science fiction | Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

May 8, 2011

From “Major Problems” by Altos Wexan

Posted by alexp01 under Blog Chain | Tags: Altos Wexan, fiction, historical fiction, science fiction, Soviet Union, story |
[10] Comments

This post is part of the May Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s challenge is to show a character’s approach to relationships in a short scene.

In a corner of Sasha’s basement, Mirya was sorting a pile of hand-typed literature into piles for distribution when Vasily found her. “So,” he said. “Why did the Siberian buy a refrigerator in winter?”

“Because, as a Soviet-made appliance, it was prone to overheating,” Mirya said.

“Close! Since it was -20 outside and -10 in the fridge, it was the warmest place in his igloo!”

“Very funny,” Mirya said.

“Where’s that revolutionary idealist of yours off to?” Vasily asked, pulling up a chair.

“He’s got a meeting with our sponsor,” Mirya said.

“We have a sponsor now?” Vasily said. “I’m not sure I like what I’m learning about this job after the fact.”

“I was completely honest when you came begging for work,” Mirya said, sticking out her tongue. “Wanted: ex-KGB agent to forge official-looking documents in service of sabotage, revolution, and other acts of all-around hooliganism. Well-adjusted individuals with no penchant for telling corny jokes need not apply.”

“Nothing in there about a sponsor,” Vasily said. “I have to report you for misrepresentation.”

Mirya crossed her arms. “Trying to keep me from getting work done, Vasya? That wasn’t in the description either.”

“I just want to talk, Mirya,” said Vasily. “All I have to go home to is a dank corner and a shrew of a landlady, with toaster assembly to follow at work. Being here, with you…that’s the high point of my life right now.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Mirya. “Roman wouldn’t like that kind of talk. He’s very protective, you know.”

“Roman’s not here,” Vasily said.

Mirya raised her eyebrows. “And?”

Vasily sighed. “What do you see in him, Mirya?”

“You of all people should know,” she said. “He’s everything we both left home to find.”

“A lot’s changed since then,” Vasily said. “Help me out here.”

“Roman is a revolutionary, Vasya. He believes in things passionately and he’s willing to risk everything. He’s got big ideas, big plans.”

“What about me?” Vasily said. “I’m a part of his cause. Without the passes I forged and the uniforms I found, Roman would still be sitting down here passing out cheap copies of banned books.”

“Don’t you see, Vasya? Even that was something,” said Mirya. She gently took Vasily’s hand. “You being here is the best thing that’s happened to either of us in the struggle. But you’re aimless; unless there’s someone strong to lead you, you’d just sink into a rut with only a few jokes to lighten the way.”

Vasily squeezed Mirya’s hand. “You could be that someone. You’ve always been the strongest person I know, even when we were children.”

“Like when I convinced you to steal sweet potatoes from your mother’s garden? That’s not strong, Vasya. I need someone to show me the way forward, and you do too.”

Drawing closer to Mirya, Vasily dropped his voice a note. “What about just before I left for university. The attic, remember?”

Mirya blushed. “That was just us being children,” she said.

“That’s not what you said then,” Vasily said, only a few centimeters from Mirya’s face.

“Vasya, I…we…no,” Mirya said. She pulled away. “That was a mistake. It’s different now.”

“Does it have to be?”

“I need you here, Vasily,” Mirya said. “The cause needs you here. But please don’t ask me to choose. That choice was made a long time ago.”

“But…”

“Please, just go.”

Vasily stood up and trudged toward the door. “The General Secretary’s son felt out of place riding to university in a limousine instead of the bus like other students,” he said over his shoulder. “The General Secretary told him ‘don’t worry, I’ll buy you a bus so you can drive it to school just like your friends!”

“Good night, Vasily,” Mirya said. She was able to suppress a smile until just after he left the room.

May 2, 2011

From “On Multitudinous Wings” by Anton D. Lesk

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: fiction, locust, science fiction, story |
Leave a Comment

“Central North America is the only major food-producing area without a native locust,” Laars said. “We’ve never had to deal with that kind of sudden crop damage before, since the Rocky Mountain locust became extinct.”

