by submission | Aug 18, 2006 | Story |
Author : Daniel Longwing
The jewelry tinkled like wind-chimes as it fell over the candlesticks and crystal. Gently, Momsdroid replaced the lid to the box with slender polymer fingers. It shouldered the shopping bag and walked out into the hall. It looked first left, than right, a confused expression on its face.
The hall light came on with a quick mechanical snap. Momsdroid turned to see Timothy with a baseball bat in hand. A look of shock crossed Tim’s face. “Momsdroid? You scared the heck out of me. What are you doing active at this hour?”
Momsdroid stared back at him blankly. “Greetings Timothy Anders!” It shouted at top volume. “Do you suffer from shame in bed!? I have latest stuff! You have more success with women and impress them with your power and stamina in bed!”
Tim turned bright red, and then swore a few times. The door to his sister’s room opened, and he looked past Momsdroid as she stared blearily into the hall. “Sis! Quick, go downstairs and shut off the router, the DSL too, just pull the plug on them.”
Momsdroid turned and started walking calmly towards the stairs. Tim cussed some more, than jogged up behind Momsdroid and yanked a cable at the base of its spine. Momsdroid froze, looking confused again. “The locomotion manipulation driver has encountered an unexpected error and needs to close. Please contact your system administrator regarding this issue.”
“Rootkits, sodding malware. Mom must’ve had an infected web-site read to her or something. I kept warning her that she needed to update the security patches.”
“She did” Rachel replied as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. “This must bee some new exploit.”
“Robosoft crap.” Tim grumbled. “Mom’s not home, and if I hadn’t woken up it’d be halfway to the highway with its loot in tow. It’s probably following some phone-home instruction.”
Rachel yawned. “Robosoft’s not that bad, and all of Mom’s cooking software works on it.”
“I know mom’s not that tech savvy, but honestly Rachel…”
Tim’s voice was drowned out as Momsdroid began shouting again. “Rachel Anders!? Are you overweight Rachel Anders!? You have seen it on ’60 Minutes’ and read the BBC News report — now find out just what everyone is talking about. Suppress your appetite and feel full and satisfied all day long with…” Tim yanked another plug, this time at the base of Momsdroid’s neck.
“That’s it. I’m installing Robonix.”
by submission | Aug 17, 2006 | Story |
Author : J. S. Kachelries
The spaceship was shaped like a flattened football. It had no obvious external doors or windows. Although it appeared to be metallic, we couldn’t cut it, penetrate it with X-rays, or scratch it with a diamond. The only thing we had to evaluate was an encrypted panel on the port side that contained a ten by ten matrix of symbols and buttons. The ship was being guarded by a platoon of heavily armed solders. General Arthur McBride’s angry face was inches from mine. “Goddamnit, Professor, you’ve been studding this blasted thing for a week. Can you open it or not?â€
“I believe so, general,†I said. “I believe the key is this panel. Look at the first four black symbols. They contain two, three, five, and seven dots each, respectively. Obviously, it’s a prime number sequence. The six white buttons immediately next to them contain eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, and thirteen dots. The next prime number in the sequence is eleven. Therefore, the correct answer is the fourth white button. There are nine more “questions,†each one more difficult than the one above it. The last four involve Newtonian physics, general relativity, quantum mechanics, and string theory. I think that when you answer all ten questions correctly, something will happen, possibly the ship will open. The odds of answering all ten questions correctly at random are 60,466,176 to one. Therefore, the beings that sent this ship only want an intelligent species to decipher the lock. Apparently, they can’t be bothered with dumb life.â€
“If you know the correct answers Professor, enter them now.â€
Against my better judgment, I depressed the appropriate buttons. Seconds later, a door slid open. The spaceship was empty, except for a one foot metallic cube in the center.
