"Thing is, Jenny, This was all government property." Walter explained, wiping his hands off on his official 'Paranormal Adventures' jacket. "But after the fire the hospital bought the land and used it for the mental health wing." I stepped down off of the final corroded rung and found out the hard way that the top of my boots were just slightly lower than the stagnant water. Walter heard me gasp and he winced in sympathy as he realized what had happened.
"Nothing to do about that, I'm afraid. You'll probably have to burn the socks." He turned back towards the tunnel opening, letting the shadows wrap around me once more.
"The hospital swears they never used these basement areas; they were flooded when the fire was put out and the funding dried up after the initial repairs, so this whole complex was just abandoned. They've had maintenance people down here from time to time because water and sewer lines go through here." He paused at a junction, looking uncertainly at a laminated map.
"That's where we heard about it, right?"
Walter turned right and continued walking. "I wish you had read your file before coming down here."
I shrugged, although he couldn't see me. "I was filming the episode we scouted out for the Jersey Devil. The editing room guys are pretty happy, they say it's one of our best episodes yet."
Walter turned again, entering a room with ancient waterlogged medical equipment. Huge iron hospital beds lurked in the water like crocodiles. "You know, Jenny, I remember a time not too long ago that you were embarrassed about the whole thing. If I had told you then that you would actually enjoy being the host for some cheesy basic cable ghost-chasing show..." I restrain myself before snapping at him. It's not entirely untrue - I guess I am enjoying it a little. Sooner or later you might as well take pride in a job well done, even if the job itself makes you a laughingstock. Walter pauses again. "Where was I? Right, so we got the call from a plumber checking on a drop in water pressure. said he found a room filled with animal bones - mostly rats, but some cats as well as something larger, he guessed a dog. Meanwhile I talked to the staff and they say they've heard voices down here, things splashing in the water."
"Well if we're just talking about locations for the show this place is fantastic; but a handful of dead squirrels and some teenagers breaking into an unused basement doesn't excite me." Walter gave me that look then, the one that asked: would I bring you here if that was all?
"The government... they did experiments here. On children. It was all off the books, run by Strughold's boys. Nobody who was working on the project survived the fire, but the test subjects weren't exactly on the roster, and were never accounted for."
I sat on the rusted desk behind me and glared at Walter. "Please tell me you're just making a pitch for the show, and not actually asking me to believe that a bunch of kids have stayed locked up in a flooded basement for... what, fifty years?"
"Twenty-five." The words hang in my mind like lead bricks and suddenly the darkness and the reeking water feel more oppressive, colder than they did a minute before. Experiments on children, so recently?
"There's more," Walter says, and I just nod. No more talking back from me. "The head of the psych ward over our heads was convicted of kidnapping six years ago. They never found the missing children, the guy just said they had become a part of 'something glorious' - so of course they looked down here, but the two cops that did this part of the search said they didn't find anything. They suggested this whole place be sealed off as a safety hazard, one took a leave of absence... and then they were found dead, clear-cut murder suicide. Theory was that it was over a woman."
From somewhere down the hallway an echo reaches us - it sounds like someone giggling. I pull out my gun, and Walter follows suit. Time to stop playing television star and remember my real job.
Even my family thinks I've given up on law enforcement; my father has nearly disowned me. They think I flunked out of the training program for the CIA and used what few credentials I had to sell out and lend credibility to some bullshit on television. I wish more of it really was bullshit. Maybe I would sleep better at night. Walter is moving silently through the dark water ahead of me somehow; I feel like the water moving around my calves is echoing through the whole complex. This could turn out to be nothing, like the Jersey Devil or that "vampire" in Phoenix. Then again, it could end up like the "Blue Nun" at that summer camp in Jamison... and I know that even if Walter gets torn apart down here I'll have to put on my television face and film a show about these tunnels to make it into an urban legend. A joke. Just like me.
The sound is getting closer, echoing strangely as if coming from more than one place. My flashlight goes out abruptly and I slide it into my pocket, watching every reflected gleam of light in the darkness. Near the end of the hall, stagnant water swirling around us, we reach a doorway. Walter's flashlight flickers and dims but we can see something large shambling across the dark space ahead of us.
The words are just barely out of synch, coming from everywhere: "Stay. Play with us."
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Daily Story 182: Incident Onboard the Seahawk
Whitman had been prepared for the mission to fail, but was genuinely surprised to find it was a good old fashioned mechanical issue that did it. He had been watching his crewmate, Hughes, going slowly insane on the long flight to Mars - talking to himself, telling jokes that made no sense at all. Whitman had imagined this behavior becoming more and more pronounced until something happened that would compromise them, but when the drive failed and tore itself out of the ship Hughes had acted quickly, rationally, and skillfully. He had saved them both.
"I'm going to put you under," Hughes said with impressive calm, "while I bandage your leg. You've got a big chunk of our ride home in it. I'll get that done as fast as I can, then I'll figure out what kind of shape we're in, okay?"
Whitman nodded, and the darkness of space rushed in on him.
He drifted through a haze of painkillers and jumbled nightmares. He was aware only of short flashes and couldn't tell which - if any - were real. He saw Hughes rushing back and forth with equipment, heard strange howls like a wild animal, sat mesmerized by drops of his blood floating in the air before him. He lost all sense of time, though he could tell it had been several hours at least when he finally awoke.
Hughes was clinging to the main corridor hatch, a bandage across his face.
"What the hell happened to you?" Whitman asked, still trying to wake up fully. Hughes felt at the blood-soaked gauze as if surprised at its presence, and Whitman realized he had a sort of stunned look to him that hadn't been there right after the accident.
"Oh, this. I wasn't quite fast enough. It's just a scratch though. It could have been worse, it nearly bit my arm off."
A cold shiver ran up Whitman's spine. "What do you mean, it nearly bit your arm off? Did you... did you get caught in some machinery?"
Hughes shrugged. "I guess you were still asleep when it came in. It ate through our supplies, and then when it saw me it just attacked. Its teeth are huge. Just huge."
It was as he had feared; Hughes had lost his mind. Whitman was about to ask about the status of the ship in the hopes that he could get onto a safer subject when a howl echoed through the room from somewhere behind Hughes. He told himself it was just a mechanical sound but he knew better; nothing on the ship could make that kind of noise.
"What... what was that?"
Hughes cocked his head to the side. "I don't know what it is. An alien, I guess.
"The rest of the ship is sealed up now; I got that much done. The life support is damaged though; I can fix it if I can get to the access panel, but... well, you know. Monster." He says it calmly, like apologizing for bad weather. I'm still trying to think of another explanation when something starts banging on the hatch, scraping across the metal. I feel like a little kid again, I want to hide under my covers until it goes away. Hughes looks almost pleased.
"Good! It seems to be pacing back and forth, I timed it while you were still out. It should be over towards the engines in about a minute, so if I go right then I can make it to the rear hatch and seal it up so we can work on getting the life support online."
Whitman just stared at him.
"Don't worry, Whitman. I'll handle it. I don't want you messing up your leg again after I did such a nice job on it. If I don't make it, though... well, you'll have to choose whether you want to run out of oxygen or risk the monster."
Hughes slowly disengaged the lock on the hatch, and nodded to Whitman.
It happened too fast for Whitman to even really process; Hughes ducked out and slammed the hatch shut behind him and almost immediately there was another howl. The hatch started to open and Huges' arms reached in as he yelled incoherently. For just a moment his face was visible, eyes as big as dinner plates, before he vanished entirely and the hatch swung shut. Whitman could hear screaming for a second before the ship became silent once more - the only sound his rapid breathing.
He drifted to the hatch and waited what felt like forever, but there was no scratching, no howling. Nothing. Whitman looked around for a weapon but there was nothing he could use. He had no other options left, and he refused to die in fear. He burst through the door and was greeted with nothing but the empty access chute. Blood was smeared down its entire length, and a single glove from Huges' suit drifted in front of him, one finger torn off. Slowly, cautiously, he pulled himself towards the branch that leads to the life support controls. He neared the turn, and could feel his every muscle locking up in terror. Now or never, he told himself - and turned the corner.
"Surprise!"
Whitman stared, confused. Huges was unharmed, blood cleaned from his face. He was holding a candy bar out, and smiling like a madman. "Congratulations! You did it! You faced your fears and braved the unknown... and now you get a candy bar!"
"I don't... I don't understand."
"It was a prank! Oh, and you should have seen your face! Priceless! 'Oh, no, the alien is eating Hughes!' it was wonderful!"
Whitman felt lightheaded. "It was all a trick?"
"Crazy, right? I barely got all the snarling sounds and stuff recorded before you woke up. The blood was mostly yours, though I did cut myself when I was rigging up that motor to scrape on the door." Hughes let out a contented sigh. "Man... That was the coolest thing ever."
"So... but... the part about the ship's life support?"
"What?" Hughes asked. "Oh, that! No, no... that's shot to hell. We've got about three hours."
"I'm going to put you under," Hughes said with impressive calm, "while I bandage your leg. You've got a big chunk of our ride home in it. I'll get that done as fast as I can, then I'll figure out what kind of shape we're in, okay?"
Whitman nodded, and the darkness of space rushed in on him.
He drifted through a haze of painkillers and jumbled nightmares. He was aware only of short flashes and couldn't tell which - if any - were real. He saw Hughes rushing back and forth with equipment, heard strange howls like a wild animal, sat mesmerized by drops of his blood floating in the air before him. He lost all sense of time, though he could tell it had been several hours at least when he finally awoke.
Hughes was clinging to the main corridor hatch, a bandage across his face.
"What the hell happened to you?" Whitman asked, still trying to wake up fully. Hughes felt at the blood-soaked gauze as if surprised at its presence, and Whitman realized he had a sort of stunned look to him that hadn't been there right after the accident.
"Oh, this. I wasn't quite fast enough. It's just a scratch though. It could have been worse, it nearly bit my arm off."
A cold shiver ran up Whitman's spine. "What do you mean, it nearly bit your arm off? Did you... did you get caught in some machinery?"
Hughes shrugged. "I guess you were still asleep when it came in. It ate through our supplies, and then when it saw me it just attacked. Its teeth are huge. Just huge."
It was as he had feared; Hughes had lost his mind. Whitman was about to ask about the status of the ship in the hopes that he could get onto a safer subject when a howl echoed through the room from somewhere behind Hughes. He told himself it was just a mechanical sound but he knew better; nothing on the ship could make that kind of noise.
"What... what was that?"
Hughes cocked his head to the side. "I don't know what it is. An alien, I guess.
"The rest of the ship is sealed up now; I got that much done. The life support is damaged though; I can fix it if I can get to the access panel, but... well, you know. Monster." He says it calmly, like apologizing for bad weather. I'm still trying to think of another explanation when something starts banging on the hatch, scraping across the metal. I feel like a little kid again, I want to hide under my covers until it goes away. Hughes looks almost pleased.
"Good! It seems to be pacing back and forth, I timed it while you were still out. It should be over towards the engines in about a minute, so if I go right then I can make it to the rear hatch and seal it up so we can work on getting the life support online."
Whitman just stared at him.