Smythe gnawed his lip. “So what you’re saying is…”

“If this is allowed to continue, we could see starvation and crop failure on a scale this continent hasn’t known for a century. Even if we sprayed for the locusts, our stock of pesticides isn’t large enough to handle a sudden outbreak, not to mention the damage rampant use would do to the crops themselves.”

Smythe turned over the specimen in his hands. “So with this bug, the Directorate could do more damage than with a biological weapon. And no one would know it wasn’t natural.”

April 29, 2011

From “Tumor’s Tenacity” by Callie Wellson Dowes

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: fiction, horror, science fiction, story |
Leave a Comment

“Dr. Corrie Smithson. A real pioneer in a lot of fields, especially cancer research.”

“She did a lot of work with immortal cell lines when the field was still fast and loose–back when they were basically stealing cells from cancer patients without their consent,” Dr. Mays said. “Way I remember it, Dr. Smithson’s wrote that postdoctoral thesis on the genetic markers in immortal cell line conteminants…using blood she drew from the original subject’s family without a consent form. She was only able to keep that act up so long before the laws caught up.”

Annette nodded, making a note on her pad. “What happened after that?”

“She still worked with immortal cell lines, mostly ones that were grandfathered in. Spent a lot of time working with animal cells that were similar–canine transmissible venereal tumors, Tasmanian devil facial tumor disease, Syrian hamster reticulum cell sarcoma.” Dr. Mays sounded wistful as he spoke.

“I’m…sorry?” Annette said, unsure what he was talking about.

“Oh. Those are all naturally occurring immortal cell lines, which have manifested as transmissible diseases. But the critters didn’t need to sign consent forms, you see. Dr. Smithson pretty much wrote the book on transmissible, immortal cancers.”

“That sounds…well, terrifying.”

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Mays laughed. “They’re quite rare.”

“What happened to her?”

“Terrible story. Lymphoma. The girl spent her entire life researching ways to cure it, and she died of a particularly aggressive strain. Interestingly enough, she took samples from her own tumors and bred an immortal line of research cells from it–they’re now the second-most used immortal cell line in medicine and responsible for half of all laboratory contaminations!”

April 25, 2011

From “Pearlsea In Pieces” by Carolyn Riley

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: abstract, fiction, love, mystery, parallel dimension, science fiction, story |
Leave a Comment

“We don’t expect you to understand, but it was necessary to perform the test under those conditions. Anything more controlled or closer to your experience would have invalidated the point.”

“So that’s it, then?” Rich snarled. “What would have happened if I wasn’t so lucky?”

“The experiment would have been a failure, and a different subject procured.”

“And Marie? What about her?” Rich demanded. His cheeks were burning and he found it hard to see the form of his accusers through welling tears.

“Ms. Cullen was a necessary incentive. You will find her in her apartment, asleep, though we must stress that she was never more than a template.”

Rich gritted his teeth, thinking of Marie at Pearlsea Fortress, at the Rift, and on that stack of hay in the Endlands. “Bait,” he sighed. “Cheese for the mouse in the maze.”

“An inelegant metaphor, but one not without some primitive merit. Are we done here, Mr. Richmond? Or must we persist in lowering ourselves to your base questions?”

“I just have one more,” Rich said. “Why me?”

The lights of his accusers modulated, with the answer in quizzical, almost mocking tones: “Why not?”

April 15, 2011

From “Dome” by Phil “Stonewall” Pixa

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: fiction, science fiction, story |
Leave a Comment

The fires on the south side had been burning for years. That’s where the City had stored its fuel reserves, even after it had switched over to other power sources. The rigs offshore were still burning too, and daylight had taken on a dusky hue as a result. The occasional ray of sunshine would lance down between the dark, rolling clouds above the ruins, but ten years of twilight had convinced the scattered survivors in the Park District that they’d seen the last of a blue sky in their lifetime.

Things had been much worse when the City had been in its death throes, with widespread looting blurring into the block-by-block fight for the city center. By the end, no one had really know which side they were on; everyone had simply tried to take what they could and flee. Now that everything that could be easily stolen had been carted away, the gleaners were able to eke a living from the ground, digging up the remains of supplies that the Citizens had lain away for lean times.