The general peered inside, smiling ear to ear. “Fantastic! If we can figure out this technology, our dominance will become absolute. No more commies, no more religious fanatics, no more goddamn peace lovin’ liberal scum interfering with our campaign to preserve the American way of life. How long to you can figure out how this thing works?â€
“Whoa, slow down general,†I pleaded. “I’m not so sure this ship can be perverted into a weapon. I need some time to figure out why we needed an intelligence test to open it. There must be a logical reason. I have some ideas what this ship is, but I need time to think about it.â€
“Professor, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think. Figure it out A.S.A.P., understood!†The general turned and entered the spaceship. An instant later, the door slammed shut, and the spaceship shot upward through the hangar roof.
As I stared at the stars through the twenty foot hole, I said to no one in particular, “For instance, general, I think this spaceship could be used to collect specimens of alien ‘intelligent’ life, capture them, and bring them to a laboratory for study.†I’m predicting that the general will make a ‘damn’ interesting specimen.
by submission | Aug 16, 2006 | Story |
Author : Ian Burke
“Today†marks the end of history. Yesterday it was June 25th, 1995 AD (CE, if you prefer). “Today†can be marked in no such terms. Yesterday, “today†was the 26th of June, but “now,†none of that matters anymore. This “morning,†the Hole opened up – the Hole, which began in the year formerly known as 2309 and “now†reaches back to what “was†“today.†“Now†the fourth dimension is just as easily navigable as the first three.
But it will not stop “here.†The hole will continue to tunnel back through history, tearing up the past. There is talk of trying to save a small part of the timeline – a true historical preserve! – although the methods behind this are unclear at best. The Hole will not stop until it stretches to the soon-to-be former Beginning of Time and our universe, once a long string of yesterdays, will become one single “today.â€
by Stephen R. Smith | Aug 14, 2006 | Story |
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Cyrus curled in the corner, hugging his aching legs to his chest as though they might crawl off without him were he to let them go. White hot grains of sand glassified in his retinas, and beads of sweat scraped down his flesh, each one making it’s presence felt with excruciating persistence. It may only have been a few hours, but it felt like days since he’d last had a shot. Time had ceased to be a relevant commodity, as he couldn’t trade it for a fix. He felt his stomach heave, but the sensation never left the empty pit of his gut.
“Commander, you seem to be poorly” the words ground their way through the haze as a face loomed in his field of vision, the image slightly out of sync with the noise coming from it as words. Double lids twitched over glistening emerald eyes, startling in their clarity, in sharp contrast to the shifting chitin and dancing shadows beyond.
“Please…” the sound of his own voice made him wince “please, I know you have some, help me.”
“Commander Cyrus,” the eyes slipped backwards into the darkness, the voice booming all around him now “surely you appreciate that these recreational pharmaceuticals you’re asking for, these require currency that you simply do not have”
“I’ve got other things, we can trade, I know things.” Pain shot like lancets up his spine to burst as cannon fire deep within his skull. Never had he suffered withdrawal this exquisitely painful before.
“Trade? Knowledge? Interesting.” There was an elongated pause, as the voice considered his offer “Perhaps you can help me with…” the was a pause again as the next words were carefully chosen “a freight difficulty.’ The face loomed once more in his peripheral vision, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn and look at it. “If one were to want to move cargo through the Earth shield, without interference, would you know how that could be accomplished? Could you help me with that?”. The articulation of each word made Cyrus flinch.
“If I help you, you’ll hook me up? No tricks?” There was a level of desperate excitement in his voice, one that brought what may have passed for a smile to the face of the towering creature.
“Yes, if you help me with my… transportation issue… I promise you will not suffer like this again”
“There was a mining portal on the dark side of the moon, beneath the old InterStar hangers” the words came surprisingly freely through the drumming pain in his skull “it’s been closed for decades, but the power station still works, and the portal’s still stable.” He burrowed his chin into his knees, his brain screaming with anticipation of relief.
“Thank you, Commander, you’ve been most helpful.” The great green face slipped out of the periphery to stare at Cyrus, face to face. “You and your people have taught us so much.”
