Chris’s Comments (group member since Nov 04, 2015)

Chris’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

Congrats Kalifer and Alina!

Wow. Just saw this string of comments. So sorry to hear about your loss, Jot.

Justin wrote: "Nice Chris! I felt like I was there going through customs, etc., and I loved your protagonists glee when she saw who the other lawyer was. Fantastic!"

Thanks, Justin! :)

Mine's up. Just a simple story this month. I guess I tend to write in a more MG style.

Negotiations

Her vintage Converse shoes were first off the ramp, engines powering down as other passengers disembarked. Emily Watson dropped her old rucksack onto the tarmac and took a deep breath. It smelled different, looked different. It was different. And it was exciting.

Rose petal clouds drifted across a lavender sky and paired suns were barely rising over Zellim’s crystalline city skyline. Emily paused, just to let it all soak in – her first day on another planet.

A shuffling from behind and she was suddenly tossed aside, another passenger stumbling over her as he found solid ground. “Hey!” the man said, brushing down his wrinkled suit and not even bothering to help her up. “You better watch it!”

“Watch it?” she objected, pulling herself up from the ground. “You ran over me!”

“Yeah, well, I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he frantically backed away. “Places to be and things to do, you know,” then he nervously disappeared into the crowds without apology.

“Hmph,” Emily grumbled, straightening her own sundress as it drifted on the gentle breeze. Collecting her bag and her dignity, she tied her hair back and fixed her glasses, joining the rest of the travelers headed for Interplanetary Customs.

Of course, she tried not to stare, but everything was just so alien, including the actual aliens pretty much everywhere. There were short ones, tall ones, some had fur, and others feathers, but all of them were marvelous. Sure, she’d seen non-terrestrials before – some back in New York, and on the vids, of course, but this was all so amazingly strange.

The immigration line was long but moved swiftly and Emily quickly found herself across the counter from a little yellow bureaucrat with large obsidian eyes. “Nitzok vol,” it said and Emily couldn’t mistake the hint of tedium in its statement. When she didn’t respond, it repeated, “Nitzok vol.”

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The little alien smirked, its miniature fist punching a sizeable red button in the center of the desk. Instantly, a small drone appeared and, before Emily could react, stabbed her in the neck with a too large syringe. “Ouch!” She reflexively guarded the injection site.

“Honestly, why they let you Earthers leave without a translator,” the yellow alien shook its head. “Documents, please.”

Emily pressed the right spot on her wrist and it glowed green.

“Welcome to the Capital,” it droned. “Next!”

Just past the exit, a shimmering automaton was there to meet her, Emily’s name scrolling across the robot’s chest. “Um, that’s me!” she said.

“A pleasure. This way,” the machine answered, parts flickering orange with every syllable. “I am your assistant, Exa.”

“Assistant?” Emily had never had one before.

“Were your travels satisfactory?” it asked, leading her away.

“I suppose. I’ve never been interplanetary before. Are the transports always that crowded?”

“Unfortunately. The Firm has lobbied for private passage, but the Port Authority insists on approved transports only. Old fashioned, really. A Zellim work visa is over seventy-three paper pages, if you can believe it. Here we are.”

They climbed inside a sleek, black conveyance, hovering quietly, and it lifted away into the city.

“We’d like you to begin immediately,” the bot continued.

“Immediately, as in now?”

“Sorry for the short notice. Both delegations have already arrived. You’ve read the brief?”

“And the Cora-Lem Treatise.”

“Excellent. We’d like to resolve this primitive triviality with the Lem before the end of business today.” Exa paused, summing Emily up. “Is that your best?”

Emily reviewed her summer dress. She considered it good for traveling but hadn’t realized she’d be called to work so suddenly. “Well, I…”

“No matter,” the robot clipped a small device to her strap and Emily’s casual attire became a neatly pressed, tight fitting dress which seemed a bit more flattering than it ought to be. “Perfect. You can leave your bag. We’ll take you to your apartment in Mid-Town later.”

Drifting up to a lofty catwalk, they both disembarked. “The Firm has big plans for you, Ms. Watson,” Exa said, then swung the doors wide. "Make us proud."

Inside, a long table extended away from her and she was greeted first by two wispy pearlescent beings, the Coralon. At the far end were a more hulking pair of creatures, the Lem, looming over their overly nervous attorney with whom Emily was very familiar – the rude, disheveled man from the spaceport.

“Before you begin, do you need anything?” Exa asked.

Emily grinned confidently. “Nothing. This is gonna be fun.”

Thanks everyone!

Congrats Justin! Great story! I'm happy to leave this months theme and elements up to you.

