November 9, 2013

From “The Twin Oracles of the Deist” by Anson Emidio Hummel

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“Go forth then, and seek ye the Oracle,” said the Automaton, belching smoke and flame. “For only in what remains of the natural world may ye find an answer that be not of cogs and wheels, soot and steam.”

“Where might I find this Oracle?” asked the Supplicant. “For I know only of the great city and its environs, and naught of the natural world but what I have seen in manicured parks and picture books.”

“Go thee many leagues hence in the direction of the setting sun,” replied the Automaton. “Cut ye through the City of Foundries, the Great Crater where ores be strip-mined, and the Desperate Warrens where rats and man live in equal desperation and squalor. Climb ye the Great Wall which shuts off the world of man and his creations from aught which remains of the world of the Deist and his works.”

“And then?” pressed the Supplicant. “And then?”

“Find ye a golden bough which keepeth its hue in summer as in winter,” came the answer in hissing and whistling, clanging and rattling. “Atop that bough wilt thou find an owl of purest white hue, being of two heads. That is the form which the Oracle doth choose to appear to those who would seek it.”

“And then?” cried the Supplicant, almost mad with anticipation. “And then?”

“Ask thine question of it, bearing first the offering of a small creature as repast and a token of thine respect. But be warned: for one head of the Oracle doth always speak the prophetic truth, whilst the other doth always speak its opposite and seek to mislead and waylay, to confuse and corrupt.”

“How shall I know which is which?”

“That,” said the Automaton, “is the final test. They who be worthy of the Orcale’s gift will puzzle out the truth; they who be unworthy will be led astray. I can speak no more to thee, for this be aught that I know.”

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September 21, 2013

From “The Great Unraveling” by J. Guillermo Di Alba

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Since the first of us stood up in the Great Rift Valley, humans were obsessed with how their world will end. Eschatology, the study of the end times, has been at the root of major religions, scientific initiatives, and lunatics shouting on street corners. Ragnarok and Rapture, Big Crunch and heat death, there was no shortage of ideas on every step of the continuum betwixt science and faith.

Would anyone have guessed that the end would come through the gradual unraveling of reality?

It started in the densest and most populated places. People started noticing areas in which time slowed, gravity behaved erratically, and light did not refract properly. They were regarded as mere curiosities until they began to grow. What had been a simple fuzzing of light at the center of the anomalies soon became utter blackness, only fading into focus and light at the edge of each anomaly.

In time, they grew to consume most of the urban areas, leaving only treacherous ruins and parts of skyscrapers hanging impossibly amid the abyss. Anyone entering–or falling into–one of the anomalies was never seen again; experiments with ropes and pulleys came to naught. New ones formed as well, with the only one piece of apparent rhyme or reason to their emergence: they seemed to appear where humans congregated most thickly. City life quickly became intensely dangerous: trading the safety of pastoralism for comfort could mean vanishing into a hole in the fabric of reality.

Perhaps the effect was inevitable, a natural function of the universe never before observed. In that case, assigning fault would be like blaming a man for a thunderstorm. But there was no shortage of theories as to why the perceivable universe seemed to be rotting from the inside out.

Animals were occasionally seen to emerge from the anomalies after entering, for one, suggesting that all or part of the phenomenon was limited to humans and their constructs. Some argue that the very act of human perception and cognition, especially when concentrated, has overwhelmed some sort of natural balance. Those of a philosophical/religious bent have seen in the decay the fulfillment of any number of prophecies.

All that’s certain is that the decay continues at an accelerated rate.

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September 14, 2013

From “The Hard Decisions” by Jana R. N. Abrahams

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My problem isn’t so much that I think to much, but that I think too *hard*. You know the type–people that are lost in concentration over the smallest decisions, grappling with what kind of coffee to order like the fate of the free world hangs in the balance.

Though I will allow that the fact I have massive latent psychic potential does complicate things a dash.

After what happened to Uncle Grey in the Great Meltdown of ’02, which could be felt by psi-actives as far away as Irkutsk and leveled an area of the Montana Badlands the size of Rhode Island, I’ve been on a strict regiment of zen and GesteCo Psi-Suppresitol. But it doesn’t always work when I’m a thinky mood.

Like the time I was trying to decide between cheese and pepperoni at Herculaneum Pizzeria and the gas tanks of six parked cars exploded simultaneously.

Or the time I was decided whether to reply to *mastrlvr1066* on Cupyd’s Arrow dot com and caused a waterspout in my complex’s pool.

