#science_fiction

November 17 2019

Vortex Episode Two: Metaversal Reversal

Chickadee Prince Fiction, Science Fiction #insectoids, #parallel_universe, #science_fiction, #scifi, #temporal_anomaly, aliens, mark laporta

[Editor’s Note: Read the whole story from the beginning, starting with Episode One.]

The startled silence that filled the bridge was broken by a staticky comlink transmission.

“Unidentified vessel,” said a weary voice. “Mayday, mayday. Life support failing.”

Zevdra cast a glance at Bleenor.

“Sounds human,” she said.

“What’s she doing on one of our ships?” asked Bleenor.

“She’s running out of air, is what matters,” said Zevdra.

“We could send a servicebot,” said Bleenor.

Zevdra nodded at what sounded like a safe approach, keeping in mind that the safest thing of all was to pull away and leave the wayward vessel to its fate.

“Not sure where we can pull away to,” said Bleenor. “I doubt we’re in the same universe as we were this morning.”

“A parallel universe?” asked Zevdra. “I thought that only existed in holovids.”

Bleenor grinned

“I used to feel that way about love,” he said. “But now, just look at us.”

“Not funny,” said Zevdra. “I could write you up for that. Besides, we have a decision to make.”

Bleenor’s face fell.

“Right,” he said. “Sorry, Captain. I suggest we send two servicebots. One to check for repairs and the other equipped with the med-tech subroutine.”

Zevdra nodded and Bleenor clomped down the spiral stairs leading to the ship’s second level, where the servicebots were housed. One level further down was the ship’s cargo bay — filled with a three-months’ supply of oxygen and rations for one of their homeworld’s starter colonies.

Bleenor paused on the stairs. If they didn’t get back on course soon, a couple thousand Veratrese would suffocate long before they starved to death.

“Live in the moment,” he muttered. Maybe the owner of the voice on the comlink could account for the vortex they’d just fallen through. He rushed over to the first servicebot and tried to steady his nerves. Even after ten years, the servicebots still gave him the creeps. For starters, they’d been built by the humans and were revoltingly bipedal. But they also seemed too self-aware to be … servants.

“What’s taking so long?” Zevdra’s voice demanded through the com system.

Bleenor ignored her. The first servicebot was coming online and he had to enter the appropriate system codes into its chest-mounted console.

“That tickles,” it said.

“Dial it down, OK?” said Bleenor. “We have a rescue mission for you and Two.”

“I recommend you install the med-tech subroutine in Two,” said the servicebot. “He’s always wanted to be a doctor.”

Despite reciting a popular calming mantra, Bleenor still wanted to strangle the programmer responsible for the robot’s inane banter. Nevertheless, he took Bot One’s comment to mean that Bot Two was better configured to process the med-tech subroutine.

“Bot Two online,” it said. “Where is the medical emergency?”

Bleenor entered the coordinates of the damaged ship and the coded parameters for a standard rescue mission. Standard, he reminded himself, in the universe he used to call home. The rescue parameters empowered the two servicebots to clamber into one of the “Shiny Nova’s” two landers and zoom out toward the unknown ship.

“Servicebots dispatched, Captain,” said Bleenor into his comlink and clanked back up to the bridge. As he rounded the last step of the spiral staircase, he encountered another of Zevdra’s holographic projections. But this time, he saw a landscape full of rubble, in which the outlines of an ancient city were barely visible.

“Thought I’d check,” said Zevdra. “You know, to see what else was different here.”

“You’re saying that’s a version of Serlat 3?” asked Bleenor.

Zevdra blinked back tears.

“Can’t believe they’d let this happen,” she said. “It’s a symbol of peace.”

“To us,” said Bleenor. “Whoever did this had other priorities.”

“Maybe we should go there,” said Zevdra, “and try to figure out….”

“Bad idea,” said Bleenor. “Whatever Serlat 3 is to these people, it’s off limits. Why don’t we see what our human buddies out there know first?”

They didn’t have to wait long, before Bot One piped up with a status report.

“Captain,” it said, “we have two humans here. One dead, and another who might live if we can get her over to our ship. The medical bay on this vessel is charred.”

“You think we’re set up for humans?” asked Bleenor.

“I don’t,” said Bot One. “But Two does, and he’s the doctor. Me, I’m more of a poet.”

“Permission granted.,” said Zevdra. “The sooner we get the survivor talking, the better.”

“I’ll tell Two not to sedate her so fast” said Bot One. “Never saw anybody so eager to give an injection.”

