
by Patricia Stewart | Dec 22, 2008 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
When Mati Forish was five years old, she could move coins across the table using only her mind. At ten, she could make small stones levitate. As a teenager, she could fly an aerocar from the back seat. Out of fear, Mati’s parents tried to stop her from using the power. It was the “Devil’s work,” they had said. But Mati knew that this gift could make her wealthy. And Mati wanted to be wealthy. When she turned twenty one, she left home to seek her fortune. While in the city, she met a doctor. He had understood her abilities, and said that he had “friends” that could help her achieve her goals, for the right price. Late one night, in a run down clinic on the south side, they implanted an experimental telekinetic booster into her brain. Astonishingly, it magnified her natural ability a thousand fold. Thrilled with the results, Mati rushed home to tell her fiance. But when she arrived, she found him in bed with another woman. In a fit of rage, she snapped both of their necks with her telekinetic power. And, to her surprise, she enjoyed it. That was the day that “The Assassin” was born. Over the next several decades, hundreds of people died at her will. It didn’t mater if the target was a tyrant or a saint. They were just paychecks to Forish.
***
(Circa 2067, Medellin, Colombia) After passing through security, Forish entered the auditorium from one of the rear doors and took an isle seat in the last row. She discreetly surveyed the auditorium to identify anything, or anybody, that could interfere with her task. It was probably an unnecessary precaution, since her mode of execution was undetectable, but if Forish was anything, she was meticulous.
Forish listened indifferently as several men on an elevated stage spewed their hateful political rhetoric in an effort to pique the intensity of the partisan crowd. After an hour of rabblerousing, Cattivo Guida, a ruthless and brutal dictator, marched onto the stage and stood behind the podium. Well it’s about time, thought Forish. She sat upright and eyed the target for several minutes trying to decide how she wanted to take him out. In a public venue such as this, it would be best to do it by either a heart attack, or brain aneurysm.
Forish began to concentrate on the task of focusing and modulating the psychokinetic synapses in her brain. Gradually, an invisible energy bubble began to coalesce above her head. She strengthened it and molded it. She willed a tendril to immerge from it and elongate toward the stage. The invisible tendril began to snake its way forward above the heads of the audience and across the stage. It entered Guida’s torso and slowly spiraled up his spinal column and wrapped itself around his heart. As Forish caused the tendril to contract slightly, Guida stopped speaking and clutched the sides of the podium. The tendril squeezed Guida’s heart tighter and he dropped to his knees. Tighter still, and his face contorted in agony as his eyes pleaded for someone to help him. Finally, he collapsed to the floor, motionless. Guida’s bodyguards rushed to his side. Their feeble attempts at CPR were wasted. Guida’s heart would not beat again.
As chaos and panic flooded the audience, Forish stood up, and calmly left the auditorium. Once outside, she walked down the marble steps and hailed a hovercab. “I’m famished,” she said to the pilot. “Take me to the best restaurant in the city.”
