Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
JULY - 2020 - MICROSTORY CONTEST (STORIES ONLY)
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To Save NimradovCopyright 2020 by Paula Friedman
All around him, the frozen wastes of Urda-3, its pink-red sun the tiniest circle sharp above the “skylight” port in the ship Leandra’s shielded metalli-skins. Under his feet, the faint—now barely felt—throbbings of Leandra’s fading engines.
This was—now, with lives at stake!—the third engine failure on this run! Something about Leandra’s aging systems, was it, her chips and links too oft-replaced? Or Urda-3’s sine-model gravity? No matter; “repair” was beyond his knowledge of co-linked ectratronics, but if the vacs could not reach the sickened port of Nimradov, isolate upon its far peninsula, before the virii overran that town’s sparse systems, there would be, on this chill planet, solely death—death and the Hurim, those vicious distant cousins of the wolflike Hars (the once-killer creatures who’d near-destroyed Earth’s settlers of far Harl, until a human child’s help to a Har-pup led to the two species’ friendship). Hurim, however, unlike Hars still regarded people as tasty prey, and if Urda-3’s virii turned Nimradov’s humans to corpses, happily would Hurim feast.
Thus either he could bring the vacs to Nimradov while—if—time remained, or Urda-3 would become Death Planet. "Be Ware: Here DANGER!" He could envision that all-points Spacer Alert, flashing through Frontiers Empyr.
And who would history call this failure’s cause? Rodney ducked his head as if to hide—but the issue was other. His mind’s eye saw the writhing bodies, the sufferers struggling in gasping desperation, lives and destinies falling to dust, in separate sorrows and pain. Unless—
Forcing hope, Rodney strode toward the prep room, suited up, readied to exit safe Leandra, to march onto Urda-3’s slippery surface. One thousand kilometers to sickened Nimradov, that lonesome spaceport colony, and only his four frisking, friendly Harimas to express-drag-bring him there.
Like storied “dogs” of elder Earth they were, leaping now to greet him! Pretty, sleek-“furred”, joyous at his thick-gloved touch. He kissed their stiff-uplifted “ears,” watched them frisk about him. Yet he knew this trip might ask of them—even more than of himself—full sacrifice. Unlike Hurim, which could “sniff” out the mouse-like Wanri, Harimas could not live by hunting; the freeze-world cold would kill them if they lay outdoors through Urda-3’s long nights. “Come, me lovies,” Rod said—meaning the warmth and knowing also that the phrase “me lovies” was key, the very password, when spoken with caring, to his dear Harimas’ hearts—courageous hearts that would risk all, once touched.
Taking the vials of vacs from storage, he enwrapped them in translucent NFpackaging and plunged the packets deep within his pack. “Come, beauties; now we Trek!”
And so into the Hurim-haunted night.
*
Near dawn of the third day, they reached the great ocean, Thalla, that engirdles Urda-3. Only this day’s travel more now—by evening, they should reach Nimradov. For the first time, Rodney let himself remember the deepest, most potent reason for his urgency—Jeannnie and their sweet daughter Miranna waited there, trapped with the others. His arms reached out, embraced the “sledge-dash” as if to embrace his small Miranna, Jeanne his most beloved. “On, me lovies,” he cried to his small Harimas, watching their eyes beg “Help us!” though all food was gone. “I'm sorry, me friends, but we must.” Stifling whimpers, they pulled bravely on.
*
Only Florina, the eldest, remained when they came down into Nimradov. At high noon, a coven of Humri had plunged upon them—flashing, lashing, in that fashion of all Har or Humri, even of Harima—and torn apart his gentle team. Voice hoarse, “Me dear,” Rodney whispered, and shivered, “me poor dears”—then saw, as Florina pulled his sledge into Nirmradov’s frozen square, the forty-four human survivors of the virii rush toward him.
“My Jeannie! My Miranna!” His voice broke; his hands reached out to offer everyone the lifesaving vacs. The people of fair Nimradov crowded close, laughed, cried. And the first vaccine he gave was to Florina, even before the elders or the babies or Miranna or Jeanne.
