365 tomorrows

Author : J.S. Kachelries

Kram Vidda occupied one of the twelve holographic cubes in the Executive Conference Room of the Planetary Reclamation Corporation. He would be the presenter in the meeting to discuss the possibility of salvaging Sol-3. The images of ten board members, transmitted via hyperspace relays from distant Sectors, sat patiently waiting for the Chairman to appear. When the Chairman, known only as Hapal, came into focus, the meeting began.

Vidda bowed his head respectively toward the Chairman. “Hapal, it’s good to view you again, as well as the other prestigious members of the Board. I know you are all very busy, so I’ll get right to the point. Sol-3 is probably the worst case of planetary self destruction that I have ever seen. Most of our previous projects involved salvaging planets destroyed by simple, mutual nuclear annihilation.” He smiled slightly as he delivered his favorite axiom. “After all, it’s the extinction method of choice for ‘intelligent’ species that have chosen to remove their genome from the evolutionary mainstream of the universe.”

As holographic pie charts appeared and slowly rotated in the center of the room, Vidda continued his presentation. “But the inhabitants of Sol-3 pulled out all stops. As nearly as our engineers can reconstruct, they started through the wormhole of self-destruction the usual way. Petty disputes between various political and economic factions prevented them from forming a consensus world government. The more powerful countries exploited the available resources without any thought of the consequences. They consumed their non-renewable carbon-based fuels recklessly, released copious amounts of green house gasses, destroyed their ozone layer, and they poisoned their air and water. The inevitable tactical nuclear devices were detonated, which escalated into a global holocaust. That’s usually where they exit and we enter. But somehow, the species was hardy enough to survive thermo-nuclear war, and they continued the conflict even as they had one foot in the disintegration chamber and the other on a tutber leaf. They created and then released biological weapons that attacked their own species. But, that wasn’t good enough, so they exterminated all animal life, followed by the destruction of all plant life. They also released some kind of silicon-based nano-mites that are still reorganizing the molecular integrity of the inorganic infrastructure of the planet. It’s a real mess. They actually developed a…”

Hapal, who was seriously doubting that Vidda was ‘getting right to the point’ interrupted. “The bottom line, Mr. Vidda. Can we reclaim the planet profitably, or not?”

“Sir, we will need 1748 atmospheric purifiers, 815 ozone regenerators, 2122 radiation neutralizers, over 5000 anti-toxin synthesizers, a full sub-space sterilization field, more than 14000…”

“Mr. Vidda, will you please focus. Profitability?”

Vidda was somewhat taken aback by Hapal’s directness. “Ah…well…Yes, sir. Four sextillion decknars after five years. Then 25% growth each year for the next…”

“That’s enough, Mr. Vidda. Start transporting the equipment, and begin the damned reclamation project while our genome is still on the ‘evolutionary mainstream of the universe.’ Meeting adjourned.” Unceremoniously, Hapal’s hologram abruptly vanished.

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Author : Rae Walker

Dawn scrambled over the alley’s chain link fence, the ching ching ching of her climb ringing as loud as the siren had upon her escape.

Yes Dawn had killed the child; but how was she to know he was among the rubble? If it hadn’t been her then someone else would have brought the boy down; it was inevitable. Where had his Sitter been? What child was without one?

No matter now -the boy was dead- by her machinery and so by her hand. Dawn shuddered. The Black Maria had been waiting as She waited for every man, woman and child who dared deviate from the unyielding word of law. Unbiased. Without compassion or understanding of circumstance. Dawn was damned.

Joy rippled through the beast as She had come to life; activated to hunt down, try and judge the child-murderer. With gentle feet She had climbed over apartment dormitories, not making the slightest mark. That would be vandalism and so was forbidden. Long after the sun had set, when the stars shined with more than enough light She had spotted Dawn and galloped at her with hydraulic joints pumping, Her belly open to snare the deviant. In the belly of the Black Maria, Dawn would have been interrogated, tried, and found guilty. In Her belly she would have been executed, incinerated, ashy smoke rising from between the Black Maria’s shoulder blades and billowing into the night air. But Dawn had dashed into traffic, stumbling between vehicles and taking the chance of being sucked into an engine. The Black Maria had not followed; it was against the law to cross without permission, and so She waited. Her body rippled again as one more charge was brought against the child-murderer and She watched for the pedestrian crossing to light white. Two men huddled below Her drew away with hunted expressions but there was no law against fear -She ignored them.

Dawn toppled over the fence, scuffing her shoulder, tearing through her red wool sweater. She dared not go to friends, family, or they too would be charged. With assisting the deviant. With anything. There was always something. Dawn was alone as she dragged herself to her feet and forced them to run again, though her chest felt like bursting. No one had ever fought the Black Maria and won, let alone a diabetic construction worker.

The night’s silence and city-noises were drowned by the Black Maria’s siren, sounding like laughing, clapping hands. Clah hah hah claa claa clah hah hah. People in units above drew their blinds and bolted their doors. She was close. The siren blared, wearing on Her quarry’s nerve until she made a mistake and was trapped in that steel belly.

Dawn sobbed, her hand gripping the slow bleeding wound on her shoulder. With glistening eyes, Dawn limped onward, the hope having left her step. She wished she had killed the boy with her own hands, had slit his throat and watched him bleed. She wished she could have had that luxury.

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Author : Hope Evey

He put pen to paper, but it was just a mechanical act. The feel of the pen in his hand, the flow of ink onto the page, the crinkle of turned pages, none of these caused even a ruffle to his new, positronic brain. He was aware of all the sensations, of course. They just didn’t mean anything.

One stroke was enough to convince him that nothing could be worse than having another. Modern medicine could do many things, but couldn’t guarantee he’d completely recover from another stroke. Ages of therapy after the first stroke, physical and psychological, and he regained most of his manual dexterity, and most of his memory. The two days immediately preceding his stroke remained a blank, so he chose the very best positronic brain available, and a matching robotic body. Upload to a positronic brain had risks, of course, but he preferred them to risking his mind in an aging body.

The greatest risk, of course, was the transferal itself. He wouldn’t be copying his mind to the positronic brain – he would be transferring it. The process that encoded his mind onto the positronic matrix would, neuron by neuron, destroy his physical brain. If the transfer failed, he would be dead. He considered that better than to live with a brain that could break without warning. He wasn’t worried about the shock of suddenly finding himself in a mechanical body. His body only served to maintain his mind, and move it around. A mechanical body would do the job just as well, if not better.

He got back to writing as soon as possible after the upload. He’d only finished four of the eight books in his series when he had his first stroke. Thank God he’d taken lots of notes during the days he couldn’t remember. He was able to reconstruct the plot twist he’d been developing before the stroke wiped his mind. Some said the fifth book was the best of the series. He didn’t realize he constructed it completely from the notes he’d made while still biological. The sixth book sold even better. He used his pre-upload notes, expanding upon them by using the most popular parts of the previous four.

His writing grew in popularity. He could keep writing forever at this point. He knew writing was important, but he could no longer remember why.

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Author : Patrica Stewart

Jim Roberts continued to stare at the chronometer in the center of the ship’s instrument panel. Thirty minutes past the scheduled departure time. Damn, why can’t they ever depart on schedule? He pressed the intercom button. “Sam, I’m losing the launch window.”

In an effort to calm himself down, Jim decided to use the delay to run through the checklist again. Primary oxygen, secondary oxygen, carbon dioxide scrubbers, food, water, medical supplies, telemetry, subspace transmitter, backup transmitter, antimatter reserves, etc., etc. He then reviewed the flight plan. He had worked out the details of the plan with a buddy of his, who had made a career of flying replenishment missions to the science, military, and adventure stations in the outer solar system. The plan called for a sling shot gravity boost around the moon, then maximum acceleration along a flatted parabolic path until achieving maximum velocity about 1,000,000 miles above the asteroid belt. Then, on to Titan for a retrograde capture.

Finally, Sam entered the cockpit and sat in the co-pilot’s seat. “Ok, Ok. Every body’s on board, the cargo is stowed, and all the hatches are secured. We’re ready. Have you filed the flight plan?”

“Transmitted, received, and approved an hour ago. I’ve just been waiting for you, as usual. One day, Sam,” he threatened, “I’m going to leave you behind.” He activated the transmitter. “Tower, this is bravo-delta-epsilon-three-two-niner requesting permission to lift off.”

“Roger that, bravo-delta-epsilon-three-two-niner. You are number four on the launch pad. Follow Transport Tanker gamma-omega-epsilon-three-seven-seven.”