Or the time I was taking the GRE and caused eighteen nosebleeds and a six-week coma.

But they all pale in comparison to the time Jimmy Drummond asked me upstairs at Phi Qoppa Beta.

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September 3, 2013

From “Suitscape” by Reda Gingham Khan

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First she donned the inner liner, designed to keep her circulation constant no matter the pressure on the other side of the airlock. A liquid cooling and ventilation garment was next, to combat the terrifyingly low and high temperatures to be expected outside. A pressure bladder over both formed a temporary seal in case of a puncture, and a restraint layer plus a liner kept it in place. Outside of that was an airtight aluminized insulation layer and an external layer designed to resist micro-meteor impacts.

She could survive with just that, but a hard-shell suit of metal and composites formed the final layer nonetheless. Her eyes were visible behind layers of multiplex for a moment before she swung the tinted visor down to screen out radiation.

“Going out to town for a bit, Pa!” she cried through the intercom.

“Don’t forget them batteries.”

The airlock cycled, and she stepped out onto the surface of the Earth.

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September 2, 2013

From “The 417” by Nona Kyoko

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“You know these little settlements, these ditchwater colonies. They don’t even have the ships and pilots to escape if there’s trouble, much less fix their own damn satellites.”

“So that means I get a bonus then, does it?” Stanwicke said. He swiveled his suit’s thrusters to get a better angle on the communications relay satellite. The planet yawned dizzyingly above–or below–him.

“I put the paperwork through, like you asked, but you’re not gonna like it,” continued Ralston in Stanwicke’s ear. “It’s a 417.”

“Charity case,” Stanwicke hissed. “Damn.” Section 417 of the Code stipulated that skilled technicians were required to donate their time to colonists or vessels in distress, at the risk of losing their operating license from the UNSC.

“They can still tip you, you know, and that’s not bound by the union pay scale,” said Ralston, clearly trying to be optimistic. He wasn’t winning the Oscar for acting anytime soon.

“Oh yes, like the time I was tipped with a chicken by that hippie colony,” groused Stanwicke, his complaints lightly fogging his faceplate for a moment. “Or the time that town passed the hat for me and I came up with a whopping seventeen. I did the math on that, you know: it was .000001% of what I needed to cover my expenses.”

Ralston didn’t say anything; Stanwicke could all but see him settling into his chair with a deep sigh. It wasn’t his fault, but that wasn’t enough to keep Stanwicke out of a foul mood.

“There, done.” Stanwicke made the last few plasma welds and connected the power source. A few diagnostics later, and the satellite was working perfectly, re-establishing communications with the ground-based settlement. The triple-thrusters on his suit rotated again, and began to bear the repairman back to his ship.

“Are you sure?” There was a note in Ralston’s voice that Stanwicke didn’t like.

“Yes, and if you’ll give me half a minute, I can get back to the beacon and complain at you in person.”

“Stan, I’m not getting any comm traffic from the colony. None.”

Stanwicke would have shrugged if his suit wasn’t a hard and unyielding shell. “Well they can call anytime they want to.”

“You know what this means, a 417 with no ground contact.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stanwicke sighed. “I have to go down there.”

“That’s not all,” said Ralston. “I’ve been analyzing the imagery you sent, and…well, it looks like the satellite was deliberately disabled. Sabotaged.”

Inspired by this.

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August 28, 2013

From “Planet of the Scrapes” by Tron Martini

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AWC #269630 was by far one of the most popular destinations in the Alternate World Catalog. The entire planet, save for the occasional oasis or polar cap, was essentially the same as Monument Valley on AWC #000001: gigantic, picturesque mesas sculpted by wind and a long-ago wet period. The air was breathable thanks to rampant microbes and super-cactus, and vacationing families who came through the transdimensional gate at Wooster Station often had weeks of camp-out related fun with a rented 4×4 and trailer.

Assuming, of course, that they paid for them.

“Go, go, go!” Brian Mowan cried from the luggage rack atop a rental truck-and-trailer. He slapped the side furiously, which his counterpart at the wheel, Mako Yun, took as the signal to floor it.

“Hey! Stop them!” the camper-rental employee called. When no aid was forthcoming, he ducked into his shack and emerged bearing the most advanced theft-deterrent system on the planet: an old Ithaca 37 loaded with hyper-velocity Element 234 double-aught buckshot.