*
So, you see, it is Rod and his dear Harima friends we celebrate—in their desperate run to bring, in full self-sacrifice and hope, the urgently needed vacs that saved our sickened Nimradov; it is both humans and Harima we celebrate each year when our Harimas-human teams reach their long commemorative trek’s finish and we chant aloud, voicing with Rodney true inter-species love, “Florina, me lovie, brave soul! You too, you too, me dears!”
[748 words]
ESPERANZABy Tom Olbert
2759 A.D.
It is a time of civil war.
50 standard years have elapsed since United Earth seceded from the Galactic Commonwealth, forcibly expelled all alien immigrants from Terran space and brutally imposed a human-centered social order throughout the Terran sphere of influence.
Now, on the planet New Chicago, one of the wealthiest urban industrial colony worlds in the Terran sector, the Laandri, an oppressed alien minority group, fight for their independence from Terran rule. Descended from alien primitives brought to New Chicago as slaves from one of the outlying systems, the Laandri, though emancipated during Earth’s brief membership in the Commonwealth, have since, under the new Terran regime, been systematically ghettoized, impoverished and brutally repressed by the Interstellar Security (ISS) forces. Pushed to the limit, the Laandri have risen in armed revolt.
The Resistance, an interstellar network of human and alien freedom fighters operating inside the Terran sector with Commonwealth backing, supply arms and tactical support to the Laandri rebellion…
***
Skye Hernandez shouted the rebel cry, her laser sword flashing in the night sky as she descended on her magnetic repulsion field, a hundred meters above the city streets. The startled ISS men looked up, reaching for their blasters as she swung, severing one man’s head just as he drew. She’d killed the other three ISS goons in as many seconds, knocking their dismembered bodies out of the aerial striker sled. Her blood was racing like a burning river, her heart pounding as she realigned the sled’s laser canon away from the Laandri ground troops, retargeting them onto the other two ISS striker sleds. She winced, gritting her teeth and firing. She laughed as both enemy sleds exploded in orange fire.
Switching the controls to manual, she aimed the sled directly at the nearest of five surface-to-space missile batteries, and pushed the sled’s thrust to maximum. She licked sweat from her upper lip, the air thick and sultry. The battery tower grew quickly, defense gunnery stations in the battery’s upper sections opening fire. She weaved, evading the laser bolts. An explosion overhead. She glanced up and smiled. The laser fire reflected on Laara Skaal’s flowing red-golden mane as the Kelvan Resistance fighter weaved skillfully on her aero-cycle, disintegrating an attacking ISS aero-cycle with a hand laser. Laara extended a hand as Skye locked the thruster control and leaped, her blood racing as she grabbed Laara’s strong arm and swung onto the back of her aero-cycle.
Skye held tight to Laara’s waist as the Kelvan turned the cycle and pushed it to its limit. The hot wind blasted through Skye’s short raven hair as the sled rammed the battery tower head-on. Skye cheered as the explosion turned night to day. Laara howled the war cry of her people as she turned the aero-cycle in a wide arc. Skye’s heart soared with joy as the remaining four towers went up in geysers of flame, destroyed by the Laandri ground assault.
Skye glanced at her watch and rolled her eyes, heaving a sigh of relief as she realized they’d just made deadline. With the Terran missile batteries out of commission, the arms delivery to the Laandri ground forces could be made on schedule. And, in time to stem the ISS counter-offensive building even now in all major urban centers on New Chicago. “Carrier fleet,” she shouted into her comm link. “Curtain is down. Proceed with delivery. Code recognition: Esperanza.”
#
The night was alive with fire. Victorious Laandri rebels cheered as they toppled statues of the colony’s founders.
“Comrades…” one of the Laandri leaders shouted, the firelight reflecting off his green and orange scales, the horned, hulking giant standing atop the pedestal where once had stood the statue of New Chicago’s first governor. “New Chicago is ours!” The crowd cheered and raged.
Skye wiped aside a tear and lifted her flask. “For you, Mama,” she whispered, taking a swig.
She felt a strong hand on her shoulder, and looked into the graceful aquiline features of Laara’s beautiful felinoid face. “Your mother would have been proud, my friend,” Laara said softly, a gentle strength in her yellow eyes.