By the time the odd drifter arrived, there were even some small children in the group, who would always know the City as a warren of ruins endless in all directions. The only electricity they’d ever experience would be the dim sparks that the survivors were able to coax from the shattered power grid. Still, they endured, even though the healthiest of them was lean with hunger.

One day, one of the oldest Park District survivors (they often called themselves Parkers now) struck out into the Financial District in search of more canned food. Kevin Vanderkum had been a mechanic before the collapse, which meant that the poorly-tooled rifle which had been shoved into his hands as a conscript in the last days of the battle still worked. When Kevin saw a shape bumbling through the rubble ahead of him, he leveled the weapon and called out a sharp warning.

The figure lifted his arms and came into view. An ordinary-looking man, middle-aged, but it was his clothing that struck Kevin as odd–the man was wearing a business suit that, aside from a few scuff m arks, looked brand-new. All the readily available clothing had been seized by looters or rounded up by the Parkers and other survivors; Kevin himself wore a motley assortment of rags with a necktie as a scarf.

“Who are you?” Kevin said.

“She isn’t here,” was the reply.

April 10, 2011

From “Beyond the Interstellar Application Form” by Phil “Stonewall” Pixa

Posted by alexp01 under Blog Chain | Tags: fiction, interview, science fiction, story |
[19] Comments

This post is part of the April Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s challenge is to describe one of your characters in 50 words or less and then have that character interview you.

Peg Gregory has found herself in the place she’s always dreaded—a dead end. Stuck hauling supplies to a backwater planet no one’s ever cared about, there’s nothing to do but sell homemade beer and lob verbal grenades at her crewmates. They claim Peg’s being insubordinate; she finds it liberating.

“So, what special kind of madness has you thinking of signing on with the United Nations Transport Service?” said the recruiter behind the desk—Peg, according to her name tag.

“Well, I love to travel and see exotic places, but space travel is expensive,” I said. “I figure that a tour with the UNTS will let me get a good bead on spaceflight and maybe pay back a few outstanding student loans. See the universe, earn some scratch.”

“Of course. How do you feel about endless expanses of boring blackness, punctuated with beat-up hulks of stations and eight hours of leave on a pissant rock with fewer inhabitants than your high school and about as many opportunities for sightseeing?”

“Not…as good,” I replied sheepishly. “But a rock’s a rock, and I’ve only seen one so far. I also think you’re underestimating my high school. The ceiling tiles had some really interesting rust stains.”

Peg rolled her eyes and filled out he requisite line on the application. “Let me ask you this, then: ever get seasick?”

I nodded. “Once, but in my defense there was a swarm of jellyfish involved.”

“Imagine the worst, pukingest, colon-twistingest part of that, and multiply it by a hundred. That’s launch and soft landing, every time, all the time. Also happens when the gravity goes out, which happens a lot on the rattletrap tubs they throw you on. Ever see vomit in zero-g? You’ll be able to write a master’s thesis on it before you’re done with training.”

My stomach churned just thinking about it. “That’s why God invented dramamine.”

“Yes, nothing like a drowsy helmsman on a trillion-dollar tub.” Peg drawled, filling out another portion of the app. “Afraid of heights?”

“Only when I’m near the edge, and even then peer pressure will get me to the lip. I even went all the way to the very edge of Victoria Falls once, on a dare from my brother.”

Another part of the form scribbled in. “You do know that space is nothing more than one gigantic neverending drop, right? You’re always on the edge.”

I shrugged. “Seems like you are too.”

Peg gritted her teeth. “You know what? I was trying to save you from making the same mistakes I did. But if you insist, then screw it. I’m filling out the rest of your application for you. Top marks across the board.”