“Acknowledged. Buckle up, Sam.” Jim primed the antimatter engines, and taxied toward the launch pad. Three minutes after the Transport Tanker lifted off, he initiated the launch sequence. As the ship accelerated upward, he felt his back begin to press heavily into his seat. With the skill of a seasoned pilot, he adjusted the inertia compensators to maintain 1g. Once in orbit, he set the powerful engines to maximum, and headed toward the leading edge of the moon. After the close approach, the ship wiped toward Saturn (actually, slightly ahead of Saturn, and slightly above the ecliptic). The engines roared continuously for three hours before they automatically throttled down when the ship’s velocity reached 0.55c (Max-V). Jim peered out the viewport and watched Vista’s thin crescent disappearing behind them. “Ok,” he said, “double nickel for the next two hours, then deceleration begins.”

Sam had no idea what Jim was talking about. “Double what?”

“Double nickel. It’s an archaic Earth term from the twentieth century. It means your velocity is 55 MPH.”

“What’s that got to do with nickel?”

“Not the metal, dummy. A ‘nickel’ was a unit of American currency equal to five cen…” Jim stopped himself mid-word. Earth had stopped using coins over 300 years ago. Nobody but a history buff like himself would know, or even care, about primitive societies. “Oh, never mind,” he finally said.

After a few awkward minutes of silence, Sam decided to change the subject. With a thumb motioning toward the passenger compartment, Sam said, “You know, it’s been awful quiet back there.”

As if on cue, a shout came from the passenger cabin. “Stop it.”

“No, you stop it.”

“Stop it, or I’ll tell Mom. Mom, Katie keeps touching me.”

“He’s on my side.”

“Am not”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Liar.”

Jim cupped his hands over his ears. “Well, Samantha, I hope you’re happy. You jinxed us.”

“Did not,” she replied mockingly. “Besides, we just set a family record. We made it all the way to the asteroid belt this time.”

“Next year, I’m putting a force field between them.”

“Dad, I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

“I have to pee.”

”Me too.”

“Are we there yet?”

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Author : S. Clough

“All units, fall back to waypoint epsilon. Marking recommended routes now.”

Reeve did as he was told. Command whispered into your head and they could easily put pain there instead of whispers. He was with four tax regulars, covering a breach in the stronghold’s outer wall.

“There has been a breach of contract,” command spoke softly, melodiously. “Dropships are inbound to epsilon, and a communiqué has been sent to all aggressors. We are leaving this fight to the regulars. All non-secured equipment will terminate in five – four – three – two – one…”

Reeve smirked at the cries of surprise and horror that came from the Tax soldiers nearby. The equipment the Legion had hired out began to melt in the hands and on the body of the Taxers. The drone guns which had been holding the Anti-Tax combat frames at bay exploded violently. Discarding his weapons, Reeve began to run.

The Tax battlefield radio was swamped by screams. Command switched it off.

“Estimated time till total overrun by anti-tax forces: eight minutes. Step on it.”

Four other Legionnaires had caught up with Reeve. They’d thrown their primary weapons, too. They didn’t speak, but just ran with a measured, rapid pace.

“Anti-Tax unit will cross your path, twenty seconds. Retfire only.”

Reeve held seniority, so drew his sidearm. A lithe, low combat frame slid out of the shadows ahead. It saw them, and hesitated for a fraction of a second. Quickly, it pressed itself back into the shadows. As Reeve passed, it bobbed it’s sensor cluster almost imperceptibly, a weak imitation of a nod……

……Ana flicked the screen off ‘mute’, just in time to hear the Tax representative’s final denouncement of the Legion’s withdrawal. Reeve stood at her shoulder, in full battle gear: his presence was intended to give the Legion’s pretty face a degree of authenticity.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Powell. The contract that you signed clearly stated that the detonation of any N.B.C weapon on the battlefield constituted a breach of contract. I’m sorry for your losses, but you were the one who broke the terms. We had no choice but to withdraw our forces and equipment.”

“After your retreat, we were completely wiped out. You have the deaths of eighty soldiers on your conscience.”

“No, Mr. Powell. You are mistaken. They are on your conscience, as you are the one who requested the detonation of a micronuke. Each of our legionnaires received twenty sieverts, adjusted from the explosion. This constituted a clear danger to their health. Legally, it was as if you’d ordered your men to turn and fire on us.”

“We had no choice! Even with you, we were going to lose.”

“We never lose, Mr. Powell. We have traded upon that very fact for many years now. Too many people have interests in our organization for us to achieve anything but victory on our own terms.”

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Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

He eyed her cautiously as they undressed, her gaze wandering over his muscular frame, he picking out the subtle characteristics that identified her as a mech; her stance, the symmetry of her body and its flawlessly calculated motions, the perfect geometric arcs her hips cut as she walked. Afternoon sun seeped reluctantly through smokey acrylic to carve dusty fingers in the stale air. The light accentuated her form as she closed the small distance between them on the balls of her feet. In an instant, she was on him, twisting him in a wiry embrace that found them both locked together on the bed. He felt the sheets beneath his bare skin, faux cotton made soft from too many washings.

‘Are you ready?’ She barely breathed the words, but he was, and they rolled together as one on the bed, exacting murderous complaints from the wood and metal frame beneath them.  He could feel the corded muscle beneath her polymer skin, feel the way the fibers contracted and released as she flexed, her body a geometry text of angles and curves, throwing shadows on the rice-paper walls, one moment acute, the next unnaturally obtuse.

‘Come on baby. Harder – Faster.’ She was on her hands and knees now, looking back over her shoulder, her irises ratcheting through various degrees of dilation, straining to optimize the light. ‘Pull my hair.’ He wrapped one hand in the long soft fibers cascading across her back as their bodies blended into one. He could hear her air exchanger accelerate and then stop suddenly, her entire frame in an instant becoming rigid within the supple flesh of her body, seizing almost completely before fail safes spurred the air exchanger back into motion, and each pair of joints were reflexively released.

He sat on the end of the bed, smoking a cigarette, and watched as she dressed in silence and then strode purposefully toward the door. ‘I’ll see you again next week.’ She paused a moment, pulling a handful of paper money from her purse and tossing it on the desk. ‘You know, you are my favorite.’ She smiled at him then, a warm, almost caring smile, before she disappeared behind the closing door.

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Author : Marco Chacon

She had one of those new things: A USB port in the back of her neck, just under the skull. We’d plug her in at parties and, with the controller, she’d do all kinds of wild things—karaoke, belly dancing, there was even a “Mardi gras button”–but we didn’t use it too much.

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Author : Steven Perez

The drive to Persepolis from Shiraz had been longer than expected due to an unexpected radiator leak, and at that moment, all I wanted to do was stand up and walk around. I’ve always loved to visit the ruins here, mostly because I have a fondness for the era of the Persians. This time, though, my visit had a much darker purpose.

The Land Rover finally came to a stop near the entrance of the tomb in question, and the team piled out and started taking out the gear in the back. The local authorities always groused a bit whenever we showed up in the area, but they realize that the work we do is vital to the good of the entire world, so they don’t kick too much. But it still spooks some people to see us in the flesh, so we tread carefully.

The perimeter finally comes together, and Saunders fires up the generator. The lights coalesce together, and the rift is finally visible to the human eye. I hate dimensional rifts.

“Looks like we have more fugitives,” Kendra says with no small amount of disdain. The suits upstairs call them “temporal trespassers”. The teams spread out across the world came up with a simpler name for them: “fugitives”, after a story by Harlan Elison about time-travelers.

“Geez, you’d think these guys would learn,” Sung Li growls.

I bring everyone out of their reveille. “OK, so let’s find them.”

We lock onto their temporal signals and locate them quickly; scavengers from the 22nd Century. That figures; with all the horrible wars from that century, it’s a wonder that the human race survived as long as it did. Things must be really bad if the fugitives had taken to trying to alter history from distant locus points along the continuum.

We quickly seal the breach and leave a little something in case the rotters come back. Satisfied that we performed out jobs adequately, the team repacked our gear and waited for the extraction point back to the 835th Century. I would drive the SUV back to Shiraz so as not to arouse too many suspicions. Right on schedule, the null point formed and swept the team up into the vortex and back home.

I stared out over the remains of an ancient human civilization for a long while and couldn’t help but wonder how much might have been different had the humans not killed each other.

The things a machine thinks about with time on his hands, eh?

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Author : B.York, Staff Writer

“So why did you come on this trip, Micky? You didn’t bring a crew. Not even a single camera.” Charles was loading the grappling gun like he could do it blindfolded. In fact, he was just staring at his partner while he twisted the grapple into the loader.

Micky was glancing up along the passing walls of the mine elevator shaft; the twinkle in his eye was more than just enjoyment of the scenery. At last he glanced to Charles as the elevator came to a halt. “You tell me, Charles. Is there something down here worth checking out?”

The gruff Charles Hannon rubbed his four-day shadow as he opened the gate of the elevator leading into a barely lit descending cavern. He stepped out and waited for his associate to exit before shutting the gates again with a loud clank. “Could be, Micky. People got scared; they think they found some garbage from before the war. You know how they get spooked when radiation gets involved.”

“I do, Charles. I know how all of them get scared.” Micky was walking out further into the cavern than a normal man would; glancing at every nook and cranny. Stopping at the edge of the cliff and staring down into the darkness he inquired, “Down there?”

