Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
Congratulations to Jack McDaniel and Chris Nance, tied Champions of the Science Fiction Microstory Contest
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by Chris Nance
“You know, I was supposed to be at a Christmas party today,” I remarked as Marilyn and I hiked steadily across a scorched wasteland in central Kansas flanked by a half dozen marines. Special ops commandos had already swept the wreckage and confirmed it clear, though I still had my doubts. Even though we were able to bring down their ship, it towered into the sky, cratering hundreds of acres of once open farmland. At our backs, just outside the quarantine zone was a readied legion of Earth’s most advanced soldiers, weapons, and tech.
“Well, this should be a lot more interesting, that’s for sure,” she chuckled. We kept to the long walk. All the while, I felt like I’d drawn the short straw, even though I knew we were the most qualified, the foremost theoretical xenobiologists anywhere…or maybe we were just brave enough, or stupid enough, not to say no. I just couldn’t resist the urge to study the aliens for myself. And the Marines? Each of them probably did get the short straw.
“Is the receiver picking up anything?” I nervously checked to ensure my suit was completely sealed.
“It’s just like before: faint. There’s a subtle transmission and something’s producing it.”
We first received their message decades ago, a fractured warning from across the stars, broadcast into every home and through every device able to receive it; five simple unnerving unforgettable words, synthesized in English and laced into a fragmented carrier band:
Earth. Starved. Feast. Consume. You.
Of course there was more there, but after years, teams of scientists, and the most advanced decryption algorithms, we just couldn’t recover the rest of the message. We really didn’t need to. The intent was clear enough, fueling urgent advancements in weaponry and technology. Humans weren’t about to become dinner for some starved alien invader. We’d fight, but then again didn’t have a clue about how long we had. When they finally arrived last week, we immediately blasted their ship from the sky without negotiation and the world celebrated.
Now, our small company reached the hull and the marines were first inside, hiking up the shadowed incline of what appeared to be a passageway. Their lights were diligent, scanning every shadow. “The signal’s definitely stronger here,” Marilyn noted. “The source seems be somewhere near the center of the ship.” Our lieutenant signaled it clear, so we followed. I’ll admit, I half-expected to be dragged to an otherworldly death, eaten alive in the darkness.
Reaching a cavernous central chamber sloping up and away, the nearest edge was piled high with horrifying and fascinating, monstrous alien corpses. Contorted into all sorts of disfiguring positions, theirs was a spider-like terror, with crooked joints and jagged teeth. Black goo, maybe blood, coated the incline and I was particularly thankful for my containment suit.
Then, a flashing beacon up ahead drew our attention and we eased inside, past the festering aliens stacked against the lowest wall. It was a slick and treacherous climb but we reached a low upright pylon topped with a glowing red button. “The signal’s definitely coming from here.”
“So what do we do?” I asked.
“Push it, I suppose,” and before I could stop her, she did exactly that. Instantly, a beam erupted overhead, broadening into a brilliant virtual starscape. Thousands and thousands of entries: stars, planets, and other curiosities were tagged in an alien language, labeling an artificial galaxy. There was a cackling in an alien tongue as the image zoomed into a familiar solar system with eight planets, then zoomed in again on the third planet from the sun. “I’ve got something!” Marilyn worked her datapad frantically, then presented it to me proudly.
“Holy hell,” I realized. “This is it. The full message. Earth. Starved. Feast. Consume. You. It’s all here.”
It was in formal English. “Greetings people of Earth. We X’althophrae address you in friendship as the last of our kind. Having spent millennia as explorers, we’ve scoured countless star-systems for any signs of intelligent life. Sadly, we’re alone, a mere pair of intelligent species in a galaxy starved with life. We celebrate discovering your weak transmissions, a light in our darkest hours and shall present you with a feast of information for your greatest scientists to consume and consider, the legacy of our dying species. We’ve begun the long journey and hope to meet you in brotherhood before the last of us has expired. Peace to you.” Then all power fizzled away.
“Shit.”
Congratulations to both. An apt time of year for sharing! :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUkns...
Congrats, Jack and Chris. Two great yarns in less than 750 words!-C.