“Taught? We haven’t taught you anything…” he waited anxiously, one arm relaxing it’s grip on his shins to expose his hypocite to the promise of an injector.
“Oh, we have learned much from your race my dear Commander Cyrus. You have no idea. We watched your people everywhere trading currency and flesh for chemical joy. We never could have conceived of a negotiating tool as powerful as addiction, or a lever as effective as your narcotics. Who would have thought the secrets of your civilization’s safe keeping, entrusted to military men like yourself, could be so freely liberated in exchange for something as trivial as a moment of manufactured ecstasy. But most of all, we’d forgotten how much more expedient violent conquest was when compared to traditional diplomatic relations. Oh yes, you humans have taken us back to our roots, and you’ve catapulted us far into our own futures.’ A vice like grip suddenly had Cyrus’ forearm, pulling it straight and holding it motionless. ‘Now, Commander, I do believe we had a deal, and I think you’ll find this generous enough to alleviate your conscience.’
The warm flood rippled up the Commanders arm, rolling in waves to his toes and up and over his head. For a moment, the room became strikingly clear, he saw the giant chitin plated alien that had first offered him a fix in a bar off base, coached him through his first purchase, and had always been around to hook him up when he needed a fresh hit. What was that on his chest, a military insignia? Was he a soldier? Pounding waves flooded through his head, and he was only momentarily aware of the feed, still jutting skyward from his forearm, as it relieved him of all responsibility.
by submission | Aug 11, 2006 | Story
Author : Viktor Kuprin
The priest’s pointed helmet hung at his side. His vac suit was completely black.
Engineer Beketov didn’t get it. It was too strange, too … medieval. The holy man waved the crucifix over the salt package and recited a prayer. Beketov had been told the salt was for cooking a lamb stew that would be shared by all the dockyard’s techs and engineers.
“Father Toyan, it’s time for us to EVA. Let’s go.†The priest nodded and followed to the airlock.
“How far did you travel to get here?†Beketov asked.
“From Earth, from the Great Ararat Monastery, to be exact.†The priest’s voice was reedy, and his beard bunched against the visor of his strangely-shaped helmet.
“I’ve never been to Earth,†said the engineer. “Father, I’m curious, why is your helmet peaked on top? When other priests visit the station, their helmets aren’t like yours.â€
“Priests who are not married wear these, my son. The peak symbolizes our dedication to the Lord,†he explained.
The airlock hatch slid open, and the bright light of Dustri’s star made their visors darken. They slowly moved toward the dockyards, their boots’ magnetic soles clicking with each step.
“How long have you been working in the yards, my son?â€
Beketov laughed. “Close to a year, but it seems like forever, Father. The one we’re going to was just an empty shell with I first arrived. Look at him now.â€
One of the dumb servo-mechanoids rumbled toward them. Beketov gently grasped the priest’s shoulder to stop him from entering its path. It wobbled past with no sign of notice.
“Father Toyan, no disrespect, but how do you feel about this? Coming all the way out here to, well, to bless …â€
“An engine of destruction? Actually, the church’s blessing is for the crew, to humbly ask God for their safety and protection, and that they will always be in His grace.â€
As they walked, Beketov watched the priest’s gold crucifix sparkle in the starlight. A transparent pouch filled with small plastic globlets hung from his belt: Holy Water for the ceremony.
“Here he is, Father.†Beketov could see people watching them, crowded together in the observation blisters and viewports surrounding the dockyard.
“Are you a believer, Engineer Beketov?†the priest asked.
“I don’t know, Father. Sometimes it’s hard not to be when you look up and see all this,†the engineer said, pointing toward the stars. “I do know that a man needs all the help he can get, right?â€
Toyan nodded. “Fair enough. Now, if you will, let us pray.†The priest keyed the comm controls on his suit sleeve and began to broadcast.
“Almighty God and Creator, You are the Father of all people. Guide, I pray, all the worlds and their leaders in the ways of justice and peace … â€
The priest made the sign of the cross in front of the new starship’s gigantic gray hull.