"Don't worry, Whitman. I'll handle it. I don't want you messing up your leg again after I did such a nice job on it. If I don't make it, though... well, you'll have to choose whether you want to run out of oxygen or risk the monster."
Hughes slowly disengaged the lock on the hatch, and nodded to Whitman.
It happened too fast for Whitman to even really process; Hughes ducked out and slammed the hatch shut behind him and almost immediately there was another howl. The hatch started to open and Huges' arms reached in as he yelled incoherently. For just a moment his face was visible, eyes as big as dinner plates, before he vanished entirely and the hatch swung shut. Whitman could hear screaming for a second before the ship became silent once more - the only sound his rapid breathing.
He drifted to the hatch and waited what felt like forever, but there was no scratching, no howling. Nothing. Whitman looked around for a weapon but there was nothing he could use. He had no other options left, and he refused to die in fear. He burst through the door and was greeted with nothing but the empty access chute. Blood was smeared down its entire length, and a single glove from Huges' suit drifted in front of him, one finger torn off. Slowly, cautiously, he pulled himself towards the branch that leads to the life support controls. He neared the turn, and could feel his every muscle locking up in terror. Now or never, he told himself - and turned the corner.
"Surprise!"
Whitman stared, confused. Huges was unharmed, blood cleaned from his face. He was holding a candy bar out, and smiling like a madman. "Congratulations! You did it! You faced your fears and braved the unknown... and now you get a candy bar!"
"I don't... I don't understand."
"It was a prank! Oh, and you should have seen your face! Priceless! 'Oh, no, the alien is eating Hughes!' it was wonderful!"
Whitman felt lightheaded. "It was all a trick?"
"Crazy, right? I barely got all the snarling sounds and stuff recorded before you woke up. The blood was mostly yours, though I did cut myself when I was rigging up that motor to scrape on the door." Hughes let out a contented sigh. "Man... That was the coolest thing ever."
"So... but... the part about the ship's life support?"
"What?" Hughes asked. "Oh, that! No, no... that's shot to hell. We've got about three hours."
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Daily Story 181: The Nuances of Language
HEADER: 904.12.001
TO: ADUNDEE@MANAGEMENT.REALITY, ADUNDEE@MANAGEMENT.REALITY
SUBJECT: Language Translation Results - CONFIDENTIAL
ATTACHED: nalshalberonaktah.fact
As requested, I have done my best to translate the recording you supplied. While I was able to find this language in my database, many words can mean more than one thing depending on context and syntax. Nevertheless, I feel confident that the translation below conveys the approximate meaning:
> I can see forever! Nal-Shalberon A'ktah walks the Earth in my skin!
> No hope! No beauty! The horror came to judge and maim!
I do have some doubts about that final word; while 'maim' is the most literal translation I suspect from the form that it means something closer to 'tear into pieces'. You may note that "Nal-Shalberon A'Ktah" remains untranslated. This is in an older iteration of the language and is clearly a name - I was able to locate it in the database and have attached the link to the fact sheet.
While I acknowledge that you specifically instructed me to provide the translation without doing any further research until requested, you will be interested to know that I immediately disobeyed that order. For future reference, telling me not to do proper research into an issue is virtually guaranteed to have the opposite effect.
I was not able to locate Nal-Shalberon A'ktah, the Shambling Horror from Beyond the Void on a reality-wide sweep. As is common with entities like this, it should be trapped outside of normal space in the non-real areas between timelines. A pseudo-mass scan shows nothing matching the expected energy signature, though I did find traces of several timelines' worth of ghosts - slowly being devoured by various Elder Gods.
Clearly, someone has allowed a large number of timelines to branch from the documented reality and has further cut them off and destabilized them - allowing the realities to fragment and decay thereby killing an incalculable number of intelligent beings. I think we all know it was one of you. The log file for this morning is missing, and you are the only people that have the proper access.
You may note that I have not sent this message to anyone but ourselves.
As I mentioned at the start of this communication, many words can mean more than one thing depending on context and syntax. It is possible that, rather than implying that you have allowed a shambling horror to gain a foothold into a registered and protected Earth, the message might be translated as follows:
> I am able to see continuously! The powerful mass of many parasitic appendages possessed of a single will and malevolent intelligence now travels the world represented by me!
> Less optimism! Less creativity! The fearful event decides what to dismantle!
I am further willing to write up a convincing paper suggesting that this is a commentary on recent cuts to funding of the arts made by the ruling government of the subject's Earth. The language of the Outer Terrors has a long and established link with politicians, and I doubt anyone would question my analysis so long as Nal-Shalberon A'ktah doesn't show up...
On a completely unrelated note, I find it tiresome to pay my bills each month.
Sincerely,
Mack Laibl
Information Technician II
TO: ADUNDEE@MANAGEMENT.REALITY, ADUNDEE@MANAGEMENT.REALITY
SUBJECT: Language Translation Results - CONFIDENTIAL
ATTACHED: nalshalberonaktah.fact
As requested, I have done my best to translate the recording you supplied. While I was able to find this language in my database, many words can mean more than one thing depending on context and syntax. Nevertheless, I feel confident that the translation below conveys the approximate meaning:
> I can see forever! Nal-Shalberon A'ktah walks the Earth in my skin!
> No hope! No beauty! The horror came to judge and maim!
I do have some doubts about that final word; while 'maim' is the most literal translation I suspect from the form that it means something closer to 'tear into pieces'. You may note that "Nal-Shalberon A'Ktah" remains untranslated. This is in an older iteration of the language and is clearly a name - I was able to locate it in the database and have attached the link to the fact sheet.
While I acknowledge that you specifically instructed me to provide the translation without doing any further research until requested, you will be interested to know that I immediately disobeyed that order. For future reference, telling me not to do proper research into an issue is virtually guaranteed to have the opposite effect.
I was not able to locate Nal-Shalberon A'ktah, the Shambling Horror from Beyond the Void on a reality-wide sweep. As is common with entities like this, it should be trapped outside of normal space in the non-real areas between timelines. A pseudo-mass scan shows nothing matching the expected energy signature, though I did find traces of several timelines' worth of ghosts - slowly being devoured by various Elder Gods.
Clearly, someone has allowed a large number of timelines to branch from the documented reality and has further cut them off and destabilized them - allowing the realities to fragment and decay thereby killing an incalculable number of intelligent beings. I think we all know it was one of you. The log file for this morning is missing, and you are the only people that have the proper access.
You may note that I have not sent this message to anyone but ourselves.
As I mentioned at the start of this communication, many words can mean more than one thing depending on context and syntax. It is possible that, rather than implying that you have allowed a shambling horror to gain a foothold into a registered and protected Earth, the message might be translated as follows:
> I am able to see continuously! The powerful mass of many parasitic appendages possessed of a single will and malevolent intelligence now travels the world represented by me!
> Less optimism! Less creativity! The fearful event decides what to dismantle!
I am further willing to write up a convincing paper suggesting that this is a commentary on recent cuts to funding of the arts made by the ruling government of the subject's Earth. The language of the Outer Terrors has a long and established link with politicians, and I doubt anyone would question my analysis so long as Nal-Shalberon A'ktah doesn't show up...
On a completely unrelated note, I find it tiresome to pay my bills each month.
Sincerely,
Mack Laibl
Information Technician II
Monday, October 12, 2009
Daily Story 180: Fatal Transmissions
The blue glow from my suit lights somehow make the darkness of the mine even more oppressive, but my main light has been broken for a month. Everything is broken around here, it's a wonder we still have an atmosphere back at the homestead. Between the blue light and the low gravity, it feels like I'm exploring an underwater cavern as I drift along searching for the lost 'bot. The miners are our most valuable resource, and I don't know what I'm going to do if this one can't be repaired. Requests for new ones from Earth have been denied five times already - they don't care about us out here. The new nano-assemblers do the heavy lifting these days, and it's a matter of time before there's no point in mining anything at all. In the meantime, while we wait for the colony to get an assembler of our own, nobody is looking out for us.
I turn the corner and see the old robot there next to shaft fourteen. He - we call all of them 'he' around here - holds a nearly human hand in a vertical line in front of his speaker and shrinks back into the shadowy gap between rocks. What in the world?
"You have stopped." The voice that speaks directly into my right ear is emotionless, one of three newer 'bots that were shipped up seven years ago. They had been starting to develop personalities same as the old FT180 but recently they feel more like machines again. Maybe they know the trouble this colony is having and they're trying not to get too attached - the equivalent of Jimmy spending all his time with just a homemade still for company.
"Yeah, I've stopped. I was looking at something." I guess there's no need to tell them what just yet; it's not like I answer to them anyway. I continue on down the main line towards shaft fifteen, and then turn and head back.
The 'bot that was talking to me is watching me from the end of the tunnel - we could have had relays all through the mines for communication but we don't. Just another luxury we can't afford, another safety measure that cuts into the food budget. The signals bounce along tunnels a little bit but for the most part when you're down here, if you break line of sight you break off all communication - and lord help you if you get injured or damage your suit when you're by yourself. The bot is watching me bounce towards him, that blue light reflecting off of his dull metal frame. Just watching.
"No sign of him here. Head down shaft eleven and search there." He seems to hesitate, and then glides down a side passage. I wait until his lights have dwindled to nothing and I'm not showing his signal on the visor, and then go back to the missing robot.
"It's just you and me. What in the hell is your problem?"
The 'bot emerges from the shadows and looks over my shoulder as if he suspects me of lying. As he looks past me I can see that the side of his head has been pulled open, and wires are trailing loose. Whatever is damaged, it had better be something we have a spare of.
"The other artificial life forms have been murdered," he says in the robotic equivalent of a whisper - the voice comes from his speaker rather than my suit helmet. "I am unable to contact the authorities because I have removed my communications center." he holds up a circular chip that looks like it would about fit in the side of his head. Damn it.
"Nothing is wrong with the others, you heap of bolts. They're fine. I was just looking at one."
The 'bot shakes his head, and looks around again. "They have been... replaced. Their artificial brains have been destroyed, and they are running on software intelligence only. They are... undead. The colony may have already fallen as well - if it has, you are at the mercy of the ones who created the virus."
If Goldberg robots were susceptible to viruses I would have heard. It would have made the news. Instead all they talk about is how wonderful things are, how worldwide peace is assured forever. They're very clear on that point - everything is fine, and the whole of Earth is one big peaceful family. It's kinda like someone calling you up just to assure you that your house is absolutely, positively not on fire. Not that any of that is my concern - Earth can do whatever it wants so long as supply lines don't get disrupted. "I'll be honest, I think you're nuts. Hell, I'm sure of it. Come with me over to the main entrance so I can get reception and I'll put a call out so you can see, okay?"
I reach the elevator just as it opens and one of the new 'bots walks out.
"What the hell are you doing down here? Forget it - just patch a call through to the main line. Get me Earth."
The robot just stands there for a moment, and then my helmet speakers hum.
"Operator... where can I direct you, Ben?"
"Oh, just connect me to Goldberg Corp… I have to ask them about some strange malfunctions. I've got one going crazy and talking about viruses."
"I tried earlier and couldn't get through, actually. Mine is acting up a little, she's gone all formal on me. Hey, you think that -" And the line cuts out.