One corner of the 4×4’s truck bed disintegrated as the stolen vehicles took a sharp turn out of the lot. The third member of the team, “Ace” Motown, leaned out a back window with his Ruger GP100 .357 magnum. It was loaded with “hot poppers,” which made a lot of noise but not much else–no sense getting slapped with a murder charge when all they wanted was a clean getaway.

The Ithaca barked once more and Swiss cheese holes appeared in the far wall of the trailer–far from Ace or the others–before the shotgun’s owner hit the dirt. There was nothing between the three and the Wooster Station gate.

Their way cleared, the trailer thieves set off, headed for the wilderness…and adventure.

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July 24, 2013

From “Q Station” by Quint Tosp

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Interstellar Statute 24 § 38 prohibited police actions against “sovereign worlds” without the consent of the Council. Seemed simple enough, but as always the devil lies in the details.

As it happens, Interstellar Statute 977 § 119 set a minimum size limit for sovereign worlds. Because grandfathering was strictly prohibited by IS 48 § 12, the lower limit had to be small enough to recognize tiny worlds that had already been settles and recognized as sovereign like Charon and Ceres.

Pirates and ne’er-do-wells quickly seized on the loophole implicit in the spaghetti of case law: they located planetoids just above the legal minimum size, fitted them with engines, and operated them as pirate havens protected as “sovereign worlds.”

That’s how Quaoar Station came to be, and why pilots like Chuck were always sure to triple-lock their spacecraft when they docked.

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June 18, 2013

From “Invasion of the Coffee Snatchers” by Cici Daxhant

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Earth was prepared for a conventional attack, with a network of early warning satellites and nuclear weapons on a hair-trigger alert. It was prepared for an all-out alien invasion the likes of which had long been discussed in Earth literature.

Only the Xanthic didn’t attack that way.

Instead, their agents carefully snuck nanogenetically modified caffeine molecules into the Earth’s supply. Everything from coffee to soda pop to energy drinks was targeted and infiltrated. Then, at the touch of a button, anyone with an iota of caffeine in their system fell instantly unconscious.

In one swift masterstroke, the Xanthic had decapitated Earth’s command and control by incapacitating two-thirds of the adult population in the First World. The non-drinkers were not numerous enough to run the planetary defenses by themselves, and the Second and Third World countries without a critical mass of coffee drinkers were not invested enough in the defense network (thanks to their suspicious neighbors).

Every province and state of NATO and the UN Security Council was swiftly occupied, except for Utah. The rest of the world, starved of imports, swiftly capitulated with only local resistance.

The Xanthic celebrated their victory by buying every human being on Earth a nanogenetically engineered latté and by using their new force of slave laborers to build a massive Cola and Coffee Monument out of gratitude to the humble nonsentient plants which had allowed such a swift takeover.

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June 5, 2013

From “Fail-ien Invasions” by Madelaine “Stormy” Merrill

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Psitticoids of Theta Apodis IV
Despite actually being a type of fungus, convergent evolution led these creatures to strongly resemble Earth parrots. Their psionic skills, in particular their mind control abilities, allowed the Psitticoids to carve out a modest empire and drive their rivals the Daurians to extinction. Accordingly, they dispatched a long-range infiltration cruiser to Earth, to begin controlling key subjects in preparation for all-out invasion.

The Psitticoids were defeated due to mankind’s propensity for putting parrots in cages; without direct contact, they were only able to repeat garbled fragments of human thoughts–just like Earth parrots. Their ability to lower the intelligence of nearby creatures similarly went unnoticed, as people tend to behave childishly around pets anyway. Most of the Psitticoid 112th Infiltration Unit currently resides in an illegal Manhattan pet shop specializing in exotic birds.

Capricornians from Deneb Algedi II
The harsh climate of Deneb Algedi II led to a species that can conduct and ground electricity with an insulative coating that must be periodically shed. This has the side effect of making them incredibly deadly warriors as well as highly similar in appearance to Earthborne sheep. After subduing their own homeworld and enslaving the Ovidines of HD 20644b, the Capricornians launched a full-scale invasion of Earth.

Unfortunately, their assault craft landed on a rainy day in New Zealand. Unable to use their discharge powers for fear of electrocution, they were inadvertently sheared by sheep farmers and deprived of their primary weapon. The herd was culled later that month, with all the surviving Capricornians winding up slain and mixed in with animal fodder. Their presence was only discovered after a rash of exploding wool shirts and temporarily electrified sheep.