Way to go Jack! You were my first choice! A great story! And what are the odds of a tie? I agree with Heather and am happy and honored to share December! Thanks so much to everyone who enjoyed both our stories and I'm so glad you liked them. Lol. :D
Ha! Heather, your link is hilarious! How they got that hat to stay on, though. :)
Cool! Thanks to everyone. Congrats, Chris!Chris, I'm going to let you set the story parameters for Jan. But ... how about we try this; stories have to include something "antique". Do whatever you want from there.
Thanks, again, to everyone. The work in this group continues to be really good across the board.
I was going to say the same, Jack! I've got a few ideas though, so I'll figure something out... :)
Way to share you two! Congratulations on your great stories!
congratulations Jack and Chris. You wrote some good stories.John
Nice jobs, Jack and Chris. Impressive pieces.
by Jack McDaniel
Sweat beaded on her forehead. A small rivulet made its way down her nose, gathered weight and volume, and then a singular drop fell to the ground, splashing in the ashes on the slope of Mount Eshuan. It had been a day of trudging ever-upward, sweat stained, sore and more tired than she thought was possible. Dust from the ashes of the dead pillowed up with each footfall, then resettled. Grime built up on her shoes, clothing, hands and face.
Such a horrible price to pay, she thought, for a mistake that wasn’t even mine. If I survive this I’m going to kill that machine, she told herself. Once more she adjusted the burlap bag that was slung over one side—contents unknown—and switched hands and shoulders that were supporting the extra weight, then trudged on.
She wasn’t certain, the language barrier being so immense, but she believed at the top of the mountain she was to meet the Eshua god, Sytl. Only being in his presence would release her. She stopped, gazed upward—not long now. She could see the summit, barren rock just a couple of hundred meters away. She put her head down again and shuffled one foot in front of the other. “Yes,” she mumbled, “I’m definitely going to kill that machine.”
Everyone assumes being a soldier is the most dangerous occupation in the galaxy, bullets and bombs are part of the job description, after all. But she could argue persuasively that being a linguist and an ambassador was far worse. Plus, she had the scars to back up her arguments, not that the soldiers didn’t have those also.
Her profession and her specialty put her at the bleeding edge of humanity’s foray into the galaxy. People are people, she'd learned to think. Regardless of their genetic backgrounds and developmental baggage, they mostly behaved the same throughout the stars in her experience. The one defining characteristic of sentience was an overabundance of self-importance. They all—the Indirins, the Swaylitch, humans—believed their way of doing things was correct, infallible. Experience had taught her that no matter where she travelled throughout the galaxy she was always at its center. Sentience, she thought, should be redefined to include the word ethnocentric.
She coughed. Her thighs burned with lactic acid. Not far now.
Some cultures, like the Eshua it seemed, took offense at the simplest of mistakes. Portia, her AI counterpart, had insisted on a particular meaning for a phrase when meeting with the Eshua. But Portia had been wrong and they had insulted the ambassador. She still didn’t quite understand it.
“Perhaps,” the Eshuan ambassador had strongly suggested, “you should walk among our dead. You will get to know us better, I think.”
The Eshuans cremate their dead and the ashes are added to the face of Mt. Eshuan. Once every three years, if she was translating properly, families make the trek to the top of the mountain to pay their respects.
“Consider it a holiday,” Portia had said.
She climbed over the top of the last rocks, dropped the bag and sighed. The peak of the mountain was flat, boulders strewn about almost ceremonial in manner. A couple of small bushes grew around the edges. She sat on a boulder and looked out upon the landscape.
A small animal ambled up next to her, looking in the same direction as she was. It was similar to a dog, with longer legs and larger ears. For some reason she didn’t feel threatened or scared of the animal.
“Hello.”
The dog walked over and sniffed at the burlap bag. Ah, she thought, that. She had been instructed not to open it until she had reached the summit.
“Well, let’s see what was so important.”
The animal let out brief bark and wagged it ears. She laughed and picked up the bag and dumped its contents onto the ground. Food—for the animal. She laughed hard at that. The animal danced around and nosed her.
After it had eaten the animal led her to the backside of the mountain. Steps wound down the mountainside. Off in the distance, maybe half the way down, there was a trolley car waiting to be taken to the bottom.
Later, after she had washed up, changed clothes and let go of the anger—at Portia and the Eshuan—she met the ambassador.
“We have an old saying here,” he told her, smiling, “If you can laugh we can be friends.”