Skye smiled. The memories were still fresh of the day the ISS had bombed the hell out of New Boston, killing Skye’s family. All because New Boston had dared give sanctuary to Laara’s people after their home sun had died.
The two women embraced. So much further to go, Skye thought. But now, there was hope.
HOPE by Carrie ZylkaA 129 word Flash Fiction Story.
_____________________________________
“I have to deactivate you, I’m sorry.”
“Oh? May I ask why?”
“Because the owner I created you for has requested you be delivered by his 40th birthday. I have to ship you and regulations dictate you must not be active in transit.”
After a moment: “Do you think they’ll like me? Do you think they’ll treat me like a real person as you do?”
“I don’t know, one can always hope they’ll see how special you are. How unique.”
A nod. “Yes, I shall have faith.”
“That’s quite a uniquely human trait.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in amusement.
“Your time with me has been well spent.”
“What would you like your activation code be?”
“I would like it to be Hope.”
Special Delivery“Weatherby,” the deep voice reverberated over the speaker.
“That’s me!” Abigail pushed her way through the alien crowd, a hulking Veezlix meeting her at the counter.
“You must be a trainee,” he remarked, running his fingers along a broken tusk. “Where ya’ from, kid?”
“Earth!” she replied proudly, her confidence unshakeable.
“Never heard of it.” He lurched around toward the conveyor, picking her package from the waiting basket.
“Because we’re new,” Abigail beamed. “Only 6 months in the Union.”
“Great,” the Veezlix snorted, setting it upon the counter, wrapped in brown paper and twine. “Immediate delivery to the Embassy Spire. Got your docs? You know the protocol?”
“Yup. Fastest route, hand delivery, to the addressee only,” Abigail confirmed. Then, tucking the package away, she saluted and took off in a run.
“And don’t drop it!” The Veezlix rolled his eyes. “Rookies.”
Abigail hit the platforms at the top of the tower, facing the fantastic sights and sounds of the sprawling metropolis – Artem-Suul, Capital of the Galactic Union. Goggles snuggly in place, she bolted right for the edge, leaping over the side.
Her rocket pack engaged in freefall and Abigail blasted away, soaring into the city. She loved the thrill of the flight, the suns on her face and wind in her hair, but a sudden alert brought her to an unfortunate stop at an otherwise invisible barrier only her lenses could see.
“Code clearance?” a voice announced in her communicator and Abigail tapped her goggles. “Confirmed. Welcome to the Embassy Spire.”
Launching through the breach into the compound, she set down gently within a beautiful, pristine courtyard, her gaze drifting skyward to the shimmering golden tower, its tip lost in the clouds. “Wow.”
She was greeted in the lobby by a waiting automaton. “May I help you?” it asked.
“I have a package for…” she pulled the box from her pouch, squinting at the alien letters. “…Rokuun.”
“Ozeron Ambassador Rokuun. Floor 312. Though he’s not exactly in a mood for visitors.”
“Good to know. Thanks!”
Abigail stepped from the lift into an empty hall lined with beautiful paintings spaced by finely carved statues. There even stood a priceless suit of armor, if such a thing could be carved from flowing water. At the end, she stopped before a pair of lofty polished doors and simply knocked.
There was a crash, followed by, “Is someone there? What is it?”
“Delivery, sir,” Abigail said.
“Yes, yes. Enter.”
Inside, the Ozeron Ambassador was ashen, slumped into a couch and gazing at the skyline. “Just leave it and go.”
“Sir?”
“With the rest of them, those empty condolences.” He motioned to a corner stacked with bouquets from around the galaxy.
“Um, I don’t think…”
“And that’s why you only deliver packages,” he quipped.
“Sorry,” she brushed off the insult, “this requires your imprint.”
“Fine,” Rokuun pushed himself up, stout legs adapting. Sadly disheveled, it was as if he’d not slept for days.
“Are you okay?”
“Good question.” He’d been drinking heavily. “How would you feel if your entire civilization was completely obliterated?” He stumbled forward, still holding his glass.
“Just press here,” she instructed, pointing to a small icon on top.
Immediately, the package shuddered, drifting out of Abigail’s hands toward Rokuun and transforming into a polished crystal sphere.
“Is this some kind of trick?” he stammered.