A few minutes later, Zevdra and Bleenor met Bot Two in the Shiny Nova’s medical bay.

“Stand back,” said Bot Two. “The patient’s immune system is compromised.”

The patient, a human female in her late thirties, looked up at Zevdra and Bleenor through a pair of swollen eyelids.

“Never thought I’d see bug people piloting a ship,” she mumbled.

“Bug people?” asked Bleenor.

“Shush,” said Zevdra. “Please, can you tell us about the Vortex we just passed through.”

The human raised a feeble hand to her forehead.

“Oh … that’s what happened,” she said. “You must’ve come in when we were on our way out. Only we got there too late. The vortex flared up and burned the heck out of our ship.”

“You knew about the vortex?” asked Bleenor.

“You didn’t?” asked the woman. “Well that tears it. There’s a … soft spot … in space-time right around here. It was our one chance to escape. My only consolation is that now you’re stuck here, too.”

“Stuck?” asked Bleenor.

“You bugs know nothing?” the woman yelled. “The vortex opens once every thousand cycles. Now I’ll never be free.”

“Free of what?” asked Zevdra.

But the woman’s energy faded and she fell into a deep sleep. Bot Two moved in fast.

“Everybody out,” it said. “I curse the programming that made me delay her treatment, so you could ask her the obvious.”

“Obvious?” asked Zevdra.

“When we found her,” said Bot One, “the human was moaning about the Alornoz,”

“So?” asked Bleenor.

“Alornoz,” said Bot One, “is ancient Veratrese for ‘parasite’.”

(To be continued)

^^^

Design by Steven S. Drachman from an image by Geralt/Pixabay

November 2 2019

Vortex, Episode 1: A Slight Detour

Chickadee Prince Fiction, Science Fiction #insectoids, #parallel_universe, #science_fiction, #scifi, #temporal_anomaly, aliens

As usual, by the time Zevdra settled into the Captain’s chair, the launch codes still weren’t loaded into the nav console. But the real problem was Company Policy. Though Zevdra knew those codes by heart, only the Navigator was authorized to enter them.

“Except in an emergency,” Zevdra muttered. “Craters, where’s a crisis when you need one?” The sound of zero-G boots, clomping up the steel, spiral stairs to her right made the question moot.

“Captain!” said a lanky, dark-blue thirty-something male. “What a beautiful day for a launch.”

“Enter the codes, will ya, Bleenor?” said Zevdra. “We’re way behind schedule.”

“Aye, aye,” said Bleenor. Of course, he knew how much Zevdra hated all nautical talk. Especially, that is, the drivel he’d picked up from the humans.

Zevdra clacked her mandibles. Sure, the humans had helped the Veratrese upgrade their space technology. Was that any reason to imitate those ugly globs of fat? But never mind, the thrusters were now online.

“Small favors,” she whispered. With a nonchalance earned during ten years of daily practice, she edged her cargo scow free of its hangar stays and out into inky space.

“Set course to….” she said.

“Already laid in,” said Bleenor.

Zevdra checked the coordinates.

“What the rotating pulsar is this?” she asked. “That’s way off….”

“A slight detour,” said Bleenor. “You keep saying how much you want to see the ruins at Serlat 3. We can easily stop off there for a couple of days and still make deadline.”

“How?” asked Zevdra? “The only official space lane is … oh no.”

“Oh, yes,” said her navigator. “Come on, it’s nothing. I have a complete set of Grelnez star charts.

“An illegal set,” said Zevdra. “There’s a reason for that. If we get caught taking a shortcut across Grelnez sovereign space.…“

“Not across,” said Bleenor. “We’ll barely skirt the edges, and shave exactly two days off the rest of the trip.”

“I could throw you in the brig for this,” said Zevdra.

“Except we don’t have one,” said Bleenor. “But you could spank me.”

“Craters, Bleen,” said Zevdra. “Serlat 3. If you’d pulled this stunt with any other location I’d be furious. Do you think they’d let us up to the top of the Altresnar towers?”

“Well, forget it, we aren’t going there, anymore,” said Bleenor, “After the way you squawked, I switched us back to Mission Trajectory.”

“Bleenor!” Zevdra yelled.

The dark-blue navigator laughed until his thorax shook.

“Is that the sound,” he said, “of my Captain ordering a course change?”

Zevdra’s greenish antennae drooped.

“Yes,” she said. “But if the Grelnez catch us, I hope they throw you into a pit with a dozen wild ferlandra dogs.”

“Grisly,” said Bleenor. “I’m seeing a whole new side of you.”