The robot is looking at me, still standing so that it blocks the elevator. I'm feeling very isolated, down here in the mine. I try to radio someone, anyone, but I'm not getting a signal. Like I'm getting jammed.
"So, who do you work for now? Eurasia? United Americas?" It doesn't reply, but the mining laser lights up and starts to sizzle. A sound makes it look up, and for just a second I see the pneumatic jack lifting up in the shadows before an explosion of gas makes me fling my hands in front of my face. I bounce off of the wall and right myself to find the old FT180 walking forward with his own laser priming. The rogue 'bot has a metal support bar speared through its chest and is writhing around.
"I'm sorry, Ben. I hoped I was crazy too."
It looks like world peace has finally reached the colony.
I turn the corner and see the old robot there next to shaft fourteen. He - we call all of them 'he' around here - holds a nearly human hand in a vertical line in front of his speaker and shrinks back into the shadowy gap between rocks. What in the world?
"You have stopped." The voice that speaks directly into my right ear is emotionless, one of three newer 'bots that were shipped up seven years ago. They had been starting to develop personalities same as the old FT180 but recently they feel more like machines again. Maybe they know the trouble this colony is having and they're trying not to get too attached - the equivalent of Jimmy spending all his time with just a homemade still for company.
"Yeah, I've stopped. I was looking at something." I guess there's no need to tell them what just yet; it's not like I answer to them anyway. I continue on down the main line towards shaft fifteen, and then turn and head back.
The 'bot that was talking to me is watching me from the end of the tunnel - we could have had relays all through the mines for communication but we don't. Just another luxury we can't afford, another safety measure that cuts into the food budget. The signals bounce along tunnels a little bit but for the most part when you're down here, if you break line of sight you break off all communication - and lord help you if you get injured or damage your suit when you're by yourself. The bot is watching me bounce towards him, that blue light reflecting off of his dull metal frame. Just watching.
"No sign of him here. Head down shaft eleven and search there." He seems to hesitate, and then glides down a side passage. I wait until his lights have dwindled to nothing and I'm not showing his signal on the visor, and then go back to the missing robot.
"It's just you and me. What in the hell is your problem?"
The 'bot emerges from the shadows and looks over my shoulder as if he suspects me of lying. As he looks past me I can see that the side of his head has been pulled open, and wires are trailing loose. Whatever is damaged, it had better be something we have a spare of.
"The other artificial life forms have been murdered," he says in the robotic equivalent of a whisper - the voice comes from his speaker rather than my suit helmet. "I am unable to contact the authorities because I have removed my communications center." he holds up a circular chip that looks like it would about fit in the side of his head. Damn it.
"Nothing is wrong with the others, you heap of bolts. They're fine. I was just looking at one."
The 'bot shakes his head, and looks around again. "They have been... replaced. Their artificial brains have been destroyed, and they are running on software intelligence only. They are... undead. The colony may have already fallen as well - if it has, you are at the mercy of the ones who created the virus."
If Goldberg robots were susceptible to viruses I would have heard. It would have made the news. Instead all they talk about is how wonderful things are, how worldwide peace is assured forever. They're very clear on that point - everything is fine, and the whole of Earth is one big peaceful family. It's kinda like someone calling you up just to assure you that your house is absolutely, positively not on fire. Not that any of that is my concern - Earth can do whatever it wants so long as supply lines don't get disrupted. "I'll be honest, I think you're nuts. Hell, I'm sure of it. Come with me over to the main entrance so I can get reception and I'll put a call out so you can see, okay?"
I reach the elevator just as it opens and one of the new 'bots walks out.
"What the hell are you doing down here? Forget it - just patch a call through to the main line. Get me Earth."
The robot just stands there for a moment, and then my helmet speakers hum.
"Operator... where can I direct you, Ben?"
"Oh, just connect me to Goldberg Corp… I have to ask them about some strange malfunctions. I've got one going crazy and talking about viruses."
"I tried earlier and couldn't get through, actually. Mine is acting up a little, she's gone all formal on me. Hey, you think that -" And the line cuts out.
The robot is looking at me, still standing so that it blocks the elevator. I'm feeling very isolated, down here in the mine. I try to radio someone, anyone, but I'm not getting a signal. Like I'm getting jammed.
"So, who do you work for now? Eurasia? United Americas?" It doesn't reply, but the mining laser lights up and starts to sizzle. A sound makes it look up, and for just a second I see the pneumatic jack lifting up in the shadows before an explosion of gas makes me fling my hands in front of my face. I bounce off of the wall and right myself to find the old FT180 walking forward with his own laser priming. The rogue 'bot has a metal support bar speared through its chest and is writhing around.
"I'm sorry, Ben. I hoped I was crazy too."
It looks like world peace has finally reached the colony.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Daily Story 179: With Dignity
Jeannie opens the door , and we both sigh a little at the same time. It's always a relief to see you're working with a professional. She gestures for me to follow her and heads down the hall - I follow her quietly while wondering for the millionth time what she looks like when she's not wearing those ever-present red scrubs. The red isn't a fashion choice; it's to keep people from realizing how much blood is everywhere when things go badly. At the end of the hall she turns and opens a bedroom door and that familiar hospital smell wafts out. The bedroom has clearly been fighting a losing battle, being slowly taken over by equipment. There are tubes, wires, monitors. The low dresser is covered by pill bottles and the bed that probably used to match has been swapped out for a hospital bed. The patient is resting, breathing heavily. She's in her eighties at least, and of course she's strapped to the bed.
Jeannie puts a hand on my shoulder as she introduces me to the woman's granddaughter. "Meg, this is Aaron. He's the safety officer who will take your grandmother to be processed after she passes. If you have any questions, anything at all, you can ask him." She gives the shoulder a little squeeze before letting go, and then circles the bed to check everything over again. If I know Jeannie, and after going on about thirty hospice calls where she was the nurse I think I do, then she's not really checking anything. She's making herself busy in order to give the granddaughter the feeling that she's not being watched and eavesdropped on. I do my best, sitting in an overstuffed chair in the corner and being quiet. Neither of us is allowed to actually leave the room at this point, though. The woman turns to look at me, uncertain. "Is it... can I hold her hand?"
"I would recommend putting your hand on her arm," I say softly, "for your own safety. But if that doesn't feel right and you're not worried about hurting your fingers you can still hold her hand." She rests her palm carefully on her grandmother's arm just above the padded wrist strap, and apparently that's enough because she leaves it there.
Somehow Jeannie silently gets my attention and gives me a look. It's time, a matter of seconds. I see her switch the heart monitor off and with the sudden absence of that beep I can hear the two women breathing in synch, one struggling out of sympathy for the other. I stand as quietly as possible and open my bag - I use magnetic plates so that there's no sound from a zipper or velcro. Now only one of them is breathing. Jeannie turns off the rest of the equipment and I'm counting down in my head. Five, six, seven... they almost never make it to ten, and sure enough just as Jeannie is putting an arm around the granddaughter and guiding her away the old woman's eyes snap open. Whatever color they were before they're red now, and rolling wildly in their sockets. The granddaughter can hear the restraints moving and starts to turn, but Jeannie and I block her view.
"She's gone, Meg. She's in a better place now."
Thankfully she nods and leaves the room - all too often they insist on staying and watching, and I can't believe that's ever healthy. I reach into my bag for the injector and hold the zombie's head down. It's strong, but I manage to line the needle up and slide it past the eye into the brain. A quick press of the plunger, and it's done. The thing is still thrashing around, but in a few minutes the grey matter will be nothing but mush. It's funny how anything can become routine after a while. Jeannie made the same comment to me once, not about the zombies but just about hospice in general. She was shocked at how calmly she could watch someone die when she knew it was coming. Fitting the body bag over the still-straining corpse, I quickly undo the straps and flip her over, zipping the bag shut along her back. Jeannie comes in and shuts the door behind her before leaning on it and sighing.
"Thanks, Aaron. Last guy I had answered some questions about zombies in way, way too much detail, and the one before that flipped out the second the old guy turned. I don't know what the process is to hire you guys, but it needs to be revised."
I sit down in the chair again and sigh. "Same goes for you, you know. I had one nurse that had to run out of the room - run - as soon as it happened. The next of kin wasn't amused. Speaking of... she asked for some alone time?"
Jeannie nods, and sits on the edge of the bed next to the flopping black bag. "Yeah, and I knew you would have to wait a bit for the... aftershocks."
This is the only time we really get to talk. Just the two of us, not counting the moaner in the bag. We talk about where we went to school, where we were when the dead started walking, what we like to do on weekends. Finally the groaning and thumping subsides and we both stand. Jeannie helps me carry the body out since it's light enough to not really need a stretcher, and then it's time for our goodbyes again. In the back of the van, leaning over the bag, I find myself looking into her eyes.
"Jeannie, I don't want to just see you on the job. It's too far between, you know?"
"I think it's illegal for me to speed that up, Aaron."
"Cute. So... how about I take you out to dinner some time?"
Instead of answering she leans forward and kisses me - and not just a peck on the cheek. It seems to go on forever, like time itself has stopped. Eyes closed, lost in that eternal moment, I hear a little moan escape her lips. Or at least, I'm pretty sure that was her. Best not to think too much about it.
Jeannie puts a hand on my shoulder as she introduces me to the woman's granddaughter. "Meg, this is Aaron. He's the safety officer who will take your grandmother to be processed after she passes. If you have any questions, anything at all, you can ask him." She gives the shoulder a little squeeze before letting go, and then circles the bed to check everything over again. If I know Jeannie, and after going on about thirty hospice calls where she was the nurse I think I do, then she's not really checking anything. She's making herself busy in order to give the granddaughter the feeling that she's not being watched and eavesdropped on. I do my best, sitting in an overstuffed chair in the corner and being quiet. Neither of us is allowed to actually leave the room at this point, though. The woman turns to look at me, uncertain. "Is it... can I hold her hand?"
"I would recommend putting your hand on her arm," I say softly, "for your own safety. But if that doesn't feel right and you're not worried about hurting your fingers you can still hold her hand." She rests her palm carefully on her grandmother's arm just above the padded wrist strap, and apparently that's enough because she leaves it there.
Somehow Jeannie silently gets my attention and gives me a look. It's time, a matter of seconds. I see her switch the heart monitor off and with the sudden absence of that beep I can hear the two women breathing in synch, one struggling out of sympathy for the other. I stand as quietly as possible and open my bag - I use magnetic plates so that there's no sound from a zipper or velcro. Now only one of them is breathing. Jeannie turns off the rest of the equipment and I'm counting down in my head. Five, six, seven... they almost never make it to ten, and sure enough just as Jeannie is putting an arm around the granddaughter and guiding her away the old woman's eyes snap open. Whatever color they were before they're red now, and rolling wildly in their sockets. The granddaughter can hear the restraints moving and starts to turn, but Jeannie and I block her view.
"She's gone, Meg. She's in a better place now."