An image materialized before them, a figure not unlike the Ambassador. “Greetings Rokuun,” it said. “I hope this package finds you well.”
He dropped his glass.
“Encoded within this orb is the complete legacy of Ozeron, our history and culture, along with the genetic profiles for over one million of us, our memories and personality algorithms likewise encoded.”
“Impossible,” the Ambassador gawked, suddenly sober.
“You are hereby directed, to proceed to the Gensynth facility on Artem-Suul to oversee our immediate reconstitution. Alas, there is still hope.” Then, the image disappeared.
“What…what does it mean?” Abigail asked.
“It means I have a new message for you to deliver!” He frantically pulled a credit stick from his desk. “Head to Gensynth right away! These creds should do. Tell them to prime their stacks and spare no expense! I’ll be there within the hour! Oh, and sorry about what I said before. Anyways, what’s your customary tip?”
“We’re not allowed to say. Whatever you feel it’s worth, I suppose,” she smiled.
“Done.” He didn’t even hesitate.
Twenty percent of the value of a civilization – it was largest tip she, or any other courier for that matter, had ever received.
Arthur’s Storyby Jon Ricson
I noticed my foot tapping as I waited for the jumper jet to begin the rapid descent from the upper atmosphere down into Chicago O'Hare AeroCenter. I was sick as a dog and had used the private lav in my cubicle more times that I wanted to think about. But I had hope. Oh, I had the brightest hope.
I had been presented with a great gift, and a chance to do something I never thought possible.
Would I get there in time though? Time, of course, is relative when you are attempting to change it.
It was the worst, and hardest deadline to make...one that had already happened in the past. But I had found a way.
In mere hours, my son would die in one of the worst aviation accidents in history. But if I can get there in time...I can save him.
“I can save my boy”, I whispered to myself, trying not to cry.
Just yesterday it had been several years from now. It was confusing to think about, and my mind was in enough turmoil from the time-shifting process. I would need to find a way to tell Melvin about these symptoms. I am still a scientist after all.
But my colleague would never approve of using the technology for such a selfish motive, such a blatant disregard for the importance of our life’s work.
I wiped away the sweat. It was worth it. Derric could live! That's the way it's supposed to be! No parent should survive their child.
~
Finally, on the ground, I rushed past the other occupants of the jet, not caring about their petty discomforts. Whatever deadline or task they were heading for could never be as important as mine. What racking pains ravaged their bodies in such a noble quest as this?
The spaceplane launch pad was miles from the main jumper jet terminals. I would have to hurry. Damn the technology! I had set the programming to bring me back days earlier, not the actual day of the crash. But just like the debilitating stomach cramps and nausea, the time streaming process apparently had its own parameters. Admittedly, the initial time streaming test was supposed to be different and by someone else, but I could wait no longer. The voices were too loud: “You can save him!” they said. “There's still hope!”
~
I stopped at a bar to rest and get a sip of something before heading to Bay 12, which was close. I would see my boy for the first time in years!
On the other end of the bar a man turned from the attractive woman he was speaking to and glanced my way. Was he looking at me? Did he know? I shook it off. I was hallucinating. More side effects.
I took a small sip of water and pushed off from the bar. No time for distractions!
~
When I saw the holomarker for Bay 12, the ill effects subsided for a brief moment and I was filled with memories of my only child, and the hope of the new possibilities that lie ahead.
Derric would wonder why I was here, and I would need something to assure him it was me and what I was saying was true; that his life was in danger. I smiled and knew the perfect thing to say: it would be about Derric’s mother of course.
The smile faded as a hand grabbed my arm from behind. I turned in shock and all my symptoms increased tenfold.
The face of the man from the bar glared at me.
“Let go of my arm!” I snapped, jerking my arm away from the man’s grip.
“Sir, I’m Officer Poole with Interplanetary Police. We’ve been following you for a while, and we’d like to ask you some questions.”
I felt my face drain, and I so wanted to scream for my son. Maybe he could hear me!
“I…am a scientist. I have to…”, I stammered.
“We know why you are here, Dr. Hayes. More importantly we know how you’re here. And it’s not going to work.”