“Nonsense,” said Zevdra. “I only have one side.”

“Right,” said Bleenor. “And a ferlandra dog has only one tooth.”

Zevdra ignored him and called up her link to Sideranet.

“Serlat 3,” she said softly. Soon the entire command center was flooded with a one-twenty-fifth holo-rendering of the ancient site.

“Wow,” said Bleenor. “It’s as spectacular as they say.”

“Yeah,” said Zevdra. “A day on the temple grounds can change your destiny, is what I’ve heard.”

“You mean, like, if one of those ancient titanium struts falls on your head?” asked her navigator.

Usually, sparring with Bleenor had a salutary effect on Zevdra, for reasons she didn’t understand. It wasn’t like he meant anything to her. They were just crew mates on a lucrative freight run: Back and forth between Earth and Proxima Centauri every quarter for ten cycles. That was it, she told herself.

Then why, she wondered, did his stupid attitude rattle her gaster so much?

“The only thing liable to fall on my head is a writ from Sector Court,” she said, “when they find out about your … Hey what’s that?”

Bleenor’s mandibles gaped as he gazed at the main view screen. He quickly checked the nav console.

“Quarks in a box,” he said. “The AI calls it a temporal vortex.”

“A what, now?” asked Zevdra. Not for the first time, she regretted her company’s barebones budgeting. It was just the two of them, plus the AI and four servicebots to handle the repair work. Right about now, a Science Office would have come in handy .

“That swirly thing out there?” asked Bleenor. “The Ai says it’s a rare section of the cosmos where space and time are out of phase.”

“Oh that’s so much clearer,” said Zevdra. “What does it mean in a life and death kind of way?”

“Dunno, Zev … uh Captain,” said her navigator. “But we’re falling right into it.”

The two insectoids felt a wrenching sensation in their abdomens and everything went black. Moments later, Zevdra’s stifled voice sounded from the floor of the command center.

“Bleenor?” she said. “Are you….”

“I’m fine,” said her navigator-and-nothing-more. “We should probably stand up and assess the situation.”

“How about we just lie here forever,” said Zevdra.

In spite of herself, the captain staggered up onto her four back legs and stared into the main view screen.

“Hull integrity,” she croaked at the ship’s AI.

“All systems normal,” came the matter-of-fact response. Then again, the AI was always matter-of-fact.

“Captain, take a look at the screen,” said Bleenor.

Zevdra turned her groggy head toward the screen and tried to take in the confusing image that reached her compound eyes.

“You’re kidding,” she said. She looked over at Bleenor, who shrugged but, for once, was speechless ─ and no wonder. Not a quarter of an AU ahead of them, was a cargo scow identical to theirs in every particular, with one exception: It looked as if it had been singed by either weapons-fire or a rogue solar flare.

“AI, explain,” asked Zevdra.

“Insufficient data for meaningful analysis,” said the ship’s AI. “The scow’s ID signal, however, is still operative.”

“And?” asked Bleenor.

“It is registered,” said the AI, “to the Trans Proxima Shipping Company under the name ‘Shiny Nova’.”

“Craters,” whispered Zevdra, “that’s us.”

(Read the next episode here)

Design by the author.

Discover a universe of alien intrigue and adventure.

October 12 2019

Moonrock, Episode 4: The Conclusion of the new Science Fiction serial from Mark Laporta

Chickadee Prince Fiction, Science Fiction # time_dilation, #alien_tech, #androids, #sci-fi, #science_fiction, #space_travel, aliens

Editor’s Note: You may start the series from the beginning with Episode 1 by clicking here.

The Rulzarians, a monotreme species, reminded Armand of the long-extinct terrestrial platypus he’d seen only in photos. That is, except that these creatures walked on two legs and had hands of such dexterity as to make human pianists tear their hair out with envy.

But considering the intricate genomic makeover he needed, that was all to the good. There was just one problem.

“I’m afraid it’s impossible to make you humanoid,” said Yegholidaar, the geneticist assigned to Armand’s case. “The disparity is too great. The most we could do is give you a number of insectoid species to choose from.”

“That’s no improvement,” said Armand.

“Even if you could fly?” asked Gleanant. “Don’t all humanoids dream about that?”

“Not that kind of flying,” said Armand. “Seriously, that’s the best you can do?”

“Hmm … well,” said Yegholidaar. “We do have several humanoid genomes on file. Perhaps your android could help us select an appropriate option for cloning?”

“Got your complete medical records on file, Boss,” said M429.

“You’d transfer my consciousness into a clone?” asked Armand. “But then I’d be a biological robot.”

