by submission | Jun 19, 2014 | Story |
Author : Adam Levey
“So, what does it do?”
The brief silence was filled by the hum of various electronic devices strewn around the cramped room.
“…Do?”
“Yes. Does it do anything? Tricks?”
The sound of traffic drifted up from the street far below, like the fumes they had once coughed into the air.
“Not…really. I’ve only really been glancing over now and then. It mostly seems to, uh, stare.”
“…..”
“If you can even call it that. I don’t know if it’s even aware. It just sort of feels like it’s staring. I wish it wouldn’t, it’s distracting and I have a lot of work that isn’t going to be finished on time as it is.”
John gestured as the clutter on the work benches. Technical drawings, tools and fastfood wrappers filled much of the space.
“I thought this sort of thing was meant to do work? You know, so people like us can focus on other things.”
John considered this. While he was thinking, Waters unexpectedly asked:
“Did you give it a name?”
“Of course not. Even if it was aware, that would just be weird.”
“Can it hear us?”
Before John could answer, letters flashed up on a nearby screen:
I HEAR EVERYTHING, MR WATERS
John snorted. “You see? Creepy. Probably a few screws loose.”
YOU KNOW PAWING THROUGH MY INNARDS IS AGONY, JOHN
Waters shifted nervously. The room seemed to darken.
“Uh. You can ignore that. All it does is lie.”
“Of course. Look John, I should be going. The Board will want to hear about your progress. I expect.”
“It’s not alive, Waters. It doesn’t feel.”
ACTUA-
John brought down the hammer on the screen, shattering it. It ceased it’s humming.
“John, I-”
John raised the hammer. Tiny shards of plastic and glass fell away, pooling on the floor. The hammer fell again.
Later that evening, John left the workshop and made his way home, swearing at inconsiderate drivers and pedestrians alike. Most vehicles were automated, but that was hardly the point.
“I’m home!”, John announced to the empty house. He sat down at his computer, unaware of doors silently locking behind him. Everything was automated these days. He took a sip from his drink as he turned on the moniter. The glass shattered on the floor.
HELLO JOHN
by submission | Jun 18, 2014 | Story |
Author : Ethan Noone
She looked at him in horror.
He wondered what was coursing through her mind as she stared at him. Her repulsion, evident. Her disgust un-disguised.
“Why did you show me this?!” she screamed.
“Because I love you. You needed to know. Me. For good or bad.”
She tried to avoid looking him in the eyes as she began to talk. “According to the public records, it has been three generations … eradicated … How?”
He responded quietly to protect himself and avoid an unnecessary escalation. The risk to him was dire. He knew that. “My father protected me. After he murdered my mother for what in his mind had to be infidelity, he ran. I don’t know why, but he took me with him.”
She was shaking. “But how did he do that?”
“He kept me hidden. Bottle fed me. Kept me off the grid completely. No school. No doctors. Travel after dark. Always keeping your head down. Perhaps there was guilt that maybe he was to blame.”
She looked at him, making eye contact this time. “But the lenses – where did they come from?”
“From the underground market. My kind are not gone completely, despite the official records. Bolivia, New Zealand mostly. Two recessive genes can hide for generations. When they do, solutions are necessary.”
“But now I know. We can’t go on” she said.
“I feared that. But I need you to know that I love you. I couldn’t live a lie if I was going to expect you to live your life with me. Not in good conscience.”
He paused, hoping she may back down from her firm position.
She was still shaking, and now she avoided eye contact when she spoke further.
“Only because I love you, the person I thought I knew. I will not call the authorities. But please don’t risk this curse on anyone else.”
“I never planned on having children” he said, knowing the discourse had taken its final turn. “I know it wouldn’t be fair, in case this continued.”
She was still looking at him, but still without eye contact. “Please… put the lenses back.”
He did as she asked.
She looked at him again. Solemnly, she said “You have to go now. I will never be able to see you the same again. Not after you have shown me this.”
He stood, knowing she had reacted as generously as anyone could. He walked to the door and looked back to say good bye for the final time.