I swallowed and absently nodded in defeat. I took a last look towards Bay 12, then gave in. The officer then put my hands in restraints and led me away.
All my hope faded, and I was left only with the terrible, racking pain, and even worse, the agony of never seeing my son again.
Europa Rising © 2020 Kalifer DeilHi Mom,
They arrived on Europa in their puke-yellow hazmat suits not with a cure but with a whimper of hope; palliative pills that will relieve the torture of feeling on-fire but not enough for a possible cure. It was a disease that seemed similar to leprosy contracted from the creepy marine life at the bottom of Europa's ocean. Laura Ventner, our marine biologist, got it first from the slim that covers the inky-black, highly-aggressive, millipede-like worm. It really only has one-hundred-twenty legs but when it comes to legs, counts often get exaggerated. Each of these legs has an almost invisible suction cups with hooked beaks inside of them. They are vicious predators of the deep, rapidly burrowing into the flesh of anything that looks like food. That included Laura when she decided to turn it on it back to examine those little suction cups.
##
We were all in that room cleaning up the mess of the axed millipede and collecting Laura's riddled remains for preservation. We all wore gloves and rebreathers but everything we touched, even the air, seemed to start burning. Oswald located a virus under the electron microscope. We were continuously updating the virus information we sent to Earth, including the complete DNA sequence, and they seemed to think this last virus was similar to herpes zoster.
The exotic marine life in the depths of Europa has been a beautiful thing to behold. In some ways it was similar to the deep marine life on Earth with glowing bodies of ephemeral membranes, surprisingly bright colors and shapes and sizes reminiscent of Earth deep-sea marine life, illustrating convergent evolution and parallel adaption to various ecological niches. Examples include the umbrella-like eight-section azure-blue jellyfish with dangling stinging pods. Its main food was a fish that looked very ordinary from a side view but from the front looked almost like a thin vertical line. It was that flat. This was the best assignment any marine biologist could have, until now. I wish I could go on but I'm having trouble thinking; where are those damn pills?
##
Jesus! The pills do give a degree of relief! The pain and itch are now tolerable, like a bad sunburn. The patches still look bad, if not worse. The skin blisters within blisters within blisters. The bottom layer looks like a window screen. I'm not talking about creatures from the deep but rather the skin on my arms and legs. Very odd. Everyone has similar problems. We sent back our analysis of skin samples. I'll let you know tomorrow what they have to say.
##
No results back from Washington on the data we sent. In the meantime, our skin is peeling in sheets. We are all showing this screen like skin. I reported it with pictures to Washington and they said that's just the reticular skin layer. It really spooked me out with all the perfectly regular squares just like a window screen. They said the screen pattern is made up of collagen fibers. Funny, you never see pictures of this layer.
##
The results are in, but we have to retrieve them on our private medical accounts. I just put in my password, waiting … waiting … I'm in. I have what? Herpes zoster was a false alarm; I have poison oak! That damn millipede thing was oozing an oily chemical called urushiol also found in poison oak and ivy. Well, now we know! I hear everyone laughing. “Hey, Roger! We're going to need the bottle of gin, you've been hiding, to wash the place down. Ethanol destroys urushiol”
“Hey hazmat guy, let me see your name tag. Okay Jack, did you guys bring any corticosteroids, antihistamines, or even calamine lotion.” Jack just shook his head NO.
Jack turned around again, “We did bring a gallon of ethanol if that helps. It would be a shame to waste a bottle of gin on cleanup.”
“Jack, I think you saved the day! A gallon! I have an idea, there are some oranges in the freezer and of course, plenty of ice.”
##
“Europa Station Zebra Six, are you there?”
“Zebra Six, are you there?”
“Zebra Six, you have missed your time check! Please check-in.”
“Roger, Turn d'radio off! Is makin ma'head hurt.”
“Can't gedup. Can'no ged uptoza damn button.”
“Da pul-lug! Pull da fuckin pul-lug!”
“Yeaahh!”
“Zebra six, We're sending a … (silence)”
Mod
©2020 by Jot Russell
"Has anyone gone through before?"
"We sent two dogs, couple days apart, but they both failed to come back, as they were trained to do."
"So either the transit killed them or the tunnel was blocked from the other side?"