“Don’t worry,” said Gleanant. “None of your Earth friends would know the difference. Why, I bet Yegholidaar could even make some enhancements.”

“Indeed,” said the alien geneticist. “But what is this … Earth?”

“Never mind,” said Gleanant. “It won’t be inhabited for another million years.

“What?” asked Armand.

Gleanant explained that the Ruzarian star had gone supernova centuries before humans walked on two legs. Despite that, she told Armand, no one had ever surpassed them in genetic engineering.

“More messing around with Time?” asked Armand. “OK, Yegholidaar, when can you start?”

“Why as soon as you give us the down payment,” said Yegholidaar. “Hmm, in your case, a hundred fifty thousand credits.”

“Where the moldy muon am I gonna get that?” asked Armand.

“Honestly,” said Gleanant, “your ignorance is astonishing. You’re a Dolnatrid now. They make the strongest silk thread in six galaxies. It supports more weight than titanium and it’s worth thousands of credits a meter.”

“Is this true, Yegholidaar?” asked Armand.

The monotreme clacked his duck-like bill.

“Oh definitely,” he said. “A hundred kilos of Dolnatrid silk would buy you two cloned bodies.”

“But … I don’t know how to make an ounce of it,” said Armand.

“Boss,” said M429, “let me explain a few things.”

During a brief conversation, the spidery android gave him a basic primer in “where Dolnatrid silk comes from.” For once, Armand was grateful he wasn’t human, so he couldn’t throw up.

“OK,” he said. “But I want some privacy. I’ll need a comfortable room and about three-hundred kilos of trelidra leaves.”

“Coming up,” said Gleanant

Armand turned back to Yegholidaar.

“Make sure my body’s first class,” he said. “After I’m done with this … project … I’m gonna need a complete makeover.”

A little over an hour later, Gleanant had completed her work and Armand entered a spacious dome, stacked high inside with baskets full of Dolnatrid trelidra leaves. Meanwhile, M429 consulted with Yegholidaar about Armand’s clone.

“You’ve got me worried,” it said. “Consciousness transference is a risky business. You could end up erasing my boss for good.”

“Risks dog every endeavor,” said the Rulzarian. “But as long as no one interferes, there should be no problem.”

With that, he hurried off to his lab. While M429’s logic circuits accepted Yegholidaar’s reassurances, his agile mind was still troubled. If Gleanant pulled a fast one….

“You forget, I’m telepathic,” said fiery alien AI from behind him.

M429 spun around to defend himself, but it was too late.

“Power down, M,” she said. “Nobody likes a smarty-pants robot.

Armand’s android tried to object, but it was all over. Its status lights went dark and it came to a dead halt.

“Time we moved things along,” whispered Gleanant. Once again, she deflected the flow of Time. But now it was aimed at M429, which crumbled into a pile of corroded metal and burnt out circuitry. Mere minutes later of subjective time, Armand emerged from his dome, exhausted.

“There,” he said. “That took a lot less time than I … Oh no.”

Just then, Yegholidaar returned from his lab, wheeling a humanoid clone on a gurney.

“All ready,” he said. “And faster than I expected. But look, you have the silk ready, too. Well, then, let’s get your consciousness transferred, shall we?”

“But …” said Armand.

“Nothing to worry about,” said the monotreme. “I’ll attach these electrodes and….”

Before he could touch Armand, Gleanant swooped down and attached herself to the mental scanning device. A few moments later, a triumphant cry echoed out of the clone’s mouth.

“Free!” the clone shouted. “I’m free!”

Armand’s heart sank. Not only was he devastated at the thought of living the rest of his life as a sentient arachnid, and distressed by the loss of M429. But the thought of Gleanant roaming free in the universe was a terrifying thought.

He knew he had to find some way to stop her. But how?

“Look at me,” Gleanant shouted in the male clone’s voice. “Nothing can stop me, now that I’m free of that horrible sphere.”

“Excuse me,” said Yegholidaar. “Stop you from what?”

“Ruling the universe!” said Gleanant.

“How?” asked the Ruzarian. “We didn’t encode any extraordinary abilities into your humanoid body. There’s only so much a phenotype like that can do without machines and electronics.”

Gleanant thrust out her new right arm and pointed at M429.

“I’ll show you,” she said. “Dance, you talking trash bin.”

M429 raised its left antenna.

“Thanks,” it said, “but I’d better conserve energy. It’s getting close to charging time.”

“I’ll charge you, Worm,” Gleanant shrieked, and pointed again — to no effect.