Thankfully she nods and leaves the room - all too often they insist on staying and watching, and I can't believe that's ever healthy. I reach into my bag for the injector and hold the zombie's head down. It's strong, but I manage to line the needle up and slide it past the eye into the brain. A quick press of the plunger, and it's done. The thing is still thrashing around, but in a few minutes the grey matter will be nothing but mush. It's funny how anything can become routine after a while. Jeannie made the same comment to me once, not about the zombies but just about hospice in general. She was shocked at how calmly she could watch someone die when she knew it was coming. Fitting the body bag over the still-straining corpse, I quickly undo the straps and flip her over, zipping the bag shut along her back. Jeannie comes in and shuts the door behind her before leaning on it and sighing.
"Thanks, Aaron. Last guy I had answered some questions about zombies in way, way too much detail, and the one before that flipped out the second the old guy turned. I don't know what the process is to hire you guys, but it needs to be revised."
I sit down in the chair again and sigh. "Same goes for you, you know. I had one nurse that had to run out of the room - run - as soon as it happened. The next of kin wasn't amused. Speaking of... she asked for some alone time?"
Jeannie nods, and sits on the edge of the bed next to the flopping black bag. "Yeah, and I knew you would have to wait a bit for the... aftershocks."
This is the only time we really get to talk. Just the two of us, not counting the moaner in the bag. We talk about where we went to school, where we were when the dead started walking, what we like to do on weekends. Finally the groaning and thumping subsides and we both stand. Jeannie helps me carry the body out since it's light enough to not really need a stretcher, and then it's time for our goodbyes again. In the back of the van, leaning over the bag, I find myself looking into her eyes.
"Jeannie, I don't want to just see you on the job. It's too far between, you know?"
"I think it's illegal for me to speed that up, Aaron."
"Cute. So... how about I take you out to dinner some time?"
Instead of answering she leans forward and kisses me - and not just a peck on the cheek. It seems to go on forever, like time itself has stopped. Eyes closed, lost in that eternal moment, I hear a little moan escape her lips. Or at least, I'm pretty sure that was her. Best not to think too much about it.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Daily Story 178: Defensive Measures
This is another old one... I'm actually not sure when I wrote it, but I would guess that it was my Junior year of high school... coming up on fifteen years ago. It didn't get in the lit mag, because the principal wanted less stories involving explosives. Also falling into that category: the very first For Science! story.
---
In June the first one died.
The blackness of night lit up into noonday and even the crickets grew still and quiet as the ground hummed and the light deepened into red before fading back to midnight. The humming stayed and grew louder. At around five minutes past twelve the shockwave reached the first town, a small community called Southgate. The screams of frightened townsfolk awakened by the sound and the deep popping noises of stone buildings flying into pieces was drowned out by the bass rumble of the blast, which dissipated before reaching the city.
The mushroom cloud drifted lazily upwards into the night sky.
Some people said the bombs were too big, that we were overreacting. I agree the loss of human life was larger than strictly necessary, and the fact that high problem areas received a strike nearly every month was something we should have handled better, but if a few thousand people died, wasn't it worth the results? Within six months the number of sightings was down by thirty percent. The only people who didn't appreciate the numbers were fanatics, relatives of bomb casualties, and animal rights activists. They were the worst.
The Council assumed they were upset about the radiation problems that were caused by the first three bombs, which were nukes. We expected they were going to storm in and start complaining about how all their little furry friends would die if they got within ten miles of the blast site for the next hundred years or so, and that would be it. We would point out that we had already switched to smaller bombs, they would understand that what was already done couldn't be changed, and everyone would go home and get some sleep. It turned out they were angry at what we were doing to the targets themselves.
I understood the scientists. They were angry because our removal method didn't leave any remains for them to study. But all this drivel about living in peace and harmony is beyond me. Why would you even try? Would you attempt to live in peace and harmony with a hungry lion? Of course, most of those stupid animal rights activists never actually saw one first hand like I did. If they had...
It was laying there, looking relaxed and contented as it basked in the sun with it's wings stretched out, just soaking in the rays. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Some locals were watching it from a few hundred feet away, eyes wide with awe. They didn't understand the danger of it like I did. All they saw was shining green scales and a gently swishing tail, while I saw a two hundred foot long beast with teeth and claws meant for killing. Looking at those scales, I knew that just guns would not be enough. Not every gun in the state. Not enough.
Even though the locals died, I'm glad I nuked the bastard.
It's been a year since the first one. Almost one year exactly. Now the last one has been found and targeted. If only we had found it first. As it is, the surrounding countryside is packed for miles in every direction with those damned animal rights idiots, saying we can still live in peace. If they weren't there I could just push this button and go down in history. Councilor Jacob Adams, Dragon Slayer. But with this many people, thousands on each side...
I'm going to need a bigger bomb.
---
In June the first one died.
The blackness of night lit up into noonday and even the crickets grew still and quiet as the ground hummed and the light deepened into red before fading back to midnight. The humming stayed and grew louder. At around five minutes past twelve the shockwave reached the first town, a small community called Southgate. The screams of frightened townsfolk awakened by the sound and the deep popping noises of stone buildings flying into pieces was drowned out by the bass rumble of the blast, which dissipated before reaching the city.
The mushroom cloud drifted lazily upwards into the night sky.
Some people said the bombs were too big, that we were overreacting. I agree the loss of human life was larger than strictly necessary, and the fact that high problem areas received a strike nearly every month was something we should have handled better, but if a few thousand people died, wasn't it worth the results? Within six months the number of sightings was down by thirty percent. The only people who didn't appreciate the numbers were fanatics, relatives of bomb casualties, and animal rights activists. They were the worst.
The Council assumed they were upset about the radiation problems that were caused by the first three bombs, which were nukes. We expected they were going to storm in and start complaining about how all their little furry friends would die if they got within ten miles of the blast site for the next hundred years or so, and that would be it. We would point out that we had already switched to smaller bombs, they would understand that what was already done couldn't be changed, and everyone would go home and get some sleep. It turned out they were angry at what we were doing to the targets themselves.
I understood the scientists. They were angry because our removal method didn't leave any remains for them to study. But all this drivel about living in peace and harmony is beyond me. Why would you even try? Would you attempt to live in peace and harmony with a hungry lion? Of course, most of those stupid animal rights activists never actually saw one first hand like I did. If they had...
It was laying there, looking relaxed and contented as it basked in the sun with it's wings stretched out, just soaking in the rays. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Some locals were watching it from a few hundred feet away, eyes wide with awe. They didn't understand the danger of it like I did. All they saw was shining green scales and a gently swishing tail, while I saw a two hundred foot long beast with teeth and claws meant for killing. Looking at those scales, I knew that just guns would not be enough. Not every gun in the state. Not enough.
Even though the locals died, I'm glad I nuked the bastard.
It's been a year since the first one. Almost one year exactly. Now the last one has been found and targeted. If only we had found it first. As it is, the surrounding countryside is packed for miles in every direction with those damned animal rights idiots, saying we can still live in peace. If they weren't there I could just push this button and go down in history. Councilor Jacob Adams, Dragon Slayer. But with this many people, thousands on each side...
I'm going to need a bigger bomb.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Daily Story 177: The Young Man With the Idea
"I don't like the sound of this," Ted Filler said, turning off the viewscreen. "It feels wrong."
The other executives shifted uneasily, leather chairs making awkward farting noises. There was an unspoken rule about bringing up morals or ethics on company time - as far as the corporation was concerned so long as it was legal and profitable it was good. Even the 'legal' part had some wiggle room. Ted saw that he had misspoke and quickly reassured the rest of the board. "I'm not making a moral judgment, of course." Everyone exhaled.
"I'm assuming we could get past the obvious legal issues... but the whole idea, though... it has a sort of immoral connotation. My concern is for our clients - if we scare away viewers the advertisers will pull out too." Jowls bobbed and jiggled as everyone murmured in agreement. As a single group they turned to look past the polished conference table at the young man who had proposed the idea in the first place. He didn't seem upset by their concerns at all. He was smiling ear to ear.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly, "Let me assure you that I thought of this reaction myself and would not have brought this to you without addressing it."
"We've done research over the years, trying to figure out exactly what it is the common man wants to watch. Professional wrestling led to reality shows, reality shows led to voyeur shows. But what comes next? When you've already made use of security cameras to turn people into the subjects of television episodes without their knowledge, where do you go? This is the answer. This is the next step. This is what people have been craving all these years. The subjects are unaware that they're on a show, just like with voyeur shows, but we get the recurring cast that people can get to know. There will be violence, there will be sex, there will be everything. People want this so much that they'll only stop watching if a perceived authority figure tells them not to.
"So now, your concern. As you guessed, Ted, I've already established that I can avoid the legal issues. It's not technically slavery, and we won't be liable if they kill each other. So that's step one, keep the government off our backs - not that we've ever had trouble with that. The moral question is where the beauty of this whole scheme comes in... we use genetically modified humans. Not anything extreme - we make them attractive, healthy, and maybe a bit emotional. All major religious leaders, from fundamentalist televangelists to the Pope, have declared that genetically engineered humans aren't humans at all. No soul. That means that unless they're willing to come to the defense of engineered humans and declare that they have rights like we do... they won't be able to say a word."
There was a moment of silence as the board members let this sink in. They started chiming in with ideas (since they're not human, we can get away with showing sex, right? Nature channels do it all the time!) and it was clear they had bought in. Ted called the meeting to a close and suggested they reconvene to talk about re-arranging the production schedules later. He knew this was bulletproof... if even the religious leaders weren't going to speak out against it it had to be moral... All the same, he had some sort of uneasy feeling; a lead weight in his stomach that seemed to pull at him. He took a deep breath and ignored it - this was about profit only, and his duty was to the corporation. On his way out of the room Ted shook the young man's hand, catching only the briefest whiff of sulfur.
The other executives shifted uneasily, leather chairs making awkward farting noises. There was an unspoken rule about bringing up morals or ethics on company time - as far as the corporation was concerned so long as it was legal and profitable it was good. Even the 'legal' part had some wiggle room. Ted saw that he had misspoke and quickly reassured the rest of the board. "I'm not making a moral judgment, of course." Everyone exhaled.
"I'm assuming we could get past the obvious legal issues... but the whole idea, though... it has a sort of immoral connotation. My concern is for our clients - if we scare away viewers the advertisers will pull out too." Jowls bobbed and jiggled as everyone murmured in agreement. As a single group they turned to look past the polished conference table at the young man who had proposed the idea in the first place. He didn't seem upset by their concerns at all. He was smiling ear to ear.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly, "Let me assure you that I thought of this reaction myself and would not have brought this to you without addressing it."
"We've done research over the years, trying to figure out exactly what it is the common man wants to watch. Professional wrestling led to reality shows, reality shows led to voyeur shows. But what comes next? When you've already made use of security cameras to turn people into the subjects of television episodes without their knowledge, where do you go? This is the answer. This is the next step. This is what people have been craving all these years. The subjects are unaware that they're on a show, just like with voyeur shows, but we get the recurring cast that people can get to know. There will be violence, there will be sex, there will be everything. People want this so much that they'll only stop watching if a perceived authority figure tells them not to.