Charles smirked and hooked up the anchor of the grappler to the wall. He knew nothing of Micky’s involvement here other than the fact the media was paying him good money for this. “Yep, just below us. Listen… you never told me-”

“Let’s go, Charles. People need this.” Micky was being more than cryptic and it was bugging the other man terribly. Charles shot the grapple down into the dark where it hit something moments later. The line tugged taught and he motioned Micky over to latch him into the glider. Both men hit ground at the same time and no sooner did a click herald a light from Micky’s hand.

Both surface men glanced as the light ran over the object in question. It was big, neither could dispute that. A distinct color of green and deep decaying rust permeated it. It had fallen out of one of the walls and it had an almost human quality to it.

“Do you see the face?” Charles asked in a hushed whisper.

“Indeed. I’m recording it now.”

The guide snapped at that remark, “Recording!? Micky what the bloody hell? What’s going on?”

Micky’s eyes flashed in the dark and the hard-drive uploaded it as fast as he could see it. There was a feminine face and a raised arm. The thing looked like a statue with one arm outstretched to hold up a torch. He ignored the cries of his partner Charles as he smirked at the wonder he just found.

Charles now tugged Micky to look at him, “What the fuck is that thing and what are you doing?”

The man just smiled at Charles, looked him dead in the eyes and spoke with curiosity, “You tell me Charles… would you like to be the first to edit?”

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Author : Daniel Longwing

Two steps forward, don’t shuffle your feet. You already accrued three points in the way you took off your shoes…

Don’t look at the carpet. Don’t look at the carpet! Sod, that’ll be another four points for not looking the guard in the eye with a friendly and nonchalant smile.

The man in riot gear with the machine gun and the mirrored face-mask gestures to the left. Smile at him. Friendly. Friendly. Yes, that’s it, pretend your reflection is his face and give him a nod. This man is your friend and is here to help you. Tell yourself that.

Good. Keep your face relaxed, calm but alert. Only affable expressions of optimism and happiness. Place your belongings on the conveyor belt. Yes, they could get stolen while you go through the scanner… Don’t think about that, don’t get nervous. Don’t look nervous…

Your brow was creased while you talked to the scanner operator. That’s going to be an easy 5, maybe 6 points. The interrogation went well though, you revealed all relevant information about your age, sex, political, religious, and work background. You even managed to ease in your financial status without breaking the veneer of a pleasant conversation. Good. That will all go into the database, they know nothing has changed since the last time you were asked in the lobby.

Think positive, think happy. You are happy. Being surrounded by guns and scanners and trigger-happy paranoiacs makes you safe. That was a bitter thought. Check your face… Expression still good, it didn’t get out. It was funny, but you’re just a few points shy of being singled out for “examination”.

There are your belongings. Don’t look at them for too long. Good good. Concerned, but not too much. They’ve got your shoes and clothes ready too…

One last step. Don’t screw up… Talk to the woman holding your clothing….

“Social Security Number 358-63-3269?”

“That’s me.” Smooth. Good smile, just hold it for a moment…

“Here are your clothes, please retrieve your belongings from the belt. You’ve passed initial screening and psychological profiling. The background check will clear momentarily.” The woman handed him an official document. “Show this to all personnel, hesitation could lead to arrest, and 3269?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for flying with us today.”

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Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

With an almost discernible sigh, the bridge ceased its seemingly endless attempt to shake the crew unconscious.  Captain Jax waited until he was sure the worst was over before instructing the muscles in his body to unbrace themselves from his seat, and it took some time before those muscles began to obey.  The space around him was filled with a haze of smoke and sublimated material that before the storm had made up control surfaces and various other parts of his ship. The giant view screen was dark, and as the fire suppression systems shut down, and the environmental control systems began to scrub the air, he realized that large portions of the bridge were dark also.   Around him restraints eased, and tired bodies released themselves into the slack tethers.  The immediate danger, at least, had passed.

‘Django, damage report.’ The captain’s voice carried easily across the cramped space, and he waited as the engineer struggled to coax a console to life. Reams of text chased themselves across the screen before flickering out only to begin again.

‘Engines are up, warp drive is down.’ Yellow fluid oozed from a crack in the engineers craggy forehead which he dabbed at absently with a sleeve as he continued. ‘We’ve all but lost the recyclers, the atmosphere reserve is online but degraded, estimated hours of breathable air – thirty seven.’ The captain instinctively began to slow his breathing. ‘The storms knocked out our eyes and ears sir, we’ve got instruments for navigation, but no visual.  Our distress beacon is broadcasting, but only from the bow, and the long range sensor on the bow is alight, but it’s the only one.’

The captain slumped back into his chair, pushing the hair back from his sweating forehead. His eyes tried to focus on a point beyond the blackened display, as though expecting to see somehow through it into the void of space.

‘Weapons Django?’

‘Ballistics are offline sir, the light spear appears intact’

‘Direct whatever energy we’ve got to the beacon and sensors, we need to find a ship.’ The crew began to execute his commands even before he’d finished speaking them.

Nearly a dozen hours passed before the long range sensor panel lit up and the comms officer, Sharak, broke the silence. ‘Sir, there’s a ship straight off the bow, quite some distance, but she’s parked and in our line of sight.  She’s in a line to receive our beacon sir.’

‘Django’ The captains voice boomed with new found purpose ‘All ahead full, let’s catch up to that ship’

The engines wound valiantly to life, shaking loose bits of the bridge that had been tenaciously holding on while they’d sat at idle, filling the cabin with the clatter and dull thuds of falling alloys and polymer composites.

‘Sir – the ship ahead is in motion sir.’ Django struggled to read the flickering display in front of him. ‘We’re accelerating sir, and they’re matching our speed.’

‘We need to catch that ship and we’re a little low on options right now’ The captain knew it was pure luck a ship happened across their path and he wasn’t going to let it get away. ‘Bring the light spear up, fire a volley up his ass and see if we can’t take his engines offline.  Mobility we’ve got, it’s his atmospherics I want. If he’s ignoring our beacon he’s brought this on himself…’

Sharak spoke over her shoulder ‘Captain, the aft transceiver array’s come back online, and there’s a ship back there, it’s broadcasting on the emergency channel but it appears encrypted sir, I can’t make out a message.’

‘Forget them, we’ve got our own problems, we’re in no position to help anyone else right now.  If we can catch this ship and make repairs, we can think about going back later.’ The captain was leaning forward now, straining his eyes at the void of the view screen for some glimpse of the space outside, an image that wouldn’t come.

‘Sir… the ship behind us, it’s fired on us…’ Sharak was afraid, and her voice could do nothing to hide the fact.

‘Fired?  Fired!  We’re broadcasting a distress signal, what kind of bastard fires on a ship in distress?’ The captain, giving up on the dead display stood and wheeled on the comms officer, gripping his seat back to steady himself against the surging of the wounded engines.

‘Sir… the signal from the ship behind us.  It’s not encrypted sir, I don’t know how I missed it, it’s inverted and sir,’ The comms officer’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘Sir, it’s from our bow beacon.’

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Author : J. S. Kachelries

As the spaceship exited the wormhole, its forward thrusters brought it to a relative stop. The ship sat motionless for an hour as its two occupants tried to determine their location. The pilot, Teeh Ar, balled his two-fingered ‘hands’ into fists, and slowly pivoted to confront his navigator snout-to-beak. “Lost! What do you mean lost?” The vertical slits that were Teeh’s pupils looked like steel daggers in his large, dark cobalt-blue eyes. Then, in a voice two octaves lower than normal, he growled “Pterry, if you don’t find out where we are in one minute, I’m going to bite your head off.” For effect, Teeh bared his upper row of eight inch long, serrated, razor sharp teeth, and snarled.

The 60 pound navigator raised his slender wings over his head and made the thin membranes quiver mockingly with feigned fear. “Oh my God, the mighty King Lizard is going to bite my head off. I’m soooo scared. Ha, ha, ha. Who are you trying to kid? You’re a stinkin’ scavenger, not a predator. You couldn’t bite my head off unless I was already dead. You really crack me up.” Pterry folded his long graceful wings and continued to adjust the dials on his control panel while he searched for a navigation beacon. He considered radioing for directions, but he was male, so that was out of the question until things got really desperate, and probably not even then. “Look, your majesty, if you’re done blustering, make yourself useful. See if you can pick up a station on the holovision. Maybe I can follow the signal back to a subspace transmitter.” Pterry paused momentarily, and then said, “Hey, you know, maybe that wormhole sent us to a parallel universe, or something. I was watching a show about String Theory last month. They said there are 11 dimensions, containing infinite universes. Maybe we jumped into a universe where the Earth is ruled by insects or mammals, rather than dinosaurs.”