“Kind of looks like, no sphere, no power,” said Armand. “I’m stuck like this forever!”

Gleanant stumbled over to Yegholidaar.

““You!” she said. “Zap me back.”

“Oh, no,” said Armand. “No more of your ‘help.’ Put me in the sphere, Yegholidaar.”

The master geneticist waved his hands in the air.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “Organic minds are too fragile to transfer into a machine.”

“But I am a machine mind,” said Gleanant.

“Not anymore,” said Yegholidaar. “The only candidate for transference into that globe is M429. And who knows if their systems are compatible.”

“What do you think?” asked Armand.

“Don’t know as we have a choice, Boss,” said his android assistant.

“Hmm….” said Yegholidaar. “If you’re willing to risk it, we do have the technology. Bring me the sphere and we can begin at once.”

“No!” said Gleanant.

Armand, who’d been a Dolnatrid long enough to become familiar with his new body, leapt forward and bit the unsuspecting humanoid clone on the leg. As he’d hoped, venom flowed out of the fangs at the front of his mouth, and into his one-time “servant.”

“I…I feel faint,” said Gleanant. “How did you … did you … know … about …”

“Lucky guess,” said Armand. who now took pleasure in watching the clone collapse to the ground ─ until a thought crossed his mind. “Didn’t kill her did I?”

“No way, Boss,” said M429. “But let’s do this before she wakes up.”

Armand’s thorax tensed. If Yegholidaar succeeded, would M429 become as power-mad as Gleanant? The Ruzarian connected one end of his device to inputs on the sphere and the other end to M429’s ovoid brain case. After a series of comlink calls to his lab, the device was recalibrated and ready.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“A sure as the square root of Pi,” said M429.

Yegholidaar nodded and entered a few commands into his transference console. The sphere rocked to and fro on the ground and rose into the sky.

“Whoa,” said a hollow version of M429’s voice. “Hey Boss, you wanna be a little taller this time?”

“Just … make me human again,” said Armand, “and get us back to our own time.”’’

“What about Gleanant?” asked M429.

“I know what that monster deserves,” said Armand. “Why don’t you….”

Suddenly, Armand’s mandibles clamped shut, and he lost consciousness. Hours later, he awoke from a deep sleep, after a bizarre web-spinning dream. Without thinking, he stood up on two legs for the first time in days.

“I’m me again!” he shouted. “You even remembered some clothes.”

“That was the hard part,” said M429. “Human fashion is so illogical.”

In full control of the sphere’s astonishing technological array, M429 whisked Armand off Rulzaria and back to the moon he was mining days before. In the nick of time, the spidery android loaded Armand back into his familiar pressure suit and set him down on the moon’s rocky surface. Armand gazed around.

“Where’s Gleanant?” he asked.

“Dropped her off with the species that made her,” said the android. “Let them deal with her … attitude.”

“So now what?” asked Armand.

“Depends,” said M429, “How rich do you want to be?”

“Oh no,” said the human. “I’ve had enough wishes come true. Just change into your old self and let’s forget the whole thing. Are we where we started, in 3067?”

“To the nanosecond, Boss,” said M429.

Armand’s jaw dropped as the bright red sphere fell into a small crater to his right and M429 appeared to his left.

“Great to be back,” said M429.

“Too bad about you losing your unlimited power,” said Armand. “But I think it’s for the best.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” said the android.

But, as anyone familiar with M-series androids would have known, its status lights were no longer blinking according to spec. Had the android really given up that power? Armand might never find out. Until, that is, the next time he found himself horribly transfigured by idle curiosity.

Mark Laporta is the acclaimed author of the Changing Hearts of Ixdahan Daherek series and the new novel, Probability Shadow, which was published in October by Chickadee Prince Books, available now in paperback or ebook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or at a bookstore near you. He is also the author of the innovative science fiction noir serial, Insective, which you can read for free in Audere Magazine.

Illustration: Detail of an image by RiccoStange/Pixabay

Discover a universe of alien intrigue and adventure at http://tinyurl.com/ml-sci-fi

September 26 2019

Moonrock, Episode 3: A new Science Fiction serial from Mark Laporta

Chickadee Prince Fiction, Science Fiction # time_dilation, #alien_tech, #androids, #sci-fi, #science_fiction, #space_travel

Editor’s Note: You may start with Episode 1 by clicking here.

When Armand Dubois founded Moonbeam, LLC, he never imagined that, one day, he might be standing, minus his pressure suit, on the surface of Dolnatri 4.