"So now, your concern. As you guessed, Ted, I've already established that I can avoid the legal issues. It's not technically slavery, and we won't be liable if they kill each other. So that's step one, keep the government off our backs - not that we've ever had trouble with that. The moral question is where the beauty of this whole scheme comes in... we use genetically modified humans. Not anything extreme - we make them attractive, healthy, and maybe a bit emotional. All major religious leaders, from fundamentalist televangelists to the Pope, have declared that genetically engineered humans aren't humans at all. No soul. That means that unless they're willing to come to the defense of engineered humans and declare that they have rights like we do... they won't be able to say a word."
There was a moment of silence as the board members let this sink in. They started chiming in with ideas (since they're not human, we can get away with showing sex, right? Nature channels do it all the time!) and it was clear they had bought in. Ted called the meeting to a close and suggested they reconvene to talk about re-arranging the production schedules later. He knew this was bulletproof... if even the religious leaders weren't going to speak out against it it had to be moral... All the same, he had some sort of uneasy feeling; a lead weight in his stomach that seemed to pull at him. He took a deep breath and ignored it - this was about profit only, and his duty was to the corporation. On his way out of the room Ted shook the young man's hand, catching only the briefest whiff of sulfur.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Daily Story 176: Option Three
"Human. You Will Enter The Holding Area Or Be Executed."
Luke hiked himself up onto the workbench and looked at the beast. The main body was just a dull metal sphere about five feet in diameter, but those arms... six long, flexible mechanical arms spaced evenly around the body acted as locomotion, manipulators, eyes, and everything else. He had watched one fire energy weapons out of them too, obliterating a tank in two hits. His fear was overpowered by curiosity - what was their power source? It had to be something incredible.
He wanted more than anything to take one apart.
"Second Notice. You Will Enter The Holding Area Or Be Executed."
Luke had reason to doubt the 'or' part - he had watched as they singled out only three people from a pen containing at least a thousand and burned the rest alive. There had been some sort of interview process, but Luke wasn't sure what skills or knowledge they wanted. Probably they weren't interested in an environmental activist even if he was an engineer - particularly since they seemed to be way ahead of him in his chosen area of expertise. Just in case, though, "I'm an engineer. I'm trying to get those gas guzzlers off of the road." The clawlike end of one arm opened, and began to glow. Luke took the hint.
Hopping down from the workbench, he stepped around his unwelcome guest and headed slowly towards the open garage door. It didn't seem worried about him passing so close to it, which was hardly surprising; even the military hadn't had any luck in the one battle Luke witnessed. Force fields of some sort, flicking away bullets just before impact. Only one had sustained damage, from a high explosive. Even then it wasn't enough. Luke talked as he exited the garage, shoes rattling the metal plate set into the ground. "See, I've always been out to save the world. I didn't count on it being from things like you, but I'm flexible."
He listened with satisfaction as it followed behind him.
"The problem with electric cars, in case you're curious, is the charging time. Takes too long, consumers won't stand for it. Really what they want is a way to refill an empty battery as fast as an empty gas tank. Faster, if possible." There was a heavy metallic sound as the invader stepped onto the plate. "Of course, I got that problem licked. You want to see?" Luke stepped on the switch laying by his feet, and cringed as the air filled with a retina-searing blue glow. Turning, he frowned at the still-standing monstrosity.
"Human." It said, and dropped to the ground. Luke smiled - that was more like it.
"Hu..." it said again, losing half the word to static. "Commu... ..maged. Weapons Damaged. Def... ...maged. Require..."
Luke walked back into his workshop and started sorting through his tools. "Oh, don't you worry. You won't be requiring anything in a minute. Let me just get the torch and pry you open, you'll stop complaining eventually." It was hard to tell with the static, but Luke felt fairly sure he heard it whimper.
Luke hiked himself up onto the workbench and looked at the beast. The main body was just a dull metal sphere about five feet in diameter, but those arms... six long, flexible mechanical arms spaced evenly around the body acted as locomotion, manipulators, eyes, and everything else. He had watched one fire energy weapons out of them too, obliterating a tank in two hits. His fear was overpowered by curiosity - what was their power source? It had to be something incredible.
He wanted more than anything to take one apart.
"Second Notice. You Will Enter The Holding Area Or Be Executed."
Luke had reason to doubt the 'or' part - he had watched as they singled out only three people from a pen containing at least a thousand and burned the rest alive. There had been some sort of interview process, but Luke wasn't sure what skills or knowledge they wanted. Probably they weren't interested in an environmental activist even if he was an engineer - particularly since they seemed to be way ahead of him in his chosen area of expertise. Just in case, though, "I'm an engineer. I'm trying to get those gas guzzlers off of the road." The clawlike end of one arm opened, and began to glow. Luke took the hint.
Hopping down from the workbench, he stepped around his unwelcome guest and headed slowly towards the open garage door. It didn't seem worried about him passing so close to it, which was hardly surprising; even the military hadn't had any luck in the one battle Luke witnessed. Force fields of some sort, flicking away bullets just before impact. Only one had sustained damage, from a high explosive. Even then it wasn't enough. Luke talked as he exited the garage, shoes rattling the metal plate set into the ground. "See, I've always been out to save the world. I didn't count on it being from things like you, but I'm flexible."
He listened with satisfaction as it followed behind him.
"The problem with electric cars, in case you're curious, is the charging time. Takes too long, consumers won't stand for it. Really what they want is a way to refill an empty battery as fast as an empty gas tank. Faster, if possible." There was a heavy metallic sound as the invader stepped onto the plate. "Of course, I got that problem licked. You want to see?" Luke stepped on the switch laying by his feet, and cringed as the air filled with a retina-searing blue glow. Turning, he frowned at the still-standing monstrosity.
"Human." It said, and dropped to the ground. Luke smiled - that was more like it.
"Hu..." it said again, losing half the word to static. "Commu... ..maged. Weapons Damaged. Def... ...maged. Require..."
Luke walked back into his workshop and started sorting through his tools. "Oh, don't you worry. You won't be requiring anything in a minute. Let me just get the torch and pry you open, you'll stop complaining eventually." It was hard to tell with the static, but Luke felt fairly sure he heard it whimper.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Daily Story 175: Ad Astra Sans Nous
The blast doors slammed together, severing one of the tentacles and allowing the tip to drop squirming to the floor like a fence lizard's tail - if the lizard in question was eight feet long and covered in slime. Zack Barringer took a deep breath and struck a pose (one he mentally referred to as 'the victorious'), smiling for the benefit of the poor, fragile women in front of him. Already he was calculating his odds of seducing them and thanking some non-specific god that he was wearing his space suit and had therefore not so much 'peed his pants' as 'used the built-in waste disposal system'.
"There's nothing to fear, ladies," he proclaimed with his cleft chin thrust forward, "I'll get you all home safely. Just leave the squid-thing to me." Zack had been hoping for some smiles, possibly even some mild swooning, but the three women just sighed. One rolled her eyes.
"What's wrong, gorgeous?" he asked, strutting over to the tallest of the three. Her lip curled up in disgust - probably at the still-squirming tentacle, Zack decided.
"What's wrong is that we can see the security cameras from here."
Oh. "Even the one in the transporter room?" he asked cautiously.
"Even that one, yeah."
"This whole situation must seem confusing to you. I imagine you're scared, and uncertain. Whatever you think you might have seen, it... wasn't that." He winced at the weak finish, but felt sure an extra wink would cover it. How bad would the surveillance tapes look? Zack tried to remember the exact scene - one of those science officers had been talking about something boring, and then there had been this big tentacled thing on the screen, and he said something about it being something or doing something. Zack couldn't recall the details; he prided himself on being a man of action rather than words. Still, he had tried to use science, hadn't he? After all, the teleporter had to count as science.
"You beamed that thing onto the ship, when everyone was telling you not to." That was the short chick, Zack noted. He had seen her around the ship before, or at least someone with a similar height-to-bust ratio.
"No, no." he corrected her. His cover story of 'nope' felt as thin as the air in space, he thought, which was pretty thin indeed if he remembered correctly. Something more would be needed. "I saw that it was trying to teleport onboard using its strange, alien slime-thing technology. I was just jamming its signal, and it would have worked if that science guy hadn't slowed me down."
The short one opened her mouth again. Two strikes, Zack thought, and moved her on his mental list from 'feisty' to 'uppity'.
"That 'science guy' was the chief science officer, and you weren't jamming anything. You said 'here, watch me pluck it's eyeball out with the teleporter-thingy, this will be funny'."
Zack frowned. Clearly, the uppity one had discovered that the security cameras had audio. That was unfortunate. Still, he thought, if he could find a way to defeat the monstrosity without actually risking any physical harm he could still be the hero - any women who spoke out against him could be dismissed as being overwhelmed by the excitement. Of course, the last time one of the government investigators had been a woman and he had been demoted...
"Oh no!" the tall one yelled suddenly, "That thing has us almost surrounded! The only hallway clear is that one," she pointed clearly, while making direct eye contact with Zack, "and it leads to the escape pods but there's only room for one more! We can't reach the other escape pods unless someone can kill this thing!"
Zack knew what he had to do. "Don't worry ladies, I'll go around and clear a path for you. Just... stay here and wait for my signal." He rushed out the door, regretting slightly that he would have to leave them behind - some romantic company in the escape pod never hurts. Confused, he stopped and looked at the pulsating mass of spine-tipped tentacles in front of him. Behind him he heard the door slam and lock, and he cursed the women under his breath. Clearly, the flighty broads had pointed him at the wrong door by mistake.
"There's nothing to fear, ladies," he proclaimed with his cleft chin thrust forward, "I'll get you all home safely. Just leave the squid-thing to me." Zack had been hoping for some smiles, possibly even some mild swooning, but the three women just sighed. One rolled her eyes.
"What's wrong, gorgeous?" he asked, strutting over to the tallest of the three. Her lip curled up in disgust - probably at the still-squirming tentacle, Zack decided.
"What's wrong is that we can see the security cameras from here."
Oh. "Even the one in the transporter room?" he asked cautiously.
"Even that one, yeah."
"This whole situation must seem confusing to you. I imagine you're scared, and uncertain. Whatever you think you might have seen, it... wasn't that." He winced at the weak finish, but felt sure an extra wink would cover it. How bad would the surveillance tapes look? Zack tried to remember the exact scene - one of those science officers had been talking about something boring, and then there had been this big tentacled thing on the screen, and he said something about it being something or doing something. Zack couldn't recall the details; he prided himself on being a man of action rather than words. Still, he had tried to use science, hadn't he? After all, the teleporter had to count as science.
"You beamed that thing onto the ship, when everyone was telling you not to." That was the short chick, Zack noted. He had seen her around the ship before, or at least someone with a similar height-to-bust ratio.
"No, no." he corrected her. His cover story of 'nope' felt as thin as the air in space, he thought, which was pretty thin indeed if he remembered correctly. Something more would be needed. "I saw that it was trying to teleport onboard using its strange, alien slime-thing technology. I was just jamming its signal, and it would have worked if that science guy hadn't slowed me down."
The short one opened her mouth again. Two strikes, Zack thought, and moved her on his mental list from 'feisty' to 'uppity'.
"That 'science guy' was the chief science officer, and you weren't jamming anything. You said 'here, watch me pluck it's eyeball out with the teleporter-thingy, this will be funny'."