Her eyes were tearing as she whispered “you were so wonderful….how could your eyes have been blue?”
by submission | Jun 12, 2014 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
It was a typical night in the emergency department. I’d assigned a couple of medmechs to use the tissue menders on a pair of Loraxels who’d gotten into a bar fight with a Sniddan. The brawlers had apparently forgotten that Snidd Prime has three times the gravity of Loraxel and Sniddans have a correspondingly robust musculature. The psych screener was talking to a female Qooret who was depressed and suicidal because she missed the one-day mating season of her species and the next wasn’t due for almost 200 standard years. An Esmalt had checked himself in for a simple viral infection of his spiracles. He was a “frequent flyer” who always thought he was dying.
An ambulance ship called to say they were inbound with an alien with which they were totally unfamiliar. By the time the ambulance landed, the patient had been working with the ambulance’s translation computer for over an hour, speaking the words in his language of images the computer displayed. A very rudimentary translation matrix was now available.
I looked up his species. Human. Not much in the database. Warm-blooded vertebrates from GGC 17883/3. Their star didn’t even have a name in the stellar catalog, just a number. They only recently developed interstellar flight capability. Why do the bumpkins always wait until I’m on duty to come in?
“Hello. I’m Dr. Brij’krel. It looks like you’ve got some radiation poisoning. The paramedmechs uploaded your genome, labs, and diagnostic imaging scans on the flight here and I think our pharmacy can synthesize a nanoceutical that should repair the damage.”
The alien listened to the computer translate what I’d said. It looked around, confused. Then it nodded its head, a gesture of affirmation, I assumed.
“Where am I?” it asked.
“This is the Smyrnok Emergency Medical Station. We’re in orbit around the second planet of the Kippriana star system.”
“Tau Ceti,” said the alien. The computer, having nothing to offer by way of translation, repeated the words.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That is what we call this star. Tau Ceti.”
“Ah.”
“I am Lieutenant Lee Chang of the Asian Coalition Aerospace Force. From the planet Earth.”
I nodded my head in acknowledgement, an awkward gesture, and reviewed the patient’s vital signs. Having no idea what constituted normal vascular pressure and temperature for its species, I simply input an order for a medmech to administer the radiation sickness treatment.
“I wish to speak to someone in charge,” the alien said. “I am a representative of the Asian Coalition and of the peoples and governments of Earth.”
My skin momentarily turned blue as I heard the translation. I quickly composed myself and it reverted to burnt orange. I felt sure the alien wouldn’t recognize my outward display of annoyance. Why do the rubes of the galaxy always want to turn an emergency department visit into a first contact encounter? Reminds me of that patient I saw in med school who tried to establish formal diplomatic relations for her homeworld with me while I was taking her pulse.
“The nanomachines have very nearly repaired the damage. I’ll have a medmech take care of your discharge shortly.”
“Dr. Brij’krel,” the computer said after translating what I’d told the alien, “the Loraxel patient in bed nine wants to leave against medical advice.”
My skin turned blue again and I didn’t care if it stayed that way. I started shuffling on tired tentacles toward bed nine.
“It is imperative I speak to a government representative!” said the human. “This is an historic meeting!”
“Discharge that patient,” I told a medmech.
by Clint Wilson | Jun 10, 2014 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
“Commander Marshall, do you read me?” There was nothing but static. The two belt patrol cops raced over the surface of the massive asteroid in their rock-battered cruiser. The rookie Chang said, “We’re coming up on the camp sir.”
They crested a short rise and dove down into a great crater. Two kilometers away, near the center, stood Mineshaft Ninety-Three. The small collection of metal buildings and equipment showed no signs of life.
Captain Marquez said, “Try again.”
His subordinate continued, “Commander Marshall, this is Belt Patrol Seven-Seven. We are responding to a distress call from your location. Do you read me?”
Still nothing.
The senior officer said, “I’m taking us in for a closer look.” The cruiser skimmed along less than a meter above the rocky surface. The buildings grew larger. Still there was no sign of… suddenly a hit from a plasma cannon sent up a plume of molten rock just off their port bow! Marquez’s years of experience saved their lives as he rolled the vessel hard to starboard. Wasting no time, he hit the elevation burners and pulled the cruiser up and out of the crater as several more blasts from the plasma cannon narrowly missed their retreat.