“Mammals? You mean like mice? Don’t be ridiculous. Their young can’t live two days without their mommies. How could they ever rule the world?” Just then, the image of a cute, female Allosaurus came into focus on the holovision. Relieved, Teeh said, “Well, there goes your parallel universe crap. I just got ‘Raptor and Friends’ on the projector.” Teeh leaned back and watched the perky, substitute co-host for a few seconds. “You have to admit, she looks pretty good for someone that just hatched twin eggs a few years back.”

Pterry ignored Teeh’s commentary as he attempted to get a fix on the signal. “OK,” he said, “I think this will work. Once I establish a second link, I can triangulate our position, and determine our spatial coordinates. But pleeeease, do me a favor. Switch it to DNN? I can’t stand that network. ‘Fair and balanced’ my tailbone.”

However, Teeh was still smarting from Pterry’s earlier defamatory comments, so he wasn’t in a conciliatory mood. Besides, he liked Raptor News. His eye ridges came together to form a “V” in the center of his forehead, and he grinned. “Listen beak-head, consider it motivation. If you don’t get us home by 8:00 tonight, you’re going to have to watch the Stegosaurus Factor.”

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Author : J.R.Blackwell, Staff Writer

Russell came home hungry. When he walked through the door he was thinking of lasagna, steak and sherbet. Leo often had dinner waiting on the table when he came home, their three children occupied in their study pods. When Russell came home he expected warm smells and a quiet house. When he walked thought the door, the children were running around in the kitchen with seven bags of raw, unprocessed, unpackaged food. Seeing Jeremy play with tomatoes, his little fingers crushing the flesh made Russell want to vomit. In the middle of all this chaos was Leo, smiling like a wicked child.

Russell randomly picked an object from a bag and dangled it from between three fingers. “What’s this?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “It’s a cucumber.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a cucumber. Why isn’t it sliced up in a salad, packaged and clean?”

Leo put his hands on his slender hips. “Russell, I’ve decided we should stop eating food from other worlds.”

“What?” Russell threw himself into a kitchen chair.

“The food here on Greenwald is good. It’s grown in the southern continent. We should be supporting Greenwald’s farmers, not some off-worlders.”

“Leo, I don’t want to be involved with one of your political movements. If you want to do something, that’s fine, but I don’t think you should force it on the children and I.”

“The children like going to the market and picking out the food with me.”

Russell pointed to a parsnip on the counter. “The children like getting filthy, and this food is filthy.”

“It is not filthy. It’s local.”

“Same difference.”

“Russell, I saw a program on the NPH Holo-Cast-“

“Not again-“

“They said that our packaged foods are shipped from three star systems away. They have been folded and molecularly warped through space-travel.”

“So what?”

“So what? Russell, this is what we are putting in our bodies!”

“Leo, you are acting like a hippie.”

Leos jaw dropped open. “Russell! Don’t curse, not in front of the children.”

“I like the shipped food! It comes pre-sliced and delivered to our door. I hate putting all that stuff through the processor, programming the damn thing to make whatever, making sure it has all the ingredients. I like my food simple, arriving all ready for me to eat. I don’t have time to process.” Russell slumped over in a kitchen chair.

Leo shrugged his thin, tan shoulders. “Then I’ll process the food. If supporting Greenwald isn’t important to you, if the sacrifices your father made to make this world a success when he immigrated here-“

“Oh give me a bag, I’ll help.” Russell peered inside. “Fresh plums?”

“Yes. They have fresh plums.”

Russell squeezed the purple fruit. “I can never find those on the order form. I didn’t know they grew plums here on Greenwald.”

“Well, they do.”

Russell put his arms around Leo’s waist. “I guess if they have fresh plums, then it can’t be all that bad.”

“Apology accepted. “ Leo dumped the last few pieces of food into the processor and wiped his hands clean.

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Author : Hannah F

“What do you mean, you knew it wouldn’t work out?” Emma’s brow furrowed as she regarded me across the table. “I watched the simtapes with you; I saw the results. Everything- preferences, intellectual profile, moral standing, even your damn sleep cycles said you two would be a perfect match! How could you have been sure- from ten minutes of actually seeing the man- that it wouldn’t work out?”

I sighed, and leaned forward a little bit, clasping my hands in front of me on the table. “I saw him sit down like this,” I explained miserably. Emma’s face was blank, still uncomprehending. I stretched my right hand, trying to emphasize. “He clasped his hands, and his right thumb was on top.” I shuffled my fingers until I sat comfortably. She stared in disbelief.

“You dumped him because he was right-handed?”

“Not hand dominance, thumb dominance.” I shook my head. “I’m left-thumb dominant. It never would have worked- the second we held hands, everything would have been over.”

“I think you’re full of it.”

I slid off my chair and into the empty one between us, and lifted her left hand with my right, slipping my right thumb over her left, regardless of how uncomfortable I found it.

Her eyes widened. “Oh…”

I let her go and slid back into my seat. We finished our meals without another word.

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Author : James Weirick

Fear. Doubt. Uncertainty. Emotions long gone from this society now found new life in the minds of John and Paula. For the first time in their lives, they were unsure. They didn’t know if what they were doing was the right thing. They didn’t know what tomorrow would hold.

Sirens sounded softly in the distance. Someone knew that they were there.

“We have about five minutes until the police get here.” said Paula, “It’s now or never.”

The explosives that John had placed strategically around the Knowledge Retainment Center were hard to come by since the world had stopped fighting wars 20 years ago. Some explosives were still manufactured, but they were only used to demolish old buildings to make room for the new models that were earthquake proof, fire proof, flood proof…everything proof. But even the strength of the new buildings had nothing on the structural reinforcements of the Center. Even the old nuclear bombs were no match for the Center. No, John and Paula needed the most powerful bomb ever made. It was known only as “The Winkie.”

John pushed the button on the detonator and they both watched as the Knowledge Retainment Center was consumed in a ball of fire. The shock wave could be felt for miles, and many of the surrounding building were destroyed in the blast.

People had already started to gather in the streets as the police came to arrest John and Paula. When the police got there, however, they just stood in amazement and watched the melted remains of the Center cool in the shallow crater that the explosion had left. Why bother arresting these two when society as they knew it had come to an end?

One of the officers—now consumed with the same fear, uncertainty, and doubt that John and Paula had felt—looked at the two and in a sad, quiet voice said, “Why?”

Paula smiled and said with a deep satisfaction, “So that our children will have something new to discover.”

Miles away from the explosion the plaque that graced the entrance to the Center was lying in the mud. It read, “The Knowledge Retainment Center is the only receptacle of all the knowledge that mankind has ever gained. It will house that knowledge for this and all future generations.”

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Author : Dee Harding

Keiko 610618, or ‘keiko610′, as her work is signed, has just returned from yet another business meeting in a far flung industrial sector. Making idle conversation, we ask her if she enjoyed her flight, we ask her where she’s been. She simply shakes her head, amused, and almost seductively mouths the letters, “n… d… a”.

Changing tack we ask her about her other work, and how she’s finding her current stint at the Marlin’s Reach galleries. “Wonderful” she replies coyly, and just as we get the feeling that this is going to be a difficult interview, she continues…

“I never thought that it would get any further than my own pleasure. That what I find interesting, and exciting, would have a wider appeal. But just as I have in life as a whole, I’ve found myself proven wrong at every turn. That’s what’s wonderful about it.” For the uninitiated in fringe art, keiko610 is this season’s big thing, and she’s taken to the sensation like a duck to water. She’s also an android.

While people are stunned that this exotic creature should even be capable of producing such intuitive (if tiny) sculptures and objet d’art, she herself claims to be surprised by the positive reaction she has engendered in the public. “I’m perpetually amazed by people, myself included. I was given birth for certain duties, and I enjoy them. I consider myself good at them.” Keiko is contracted by Zeus-Ethera Shipping Corporation and effectively represents their entire administrative staff. “but at the same time, because I have those facilities, and because I’m good at my job, I find myself in quiet moments, exploring, sorting, trying to make sense of things, and sometimes the results are…” she pauses, for what can only be affect, “Unexpected. On every scale.” Her language gives the truth to that statement, betraying traits we expect to find in ourselves, rather than in what is, in effect, an extremely elegant sculpture given life. The fractal nature of her art is not beyond her. “I must admit that there is some humour in my approach to all this, otherwise I would never have been able to work with you in the past”. Faced with Keiko’s innocent features we’re not quite sure if we’ve been complemented or insulted, but she is, of course, referring to her brief stint as an i-O model last year. “Obviously I’m very grateful for that opportunity, and I enjoyed myself immensely, but I don’t think I’ll be coming back to it very soon. Business moves relentlessly on, after all.” And with that she winks at us in complex irony, and leaves, stretching out like one of her own perfectly formed figurines for another unnamed business destination.