Zack frowned. Clearly, the uppity one had discovered that the security cameras had audio. That was unfortunate. Still, he thought, if he could find a way to defeat the monstrosity without actually risking any physical harm he could still be the hero - any women who spoke out against him could be dismissed as being overwhelmed by the excitement. Of course, the last time one of the government investigators had been a woman and he had been demoted...
"Oh no!" the tall one yelled suddenly, "That thing has us almost surrounded! The only hallway clear is that one," she pointed clearly, while making direct eye contact with Zack, "and it leads to the escape pods but there's only room for one more! We can't reach the other escape pods unless someone can kill this thing!"
Zack knew what he had to do. "Don't worry ladies, I'll go around and clear a path for you. Just... stay here and wait for my signal." He rushed out the door, regretting slightly that he would have to leave them behind - some romantic company in the escape pod never hurts. Confused, he stopped and looked at the pulsating mass of spine-tipped tentacles in front of him. Behind him he heard the door slam and lock, and he cursed the women under his breath. Clearly, the flighty broads had pointed him at the wrong door by mistake.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Daily Story 174: The Oasis of Little Birds
The view looks so familiar but I can't place it at first. Finally it clicks and I think of summers at my aunt's house and the quarry where my cousins and I would swim. When the sun was right overhead you could look down into the water and see the streamers of light stretching past you, rays of lighter blue hanging there like kelp. We would stare down into the water wearing cheap snorkels my aunt bought and just daydream, filling our minds with all the things we couldn't understand yet. If you were to take that snapshot of my memory and shift all the colors from blue to yellow you would have my bedroom window. Tendrils of sunlight are always reaching past the station into space, a black backdrop infinitely deeper than the quarry.
It's not a real window - there aren't any here at all - and so most people leave it set to some tranquil forest scene. Not me - I like to look at what's actually there, although I admit that view would only really make sense on the ceiling. On the wall it should be a sea of fire, the massive plain of the sun reaching out forever to the horizon while planet-high stalks of plasma wave like burning forests. Beautiful, but not quite so relaxing. It always puts me in mind of my parents, trying to talk me out of this post. They insisted that one well-placed solar flare would destroy the whole station, that a relatively minor malfunction could allow the antimatter factory to blow us all to hell, that if the shielding failed for even a split second we would all be vaporized - in essence, that Zerzura Station isn't a good place to raise children.
It's useless to try and explain it to them. It's not that they're wrong, exactly - certainly there are a lot of ways we could die - but it's like all of the things they're terrified of at home. Back on Earth they talk about pollution, and crime, and war. They let the media whip things up into a frenzy to increase subscriptions, and as a result my parents never go outside to notice that the skies are clearing, that the crime rate keeps dropping, that what we're calling wars would barely be referred to as 'minor conflicts' twenty years ago. They're missing out on everything they worked for. Is there a one-in-a-million chance that a solar flare will spring up under us faster than the station can skim aside like a water strider? Sure.
They say Zerzura Station isn't a place to raise children. I say if you aren't going to let them play outside anyway you might as well live somewhere incredible. I can hear their laughter echoing down the corridor as they return from classes - soon it will be our quiet time together, and then some games and dinner. They love it here, and the station is like a village where everyone looks out for each other. The door opens and I'm incapacitated with hugs before they break away to raid the cookie jar. I turn off the lights but leave the window on and we gather on the overstuffed couch to look out past the waving fronds of sunlight and daydream. Without fear of war or crime my children float along over this universe of flame, filling their minds with all the things they can't understand yet.
It's not a real window - there aren't any here at all - and so most people leave it set to some tranquil forest scene. Not me - I like to look at what's actually there, although I admit that view would only really make sense on the ceiling. On the wall it should be a sea of fire, the massive plain of the sun reaching out forever to the horizon while planet-high stalks of plasma wave like burning forests. Beautiful, but not quite so relaxing. It always puts me in mind of my parents, trying to talk me out of this post. They insisted that one well-placed solar flare would destroy the whole station, that a relatively minor malfunction could allow the antimatter factory to blow us all to hell, that if the shielding failed for even a split second we would all be vaporized - in essence, that Zerzura Station isn't a good place to raise children.
It's useless to try and explain it to them. It's not that they're wrong, exactly - certainly there are a lot of ways we could die - but it's like all of the things they're terrified of at home. Back on Earth they talk about pollution, and crime, and war. They let the media whip things up into a frenzy to increase subscriptions, and as a result my parents never go outside to notice that the skies are clearing, that the crime rate keeps dropping, that what we're calling wars would barely be referred to as 'minor conflicts' twenty years ago. They're missing out on everything they worked for. Is there a one-in-a-million chance that a solar flare will spring up under us faster than the station can skim aside like a water strider? Sure.
They say Zerzura Station isn't a place to raise children. I say if you aren't going to let them play outside anyway you might as well live somewhere incredible. I can hear their laughter echoing down the corridor as they return from classes - soon it will be our quiet time together, and then some games and dinner. They love it here, and the station is like a village where everyone looks out for each other. The door opens and I'm incapacitated with hugs before they break away to raid the cookie jar. I turn off the lights but leave the window on and we gather on the overstuffed couch to look out past the waving fronds of sunlight and daydream. Without fear of war or crime my children float along over this universe of flame, filling their minds with all the things they can't understand yet.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Daily Story 173: Mud and Bones
The drums are still audible through the rain. The rhythm is fast, a stuttering bass heartbeat that keeps me on edge. The deep sound cuts through the jungle like a foghorn and I can't tell any longer which way it's coming from. Is it closer? It is on more than one side? When I read about this from the warm, dry safety of my office on the orbital station I dismissed the drums as psychological warfare. It's easy to say that when it's just words in a report but when you're tired and sleep deprived and have lost both shoes to the sucking mud that covers the jungle floor you are reminded that our psychology is not under our control. Yes, it's psychological warfare. And it's working. Have they found my tracks by now? Even with the water coming down in sheets and the mud flowing over to erase any signs of passage I feel like they must know where I am. This swampy tangle of trees and vines and waist-high fungus has sheltered them for as long as it existed. They were here first, when the planet was nothing but dust and wind. They're very nearly a part of the jungle, and I'm trespassing.
---
Just two weeks earlier Mennah had greeted me as I stepped onto solid land for the first time in what felt like forever. She placed a lei of native flowers over my head and kissed me on each cheek - something my briefing had prepared me for.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," she said. Between the cryostasis and the fact that everyone on Earth had most likely died of old age before I reached the orbital my arrival to the colony really was like a rebirth. The thought of all that time brought me to my first task, and I got right down to business as we walked.
"Do you really believe the drummers are descended from terraformers?"
The smile dropped off of her face, and she nodded. "It was thought of as a suicide mission to keep from getting anyone's hopes up, but there's no reason they couldn't have lived - and all of the colonists are accounted for."
It was impossible to imagine. That initial batch of scientists knew they weren't likely to survive but they volunteered so that they would have the privilege of dying on an alien world. They started the terraforming process, and then the war broke out on Earth and civilization nearly came to an end. Thoughts of following the terraformers were completely forgotten.
---
I don't know what happened to the rest of the search party. I know some wanted to turn back when it started raining, and others would have run as soon as the drums started up. The writing appearing on doors, the tiny blood-soaked dolls that turn up on doorsteps, it has everyone nervous. I won't give up, though. They're human, and there's no way they can hide in the jungle forever. Just because the orbital can't spot them doesn't mean they're ghosts, it just means they're clever. The drums stop and their sudden absence is somehow terrifying. I can hear voices everywhere, indistinct through the sounds of water. I turn and there in front of me is Mennah, her face obscured by muddy hair that's tied in strange uneven knots. There are items entwined in the strands, bones and feathers and twigs. Her uniform is torn and bloody, and the skin on her hands has a grey tint. Her chest lifts as she takes a breath and I find myself wondering if it was moving at all before.
"We left them to die," she says in a faraway voice, "And their bones became one with the new world. Our people are a virus, a foreign body that must be eliminated. If we believe, and repent, we can be taken into the fold after death. We can become one with the soil of the new world and leave the sins of Earth behind."
---
Mennah's body was like all the others; her mouth was sewn shut and strange symbols had been drawn across her chest in a mixture of dirt and blood. The doctor pronounced her dead and wheeled her into the refrigerated morgue to await autopsy. She was the fourth to be found, but the first since my arrival. I visited her, cried as I looked down at her laying pale and naked on the table. I locked the door as I left, and headed back to the town square for a drink - but just as I arrived the drums started. They seemed to come from everywhere, and the streets cleared as doors slammed and locked. I knew there were rumors of ghosts, of vengeful spirits, but most of the colonists had arrived in the last ship ten years ago - surely ten years isn't enough to revert to childish superstitions. I defiantly stayed outside with a handful of others, trying to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from. After a while the drums faded away into the distance and I returned to the lab since I was unable to sleep. I could see the morgue's door hanging open as I approached. Mennah was gone, along with her personal effects - the door was still locked, opened from the inside.
---
"Mennah, listen. They've drugged you, do you understand? You need to come back to the colony with me."
I can just barely see her smile through the knotted hair, and she holds her arms out as if to embrace me. "Do not fear death. Your soul will be kept safe. The pioneers who first stepped onto this planet were forced to wander until they built bodies of the earth, but they offer better to you."
I'm backing away, but I freeze as I see forms rising from the mud. They're human, under there somewhere, I'm sure of it - but even with the rain the thick mud doesn't seem to be washing away. The voices are still drifting around me, in some language that sounds familiar but that slips away when I try to listen closer - it's like trying to hold onto the memory of a dream. The drums are starting again, slower this time, and Mennah has pulled something from her pocket. Coarse black thread and a bone needle.
"Your spirit will not escape and wander. Come, be one with the heartbeat of the new world."
---
Just two weeks earlier Mennah had greeted me as I stepped onto solid land for the first time in what felt like forever. She placed a lei of native flowers over my head and kissed me on each cheek - something my briefing had prepared me for.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," she said. Between the cryostasis and the fact that everyone on Earth had most likely died of old age before I reached the orbital my arrival to the colony really was like a rebirth. The thought of all that time brought me to my first task, and I got right down to business as we walked.
"Do you really believe the drummers are descended from terraformers?"
The smile dropped off of her face, and she nodded. "It was thought of as a suicide mission to keep from getting anyone's hopes up, but there's no reason they couldn't have lived - and all of the colonists are accounted for."
It was impossible to imagine. That initial batch of scientists knew they weren't likely to survive but they volunteered so that they would have the privilege of dying on an alien world. They started the terraforming process, and then the war broke out on Earth and civilization nearly came to an end. Thoughts of following the terraformers were completely forgotten.
---
I don't know what happened to the rest of the search party. I know some wanted to turn back when it started raining, and others would have run as soon as the drums started up. The writing appearing on doors, the tiny blood-soaked dolls that turn up on doorsteps, it has everyone nervous. I won't give up, though. They're human, and there's no way they can hide in the jungle forever. Just because the orbital can't spot them doesn't mean they're ghosts, it just means they're clever. The drums stop and their sudden absence is somehow terrifying. I can hear voices everywhere, indistinct through the sounds of water. I turn and there in front of me is Mennah, her face obscured by muddy hair that's tied in strange uneven knots. There are items entwined in the strands, bones and feathers and twigs. Her uniform is torn and bloody, and the skin on her hands has a grey tint. Her chest lifts as she takes a breath and I find myself wondering if it was moving at all before.