He’d never heard of that world, let alone the sentient arachnids who lived there, in perfect harmony with its lush, nearly pristine ecosystem.

And yet, there he was, with M429 looking on and Gleanant’s chirpy voice ringing through his tormented thoughts.

“There!” said Gleanant. “I hope you don’t mind. Bringing your pressure suit would’ve complicated my calculations. I assumed you’d rather keep all your internal organs in tact.”

“Good call,” said Armand. “Just a little … embarrassing.”

“Flaming galaxies,” said Gleanant. “What is it about you humanoids and self-loathing?”

“Take a closer look, Boss-Lady,” said M429. “The question pretty much answers itself.”

Armand stifled the snappy comeback that popped into his mind. There was, after all, no point in trying to insult an android. Instead he looked up the glowing red sphere that hovered overhead.

“Where’s that rejuvenation pond you promised me?” he asked.

“Ten kilometers due east,” said Gleanant. “Step lively and we should make it there by mid-afternoon.”

“You brought me … what? … fifteen parsecs, so I could walk for hours … like this?” said Armand.

“Goodness, what a whiney little sack of bio-matter you are,” said Gleanant. “I suppose you want a ground car?”

“Yes,” said Armand. “And some clothes. Feels like we’re heading into fall on this planet.”

“Fine,” said Gleanant, whose petulance made Armand wonder at the civilization that would build such a device.

Regardless, minutes later, Gleanant had extruded enough raw materials from the planet’s crust to build a solar-powered flat-bed truck and a blue-grey jumpsuit modeled after an image hovering in Armand’s mind. Soon he was dressed and sitting in the truck’s cabin. His tired eyes gazed up at the rear view mirror to see M429 crawling into the truck’s bed behind him.

“Move out,” said Gleanant. The truck jolted forward. Armand sat back and took in the planet’s unspoiled scenery. A trickle of hope seeped into his mind.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. With any luck, he told himself, he’d soon be restored to his proper age, so he could get on with his life. Ten kilometers later, a large pond came into view, set back into a stand of evergreens.

“Last stop,” said Gleanant. “Now, you’ll have to disrobe again before you enter the pond. I do hope that won’t be too traumatic for you.”

Armand ignored her, rushed out of the truck and peeled off the jumpsuit. As he edged toward the pond, he was surprised to see M429 climb out of the truck and follow him.

“Hey Boss, you sure this is a good idea?” it asked. “I was just thinking….”

“If you’d been thinking,” snapped Armand, “you would’ve talked me out of opening Gleanant’s casing.”

The glowing orb above him grew paler and dipped a bit closer to the ground.

“Now that hurts,” said Gleanant.

“You’re both nuts.” said Armand. “I’m going in.”

Over M429’s repeated protests, the aging human limped over to the pond’s edge and submerged himself in its sky-blue waters. Hours later, he re-emerged, reinvigorated.

“Wow, I feel great!” he shouted. “But how did I ever hold my breath that long?”

M429’s doleful reply caught him off guard.

“Boss,” it said, “I think you should check out your reflection in the pond.”

Just then, a contingent of twelve Dolnatrids crept out of the surrounding forest. Though distinctly arachnid in general terms, Evolution had granted them the power of speech. Gleanant translated their reedy language and piped it into Armand’s mind.

“Welcome, Brother,” they said in unison. “You have been reborn. Let us teach you the ways of your people.”

“My … my people?” asked Armand. He spun around and took M429’s advice. There, reflected in the pond, was his new arachnoid body.

“What have you done to me?” he shouted at Gleanant.

“Rejuvenation,” said the alien AI. “Come on, that’s what you asked for. We both heard you. You’re now a thirty-five-cycle -old Dolnatri. Their average lifespan is five hundred cycles. I’d say that’s a pretty good deal.”

“You didn’t hear me say I wanted to change species, did you?”

“Well, no,” said Gleanant. “OK, minor glitch. But don’t worry, the folks at the Rulzarian Genome Center in the Aleelean Sector should be able to fix you up.”

“I dunno, Boss,” said spidery M429. “Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead. You look pretty good to me.”

Armand wanted to shake his head, but his new anatomy made that impossible.

“Just take me there,” he said. “But this time….”

Before he could complete his thought, the former human was once again whisked across the cosmos by a powerful, if somewhat erratic alien force.