Paula wrote: "Sweet story, Chris, especially the first half, which is enthralling."

Thanks so much, Paula. I'm happy you liked it. :)

Justin wrote: "Great story Chris, fantastic!"

Thanks, Justin! I'm glad you liked it. :)

Alina wrote: "Waking Up is a dark thriller that makes us think about where completely trusting a certain technology can get us. It reminded me a bit of Black Mirror, a show that I love.

It starts in a strangel..."

Thanks Alina! I really appreciate your thoughtful review and am glad for your feedback. I also corrected that little typo. ;)

Tom wrote: "Good one, Chris. Loved the atmosphere."

Thanks, Tom. I appreciate it. :)

Waking Up

The streets of the French Quarter were empty, the hint of lazy jazz drifting on a winter’s gale. It was cold and Natasha squeezed my hand, wrapping her scarf tightly.

“Another one closed,” I realized, arriving at Central Grocery, home of the ‘World’s First Muffaletta,’ though it was little good now, locked up tight. “Where is everyone?” The quiet sidewalks were particularly odd because, rain or shine, the streets of New Orleans never rested, even at night.

“I’m freezing,” Natasha pulled me closer. “Let’s just head back.”

“C’mon, we gotta eat,” I said, fighting the wind. “We’ll follow the music. Something has to be open.”

A whining saxophone drew us deeper into the Quarter, past countless shuttered restaurants and shops, though our haunting melody eluded us.

Then ahead, a hulking shadow crossed our path – an elephant trudging its reluctant owner quietly along by a leash – a sad clown with faded paint. “Hey!” I called, but neither acknowledged me. I kissed Natasha’s forehead, “Wait here,” then bolted after them. But as I reached their mysterious corner, I discovered them gone without a trace. “Weird.”

My skull ached, so I headed back, not realizing I’d become lost, my surroundings distorted and unfamiliar. “Natasha!” I shouted desperately.

No response.

“End of the world’s comin’.” A grandfatherly gentleman on a tall porch eased back into his rocking chair, puffing a cob pipe though a toothless grin. “Best get ready,” he said.

“Please, have you seen my girlfriend?” I pleaded, struggling against my throbbing brain. “About this tall, dark hair, long overcoat.”

“Never you mind,” he laughed, then suddenly disappeared, his crooked pipe hitting his seat.

Bolting away down the street, I shouted her name, but only the breeze responded, teased by a fading sax, now falling silent. Then in a flash, the sky became black as pitch. “The hell?” I staggered backward, struck by intensifying migraine. My stomach churned and skin crawled. Dropping to all fours, I rolled onto my back. The heavens flickered then fizzled, replaced by a tremendous message impossible to miss – ‘SYSTEM ERROR. EJECTING.’ Everything melted around me and I died…or thought I did.

I blinked awake into pitch blackness. Trembling fingers reached for chapped lips around a feeding tube. I lurched and gagged, falling to the floor, franticly drawing out the line from deep inside before vomiting. Wiping the last bit of spittle away, I removed the headset that had long covered my eyes and ears. Blinded at first, I focused on the room.

Memories flooded back: my last day – I’d bought the Prestige Package, though the Virtuatech guys were late. The feeding intubation wasn’t so bad, a continuous supply, but the catheterization and colostomy pump…oh Jesus…

Free of my lines and hoses, I lurched from the bathroom, now barely washed. My beard itched and I rubbed my eyes, rediscovering my old house, tattered and covered in thick dust. “This wasn’t a two week trip.”

I recalled Natasha and my heart sank. She was never real. “Alexa, what day is it?”

No response.

“Alexa, today’s date?”

Again, nothing – no power. So, I found the front door, easing it open but sliding down the jam, too weak to even move.

The empty street echoed the simulation I’d just left, when a woman in uniform approached from up the block. “Hey!” I said weakly.

“Shit. Here’s another one!” she shouted, and within minutes the medics were there.

“What…what happened?” I asked, confused.

“What’s your name?”

“Larry Gibbons.”

“Larry, do you know what year this is?”

“Easy. 2032.”

“Damn rigs,” she cursed. “Larry, it’s 2043. You’ve been tripping for over a decade.”

“How…how is that possible?”

Gazing past me, she spotted my hulking, elephantine rig, Virtuatech’s clown-faced logo imprinted on the side. “Virtuatech went under in 2032, bought out by Unreality Inc. A couple of acquisitions later and…well, you got lost in the shuffle.” She helped me onto a gurney. “Miracle we were nearby when this block’s power failed, or we might never have found you. Honestly, we’ve been up to our eyeballs in random ejects for years. A lot of ‘em just up and die.”