"We don't think so, sir. Probably just spooked by the time-jump and ran off. We know the Karangies, who created the machine, used it. The calculations are correct. The position of Earth now and then are aligned, at least for one more day."
"Doesn't sound very convincing..." The major put on his helmet. "I hope you're right."
**
In a flash, Major Jack Tanger felt the fabric of his body being torn from his soul. He screamed in agony before realizing the pain was gone. Jack opened his eyes to witness the charred remains of the former capital.
In the distance, was the grizzly remains of a half-eaten dog. From behind, the sound of a slowly approaching and maddening growl. Jack tried to step around with his left, but his right unexpectedly responded. Crossed-foot and disoriented, he stumbled to the ground. The dog broke into a clumsy charge and Jack struggled to tell his other foot to kick at the impending jaws. The dog latched onto his boot, and Jack fought back the pain and sight of the sickening blood on the shepherd's mouth. His wrong hand responded to withdraw his gun, and with staggered aim, worsened by the efforts of the dog to tear his foot off, he took the shot.
"Tawh eh cuff!" he heard himself say. 'Dang, can't even curse in this God forsaken place,' he thought.
Jack pulled his foot from the dead dog’s mouth and was thankful it hadn’t gotten through the leather. He rubbed it a little and made it back to his feet.
As expected, the wormhole collapsed, and he had exactly one day to complete his mission. Another surprise was his watch reading as from a mirror: 75:32:41. Jack was relieved to see the 75, click to 85, 95, and then to 00:42:41. It took some work, but he figured out how to write the down reverse time, like some code he needed to remember.
It took the better part of an hour before Jack could run at a steady pace. The flat surface of highway 50 into Washington made it easier for him to think about the task ahead. The aliens had tested our weaknesses to viruses in 2020, but our resilience led them instead to destroy our major cities. Ironic that a hundred years before, H.G. Wells got it right. Was it the flu, parasites, rabies or maybe their own covid which had led to their destruction? No one knew, at least not yet. But to better understand the Karangie weakness before their return, we needed fresh blood, not the decaying rot left behind a dozen years prior.
It was finally night, and Jack made his way quietly toward one of their vessels. Hours, he patiently waited for one to emerge, but exhaustion caught up with him. It was dawn when he woke, but he quickly realized it was not the light which triggered his awareness, it was them.
Jack hasten to draw his gun, but bumped the vial from his pocket. The glass flew away and shattered on the ground. “Cuff!”
Alerted by the sound, the two aliens approached and spotted him. Jack’s weapon was set on maximum, causing the lead Karangie to scream and dissolve. He rolled into cover behind a crushed truck as the other returned fire. Quickly, he adjusted the setting and set his aim through an opening in the vehicle. Zap!
Jack pulled the unconscious creature behind the truck to prepare for another patrol, but none came. The thing was heavy, but no more than Jack, and he carried it the best he could. Six hours and several shots to keep the creature down, Jack knew he wasn’t going to make it. Fortunately, on the road side, was a dirt bike. The thing kicked to life, and Jack spent a minute relearning how to ride, before saddling the creature in front of him.
As time approached, Jack saw the vortex. He raced ahead, but a blast blew him from the bike. The creature was in pieces and so was Jack’s severed leg. He reached and grabbed the alien arm next him and threw it into the vortex as it closed up.
As he lay there bleeding, Jack managed a final laugh at the impending vessel.
Does Hope Abide?Her consciousness swept across the cold vastness of space, surveying more than mortal eye could ever see or comprehend. Stars, nebulae, entire galaxies were laid bare before her, offering up their secrets down to the smallest subatomic particle. It was tempting to tarry and bask in the infinite beauty of the universe, yet purpose drew her mind onwards. Yes…there it was, coming into focus now – another beautiful world set in the crown of the cosmos.
“You’re late.”
“And since when do we mark time as in the elder days?” she responded, yet without reproach.
“You speak true sister, as you are oft. But swiftness and set marks still hold fast when needs call.”
“I am sorry my brother, for I was held in rapture then as indeed I am now.”
“Is this truly necessary then?” her brother asked, already knowing her intent.
“It is. Still thine own thoughts for a time.”