"We left them to die," she says in a faraway voice, "And their bones became one with the new world. Our people are a virus, a foreign body that must be eliminated. If we believe, and repent, we can be taken into the fold after death. We can become one with the soil of the new world and leave the sins of Earth behind."
---
Mennah's body was like all the others; her mouth was sewn shut and strange symbols had been drawn across her chest in a mixture of dirt and blood. The doctor pronounced her dead and wheeled her into the refrigerated morgue to await autopsy. She was the fourth to be found, but the first since my arrival. I visited her, cried as I looked down at her laying pale and naked on the table. I locked the door as I left, and headed back to the town square for a drink - but just as I arrived the drums started. They seemed to come from everywhere, and the streets cleared as doors slammed and locked. I knew there were rumors of ghosts, of vengeful spirits, but most of the colonists had arrived in the last ship ten years ago - surely ten years isn't enough to revert to childish superstitions. I defiantly stayed outside with a handful of others, trying to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from. After a while the drums faded away into the distance and I returned to the lab since I was unable to sleep. I could see the morgue's door hanging open as I approached. Mennah was gone, along with her personal effects - the door was still locked, opened from the inside.
---
"Mennah, listen. They've drugged you, do you understand? You need to come back to the colony with me."
I can just barely see her smile through the knotted hair, and she holds her arms out as if to embrace me. "Do not fear death. Your soul will be kept safe. The pioneers who first stepped onto this planet were forced to wander until they built bodies of the earth, but they offer better to you."
I'm backing away, but I freeze as I see forms rising from the mud. They're human, under there somewhere, I'm sure of it - but even with the rain the thick mud doesn't seem to be washing away. The voices are still drifting around me, in some language that sounds familiar but that slips away when I try to listen closer - it's like trying to hold onto the memory of a dream. The drums are starting again, slower this time, and Mennah has pulled something from her pocket. Coarse black thread and a bone needle.
"Your spirit will not escape and wander. Come, be one with the heartbeat of the new world."
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Daily Story 172: Terra Firma
I can see the city flashing past below me, a spiderweb of lights that are barely distinguishable as windows and streetlamps and cars. The wind seems to cradle me, envelop me, and it slides under me like fresh snow under a sled. Dark shapes flicker past; trees and telephone lines in the night. I curve effortlessly along the glasslike surface of a river, pale moonlight reflecting silver back up at me. Lower and lower, until the water is speeding by only a few inches from my face and I can see a distorted image of myself in it. I look happy.
When I'm flying, there's no divorce hearing. There are no layoffs. No deadlines. There is only the wind, lifting me over the world and showing me how beautiful everything is from a distance. How long has it been since my feet touched the ground? It seems like so long, like my whole life has been spent gliding through the air. It doesn't matter, I could go on forever. I bank over a bridge and follow the road north, overtaking cars that are only visible as lights on the black landscape. In the distance I can see the state fair, ferris wheel glowing orange over the town. I can already smell popcorn and hot dogs as I head towards it.
Suddenly the world flares white as if the sky has ignited - the wind vanishes from around me and I feel heavy. Something horrible is happening. Someone is talking to me, yelling, and slowly my eyes adjust to the familiar sights of the lab. Computers hum around me, and the light dims to a sickly fluorescent glow. My boss is upset, he's asking how long I've been playing in the simulator instead of working. I understand the words but somehow it doesn't make sense, like something mumbled during a fever dream. I shove him out of the way and stumble past, legs weak and shaking. When did I last eat? Have I been sleeping in the lab? Have I been sleeping at all?
I need to clear my head. I need to get my bearings, straighten out my life and figure out what's wrong with me. The steps seem to go on forever, floor after floor, and my thighs are aching by the time I reach the roof. The air is icy and seems to cut straight down to my bones - I long to feel it curve around me like before. Everything felt right before. I can explain things to my boss tomorrow, set up that meeting with the lawyer tomorrow, eat and shower and take care of myself tomorrow. For now I need to relax, and go home, and get some sleep. I dimly remember that my car has broken again, but that's not a concern. Smiling, I step off of the roof.
When I'm flying, there's no divorce hearing. There are no layoffs. No deadlines. There is only the wind, lifting me over the world and showing me how beautiful everything is from a distance. How long has it been since my feet touched the ground? It seems like so long, like my whole life has been spent gliding through the air. It doesn't matter, I could go on forever. I bank over a bridge and follow the road north, overtaking cars that are only visible as lights on the black landscape. In the distance I can see the state fair, ferris wheel glowing orange over the town. I can already smell popcorn and hot dogs as I head towards it.
Suddenly the world flares white as if the sky has ignited - the wind vanishes from around me and I feel heavy. Something horrible is happening. Someone is talking to me, yelling, and slowly my eyes adjust to the familiar sights of the lab. Computers hum around me, and the light dims to a sickly fluorescent glow. My boss is upset, he's asking how long I've been playing in the simulator instead of working. I understand the words but somehow it doesn't make sense, like something mumbled during a fever dream. I shove him out of the way and stumble past, legs weak and shaking. When did I last eat? Have I been sleeping in the lab? Have I been sleeping at all?
I need to clear my head. I need to get my bearings, straighten out my life and figure out what's wrong with me. The steps seem to go on forever, floor after floor, and my thighs are aching by the time I reach the roof. The air is icy and seems to cut straight down to my bones - I long to feel it curve around me like before. Everything felt right before. I can explain things to my boss tomorrow, set up that meeting with the lawyer tomorrow, eat and shower and take care of myself tomorrow. For now I need to relax, and go home, and get some sleep. I dimly remember that my car has broken again, but that's not a concern. Smiling, I step off of the roof.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Daily Story 171: Roadside Assistance
There's a sun-bleached sign in front of me that says "Last Gas for 57 Miles". Past it, maybe a quarter-mile down the road, is the little gas station it's referring to. Beyond that is just dust, shimmering with liquid silver mirages as it reaches up to the horizon. The other direction is about the same but with one less gas station, so my options seem limited.
The cracked asphalt radiates heat right up through the soles of my shoes, forcing me to stick to the dirt and try to keep my head down as the wind attempts to blow dust up my nose and into my eyes. The gas station has a poorly-fenced yard behind it with some palos verdes leaning over a miniature junkyard, ten or so old rusted heaps covered by crumbling tarps. Even the meager shade afforded by those trees and clunkers is so inviting.
By the time I reach the front door I'm all out of sweat and ready to collapse - I've become spoiled by climate control. It's dark inside and while it's still hot the sun is at least off of my back and a squealing fan is keeping the air moving. It's wonderful.
"Didn't see a car pull up, and you look like you're ready to fall over," a voice says, "You run out of gas somewhere up the road?" My eyes haven't adjusted yet but I can just make him out now, an old man sitting on a stool behind the counter.
"Yeah," I say lamely, "I guess so. Might be something else though, I could have sworn I had a full tank and then I looked down and it was gone."
The man nods, and I can tell he's heard this before. He doesn't offer assistance or advice and I don't ask - I wouldn't know what to ask for. I have nobody to call, no idea what is wrong, and no way to fix it even if I did. My only goal was to reach the gas station - for all the good it can do me - and now that I'm there I don't have a step two. "Do you mind if I just hide from the sun in here while I think about what to do next?"
The man smiles. "Not at all. Don't get a lot of traffic through here these days, but it's always nice to learn about the ones I do get. Where you headed?"
Already I'm stumped. I mumble something about relatives, which is somewhat close to the truth. He seems satisfied with it, nods and then points at the wall behind him - it's covered top to bottom in photographs, license plates, and other decorations.
"I get all sorts through here, with all kinds of destinations." I scan over them just to be polite. "Yeah, that's great. Some of... those..." It can't be. Just a few inches from his hand is something impossible. Well, a little impossible.
"Is that... is that a..." He's already smiling. He knew I would recognize that California license plate - orange with a silver barcode. He knew.
"Was that relatives you said you were out to visit," he asks, "or ancestors?"
I try to reply, but all I can do is nod my head 'yes'. He laughs and slaps his knee, hopping down from the stool. "I knew it! Soon as you walked in here - you just had that look to you. Been seven years since the last one, she was some scientist from 2081. You?"
"I'm... no, that's after my time. I'm from 2057."
"Heck, that pretty young thing could be your daughter! Well if she is don't warn her about this, I'd hate to not meet her."
"That's not really how it... wait. How... what's going on here?"
He's already coming around the counter and heading for the door. "Heck, I've got no idea. That first one tried to explain it but I didn't really listen, I'm not the sciencey-type. I'm going to go tow your time-travel thing out around the back of the building with all the others, and you can take your time rooting around for spare parts. I reckon most of them are pretty well stripped down by now, but every so often someone sends me a fresh box of tools and futuristic power cells and whatnot out of gratitude so as long as you return the favor you can feel free to look in the supply room too. Heck, you might have sent some of those things yourself after you made good use of 'em."
I start to once again explain that that's not quite how it works, but he's already through the door so instead I just pull out my student ID and wedge it between two license plates on the wall as if to say, Joe will have been here.
The cracked asphalt radiates heat right up through the soles of my shoes, forcing me to stick to the dirt and try to keep my head down as the wind attempts to blow dust up my nose and into my eyes. The gas station has a poorly-fenced yard behind it with some palos verdes leaning over a miniature junkyard, ten or so old rusted heaps covered by crumbling tarps. Even the meager shade afforded by those trees and clunkers is so inviting.
By the time I reach the front door I'm all out of sweat and ready to collapse - I've become spoiled by climate control. It's dark inside and while it's still hot the sun is at least off of my back and a squealing fan is keeping the air moving. It's wonderful.
"Didn't see a car pull up, and you look like you're ready to fall over," a voice says, "You run out of gas somewhere up the road?" My eyes haven't adjusted yet but I can just make him out now, an old man sitting on a stool behind the counter.
"Yeah," I say lamely, "I guess so. Might be something else though, I could have sworn I had a full tank and then I looked down and it was gone."
The man nods, and I can tell he's heard this before. He doesn't offer assistance or advice and I don't ask - I wouldn't know what to ask for. I have nobody to call, no idea what is wrong, and no way to fix it even if I did. My only goal was to reach the gas station - for all the good it can do me - and now that I'm there I don't have a step two. "Do you mind if I just hide from the sun in here while I think about what to do next?"
The man smiles. "Not at all. Don't get a lot of traffic through here these days, but it's always nice to learn about the ones I do get. Where you headed?"
Already I'm stumped. I mumble something about relatives, which is somewhat close to the truth. He seems satisfied with it, nods and then points at the wall behind him - it's covered top to bottom in photographs, license plates, and other decorations.
"I get all sorts through here, with all kinds of destinations." I scan over them just to be polite. "Yeah, that's great. Some of... those..." It can't be. Just a few inches from his hand is something impossible. Well, a little impossible.