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Author : Dr. Alexanders

Kevin stared upward at the “Arrivals/Departures” sign in the main concourse of the Europa Delta Interplanetary Spaceport. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The information didn’t change, not a single number. It read:

IBSF #452

Europa Delta, Jupiter to Gatwick, U.K., Earth

Scheduled Departure: 18:45, Aug. 23, 2159

Scheduled Arrival: 03:22, Aug. 29, 2159

—DELAYED— 83d 13hr 27min

Glancing around the concourse he saw a customer service desk on the other side of a throng of Brazilian tourists. When they didn’t immediately part for him he simply pushed his way through so that when he finally reached the desk he was followed by strings of what he assumed were Portuguese curses and swear words. A slender, blonde woman wearing the standard spaceport uniform took a second to finish whatever she had been typing and then looked up at him with a false smile.

“And how can I help you today, sir?” Her eyes flicked past him for an instant to the Brazilians who were still shouting at him incomprehensibly.

“I think there has been a mistake… my flight, ummm, here’s my ticket; the board over there says that my flight’s going to be over eighty-three days late.” He started to laugh and then stopped when he realized she wasn’t laughing with him. Instead she looked at her computer and his ticket, typed something and faced him once again.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the board is correct. Here at Icarus Budgetary Space Flights we offer flights at a quarter of the price of other space liners by passing on savings to our customers. One of those savings is reduced fuel costs by taking advantage of optimal flight windows and I am afraid that your flight just isn’t going to make this next window due to spaceport congestion.”

“What!? And the next window isn’t for 83 days? I have a meeting in Prague in two weeks!”

“I am sorry, sir, but you booked a flight at our minimal fuel cost price. There is only a ten day window between arrival and departure and today is the last day in that window. I could book you on our premium flight that leaves tomorrow, though it would cost a little bit more.”

Kevin sighed, “Fine… how much?”

The woman checked her screen again, “An upgrade will cost 1,345 credits.”

“But that’s more than four times what I paid for the flight to begin with! I can’t afford that!”

The woman gave him a sympathetic smile, “I am sorry, sir, but there really is nothing else I could do. Can I give you a voucher for a free night in the spaceport hotel?”

Kevin cursed, violently.

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Author : Phil Jacobsma

The magician known as the Great Pervasor finished his trick with a flourish. As the audience applauded, Anders sat nervously awaiting his cue. He had agreed to be part of the show because he needed the money. He had already missed two car payments, and the bank was threatening to repossess. The magician had offered him $200 to pretend to be an audience volunteer. It would make just one payment, but it would get them off his back for another month.

“For my next illusion, I require a volunteer”, declared the man on the stage. He searched the audience, his eyes finally alighting on Anders. “You, sir” he said, pointing his long black wand, “come down and be a part of the mystery!”

Anders stood, feigning reluctance as the audience applauded their approval. He made his way to the stage, turning to face the bright lights. He noticed he could barely see past the edge of the stage in the glare.

“Now, sir, do not be afraid”, said the Great Pervasor. “There is no danger. I am simply going to make you exit this universe for a short period of time.” He turned toward the audience, grinning. “But I promise I will bring you right back!” Anders heard the audience laughing. Let’s just get this over with, he thought.

The trick went just as Anders had rehearsed it that afternoon. He took a seat in a chair on the left side of the stage. An identical empty chair sat at the right side of the stage. When the magician raised his cloak, a jet of smoke rose from the floor and a trap door opened allowing Anders to drop below the stage. He was to reappear in a moment through another trap door on the other chair.

Anders dropped to the floor, and felt hands on his arms helping him up. He was about to offer his thanks when he gasped in surprise. Holding his arms were two small gray creatures with large black eyes. They appeared to be perfect cliché aliens. Anders wondered if these costumes were part of another of the magician’s tricks. The costumes were amazingly detailed. A third alien walked toward him, holding out a small silver device. Behind this alien, standing under the trap door to the other chair, was a man who looked exactly like Anders! He was even wearing the same clothing as Anders. Just before the charge from the alien weapon hit him, Anders saw his double smile at him and wink.

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Author : Michael “Freeman” Herbaugh

I know he’s been here. I’ve seen the signs and clues of his passing. It feels like ages since I started waiting for him to show himself. Heh – that’s almost funny, thinking about the relativity of time passing and all this time I’ve been working on Interspatial Time and Chronological Mechanics as they relate to the movement of a body. That is to say time travel.

I’ve been struggling since my doctorate to find the break through, that one formula that’s been on the tip of my tongue for these past few months but can’t seem to get out. I keep thinking that he will show up and give it to me, I know he will, it’s just a question of time.

But, I also think that maybe he is just watching me, amused at my plight of going through what he has surely gone through. He probably thinks “Why should I give it to him when I worked so hard to get it myself?” Or, perhaps, he is just waiting for the right moment that matches when he gave it to himself.

I don’t believe that you can really screw up the linear nature of time. If he were to give me the answer before today it would already have happened and I would remember so it’s got to be coming in the future. I know he’s watching, after all I would. Why won’t he just speak up already?

I guess I will just have to persevere in my research so that, when I am ready, I can become him.

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Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

It had been eighteen years since they’d seen their home world.  Eighteen years since the earth had lain before them vibrant and blue. They had come home, and brought with them the water of life, salvation for a world in need. They’d left a desperate band of men with a mission, journeyed the stars as beggars, then thieves, and ultimately destroyers to return home to be heroes.

‘Orbital control, this is the Lazarus on return approach, we’re inbound heavy looking for our vector, over’

Nothing but silence greeted their request.

Earth was being consumed by a terrible plague when they had left, a plague that destroyed the infected from the inside.  The doctors needed fresh blood, in great quantities in order to transfuse, and to synthesize the antibodies that had been cleaned from their blood through the generations. They had dug up a horrific judgement of a great many years ago, and no one was immune anymore. A disease their ancestors would have thought nothing of now stood to annihilate them to a man.  How far they’d come, and how quickly they’d fallen.

The mission of the Lazarus was to visit the worlds colonized over the generations, to collect blood from the inhabitants of these civilizations the earth had birthed amongst the stars, and to bring it back to save their ancestral home world. The people on these worlds had forgotten who had given them life, and they were reluctant to help when asked to share their blood.  Maybe one in twenty would offer up a litre willingly, but the men on the Lazarus found that everyone had 5 litres to spare if they weren’t given the choice. These roving collectors of the water of life were prepared to sacrifice these insignificant worlds in order to save their home.  They could be colonized again, but the survival of their planet of origin must be assured.

Almost four million litres of blood filled the belly of their ship on its return voyage, three quarter of a million lives sacrificed for the sake of the human race. They had become masters of its retrieval, machines of exsanguination gone mad, but justified in doing gods work, and now they were home.

‘Orbital control, this is the Lazarus, are you reading us?’

The silence mocked the heros return.

‘Orbital control, we’re on an urgent approach, we have no sensory data on proximal traffic, we’re bypassing your authority and dropping into lower earth orbit.’

The Lazarus rolled into its approach, the crew fastened safely in their harnesses as the giant craft burned through the upper atmosphere in a red hot blaze of glory before leveling off to cruise above the planet in the direction of its home landing field.

‘Cheyenne control, this is the Lazarus on return approach.  We’ve cleared the atmosphere and are requesting an airway inbound. Over.’

No signal greeted the pilot, nothing at all.

They slowed and gave up altitude gradually, straining to see through the view ports and scrutinizing the sensors to see what would greet them below. Across Iowa and Nebraska they saw nothing, no life signs, no radio signals, no navigational beacons, nothing but barren ground and silence.

As they reached the border of Wyoming, the radio crackled to life first, followed by a video transmission that filled the view screen.  The crew turned from their tasks and windows to watch a shrunken man, gaunt and lesioned as he cleared his throat and spoke.

‘Lazarus crew. If you are receiving this transmission, I’m afraid you are too late.  The disease has accelerated beyond our ability to contain it, and most of the population of this earth has succumbed. Do not land your craft. Do not take on any material from this earth. The planet must remain in quarantine. This planet has survived the loss of its inhabitants before, it will rise again without us.’

The man paused, eyes closing for moment before taking a breath and continuing.

‘Lazarus crew, the only hope for humanity lies now with the colonies.  You must go to them, help them, protect them, provide transport between them that they may share knowledge and resources and assure the future of the human race. If you are here, then it’s because these colonists gave freely of themselves in order to save us, you must now give back to them in order to save us all. The future of the human race lies in your hands, good luck, and god speed’

As the transmission ended, silence once again filled the cabin. Through this silence everyone onboard could feel the cries of the lives they carried, litre by litre in the belly of the beast that was all that was left of the human race.
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Author : Patricia Stewart

“Commander’s Log, Hyper-light mission Alpha-one, Ship’s chronometer, Day 23,: Commander Adelmann reporting. The Tycho Brahe has completed another uneventful day. We are currently 7.1 light years from Earth. All systems are operating in the green. However, earlier today, during routine maintenance, Lieutenant DeHennis experienced a minor injury while attempting…”

Just then, the ship dropped out of warp, and all systems shut down. The entire ship was pitch-black. Even the independent emergency power did not function. However, there was a barely detectable blue haze visible outside the ship. That’s when Commander Adelmann noticed the menacing looking alien spacecraft floating 50 feet beyond the forward viewing ports. The alien ship launched a grappling cable that slammed into the hull. Almost instantly, the main computer came on-line. A few minutes later, a disembodied voice began to speak over the intercom. “Translating protocol initiated…click…please stand by…click…click…State your system of origin and destination.”