“So, what now?”

“First, a full medical workup and defrag for the withdrawal – bet you had some delirium toward the end there. Some real food, rehab, and the HHS postejection re-orientation. Of course there’s the attorneys with the routine class-action paperwork…”

“Shit…put me back in.”

Inside the ambulance I joined another neighbor, frail and emaciated. “Hi,” I said, “What’s your name?”

“Natasha.”

That's cool. Every story this month was excellent, I think. I was tough competition. way to go everybody!

2020

The scientists called it ‘The Doorway’ – a brilliantly white, two dimensional glowing enigma, about the size of a door and standing on end in middle of Central Park. The question was, where did it come from? And where did it lead?

When I first saw it, I was on leave visiting my family in Phoenix. It was the hottest summer on record there – fifty two days, nearly two months, over 110. I had just finished a swim when my little niece grabbed me by the hand and dragged me inside. “Come see. Come see,” she said. And there it was on the news, helicopters circling the thing from miles away.

They said it just appeared out of nowhere, blindingly white yet without depth, invisible when viewed on end. The talking heads said they were evacuating the city. My phone rang.

“Crap,” I exclaimed after receiving my orders. “Just put it on the list, I guess.” Between the coronavirus and everything with it, the riots, excessive heat, the entire West Coast basically on fire, it was just one more surprise for the worst year ever. And it was that much worse that it was an election year. 2020 was a flaming dumpster fire, doused in acid – a goddam shitstorm.

Days later, I stood with my team as we eased forward toward the object. The city had been emptied, and we were the only people within twenty miles.

It was blinding. Even behind our tactical sunglasses, we had to shield ourselves from the glare. “You picking up anything, Sanchez?” I asked the corporal.

“No sir,” he replied, reviewing the Geiger reading. “Infrared’s also in the clear.”

“So no radiation and no heat, then,” I replied. “Let’s get the other sensors in place.”

We’d hauled a crate of scientific equipment, everything from special high tech cameras to sensors that could record things I didn’t have a clue about. The scientists had been clear where to place them and I was good at following orders. I also had no illusion that we were anything less than expendable.

“Robert are you there?” a voice, ephemeral, suddenly called my name and I raised my rifle.

“Did you hear that?” I asked of my men, alarmed. They shook their heads, without a clue.

“Robert, are you there?” it asked again. “You have to get out of there, now!”

“Who’s saying that?” I scanned the perimeter nervously.

“You okay, Cap’n?” Rodriguez asked calmly and I backed down.

“Yeah, fine,” I lied, my mind racing.

“Robert, you have to leave before it’s too late!”

“Goddam it! What is that?” I turned circles trying to discover the source, like it was coming from all around me.

“Sir?” one of my men asked.

“You’re close now,” the voice said. “Just a little more, through the doorway.”

I back away.

“No, move closer!”

“You men,” I ordered, “get this equipment set up then establish a perimeter.” Eyes drawn thin, I motioned my corporal over. “Sanchez, can I count on you to watch my back?”

“Absolutely, sir,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I’m hearing someone call my name. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“And I don’t want to alarm the men,” I whispered. “Now, I’m going to inch toward that doorway, and I need you to keep an eye on me. Got it?”

“Affirmative.”

“Robert, times running out!” the voice said.

I leaned my rifle calmly upon one of the crates and drew my sidearm. A quick glance to Rodriguez and he nodded back.

“Just a little closer now!”

I inched in, firmly gripping my pistol.

“Closer,” it said. My nerves sat on edge. “That’s it.” Then, a hint of doubt crossed my mind and I paused. “Oh, hell!”

Before I could react, a pair of arms reached out, pulling me into the light. Then I instantly fell, meeting the unforgiving plating of a metal floor.

“Error. Simulation terminated,” a mechanical notification announced.

Rolling onto my back, I discovered an attractive redhead gazing back at me. “Welcome back. Jesus, that was close.”

“Close?” I wondered, confused.

“You know, he can’t remember yet,” a man with glasses said from behind his console. “It’s gonna take a while after that long in the sim.”

“Oh right.” She crouched to meet me, grinning. “You were in there for nearly 4 hours. Probably felt like 30 years. Anyways, it’s a good thing we pulled you out when we did. That 2020 simulation code really went to hell fast!”

Way to go, Greg! Congrats! :)

Thanks so much, Justin. I appreciate it!

Paula, wow. Thanks so much for your critique. You really made some amazing points. Sadly, I won't have time for these corrections by the deadline, but I'll be sure to include your recommendations when I post it in my portfolio. Such great insight.