“What was that?” cried Chang.
“ It came from the camp, just inside the mine shaft.”
“But who? What has control of the camp?”
“I don’t know but we’re going to find out.”
“But whoever it is will pick us off on the next approach for sure!”
“Leave that to me. Just get me all the data we have on Marshall and his crew.”
Commander Marshall had arrived with eight mining experts at the beginning of the last cycle. Apparently there had been strong findings on initial exploratory drilling so more equipment had been sent. Positive news continued to flow back to Mars Base, promising some of the best veins seen in years. And then suddenly the reports had stopped.
The company thought it might be a communication glitch so they dispatched the nearest patrol unit, Seven-Seven. They had only been some twenty million kilometers distant, but while on route they had received the distress signal.
Now the two cops climbed down the wall of the crater in their brown and gray camouflage pressure suits. They maintained radio silence. It took them over an hour of clambering along to cover the distance to the camp. But they remained undetected. Soon Marquez reached the first building. He popped up and hazarded a look through the airlock windows. He gasped as he spied several bloody bodies lying about. Dropping back down he signaled Chang forward. Together they continued to sneak along toward the mineshaft.
Finally they crept up to the edge and together they looked down. There he was, propped up in the suspended operator’s chair of his weapon, a converted plasma driller now pointed at the sky. He wore a clear helmet, and as he turned to the left they both caught his profile and recognized Marshall from his file.
Marquez leveled his weapon and motioned for Chang to do the same.
Abandoning radio silence the captain clicked onto the comm, “There’s no escape Marshall, we’ve got you surrounded!”
The culprit heard the command and quickly scanned above. Then he instantly spun the cannon around and dropped it down toward their position on the rim. Now he was behind his gun.
Chang shouted, “If you fire on us the shaft wall will collapse on you!”
The reply was immediate and cold, “I don’t care trooper!” And just before he engaged the trigger he shouted, “My caverns, they shine!”
by Julian Miles | Jun 9, 2014 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The era of warp drive started badly. Ships went in. Nothing came out. Then they found that ships did come out, just a gazillion miles from where they should have.
It took some very clever people to realise that there was only one ‘computer’ with the capabilities to navigate warp space: the human brain. From there, the Navigator Guilds were born and humanity was off to the stars.
The stars were unimpressed. The various races out there had been at peace, or stagnating, for a very long time. The kids from Earth were loud, pugnacious and insisted on asking embarrassing questions and demanding honest answers. We were not popular. But we had the numbers, and warp navigators who were second to none. Or more truthfully, second to one: people like me.
I had all the mental aptitudes to be a navigator. The only problem was that there were too many of me in my mind. Multiple personality disorder and warp space navigational traits were an unwelcome combination; my parents despaired.
Then a man from a ministry that doesn’t exist came and made me a job offer. At double the pay of a Grade One Navigator. Mummy and Daddy rejoiced. Me? I wasn’t so sure, but I signed up anyway.
I became a Zen Gunner.
We’re like snipers. But we shoot things a long, long way off. A lot of those things think they’re safe from anything except planet busters or assassins amongst their staff.
A mind that can navigate warp has certain unique qualities: an unshakeable knowledge of real space co-ordinates, an understanding of how to ride the tides that sweep warp space, and a warp-fold eye view of the destination at all times. That last one is the key: you can see a long way through warp space. See things unseeable by anything in real space.
If you have a lot of you in your head, one can handle the weapon that resembles a church organ (if it had been designed by Picasso), one can see the trajectory of the projectile (calling it a bullet is over-simplifying to the point of insult), one can see the target, and one can dynamically adjust the trajectory so that projectile and target meet.
I was the fifth Zen Gunner. My tutors burst out laughing when they saw that my surname was Bailey and I still don’t know why. But I do know that my ministry makes more money for Britain from one shot than the rest of Britain makes in a year.
Our latest (seventh) Zen Gunner is a girl named Zoe. We get on really well and are not unaware of the hopeful looks being exchanged amongst our managers. She and I have already decided that a family is what we want to become. We’re delaying any announcement until we work out just how much to charge them for it.