Under the circumstances, Commander Adelmann thought it was best to cooperate. “Uh, Earth. I mean Sol. We’re headed to Tau Ceti.”

“Do you know why your ship was deactivated?”

“Uh, because you wanted to make First Contact?”

“Negative. Your ship was flying at warp 1.1 in a non-designated area, your identification transponder is not functioning, and your warp field is not dampened…click…please stand by…click…click…Sir, Sol is in the Sirius Sector, but this ship is not registered. Please state your Sirius Department of Transportation Pilot Identification Number.”

“Identification Number? I don’t think I have one. This is the first manned mission outside of our solar system. I didn’t know…”

“Sir, are you saying that you are unaware that all warp corridors are either radial, at one degree intervals extending from the galactic black hole, or circumferential, at concentric intervals ten parsec apart? Are you also unaware that transponders are needed to identify and track ships in hyperspace?”

“Warp corridors? Transponders?”

“Sir, you cannot warp randomly around the galaxy. There are 14 quintillion spacecraft registered in this quadrant. If you don’t follow the designated corridors at the specified warp limits, you risk a collision with your fellow travelers, especially if you are not transmitting your spatial spherical coordinates. Surely sir,…click…You didn’t think you were the only one out here, did you?”

“Well…”

“In addition, sir…click…by warping through a non-designated area, you have caused damage to the Cetus amino-acid fields. I’m afraid…click…that your ship will have to be impounded. I will…click…activate you life support and communication systems. You will wait here until a tow-craft comes and takes you to Sirius Station. Your ship will be released when it is brought up to code, properly registered, and all fines and damages are paid. Your passengers can book transportation back to…click…Earth. However, you, sir, will have to be detained. The Magistrate…click…will want to talk with you. Since this is your species first offence, you will probably get…click…probation.”

“Probation? But…”

“I’m sorry, sir. If you have any…click…complaints, you’ll have to take it up with the Magistrate. In the future sir, please use only designated warp corridors, and…click…obey all warp limits…click…click…and sir…click…have a nice day…click.”

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Author : B.York, Staff Writer

The trick is to never underestimate the power of normal. One has to believe that everyday life can somehow bring wondrous adventures because of its unpredictable nature. If this effort fails in the mind then the heart can never be happy. –Oxford’s Guide to Happiness Amongst the Stars

Javier Marx was trying his best to remember these things from the guide when his shuttle arrived at Newfoundland Spaceport in August. Earth was a blue dot in his memory and he hadn’t been able to shake the idea of returning to settle in a gravity bubble during the last three months of his tour.

“Fourteen years…” He muttered to himself as the re-entry began to flash against the outer hull. Fourteen years had passed since he stopped moving. This would be his final stop at the ripe Earth age of 43. Javier thought silently to himself if this was a mistake. He thought about the multitudes of wonders he had seen and experienced outside of a globe.

Javier wondered about a life he’d have to get used to again. This thought was compounded by artificial gravity shut down as they entered atmosphere. He felt the real push of his weight and almost became sick. Most people couldn’t tell the difference or even notice when one switched to the other. Not Javier. He felt the way the balanced pressure became almost rounded when it switched to natural gravity. It was all he could do to not get ill at the feeling almost as if he despised it.

The shuttle doors opened after arrival and the man from space exited with the other more content humans with nothing but a vac-bag strapped over his shoulder. Bags looked better after being caught in the wake of a meteor. This one had traveled with him for the entirety of his adventures and now to end here at Newfoundland Spaceport.

Masses of people walked around, greeting their families and their friends here. The cries of joy and laughter rang in his ears and yet he preferred one thing to din of it all: the silence of space. His brow was moist with sweat and he could feel his muscles ache from the balance of solid ground.

It was then he glanced up to see his family. His wife and children had all smiles broadening as they recognized his features. They waited just beyond the orbital glass gates to celebrate his arrival.

Javier looked down at the weathered bag and glanced to the shop to his left where he had bought his first. He took a glance back to his wife in a look that turned her smile into a face ready for tears. It could be made out from the movement of her lips that she protested his decision greatly. With a smile he mouthed “I’m sorry” and stepped quickly into the store.

“How much for one of these?” He asked the clerk while pointing to a bag of the exact model as his own on display.

“Fourteen Credits, sir…” The well-dressed clerk smiled as he gladly accepted Javier’s credits, watching him empty the old bag into the new one.

Turning his back on the globe he went for the terminal desk. “One ticket please” he said in confidence to the lady standing behind the computer.

“Your destination, sir?”

Javier smiled to himself, tossing the old bag in the garbage disposal unit next to the desk. The sweat had already begun to subside upon his face as he thought of weightlessness again. “Doesn’t matter… just as long as it’s a journey to somewhere.”

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Author : Dr. Alexanders

The world did not snap back into focus for Jenna, but rather came in dribbles. The first sensation to return was the feeling of the restraining harness digging into her shoulders and pins and needles running through her extremities as the hibernation state wore off. Sound came next, the gentle hum and hiss of air processors and the array of electronic equipment that had been crammed into the capsule and had probably returned to life only hours before the processes designed to bring her out of deep sleep had begun. Vision was the last to return, the muscles controlling her eyelids would not work at first and several hours must have been spent completely conscious but unable to see or move.

During those hours, fear, excitement, and anxiety battled for dominance. Jenna was a part of a colonization mission; one of ten million colonists tightly packed into a dozen long range barges. They had been placed into hibernation as the trip had been scheduled to take more than 2,000 years traveling across the galaxy at a quarter of the speed of light. A small crew would have been awoken once they arrived at their new home. This crew would have confirmed the suitability of the planet’s chemistry and then sterilized the surface from orbit of any microbes that might have developed.

Once the planet was properly prepped, hundreds of thousands of seed capsules would have been crashed into the planet’s surface containing raw organic material, genetically engineered and programmed to evolve rapidly so that after a few thousand years the surface would be covered in a wide variety of native plants and desired animal species from Jenna’s home world. The evolutionary process would cause some slight differences, but it would also allow the species to modify themselves to be able to cope with the slight chemical differences of the planet. During this process the crew would have returned to hibernation. A handful of scientists would be awoken every hundred years or so to check on the evolutionary process. When the desired state had been reached a series of retroviruses would be introduced in order to slow the evolutionary pace to its normal rate and then the homestead pods containing the hibernating colonists would be launched and guided down to their landing sites.

When Jenna finally opened her eyes, she completed the last step of the initial colonization: the introduction of human life to this new planet. She could see that something was terribly wrong. A haze of old smoke drifted through the capsule, kept from her by the apparently still functioning filter on her hibernation capsule. Only the emergency lighting, which emitted a dim red glow, and occasional sparks from the console on the other side of the room enabled her to see that most of the other twenty hibernation capsules had been cracked open and now contained desiccated corpses.

Not everyone else was dead though. She could see into the capsule next to hers where Kieran was struggling with weakened muscles to operate the emergency release on his capsule, and tears were streaming down his face.

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow

Author : S. Clough

Five hundred and six degrees Kelvin is the temperature our burners need to reach. The tech boys designed them to burn at one thousand and seventy three. The operating temperature keeps going up and up: they seem to see it as a challenge. Anyway. We were heading back along the ninth princeway when it happened. The truck stopped, and swerved off the road, accelerating. Control had jacked our truck from the meat driver and some damn kid was joyriding us as fast as possible towards a presumably important assignment.

Well, the bit about the kid might be an exaggeration. But that’s what it feels like – that sort of reckless abandon you see kids play their games with. Not minding about the odd dent or the rough jump because they won’t feel it, and the damage will be gone by the next round. We buckled down and rode it out. We figured we arrived at our destination when the truck did a screeching right hand turn, nearly rolling, before pulling to a halt. We barrelled out of the back, burners readied. We had pulled up outside a pair of buildings: a farmhouse and a barn. People were streaming out of the barn, some towards us, and some away.

Liz and Patrick broke away to the right, quickly catching up with, and knocking down any of the escapees that were carrying boxes. They were the prize, not the people. They let the rest of them run away. The few who had approached us were obviously belligerent in their attitudes. Most were waving cudgels, although one or two had illegal firearms in their hands. Acts of aggression against Civil Protection troops is treason anyways, so we got rid of them all. Frank’s right burner misfired, though, so he ended up just punching one of them until he stopped trying to attack. Poor sod will probably have to repair it out of his own paycheck.