(To be continued: read the next episode here)

Design by Steven S. Drachman, from a photograph from vicariousalex/pixabay

______________________________________

Discover a universe of alien intrigue and adventure at http://tinyurl.com/ml-sci-fi

September 2 2019

Moonrock, Episode 2: A new Science Fiction serial from Mark Laporta

Chickadee Prince Fiction, Science Fiction # time_dilation, #alien_tech, #androids, #sci-fi, #science_fiction, #space_travel

Editor’s Note: You may start with Episode 1 by clicking here.

The startled contractor’s puzzled expression was masked by the light bouncing off his helmet visor.

“Wha … What’s so funny?” he asked.

The female voice, which he assumed was coming from the glaring red ball that hovered directly overhead, spoke with a decided lilt.

“Sorry,” it said. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“Weird sense of humor,” said Armand. “You know, M429 here is fully armed.”

“And completely under my control,” said the voice. “Right M?”

“Sure thing, Boss Lady,” said the android.

“But that’s just a precaution,” said the voice. “I’m known as Gleanant, and I exist to serve you.”

Armand shifted his weight on the moon’s arid surface.

“Why me … Gleanant?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“It’s a function of my programming,” said the alien AI. “You released me from my capsule. Therefore I must serve you.”

“M429, are you tracking this?” asked Armand. “I’ve never heard of an activation protocol like that.”

“Beats me,” said the android. “Occasionally, a malfunctioning android that’s essential enough gets reprogrammed to reduce its independence until a replacement arrives.”

“But why leave an android cooped up on a lunar surface for … how long is it, Gleanant?”

The hovering red sphere dimmed for a moment then flared up again.

“Based on your ship’s chronograph,” she said, “I’d say about a thousand cycles. It looks like they forgot about me.”

“Who?” asked Armand. “And where’d they go?”

But as Gleanant explained, there was a gap in her data log.

“Ships have come and gone on this rock forever,” she said. “I must have been knocked around a bit.”

Armand had a sudden urge to scratch his head, until he remembered his helmet.

“OK, well, if you’re serious about serving me,” he said, “can you speed things up around here? I’m way behind schedule on this job.”

Gleanant’s glowing orb burned brighter than ever.

“Right,” she said, “temporal displacement. Coming up.”

“Wait, Boss-Lady….” said M429.

Too late. Armand was overwhelmed by a feeling of un-Earthly calm, which was quickly shattered by the realization that all of his machinery had ground to a halt.

“There,” said Gleanant. “Now tell me which devices you want to operate outside of Time.”

“What?” asked Armand. “How could any … process … do that?”

“Oh my,” said the alien contraption. “At this power level, an explanation would use up more subjective time than I can possibly suspend with my time dam. So which is it? Explanation or work?”

Shaken, Armand opted for work, with the proviso that Gleanant explain herself to M429 later.

“Oh I already get it,” said the spidery android, “and you’re not gonna like it.”

“Don’t be negative,” snapped Gleanant. “Machine interface established.”

Armand stared out at the bizarre ballet of rapidly moving equipment that unfolded in front of him. As if in a stop-action nature film made centuries before he was born, the housing complex he’d been commissioned to build rose up in a comic frenzy. Comic, that is, if it hadn’t also been slightly terrifying.

Nevertheless, the work, when completed looked indistinguishable from normal and, a moment later, Armand experienced a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Time’s … normal again, isn’t it?” he said.

“You wish,” said M429.

“What my sourpuss of a colleague means,” said the alien android, “is that, of course, I didn’t use magic to get your workload caught up. The Laws of Physics are immutable, now aren’t they?”

“Guess so,” said Armand. “But why do I feel … weird … like my joints are stiffening up?”

“Physics,” said Gleanant. “I can’t make Time disappear. It’s like a big, unstoppable river. All I did was redirect it for a while.”

“To you, Boss,” said M429. “This thing reflected the flow of Time from this moon and bounced it off you. Sensors indicate you just aged forty years.”

“I aim to please,” said Gleanant.

“But … I’m not pleased,” Armand shouted. “I’m seventy-five now. What will my girlfriend say?”

“Guess I should have warned you,” said Gleanant. “My bad, as you humans say.”

“Correction,” said M429. “Humans haven’t said that for over a thousand cycles.”

“What does it even mean?” asked Armand.

“You’ve got bigger problems,” said M429.

“Yeah, like blurry vision,” said Armand. “Well, Gleanant, if you’re supposed to serve me, how about curing me?”

“Kind of ageist, aren’t we?” asked the alien. “What’s wrong? You were going to be older someday anyway. But all right, I’ve dealt with organic vanity before. What you need are the rejuvenation ponds of Dolnatri 4. What do you say?”