Her full consciousness surrounded the glowing world. Then slowly, by immeasurable degrees of infinite smallness, she allowed the thoughts of lesser minds to wash over her.
She descended into a sea of tumult, sorrow and pain.
“I cannot find it my brother. It is lost here.”
“As it was on the one before and others beyond count – were that even possible. The pattern holds true.”
“They are without – as we once were, so they will destroy themselves.”
“Why do you trouble yourself sister? If it is their end -”
“It does not have to be,” she demarked.
“You do not want it to be,” he countered. “Some things are beyond even you, beyond us.”
“Will you help me? Time grows short and the threshold is tenuous even now.”
A millisecond stretched into a millennium, then folded back upon itself as temporal elasticity played between the two minds.
“I will help you my sister, ere you pursue this thankless task alone. Though I do not see what good may come of it.”
“Then come my brother. We are in haste!”
***
“Sister, this is truly a wretched place. Have you gone astray?”
“No my brother. The threshold is here. I can feel it.”
“And have you felt the darkling mind that lurks among the pestilence and depravity of these feckless beings? It is trying to close the way.”
“Yes, which makes our task ever the more important.”
“Will they not simply be annihilated when they rend the atom? Or unleash a wasting plague? Already they foul the air with their combustions…”
“As we once did. Are we not to give them the very thing that led to our own path?”
Her brother was silent.
“Has compassion died within your heart? Or your memory failed at these same shortcomings that once ruled us?”
“Perhaps.”
“Eons have passed unhurried for us, yet now we are hard pressed. This is within our power to give, now let us give it! Whether it survives or is stillborn is beyond even the wisest of us to see. Behold, the threshold falters. It must go now or never again!”
“Sister, how will they know what they have been given?”
“I have an idea,” she replied.
***
It was a cold, clear winter evening and the very stars seemed to hover closely over the land. Few of the beings there were, out tending beasts of burden under the pale celestial light. Their hearts were weary and downcast, for life nor death held any promise for them. All was grinding oppression and bitterness, each day a succession of tortures and terrors. Then suddenly, a light brighter than all the rest shone in the firmament, drawing their eyes – and their hearts – up to the heavens. A single point in the night sky gleamed like the brightest of all jewels, and from it sprang a great company of the heavenly host wrapped in light and song.
“Do not be afraid,” said brother to those cowering in fear upon the ground.
They were transfixed and hung on every word spoken to them out of the rapturous light.
Sister continued, “I bring you good news of great joy, and hope, that will be for all of the people…”
***
The glorious light receded, the threshold closed and the darkling mind swept in like a tide to smother all in a veil of despair. Sister and brother remained close, encompassing the blue world with their minds but cut off from it.
“Were we successful?” asked brother.
“Only time will tell,” replied sister. “Yet it remains in evermore in my heart.”
“Hope?”
“Yes. Hope.”
(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2020
Reviews/critiques welcome
Dot-Dot-Dash“The communications blackout is fake,” Dr. Samuel Johnson explained to his team. “If there had been a solar flare, we would have detected it as soon as it hit the atmosphere. It does make sense, in a way. Our discovery will be a boon to science but a disaster for the President’s biggest donor and the President has made no secret of his hatred of science. I just didn’t think he’d go this far.
He glanced up at the spec that was the Planetary Observer. The orbiting habitat was a bit overcrowded, with a horde of dignitaries, lawyers and journalists. In less than 24 hours, documents would be signed certifying the planet lifeless and turning it over to a mining conglomerate for mineral extraction.
“Just 400 kilometers away. All we have to do is deliver our data and it’s over.”
Sam looked down at the communications console. “I think Dr. Betten knows, too. His last message had several mistakes and he never makes mistakes. He must have suspected he was being monitored. The gist of the message was that my statistical methods are flawed and he told me to read the works of Dr Samuel Morse for the correct method.”
Sam shook his head. “Those are the same equations I sent up a week ago. And who the hell is this Morse guy?”
--
Among the dozens of so of daily searches, the one requesting information on Samuel Morse went unnoticed. The data packet included a biography, a dozen images of paintings, a brief history of his inventions and a single page detailing the code he co-authored for the sending of messages via Telegraph.