April 7, 2011

From “Among the Primordial Star Clouds” by Philip H. Fleming

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: computer, fiction, science fiction, ship, space, story |
Leave a Comment

Companies and governments “seeded” vast sectors of space with remotely-piloted drones and the infrastructure to support them–automated repair stations and a network of tiny, cheap hyperspace relays. They took advantage of the fact that propulsion and communication technologies had evolved far faster than the ability to put a human in the driver’s seat. A person traveling at speed in one of the remote drones would be reduced to chunky salsa even if they’d had air to breathe.

But with the relays in place, a person with a decent connection on Earth could pilot a remote drone nearly in real-time, doing surveying and exploration work that completely automated probes couldn’t. And they could sell the minerals they found and potentially habitable sites for future colonization, if the technology ever appeared.

Cam had cashed in his college fund to buy a rattletrap of an RPD, and he spent close to ten hours a day hooked up to its interface, exploring places he’d never see with his own eyes and scraping together just enough cash from what he found to keep the operation going.

Big scores happened all the time–just never to him. So when he saw that a promising system already had a drone in orbit, he wished for the thousandth time that his tiny ship had some kind of offensive weapons.

April 6, 2011

From “Beneath a Sundering Sky” by Carla Y. Eleuard

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: fiction, post apocalyptic, science fiction, story, war |
[3] Comments

“To this day, none know what happened,” Storyteller continued, drawing his audience in still further. “Some say it was the weapons of the old world, finally loosed form their old slumber. Others claim it was something new entirely. But all agree that on that day, and many since, the sky appeared to all the world like it had been sundered by flame.”

“I’ve met people who lived through it,” said Trixie. “Don’t think they’d even agree on that much.”

“I like Storyteller’s version better, even if it is a little embellished,” Kayla retorted.

“When Jasper left seeking the Legion, he claimed that a secondary purpose of his journey would be to learn the true story of those dark days, when so many died and so much changed,” Storyteller continued.

“What do you think happened?” Trixie cried.

Without skipping a beat, Storyteller responded. “I’m of the opinion that the world had grown hungry for the stories of old, which we still hear today. Stories of bravery, of heroism, of danger. The world wants us to tell stories like that, and to live them.”

March 27, 2011

From “The Cyclase CPT Violation” by Horner J. Vela

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: fiction, hospital, science fiction, story |
Leave a Comment

“It just doesn’t make any sense…the patient’s cyclase enzymes are somehow not functioning properly, but the tests don’t show anything unusual…well, except for the fact that the electron micrograph images keep coming back with technical errors. Flipped images. Damn machine must be on the fritz.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure. It has to be a technical error.”

“It’s funny you use that term…Clarke had an old sci-fi story by that name, about somebody who went through a CPT violation and had their body’s chirality–its ‘handedness’–reversed. They starved to death because their ‘left-handed’ body couldn’t accept ‘right-handed’ food proteins or enzymes.”

“Are you honestly suggesting that this person when though a COT violation, whatever science fiction onsense that is?”

“Of course not. But the chirality of their cyclase enzymes could be reversed somehow–it would explain everything except your bad attitude.”

March 22, 2011

From “Sids of Every Age” by Sydney D. Reynolds

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: fiction, humor, science fiction, story, time travel |
Leave a Comment

Opinions and arguments buzzed around the table.

“Why are we even talking about it?” said Sid, age 18. “Let’s send someone back and change things.”

“Who put you in charge of deciding when we’re done talking?” said Sid, age 14. “It’s my life you’re screwing up if it doesn’t work, not just yours.”

“And it’s my life we’re saving,” countered Sid, age 18. “Put a sock in it!”

“Stop fighting,” whined Sid, age 12. “You’re worse than Mom and Dad.

“Oh, if you think that’s bad, just wait until they-”

Sid, age 18 was cut short by Sid, age 16 who cuffed him on the head. “Don’t spoil it for him!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you wussy dateless nerd,” Sid, age 18 growled.

“Then don’t act like such a jackass, you drunk, doped-up jock!” countered Sid, age 16. “If that’s what I’ve got to look forward to, maybe it’s best we don’t do anything and put you out of your misery!”

In all the commotion, Sid, age 1, began bawling again. “Oh, for crap’s sake,” cried Sid, age 14. “Somebody change him!”

Excerpts From Nonexistent Books