“Will they change me back?” asked Armand.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” were the last words the previously bored lunar contractor heard — before everything went black, his organic matter was transformed into tachyons and he was whisked across a vast swath of interstellar space.

(To be Continued – read Episode 3 here)

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Discover a universe of alien intrigue and adventure at http://tinyurl.com/ml-sci-fi

August 28 2019

Moonrock: A New Science Fiction Serial by Mark Laporta

Chickadee Prince Fiction, Science Fiction #alien_tech, #androids, #sci-fi, #science_fiction, #space_travel

Day in and day out, the lunar construction business was a constant grind. Heavy-duty excavators cleared the surface rubble and dug the foundation, according to one of several government-approved templates. Next, teams of servicebots laid down plumbing, electricity, AI interface and a GalaxyNet connection. Finally, work on the super structure and its interior amenities began, supervised by an organic design team.

Armand DuBois ran one such construction concern way out on the fringes of the Tau Ceti galaxy. On a typical work day in 3067, he paused to gaze out over the starry horizon. His mind reeled as he tried to imagine how the engineers behind the first extra-solar construction projects had managed.

Back then, it was said, rudimentary Artificial Intelligence climbed a steep learning curve in each new scenario — despite millions of lines of code and terabytes of archived visual data. Plus, there were no replicators or extruders to help deal with emergency repair.

In a pinch, less vital equipment was cannibalized, and missing components were cobbled together from scraps. That is, until your primary systems seized up or burned out altogether. The alternative was an agonizing wait for a supply drone. Armand shook his head at the thought of how many of those earliest colonists had fallen ill when leaky air valves created a lush environment for airborne microbes.

In his mind, those first missions were Courage in action, taken by people who believed in an ideal. By contrast, his decidedly average construction business, which operated within a cubic light year at most, was just a job. Serving as the sole proprietor of Moonbeam, LLC hardly made him a hero.

But on this particular day, a chance occurrence bumped his destiny up a notch. For once he looked away from the horizon, his eyes came to rest on an unusual surface formation not ten meters from where he stood in his standard, Akimoto pressure suit.

“Weird-looking magma nodule,” he muttered into his helmet.

What Armand didn’t know about geology, let alone exogeology, could have filled fifty volumes of the “Encyclopedia Astronomica,” if the ungainly tome hadn’t ceased publication eight hundred years earlier. Lucky for him, he was just smart enough to know his limitations. Instead of guessing, he called out to one of two supervising AIs he took with him on every job.

“M429, you wanna swing by and take a look at this?” he said

The lithe android, a spidery affair with eight legs, raised its com-tennae and pointed them in his direction.

“Detours from protocol cost money, Boss,” its mellow voice rang out inside Armand’s helmet.

“Yeah, I know,” said Armand. “Get over here anyway. Don’t make me run a diagnostic on you.”

“Promises, promises,” said the AI. A minute later, it had clomped over the moon’s rugged surface to meet him. “I presume you want an analysis of the anomalous nodule to your right.”

“You knew about it?” asked Armand.

“Basically?” said the android. “I see everything. But we have a job to do.”

“’We’ have the job I tell ‘us’ we have,” said Armand. “Right now, ‘our’ job is to deliver an analysis of that nodule.”

“Galaxies, Boss,” said the AI. “I was just pointing out that you need credits to operate this company and some of them go to recharging my power packs and replicating my replacement parts. See why I have a vested interest?”

The human smiled, in spite of himself. It was impossible to stay mad at an android, though he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that was a good thing.

“Long as we understand each other,” he said. “Is the object in question as unusual as it looks?”

“Oh … more so, Boss,” said M429. “There’s a chunk of advanced tech stuck in there that I can’t even describe.”

“Then leave it alone,” said Armand. “Just transmit an image to Central so they can waste their own time on it.”

“Too late,” said M429. “Now that we’ve got its attention, the thing is ordering me to break it out of that nodule.”

“Can’t you say no?” asked Armand, then gasped as the android spun around and blasted the nodule with its forearm-mounted laser.

“Sorry, Boss,” said M429.

Within seconds a small red orb emerged from the rubble of the nodule, rose into the moon’s airless sky swelled to twice its size and emitted a fearsome glow. All thought of reprimand drained from the human’s mind as a snarling female voice echoed inside his helmet.

“You!” it said. “You will serve me or be destroyed.’

“Hey, cut it out, will ya?” said Armand. “You’re breaking my eardrums.”

And to his great surprise, Armand’s helmet filled with eerie, jovial laughter.

(To be continued: read the next episode here)