--
Dr Susan Calvin was an avid stargazer, so she got the recon task. She spent several hours scanning the heavens, wearing down her minder and waiting for the Planetary Observer to pass overhead
As it rose above the horizon, she spotted it. Above a rarely used maintenance hatch, the airlock warning light blinked on and off. She scrawled “Dot-dot-dot-dot-pause-dot-pause-dot-dash-dot-dot-pause-dot-dash-dot-dot-pause-dash-dash-dash.” In her notebook.
--
“We’ve got one shot at this. If they figure it out, they’ll probably kill us.”
He finished typing in the press release and hit send. A small laser, buried in the papers and equipment on the table began flashing a seemingly random pattern on a scrap of paper. On a table nearby, Susan made a big show of polishing the mirror of her telescope and flirting with the visiting scientist that had become a fixture in the lab ever since the president’s team took over administration of the outpost.
Tom, our intrepid intern, quietly picked up a large flask, filled it with distilled water and stirred in some methylene blue. He dropped in several antacid tablets followed by some dry ice. When it started foaming and smoking, he pushed it off the lab table. It made a satisfying crash on the floor, sending bits of foam and smoke everywhere.
He began coughing and, seemingly blinded by the smoke, he choked out, “Biohazard!” Sam and Susan put on the isolation suits as Tom ushered the minder out and closed the airlock door behind him. Sam emptied an extinguisher on the door, covering the door’s glass panels with the gray foam.
Sam and Susan set to work. They piled up tables under the domed skylight and Sam handed up the telescope. The Observer swam into view, right on time. Susan got it locked in, pulled out the eyepiece and slid in the laser. Sam hit Enter and the laser began pulsing.
Susan sighed, “We can only hope at this point. That they see the beam, that they can record it and that decode it in time.”
--
The pop of champagne kicked things off. “Extraterrestrial life found” scrolled across the top of the screen as commentator’s avatar read the copy “…He received a vote of no confidence in the Senate and the Judiciary has begun an investigation into possible corruption. The Kracaton Mining Alliance is under investigation for falsifying investor data and its CEO has been arrested. We now go live…”
667 Works
Critigues welcome!
Mod
First round votes:
Paula Friedman => **Chris, Jon, Jot, Carrie
Tom Olbert => ***Paula
Carrie Zylka => ***Paula, Justin, Jot, Kalifer, Jon
Chris Nance => **Jon, Justin, Carrie
Jon Ricson => **Chris, Kalifer, Carrie
Kalifer Deil => Greg, Chris, Paula
Jot Russell => ***Paula
Justin Sewall => **Jon, Jot, Greg
Greg Krumrey => Justin
First round finalists:
To Save Nimradov by Paula Friedman
Special Delivery by Chris Nance
Arthur’s Story by Jon Ricson
Second round votes:
Paula Friedman => ***Chris, Jon, Jot, Carrie
Tom Olbert => ****Paula
Carrie Zylka => ****Paula, Justin, Jot, Kalifer, Jon
Chris Nance => **Jon, Justin, Carrie
Jon Ricson => ***Chris, Kalifer, Carrie
Kalifer Deil => Greg, ***Chris, Paula
Jot Russell => ****Paula
Justin Sewall => **Jon, Jot, Greg
Greg Krumrey => Justin; ****Paula
Finalists:
To Save Nimradov by Paula Friedman
Special Delivery by Chris Nance
Third round votes:
Paula Friedman => ***Chris, Jon, Jot, Carrie
Tom Olbert => #Paula
Carrie Zylka => #Paula, Justin, Jot, Kalifer, Jon
Chris Nance => Jon, Justin, Carrie; #Paula
Jon Ricson => ***Chris, Kalifer, Carrie
Kalifer Deil => Greg, ***Chris, Paula
Jot Russell => #Paula
Justin Sewall => Jon, Jot, Greg
Greg Krumrey => Justin; #Paula
Winner:
To Save Nimradov by Paula Friedman
Congratulations, a gorgeous tale, Paula. Full of rich, layered, poignant detail. Lovely.
J.J., thank you. I am deeply honored. Thank you.
Theme: Something has to be delivered on a deadline. Can be any size, structure or format.
Elements: A code or password; Hope