We collected all the contraband around the houses. Lee knocked one of the walls of the farmhouse in, just for good measure. He said he thought that there might be a secret compartment, although I reckon that was just for the benefit of the tape. That boy likes destruction a little too much. But he is in the right line of work to get plenty of it.

We had collected all the cases in the centre of the barn, and since I was Duty, I was about to put fire to them.

This was Lee’s first real hit. And in a flagrant breach of all our protocol, he stepped in front of me, and opened one of the cases. He picked up one of the objects from inside, tore off the opaque plastic which covered it, and stared. He tried to open the book with his heavily gloved hands, but just managed to tear the cover and the first few pages off.

“Wha…?” he mouthed.

Frank heaved him out of the way, and I put fire to the pile.

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow

Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

He drifted his coupe into the corner from the feeder street onto Avenue E at an easy pace, climbing from the lower flats in a series of calculated upturns before slipping into the relative obscurity of the middle tiers.

Commuters and couriers flitted about below, dodging in and out of traffic to make deliveries or dropping into the parking slips below the pedestrian levels.  Above were the lumbering giants, observing the altitude restrictions that kept the transports from entering the city streets as they hauled cargo between the industrial zones.  There was no traffic in the middle flats, and the slick little sportster begged to be let out to run. Always ready to oblige the adrenaline pull, Max pushed the throttle up, feeling his seat stiffen behind his back as the little craft flung itself uptown.

Two more lane changes towards the clouds put him in the upper levels of the Atriums at Avenue E and 133rd Street. Six levels of open space and greenery  occupied both corner buildings, with the upper two levels offering a clear view of 133rd in both directions.  Easing the throttle back only slightly, Max scanned up and down the street before rolling into a sharp left bank and powering through the corner, rising up a flat in the process.  Heart racing he pushed the throttle again, picking up speed as 133rd Street slipped by like liquid beneath his seat.

A sudden flashing of blue and red light filled the interior, erasing the thrill of the moment and replacing it instead with sudden and intense anxiety.  He hadn’t seen the cruiser, it must have been higher up, but there was no doubt that it had seen him.  Following the expected protocol, Max pulled up to a stationary platform at the side of an office tower, and watched as the uniformed figure climbed out of the cruiser behind him and approached.  He lowered his window, hanging one arm down the door while resting the other over the steering column.  A helmeted face appeared before him, a uniformed body reflected in the surface of the featureless office tower behind her.  Max listened to the voice from the helmet, but couldn’t help watching the reflection of her uniform pants in the mirrored window.

‘Do you know why I pulled you over today Mr. Sidenham?’

Max wasn’t used to strangers calling him by name, but he knew she’d had every trivial detail about him at her fingertips the moment she’d tagged him with the violation.

‘Lonely?’ he smiled up at her charmingly, but quickly followed with ‘No, I’m sure I’ve got no idea why you’d want to stop me, officer’ It was clear she wasn’t amused.

‘You failed to stop your vehicle before turning from the Avenue onto 133rd.  That’s a violation of your transit agreement.’

‘I’m sure you’re mistaken, I’m positive I stopped there…’ again the smile, maybe he couldn’t joke with her, but he could sure as hell charm her, chicks dug him, he could tell.

‘I think you’ll find if we subpoena your nav, you did not stop at that intersection Mr. Sidenham.  Are you going to argue with me?’  The tone of her voice should have warned him to stop there, but Max wasn’t one to listen to how a woman talked to him.

‘Oh, come on now, I’m sure I slowed down at least, there was no one else for 10 flats up or down.  I’m a busy guy, what do you say we just let me off with a warning.’ His white teeth shone from ear to ear. ‘Can’t we just forget about this sweetheart?’

‘You may have slowed down, but you didn’t stop.  You are required to stop at all intersections, that’s in your transit agreement.’  Her tone was icy, she wasn’t anyone’s ‘sweetheart’, least of all this disrespectful little shit.

‘Stop, slow down, what’s the difference?’ Max continued to smile what he was sure was his most disarming smile.  He was still smiling that smile, at least for a moment, when she pinned his forearm against the door of his coupe with her shock baton.  He only had a moment to see her thumb the trigger before his arm exploded in a white hot jolt of pain, his fist clenching without conscious input, then slowly opening as the energy left his arm.

‘What the hell was…ugh…’.  Again she thumbed the trigger, and again he writhed in agony, his arm pinned firmly as the rest of him twitched in his seat.

‘You can’t fu…aargg…’. Another blast of pain cut him off in mid sentence, and he was only momentarily aware of spit dripping from his open mouth before he was blinded by another white hot blast.

He slumped in his seat, hearing her words drift in through the post-electric haze.

‘Now, sweetheart, would you like me to stop, or slow down?’

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow

Author : J.R. Blackwell, Staff Writer

Minister Christof glowed with pure thoughts. His halo seemed even brighter inside the restaurant than out in the noon sun. The more Godly the thought, the brighter the flame burned. Levi admired his father’s ability to keep his thoughts pure, he was glad there was no halo around his head.

The waitress tugged down on her skirt as she led them to a booth by large bay windows. Levi picked up a menu, already looking forward to his usual birthday treat. Christof plucked the menu out of Levi’s hands and put it aside.

“Son, before we order, I’d like to talk to you. You’re sixteen today, and I think you’re ready to have this conversation with me. Recently I’ve noticed that you have been paying a lot of attention to the networks.”

“Sorry Dad.” Levi clasped his hands together in front of him, twisting his fingers.

“Don’t hang your head like that. There is no reason to be ashamed. Young people are naturally attracted to shared experience. It’s perfectly normal for you to be interested in how other people think and feel.”

“It’s okay?” Levi looked up at his father. Even without the neural-implant-halo lighting his head, Minister Christof would be a striking figure. The black minister’s shirt and crisp white collar did nothing to conceal his former-linebacker physique.

Christof’s halo glowed with yellow flame. “I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about your thoughts on the network and memory sharing. It’s important that you can tell me what your peers are doing and what you are doing yourself.”

“I guess I have been thinking about it. Other people at school are exchanging memories, mostly of concerts and stuff.” Levi shrugged and looked out the window at the lake. Geese were setting onto the placid water. Levi wondered how many of them were real and how many were robots. “Sometimes I think it doesn’t seem that bad to share.”

“You’re right son, it doesn’t seem bad at first but it becomes bad very quickly. It’s a slippery slope from sharing a concert to sharing a spiritual experience with God. When you share your memory, you are sharing your emotional reaction, your body, your soul. It’s an intimate experience. What you remember is God’s plan for you, what happens to you is for you alone, and later, for a life-mate.”

“Did you ever share with other people, I mean, other than mom?”

“When I was young, I shared a lot and tampered with my own memories.” A red crackle pulsed around his halo, chased by a white flame. “I even ditched the memory of my first relationship. Now I regret doing that because when I was born again and reloaded from save I found that I repeated a lot of mistakes I made in that first relationship. I could have avoided those mistakes if I had my memories to warn me and keep me safe.” Minister Christof leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “God gives us experiences that become part of our soul. When we share memories with other people, we are sharing our soul with them. I share with your mother, but I waited until we were married. We were tempted to share when we were dating, but we knew it was wrong. Now, I’m glad we waited.”

“I haven’t ever shared with anyone dad. I promise.”

“I know you haven’t son, and I think that takes a lot of restraint and courage. I know that your peers must be sharing memories though public ports or even through ports their parents have given them.”

Levi blushed. “Don’t worry Dad; I always stay away from the public ports.”

Minster Christof leaned back in his seat, crossing him arms. “I bet a lot of kids have their own ports, don’t they.”

“Most of the kids at school have their own ports.”

“I realize you may feel jealous that they get to store and retrieve memory whenever they want, but your mother and I felt that giving you a port would be too much of a temptation at an early age, do you understand?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just that it would be nice to review a lecture or a concert or something.”

“You must trust that your mother and I are trying to follow God’s will for you.”

“I know.”

“And that’s why we’ve both decided to give you a port of your own.”

Levi’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Minister Christof pulled his briefcase onto the table and opened it, pulling out a small velvet box. “You are sixteen years old today and I trust you to make the right choices. This is a time when we are making a commitment to your future family, to only share with them and to keep your memory pure.” Inside the box was a sliver ring, glittering with impatient nano connections. “This is your memory ring. As soon as you put it on it will record all of your memories. When you get married, you can give it to your life mate and it will share your memories from this moment onward. Go ahead, put it on.”

Levi took the box his hand’s shaking. He took out the ring, hoping he wouldn’t drop it and slid it on his finger. He felt a tingle in his spine. “Wow.”

“Take my hands, lets have the first memory your life mate has for you as a prayer.” Levi obediently took his fathers hands and closed his eyes, following to his father’s low voice. “As you wear this ring, please remember what God intends for the experiences he blesses you with, and to give you the courage and restraint to keep these memories sacred, and to only share them with your future life mate.”

“Amen.”

Levi opened his eyes. “Amen.”