Apids from Musca Australis Prime
Broadly resembling terrestrial insects, the Apids are highly coordinated and toxic creatures made up of hundreds of small organisms that are specialized (not unlike the Portuguese Man-o’-War). With a neural net formed of Apids and pheromones at the center of each swarm, they easily overwhelmed all comers in establishing domination over their sector.

Their scouting party on Earth met a tragic fate when a human swatted the Apid that was responsible for navigating the swarm. Without direction, it wandered through an air intake and was shredded. The incident was only noticed when the highly corrosive remains ate through the intake and the surrounding city blocks.

Aurigans from the Almaaz Dark Disc
These mysterious creatures evolved in an environment so strikingly different from Earth as to be inconceivable not only to humans but all other species on this list. Uniquely, they evolved a cylindrical layout which allowed them to roll along the surface of objects they encountered, along with a hollow core to allow interstellar debris to pass through and dark coloring to blend in with the light-absorbing matter in the Dark Disc. They communicate with bioluminescence along their outer rims, relying on a network of photoreceptor grooves on their outer surface to pick up sensory information, the pattern of which is unique to each Aurigan.

Just like their evolution, the Aurigans’ motivations are inscrutable, and they have annihilated several species nearby while leaving others untouched. What is known is that a party of Aurigans landed on Earth, undetected by the authorities. Unfortunately for them, they landed in Detroit (which even the Apids knew to avoid), touching down in an urban tire yard. Thanks to their unique morphology, the Aurigans’ corpses are still attached to the rims of a 1989 Honda Civic.

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June 1, 2013

From “War of the Bug Juice” by Greg Rolls Wetherbee

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This post is part of the June 2013 Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s prompt is “Bugs.”

The S’lvn-L’vs descended upon us, a terrible insectoid scourge from the stars, and all mankind’s technologies and spacefleets were in vain against their inexorable approach. With the last of our great starships lost in the battle off Pluto’s orbit, it was inevitable that the S’lvn-L’vs would attempt a landing on Earth. For it was Earth they coveted, a green and verdant planet to sweep over like the locusts they so resembled. Their technology, so far in advance of our own, and their swarm intelligence made this inevitable.

So it was with little surprise but much horror that the ships of the infernal space bugs appeared in our skies. One of the S’lvn-L’vs dreadnaughts, city-sized, touched down on the broad plains south of Topeka while another moved toward the Mongolian steppe. Military resistance was an impossibility, as precision strikes by the S’lvn-L’vs had devastated Earth’s global defense network. Instead, they were met at the landing site by a delegation of Earth politicians, religious leaders, and common folk selected by lottery to plead on behalf of humanity.

When the great doors opened and the S’lvn-L’vs emerged, none knew what to expect, for their communication with humans up to that point had been exclusively aggressive or disinterested. Nevertheless, it seemed that the S’lvn-L’vs to emerge might engage with the delegation. The great insectoid at the head of the emerging group approached the humans, its compound eyes and mandibles expressionless and unreadable.

Before the humans could say a word, they listened as the seven-foot-tall bug gasped, choked, and exploded under its own weight, coating everyone present with viscous green goo.

For so it had come about, as indeed I and many men might have foreseen had not terror and disaster blinded our minds: the twin terrors of lower oxygen content in the atmosphere and high gravity had taken their toll on Earthly life since the beginning of things–taken their toll on our evolutionary precursors since life began here. But by virtue of this natural selection humans have developed resisting power: to gravity–that which causes exoskeletoned beings above a certain size to explode under their own weight–our living frames are altogether immune. We do not succumb to lack of oxygen as spiracle-breathing bugs do, with our 20% oxygen mix being sufficient where 35% or 40% is necessary for creatures the size of the S’lvn-L’vs.

Already when the delegates watched them they were irrevocably doomed; our gravitational and atmospheric allies had begun to work their overthrow. It was inevitable. By the toll of a billion Barcaloungers and breathless runs man has bought his birthright to his size and oxygenation capacity, and it is his against all comers; it would still be his were the S’lvn-L’vs ten times as buggy as they are. For neither do men lounge nor breathe in vain.

With apologies to H. G. Wells.

Check out this month’s other bloggers, all of whom have posted or will post their own responses:
Diem_Allen
Ralph Pines
articshark
Lady Cat
U2Girl
MsLaylaCakes
SuzanneSeese
robynmackenzie
milkweed

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