"Is that... is that a..." He's already smiling. He knew I would recognize that California license plate - orange with a silver barcode. He knew.
"Was that relatives you said you were out to visit," he asks, "or ancestors?"
I try to reply, but all I can do is nod my head 'yes'. He laughs and slaps his knee, hopping down from the stool. "I knew it! Soon as you walked in here - you just had that look to you. Been seven years since the last one, she was some scientist from 2081. You?"
"I'm... no, that's after my time. I'm from 2057."
"Heck, that pretty young thing could be your daughter! Well if she is don't warn her about this, I'd hate to not meet her."
"That's not really how it... wait. How... what's going on here?"
He's already coming around the counter and heading for the door. "Heck, I've got no idea. That first one tried to explain it but I didn't really listen, I'm not the sciencey-type. I'm going to go tow your time-travel thing out around the back of the building with all the others, and you can take your time rooting around for spare parts. I reckon most of them are pretty well stripped down by now, but every so often someone sends me a fresh box of tools and futuristic power cells and whatnot out of gratitude so as long as you return the favor you can feel free to look in the supply room too. Heck, you might have sent some of those things yourself after you made good use of 'em."
I start to once again explain that that's not quite how it works, but he's already through the door so instead I just pull out my student ID and wedge it between two license plates on the wall as if to say, Joe will have been here.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Daily Story 170: Rude Awakenings
Japheth's first thought, past the usual jumbled exhilaration of self-awareness, was that something had gone horribly wrong. Surely, he thought, if everything had gone well his first moments of awareness would not find him laying flat on his face with alarms going off around him.
Then again, he mused, this was the only thing he had ever been aware of and therefore it could only be assumed that this was, in fact, the normal way to come into the world. Even as he had the thought he knew it couldn't be true. He had lived before, and even if he had not he would know what was normal. He slowly got to his feet, and looked at himself; he was wearing plain but comfortable robes of soft reddish-brown fabric and some strong leather sandals. His silver skin glinted red from the warning lights all around him, and his hand was clutching a severed head. It wasn't human, and he supposed that it was another robot like himself. Turning the head around to look at the back, he found the serial number: SHEM-1:6:10-21:12:2012.
Japheth pondered on this for a moment, and found some knowledge filed away in his complex mind. There were, he knew, four such models. There should also be four complimentary support models, used mainly for maintenance and repair. So, having located one working unit (himself) and part of an obviously damaged unit, he decided that his first priority should be to ascertain the locations of the other crew members. A pipe lay discarded on the floor, with three of the four spherical robotic support units impaled on it. Their tiny arms lay motionless against the deck. Another robot much like Japheth but with blue robes lay sprawled across the captain's chair with an enormous hole in it's midsection. It had a head. Although he had still failed to locate one support unit and one and three-quarters robots, Japheth had seen enough to decide that his priorities should be re-assessed.
There were, for example, the alarms and flashing red lights to consider. Surely those couldn't be a good sign. Cautiously approaching the large control panel that took up one side of the room, Japheth looked around for a spot to plug himself in and noticed, while doing so, that the windows showed an incredible view. He had already determined, almost instinctively, that he was on a vessel of some kind. His original thought had been that it was a sea-faring one, but this was now disproven as he watched the world slip by quietly below.
The peaks of mountains were visible, with clouds flowing softly through the narrow passes and pooling in valleys. They were close, and getting closer at a rate that Japheth determined was not acceptable. Directing his attention once more to the control panel, he could see that the main port was burned out. No good. He turned and headed out of the bridge and down the stairs to the engine room, finding it locked. Another locked door was just to the right and felt cold to the touch; a small window in the center of the door provided a view of six humans encased in ice. Japheth considered being curious about this, but decided he didn't have time.
Climbing up the ladder and out of the airship's roof, he could see that the envelope was damaged - a sort of jagged hole on the underside. Ignoring his impending crash for a moment, Japheth paced along the polished wooden deck until he reached a corresponding hole - gunfire, shooting upwards from inside? Possibly. He looked down and saw a drift of snow passing beneath... possibly deep enough to cushion the vessel, certainly more efficiently than the cliff face it was rapidly approaching. Grabbing hold of the main cable, Japheth released the safety seal and the envelope pulled free; the beautiful ship dropped silently as Japheth rose, sweeping above the cliff and into open sky.
For a moment, Japheth thought he heard the snow say 'baa' behind him, but that seemed like a question for another time - already, a list of priorities were forming. Repairs for himself, locating the ship and repairing it as well, determining the cause of destruction for his fellow crew members... Japheth hoped that he was programmed for this kind of thing.
Then again, he mused, this was the only thing he had ever been aware of and therefore it could only be assumed that this was, in fact, the normal way to come into the world. Even as he had the thought he knew it couldn't be true. He had lived before, and even if he had not he would know what was normal. He slowly got to his feet, and looked at himself; he was wearing plain but comfortable robes of soft reddish-brown fabric and some strong leather sandals. His silver skin glinted red from the warning lights all around him, and his hand was clutching a severed head. It wasn't human, and he supposed that it was another robot like himself. Turning the head around to look at the back, he found the serial number: SHEM-1:6:10-21:12:2012.
Japheth pondered on this for a moment, and found some knowledge filed away in his complex mind. There were, he knew, four such models. There should also be four complimentary support models, used mainly for maintenance and repair. So, having located one working unit (himself) and part of an obviously damaged unit, he decided that his first priority should be to ascertain the locations of the other crew members. A pipe lay discarded on the floor, with three of the four spherical robotic support units impaled on it. Their tiny arms lay motionless against the deck. Another robot much like Japheth but with blue robes lay sprawled across the captain's chair with an enormous hole in it's midsection. It had a head. Although he had still failed to locate one support unit and one and three-quarters robots, Japheth had seen enough to decide that his priorities should be re-assessed.
There were, for example, the alarms and flashing red lights to consider. Surely those couldn't be a good sign. Cautiously approaching the large control panel that took up one side of the room, Japheth looked around for a spot to plug himself in and noticed, while doing so, that the windows showed an incredible view. He had already determined, almost instinctively, that he was on a vessel of some kind. His original thought had been that it was a sea-faring one, but this was now disproven as he watched the world slip by quietly below.
The peaks of mountains were visible, with clouds flowing softly through the narrow passes and pooling in valleys. They were close, and getting closer at a rate that Japheth determined was not acceptable. Directing his attention once more to the control panel, he could see that the main port was burned out. No good. He turned and headed out of the bridge and down the stairs to the engine room, finding it locked. Another locked door was just to the right and felt cold to the touch; a small window in the center of the door provided a view of six humans encased in ice. Japheth considered being curious about this, but decided he didn't have time.
Climbing up the ladder and out of the airship's roof, he could see that the envelope was damaged - a sort of jagged hole on the underside. Ignoring his impending crash for a moment, Japheth paced along the polished wooden deck until he reached a corresponding hole - gunfire, shooting upwards from inside? Possibly. He looked down and saw a drift of snow passing beneath... possibly deep enough to cushion the vessel, certainly more efficiently than the cliff face it was rapidly approaching. Grabbing hold of the main cable, Japheth released the safety seal and the envelope pulled free; the beautiful ship dropped silently as Japheth rose, sweeping above the cliff and into open sky.
For a moment, Japheth thought he heard the snow say 'baa' behind him, but that seemed like a question for another time - already, a list of priorities were forming. Repairs for himself, locating the ship and repairing it as well, determining the cause of destruction for his fellow crew members... Japheth hoped that he was programmed for this kind of thing.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Daily Story 169: Rats in a Maze
"It's a false positive," Doctor Lazlo said, watching the three-dimensional brain scan floating in the air between the researchers. Several of them started to protest, but he just shouted over them. "Stop. Just take a look around - yes, there's activity. Does that mean something? Certainly. But you are ignoring the rest of the evidence. Look at your test subjects!" This was met with nothing but a shuffling of feet. Nobody wanted to admit failure this far into the project, not when early results had been so promising, but the test subjects couldn't be ignored.
All forty of them were vegetative, staring at the ceiling and drooling. For a drug intended to improve brain function this was a hell of a side effect. Lazlo had visited them in person just that morning, and while some did appear to have some basic level of awareness none came anywhere close to explaining the frenzied activity on the scans. Whatever was going on in their heads, it didn't appear to be anything productive. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. He reached out and turned off the projection. "I'm very sorry, but this isn't something we can publish."
Walking down the hall back to his office, with the protests of the researchers fresh in his ears, Lazlo had a strange feeling. Deja vu. It was like he had made that speech a hundred times, somehow - and then the feeling passed. He sat down and looked at the data again even though he had made his ruling... something wasn't right. The activity really did look deliberate. There were several theories, ranging from errors in the scan to neurological damage from some undetectable biological weapon that the test subjects had been exposed to prior to the treatment. It was true that they were prisoners of war, but he had checked with the field command and none had been exposed to anything exotic.
There was a theory that intrigued him, however... it was absurd, he had dismissed it out of hand the first time he heard it, but... if the heightened mental capabilities had granted them non-vocal communication the activity could be the test subjects talking. When had that been proposed? Lazlo suddenly had another bout of deja vu, and felt certain that it had been after the meeting... that it hadn't happened yet. He clutched his temples and tried to concentrate - it was like there was a jigsaw puzzle in his mind, but all the pieces looked the same and he didn't have a picture to go off of. Why did this feel so familiar?
No matter. Whatever was bothering him could wait until after the meeting. Turning on the three-dimensional projection of the scans, Lazlo addressed the gathered researchers. "It's a false positive," he said.
All forty of them were vegetative, staring at the ceiling and drooling. For a drug intended to improve brain function this was a hell of a side effect. Lazlo had visited them in person just that morning, and while some did appear to have some basic level of awareness none came anywhere close to explaining the frenzied activity on the scans. Whatever was going on in their heads, it didn't appear to be anything productive. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. He reached out and turned off the projection. "I'm very sorry, but this isn't something we can publish."
Walking down the hall back to his office, with the protests of the researchers fresh in his ears, Lazlo had a strange feeling. Deja vu. It was like he had made that speech a hundred times, somehow - and then the feeling passed. He sat down and looked at the data again even though he had made his ruling... something wasn't right. The activity really did look deliberate. There were several theories, ranging from errors in the scan to neurological damage from some undetectable biological weapon that the test subjects had been exposed to prior to the treatment. It was true that they were prisoners of war, but he had checked with the field command and none had been exposed to anything exotic.
There was a theory that intrigued him, however... it was absurd, he had dismissed it out of hand the first time he heard it, but... if the heightened mental capabilities had granted them non-vocal communication the activity could be the test subjects talking. When had that been proposed? Lazlo suddenly had another bout of deja vu, and felt certain that it had been after the meeting... that it hadn't happened yet. He clutched his temples and tried to concentrate - it was like there was a jigsaw puzzle in his mind, but all the pieces looked the same and he didn't have a picture to go off of. Why did this feel so familiar?
No matter. Whatever was bothering him could wait until after the meeting. Turning on the three-dimensional projection of the scans, Lazlo addressed the gathered researchers. "It's a false positive," he said.
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