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow

Author : Michelle Pitman

Candice didn’t quite know where to put the thing in her hand.

It was small and light, delicate beyond belief and it sat in her hand quietly still and inscrutable. She didn’t really want to put it down because it was so cute and pretty.

After some deliberation, she decided that it was probably best to put it on the mantel over the firescreen in the corner. From there she would be able to see it from nearly every angle in the room, watch it and amuse her self in the watching it.

It didn’t have a name…yet. It was still in beta testing. She was on the TechWatch Committee listings for these sorts of things anyway so she often had new things come to her out of the blue. This thing had arrived quite unexpectedly in her mail box that morning –zapped into her mail console just like that – whilst she had been concentrating on synthesising some pure Papuan New Guinean coffee beans. It had given her quite a start.

She had known for sometime that this thing was in development but hadn’t expected that she would be privileged enough to actually own one for a month or two during the beta testing period.

She eyed the tiny contraption on the mantel curiously. As she stared, she breathed lightly onto the object and imagined a scene in her mind from her past. The accompanying notes had explained that this was important. Nothing happened for a moment and she was almost disappointed when all of a sudden she felt shivering waves of memory sweep over her.

The smell! Was it the sweet smell of coffee perhaps? No – that was the beans in her kitchen!

A rush of emotion zapped through her. She remembered sitting on the lawn, as a young woman; sitting back and breathing in the heady cologne of him beside her. She had loved him so much, but he was distant, rational and ever so un-romantic. But, she had loved him all the same.

It was his cologne! She could smell it as clearly as on that day! But there was more! She could smell the background scents of new mown grass, of sweaty teenagers playing ball on the holo-court near where they sat. She could smell the subtle distant synth-blended perfumes of other girls who sat in small cliques around them. And him! She could smell him. The memories and emotions ripped through her like lightening rods. She had virtually forgotten this scene from her past until now. The shock of it made her gasp out aloud.

“Holy Shit!” she whispered. “It works!”

She quickly went to the low table in front of the fire-screen and grabbed a tap-pad, itching to make some notes before the moment passed.

‘First test for object number ZXY-4653: Made an eye-level trigger stare on object for approx. 30 seconds. Subject breathed over object as explained in user notes. Experienced strong olfactory sensation and subsequent emotional memory recall. Subject is astonished at clarity of recall due to very accurate scent reconstruction.’

She smiled. This was going to be a whole lot of fun. The little pretty object just sat inscrutably on her mantel oblivious to its potential

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow

Author : Patricia Stewart

The annoying throb of the proximity klaxon woke the two security guards (aka, Comet Cowboys) from their mid day rest period. They drifted into the control room and floated above the sensor-generated hologram of the “herd.” The “herd” consisted of approximately 3,000 mountain-sized blocks of ice that once were comet 2P/Encke. In the early twenty third century, The Mars Water and Mineral (MWM) Company bought the rights to the comet and spent years breaking it up into manageable fragments. Then, every 3.3 years (when its orbit brought it nearer to Mars) they would “corral” a few blocks and sell the water to the farming conglomerates on Mars, at a substantial profit of course. However, the conglomerates considered the markup so unreasonable that they revolted. They hired ice rustlers to raid the herd and steal large fragments of the comet; thus starting the Great Ice War of 2279. Eventually, the United Worlds stepped in and negotiated a peace, but there were still some bands of freelance rustlers who would occasionally try to steal a block or two to sell on the black market.

Roy Cody surveyed the hologram and spotted the intruder. “Just one ship,” he said pointing the sole flashing red light amongst the 3,000+ drifting white dots. “They must really be stupid to think they could slip under our sensor grid. I’ll handle this one myself.”

“Fine,” said his partner. “But remember the treaty. You can’t blow them up unless they fire first. But feel free to disable their engines, or cut their grapple line.”

When Cody arrived at the designated location, he discovered a dilapidated one person skiff, which was at least 100 years old, and it was struggling to flee the herd with a comet fragment the size of a small house. Roger pressed the ship-to-ship communications button. “This is security. Unknown ship, please identify yourself.”

“Cody, is that you? It’s Buck, Buck Cassidy. How did you know I was out here?”

Buck was one of the original “cowboys.” He had worked the herd during the war, and had trained Roy when he became a guard in ‘98. Buck had retired a decade ago, and didn’t know about the security upgrades.”

“Yeah, Buck, it’s me. Where you goin’ with the cube old friend?”

“I’m desperate, son,” he replied. “They stopped delivering water to Demos. They’re trying to drive me planetside. I’ve lived on Demos all my life. I’ll never survive Mars’ gravity. Look, Roy, this block won’t survive perihelion anyway, and it will last me the rest of my life. Can’t you cut me a break?”

Cody knew Buck was right; they don’t shield these little chunks. It would probably evaporate next time it passes the sun. What the hell. “All right, Buck, get moving. And, listen, don’t shoot back.” As Buck continued to limp away, Roger fired two shots across his bow. “Base, this is Ranger One. It was just some teenagers on a joy ride. I ran them off. I’m heading back to the barn.”

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow

Author : J. S. Kachelries

I hate androids. Especially these high tech laboratory assistants. They’re good observers, but they can be instructed to lie. Worst of all, they can’t be intimidated or frightened into making a confession. I’ll take a human witness (or ‘suspect’ for that matter) anytime. “OK, bud, what’s your name, serial number, and date of sentiency?”

“I am called Daishin. My serial number is LAM34987650998-5. I became sentient on March 1, 2055. How can I be of assistance, Detective?”

I resisted the urge to send him/it for coffee. “Well, Daaheecheen, you can start by telling me where Dr. Hopkins is. He’s been missing for three days, and you were the last one to see him alive.”

“I am sorry, Detective. I do not know ‘where’ Dr. Hopkins is. I was assisting him with his time dilation experiments when he vanished. Technically, it is a matter of when.”

“What? Time travel, you say? But that’s impossible.” I happened to know it was impossible because of a holovision documentary I watched last week, where they made fun of 20th century television shows such as ‘Star Trak’ (or something like that) which created ridiculous timeline paradoxes in their storylines.

The titanium irises in Daishin’s photo-optic cells contracted to pinpoints. “It is true, Detective, that it is currently impossible to travel backward in time. But, it has been known for over 150 years that you can relativistically move forward in time simply by traveling at, or near, the velocity of light. That is the nature of Dr. Hopkins’ experiments. His temporal dilation chamber, there in the corner, can be used to move forward in-”

Just then, a red light above the whatamacallit chamber began flashing, followed by an irritating pulsating buzzer. Then, some idiot (who I assume was Dr. Hopkins) came running out of the chamber, grabbed the android by the lapels of his lab coat, and began shaking him. “Daishin, Daishin, how much time has elapsed since we activated the chamber?”

The android cocked his head and replied, “My internal chronometer indicates that you were gone for 75 hours, 18 minutes, and 17 seconds.”

Dr. Hopkins pulled a watch from his breast pocket and studied it. “According to my stop watch, I was only in the chamber for 67 seconds. This is fantastic. Come, Daishin, we need to perform a full molecular scan of my blah, blah, blah…” He continued to mumble something or other as he headed down a hallway. Before entering another lab, he paused and yelled back, “Hurry along, Daishin. And tell your friend there that we don’t need any of whatever it is he’s selling.”

Daishin straightened out his lab coat and said, “I see Dr. Hopkins has returned, and appears to be functioning normally. I believe, Detective, that your missing person problem is now resolved. If you do not need me anymore, I will tend to Dr. Hopkins.” He turned and headed down the hallway.

I changed my mind. I hate androids and mad scientists.

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow

Author : Adam Zabell

We did it, eventually. We learned everything, knew everything, understood everything. Our computers could calculate any answer to within its smallest probability at the speed of thought. Our machines could produce any object we wanted; tools to examine, manipulate, create, change and destroy. Our philosophers had become scientists, then engineers, then technicians, then laborers, then redundant.

The unimaginative worried about privacy, or freedom, or boredom. They hadn’t believed, or didn’t trust, that a necessary contribution to learning the intimate workings of the universe would require that we become comfortable with our differences, accepting of our fellows, and capable of caring for ourselves. Resolving that doubt was one of the last things we learned, and became our greatest day of celebration.

We hated the title of “god” but there wasn’t any other word that fit. What else could we call a race of omniscients whose omnipotence was as obvious as the photon, the periodic table and the chirality of space? We reinvented the universe in countless ways for curiosity and whim. Gave gravity a color, made light a particle-wave duality, disconnected electricity from magnetism, and everything else that came to mind. And everything else did.

At the last, we took our everything and went the only place we could go. Back to the beginning, back to where we could watch and advise and thrill in the discoveries of a young race doing it for the first time. And we couldn’t help ourselves to leave this, the one and only obvious marker of our passing and our presence. You have come so far to get here, and yet there’s so much more that you don’t even know to look for.

Welcome to your future and your past. Live it, love it, and rejoice!

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The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow