Short Story 1: Scars
OPEN COMM STATE: LOG BEGINS @ 14:02:56.679 06.11.3471
INITIATE DSSh (1596002/56002/9000564771) > DSStd (1596007/56002/9000564771)
HEADING VECTOR 872/2/70ec
SPEED 296 LY/s N-SPACE RELATIVE
h& Did you here that? &
td& Where? &
h& 257.97Hz, looks like a regular beacon signal. Commencing monitor and catalogue procedure. &
td& Got it. I concur, someones taking their first steps. Triangulating. I make the source location on a vector of -54/0/9tdc &
h& Mines at -50/0/8hc. Changing course. &
td& First contact? &
h& **Lets wait and see, shall we;) ** &
NEW HEADING VECTOR 829/2/71ec @ 14:02:58.037 06.11.3471
The Deep Space Survey vessel, Handover, was making progress. Wearing n-space like a cloak, it slid through the universe unhindered and unnoticed. It had detected the textbook first steps of an advanced civilisation; a regular pip in the mid-range EM spectrum. The source was still over 1100 light-years distant, but due to their rate of approach, the electromagnetic emissions of the civilisation began to evolve rapidly.
They watched the planets EM profile shoot out a thread; a single exploratory proboscis, carefully feeling its way around a new environment. It meandered around a limited portion of the spectrum before settling. A second spike, a third - before long the profile looked like a cross section through a forest. Analysis of the signals gleaned initially; audio, a spoken voice, conversation, music. In a matter of seconds the static died away and the fields became finessed, images became apparent; a family around a table, a dual-sunned landscape with distant purple mountains, a banquet heaped high with roasted animals, a smile, an animal swinging through foliage, a couple copulating, a figure sat behind a desk, a group of youths beating another, a march of angry faces, a barricade, a city aflame, a continent on fire
A new section of the profile lit up, the portion predominantly associated with nuclear fusion.
a child crying, row upon row upon row of grave-stones, figures running, a quadruped in a field, two figures of apparent differing race shaking hands, a sheet of paper held aloft, over and over again, a flower, an amputee, a joining of two, a diagram of the molecular structure of carbon, an armoured vehicle, a figure - raised on a poll - arms outstretched, a massive projectile supported by a column of light and smoke, another march, a map
The ambient radiation level of the entire profile took a sudden and disturbing leap.
a glowing pillow raising into the sky, no stone left on another, the outline of a broken city, flames upon flames, vehicles, a projectile impacting a building, a crosshair trained on a bridge from on high, figure behind a desk, worried, a face, arms outstretched, light, pillow, fire...
The profile became a solid arc, scored across the EM spectrum. A cutting edge of radiation, a scar on the fabric of space.
static, pip, pip, pip
NEW HEADING VECTOR 872/2/70ec @ 14:03:40.290 06.11.3471
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Short Story 2: Far and Away
The figure sat opposite Aaron was twice his height, with skin blacker than the sunspots on Rastaf.
The aliens craft had been found drifting in quad 12:59:04/k, flirting with the fringes of a class Y plasma nebular. Preliminary sweeps of the vessel revealed a failing life-support system and the flicker of a single soul in deep sleep. It had taken DUG engineers three days to crack the crafts ceramic-alloy shell. In the end, all it required was a carefully placed, warm-blooded palm print. Admiral Aaron zro Miiar had been asked to report to the secure compound located on 3rd State, an hour after the aliens revival. Not because of any prior experience with extra terrestrials or because of a recognised wisdom on the finer points of first-contact situations - indeed, this was the first alien specimen to have been encountered - but because the alien had asked for him. By name.
Aaron looked into the strangers refined eyes, like two pail stars shining in the night. His heart was beating so hard he could hear the thrumming of his pulse in his ears. Aaron breathed. You have me at a disadvantage, sir, he smiled. You have my name, may I know yours?
My name is Torschall. Said the stranger in flawless Demisc, a dialect of Standard Daiaten.
Very well, Aaron crossed his arms, fixing Torschall with the most penetrating stare he could muster. why me? And whats going on with your eyes , he added to himself.
The alien bowed his head solemnly, and took a deep breath. There is a tale told by the matriarchs of your people, he began, as if recalling a rote narrative, a tale of two kin, one who chose to stay at home and one who chose to wander far and away. The second kin travelled for many years, experienced many things, time and circumstance changed him. In the mean-time the first kin worked on the farmstead, sowing and reaping each year in kind. Many years later the kin who had travelled far and-
Returned home but after so many years away his family did not recognise him. Aaron was familiar with the story, Its impressive that you know so much about us, but you are yet to answer my question. Why did you ask for me?
Those eyes. Its like looking into mirrors...
Torschall raised an elongated finger. Please, humour me.
Aaron sighed and nodded. As much as he tried to stare down the alien, he had the unnerving sense that he was doomed to failure. Damn it! Has he no eyelids!
Torschall continued. My people remember a very similar tale. Though in recent years it has taken on a new significance.
Aaron moved forward in his chair, laced his fingers and rested his elbows on the edge of the table. Wheres this going?
The alien moved to mirror Aarons poise in some small way, Your Almanacs record that fifty-seven years ago your people lost two of its deep space exploration vehicles to a singularity phenomenon in your quadrant 15:02:04/ga. This is no news to you Aaron zro Miiar, you yourself were one of only fifteen individuals to escape the tragedy.
A shiver ran up Aarons spine. His heart, already racing, re-doubled.
The two vessels were drawn into a spatial vortex created by the catastrophic failure of a space-folding matrix.
Thats impossible! Aaron exclaimed, sitting back in his chair, Weve only been space-folding for twenty years!
Did I say that it was your matrix which failed? The sister ships emerged from the exit horizon largely undamaged-
-now wait a minute! cried Aaron, an incredulous edge to his voice.
Please Aaron zro Miiar, I bid you; let me continue. Your kin - my ancestors - were trapped, the vortex had formed an inescapable pocket in the fabric of spacetime. After exploring the totality of the pocket, they found a planet suitable for colonisation orbiting a relatively young star. They called the planet, Daiatma New Daiat.
Tears were welling in his eyes, a choking lump had appeared in his throat, Aaron had lost most of his family that day. He had escaped with his aunt, as a small child, leaving his mother and father, two sisters, a brother and more or less everyone he had ever known. He could still hear the screams. He wanted to protest, to rebuke the alien and confront his lies. No words came.
That was fifty-seven of your years ago, yet for those inside the pocket, time travelled much, much faster. Over eleven-thousand years have passed by our calendar. I am the first of our people to have escaped the pocket. Daiat, for most is now a distant memory, a legend. Torschall stood upright - as far as the ceiling would allow and gestured to his body, What you see here is the result of eleven millennia of micro-evolution. Shaped by the hammer-blows of an alien world, in the furnace of a strange sun. He paused, looking upon the face of his ancestor. Familiar, but so alien, known, but a stranger. A face beset by rivulets of tears, a mouth trying to put words to an upturned world. This must be difficult to absorb. I was instructed to give you, only you, this.
The slender figure reached into a hidden pouch in his suit jacket, and retrieved a small artefact; an ancient piece of paper, placed it face up on the table and slid it over to Aaron.
Through water-defused eyes, Aaron peered at the image on the paper. It bore a group of people, a family, several adults, many children, and at the centre; a pair of glowing parents holding a new-borne babe. His head swimming, Aaron focused on the father, an admirals epaulets and crop-hat, a beard. He remembered the beard smiling down at him. He looked from the image, to the stranger, and back to the image again.
My full name, is Torschall Cambreq zro Miiar. I have travelled far and away. I have come home.
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Short Story 3: Wednesday
The waste incinerators reinforced door slammed shut, pulled from the inside. The safety measures overridden, its combustion chamber flooded with plasma. Aside from the faint rushing noise escaping from that annihilating crucible, the room was quiet. An occasional electronic chirp politely requested attention regarding some issue of station security, but went unnoticed. A light haze of cigarette smoke filled the air. A security officers jacket hung from the back of a large swivel chair, its identity tags carried the name Ms Zavich Cromelnicov, and a photograph of a middle aged women, dull eyed, greying hair.
The chair stood before a terminal. To one side of the console was an ashtray, a half smoked cigarette balanced precariously on the rim. An uncapped flask of vodka. Ice slowly melting in a glass. Wednesday nights had always been slow, each officer dealt with the emptiness in their own way. This was Zavichs.
The terminal screen had been left on, displaying a station comm' log.
(Howard) I know exactly what you mean.
(Cromelnicov) Its not that I dont like the guy, its that I really (!) dont like the guy!
(Howard) Ha! It wouldnt be so bad if he just opened his (!) eyes every once in a while.
(Cromelnicov) Hes not there is he?
0341 REQUEST Howard, open internal bulkhead 75b
(Howard) (!) no! It just me, Carry, Johnson and the maintenance team from area 9.
(Cromelnicov) Thank (!) for that. Hold on.
(Howard) Well, were not going anywhere.
0341 ACTION Cromelnicov, internal bulkhead 75b opened, security override CZ00803
(Howard) Thanks.
(Howard) I hate it down here.
(Cromelnicov) We all hate going down, Howy.
(Howard) Er, yeh, are you drinking?
(Cromelnicov) Does the Pope (!) in the woods?
(Howard) (!), Is that such a good idea?
(Cromelnicov) Now dont get all (!) righteous on me! You just call the numbers, okay?
(Howard) Fine.
0346 REQUEST Howard, open internal bulkhead 75c
0347 ACTION Cromelnicov, internal bulkhead 75c opened, security override CZ00803
(Howard) Thank you.
(Howard) Another coming up.
0351 REQUEST Howard, open internal bulkhead 76
0353 REQUEST Howard, open internal bulkhead 76
(Howard) Hello?
(Howard) (!), Zavich, where are you!
(Cromelnicov) (!), sorry, needed a (!).
(Howard) just open the (!) door.
(Cromelnicov) 76, right
0405 ACTION Cromelnicov, external bulkhead 76 opened, security override CZ00803
(Howard) (!), (!)! Zavich (!) thats the externa-
(Cromelnicov) (!)
(Cromelnicov) (!)
(Cromelnicov) Oh (!)
(Cromelnicov) (!)
Above the terminal, a window looked out into space. Like diamond eyed animals in the night, the stars stared back.