Worth It


Lucius Maxwell stood silhouetted by the dayside of the dusty planet below him. “Do you know what the greatest reward in the universe is, Styles?” He took a long drag on his cigar. “Discovery.”

“Heh, there’s a few better things I could think of,” the mercenary replied, relaxed and tumbling an old silver dollar between his fingers.

“Discovery leads to knowledge, and knowledge to fortune. It’s taken me a fortune to get here.”

“Well, you’ve found a few things.”

“Have I?” Lucius scoffed.

“Two stations in high orbit. They’re old, but should have some value,” Styles noted.

“Rubbish,” Lucius corrected. “Antiquated scrap. The real treasure is down on that planet. The first world with any evidence of a sentient alien species.”

“Even lifeless, it’s a helluva prize. Your mission…”

“My obsession,” he corrected, “has cost me everything – a king’s ransom, my reputation, my daughter…” He trailed off, turning to the man. “They called me a damnable fool you know.”

“Yet here you are, knocking on the door of providence.” Styles flipped the coin then tucked it away.

“It’d better be worth it.”

**********

Lucius was sure to be the first, boots hitting the dirt of the alien world and he paused just to experience the moment.

“So, have you named it yet?” Styles wondered.

“Named?”

“Well, P-53239 Quantum 3 isn’t very romantic.”

“Andromeda,” Lucius replied.

“After your daughter. She would have liked that.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lucius admitted. He’d spent years in his quest, assembling the most effective teams and setting them to work. His daughter grew up without him. Lucius promised to make the time someday, but never did. Unfortunately, he learned about her passing two weeks after she succumbed to the cancer. “Let’s get moving,” he said, anxious to give the lost time some value.

**********

They rocketed into the fractured remnants of a deserted metropolis, ancient towering spires soaring into a dusty orange sky. Rolling dunes drifted over old thoroughfares, drowning the corroded skeletons of long abandoned conveyances and filling every nook.

“What should we look for,” Styles wondered.

“Something, anything to make this worth it. There,” he pointed ahead. “That should do.”

They set down in an expansive plaza, an ominous coliseum looming over them. One whole side was collapsed, revealing the pitch-black darkness inside.

A team of mercenaries preceded Lucius, scrambling over toppled walls and under crumbling arches, past rusted steel girders and scattered wreckage. It was eerily quiet. Lucius picked a decaying piece of metal from the debris and dumped the sand out. “There’s nothing here,” he realized, rubbing both thumbs over the oxidized metallic surface. “At least nothing of value.”

“Perhaps we should…”

“Keep looking?” Lucius finished. “Everything here is worthless. It’s too far gone.” Frustrated, he tossed his piece of trash into the darkness. A crash in the distance was followed by a subtle clicking and then a glow. It approached them slowly from inside.

“Well, there’s something,” Styles noted.

Stumbling from the shadows, ratcheting tortured movement pushed crippled joints against half-actuated servos. A distant flickering teased the shadows, then disappeared again before returning as a virtual image materialized over a hunched automaton. It lurched over the detritus, dragging a crumpled leg. “Hello father,” it said, the image solidifying into a haunting form.

Lucius stumbled back. “No…not you.”

His daughter staggered forward, really a broken mechanical avatar. “Aren’t you even going to say hello?”

“What the hell are you?”

“It’s me daddy. I love you.” Then, it lurched suddenly forward, before an explosion sent it sailing back into the darkness.

Styles stepped ahead, his still-smoking carbine in a ready grip.

“What are you doing, Styles?”

“My job. We’re leaving.”

“Not a chance,” Lucius rejected. “Not until we’ve found something. Not until this mission becomes worth everything I've lost.”

“Little good it’ll do if we’re dead!” He pulsed three more shots into the darkness and his men opened fire. Styles took Lucius by the arm, dragging him back to the ship. “It’s not up for debate.”

The debris began to stir. An army of robots all with ghostly faces shook off the debris of a dead city. Their creators long slain, trampled bones were scattered amongst so many rags. Reanimated, machines now pulled their lances free and found new arms in the detritus. A thousand mechanical eyes turned toward them.

Styles tossed Lucius unceremoniously into the ship and engines engaged. They blasted toward space, leaving a sea of churning mechanical bodies below them, all clawing desperately skyward.

“You’re right,” Lucius agreed. “Not worth it.”

Congrats Paula! :)

Tom wrote: "Chris - Very amusing and visually well-realized setting; very effective.

Jon - an extremely potent and gut-wrenching tale. Marvelous POV."

Thanks Tom. I'm glad you liked it. :)