9781910981729 (3 page)

SCIENCE FICTION

He shivered at the chill and gazed out at the seemingly endless vista of rich pasture before him. The cattle moaned to each in early morning greetings. The twin sun’s weak rays pierced the low clouds, creating a strange half-light in the clinging mist. It was hard to conceive of the unimaginable violence of a star ship arrival at times like these. Everything seemed so peaceful. Moving slowly towards the waterhole the animals regarded him through soft eyes. He inwardly sighed. This serene tableau was far removed from the gut wrenching reality of his existence; Politics, pressure and occasionally, treachery. He tried to hold on to the moment, only to realise that as he tried to grasp it, it danced playfully away from him like the end of a rainbow. He groaned as his communicator crackled into life.

“We have an inbound on the net. Please be advised that the err, Christ, I can’t even pronounce its name, incept departure point Ursa Magellan, will acquire planet fall at 07.27 standard reference time. Access velocity is light speed times a sigma variable. Quantum flux indicates pre stage breaking procedure initiated. Expect maximum atmospheric disruption. Occupants, twelve crew and fifty passengers, all triple Y chromosome silicone based Argon breathers...not exactly a party crowd. We’re gonna need rigorous immigration containment. We’ll need the population in shelters by 07.00…this is going to be a rough one…it’s a fast sucker and big…we’d better buckle up.”

Managing this sector of the quadrant had been a huge promotion. God knows how many parsecs of celestial real estate came under his purview. That in itself was a big enough responsibility. His job was not made any easier by the fact that he was at the very edge of the Empire. They didn’t call it an Empire of course. That was politically incorrect but, to all intents and purposes, it was an Empire and a prosperous one. Even more reason to police its outskirts with a robust and protectionist attitude. The Empire looked after its own. That was the reason for its existence.

His unfortunate geographic position meant that his sector was the first entry point for visitors from outside. This presented numerous headaches and challenges. Firstly, there were the inevitable customs and immigration formalities, which were a nightmare with some of the more exotic species that chose to visit. Protocol and courtesy were relative things. Trying to get across the nuances of bureaucracy and administration to visitors was a challenge. Visitors who were sometimes so different they were not recognisable as life forms at all. The last lot, as far as the sensors could ascertain, did not literally exist in real space-time and communicated via binary impulses only detectable in super heated plasma. Thank God he had a competent team of translators. He marvelled at the fact that their burn out rate wasn’t higher. Talk about stress.

The second tiresome challenge was provided by the nature of space travel itself. Due to the unimaginable speeds ships had to travel to cover interstellar distances, slowing down was a problem. Good old-fashioned gravity offered a solution. Binary stars provided a gravity well that did the trick very well. These often exotic craft came shrieking in at huge multiples of light speed, aimed for the middle of the perfectly placed twin suns and let Isaac Newton do the rest. It worked very well, save for the shock waves it sent out over the surrounding few millions of miles causing huge disruption. The population needed to take to shelters to protect them from the shockwaves, as did the multiplicity of livestock that grazed the vast plains of his base of operations. Essentially the planet had to stop work for a few hours every time a ship arrived.

Inevitably of course, on occasion a colonist was caught outside. Normally some dim witted, idealistic frontier dweller who’d forgotten his communicator. And when it happened there was always hell to pay. Insurance companies asked questions and the paperwork backed things up for weeks. Still, the job paid well.

His sensitive location ensured that the operation never ran smoothly. ‘Rumour Central’ was its nickname. The shifting politics of the Empire and its repercussions were never far from his door. Though it purported to be a democracy, huge block votes from the wealthier systems ensured the continuity of power of those with vested interests. Inevitably those with less wanted more and those with more held on to what they had. Consequently uprisings occurred, civil violence occasionally flared up and the vast trading houses plotted each other’s downfall with razor like precision.

His spaceport heaved with the flotsam and jetsam of society. Traders exported their wares, colonists eked out a meagre existence on the land, spies of the Empire plied their murky trade and exotic visitors from outside plotted sedition.

God, this was good stuff. Really original. He stopped typing for a moment and hit the spell-check. He particularly liked the section about how the Starships slowed down. It was clever; he could really make something of that. His science fiction was for the thinker. His intellectual affectations persuaded him that he had a duty to make his readers think. That was of course when he actually had some readers. As yet his writing prowess had yet to be fully appreciated. Actually, it hadn’t yet been appreciated at all. It would be of course. The market was right for a more intelligent approach.

A ‘ping’ on one of the many screens surrounding the astronomer took his eye away from his recreation. He mentally jumped from the fantasies of the distant future to the mundane realities of radio astronomy in the twenty first century. He glanced at the readout: a gamma ray spike. Somewhere in deep space, a star had exploded with unimaginable violence. Since God knows when, the ripple in space had travelled from its distant origin to the warm sands of the New Mexico desert, a desert where he now sat surrounded by vast radio dishes listening to the sounds of infinity.

Gamma ray spikes were not unusual though they had been more frequent of late. If he’d have bothered to check he’d have noticed that their rate was accelerating but he was too immersed in his own fantasy world to bother. The powers that be, whilst recognising his technical competence, also recognised his lack of ambition and had assigned him the graveyard watch at the back end of astronomy.

His spotty assistant arrived in the room in a flustered manifestation of body odour, frizzy hair and unbearable enthusiasm. “We’ve got a new spike,” he offered with tiresome energy. The astronomer stared bleakly at him with hooded eyes. “Log it in and file it,” he murmured. Gamma ray spikes were hardly anything to get excited about. Radio astronomy was about a lot more than that. His superiors agreed. That was why they had him on the night shift. ‘A lack of imagination’ was the phrase that they’d used. It still grated with him. Imagination he had by the bucket load. When his flights of fancy were published, they’d show him to be the towering intellect he knew himself to be.

“You know we’ve been getting an awful lot of these spikes recently,” gushed the assistant. “I ran an analysis earlier on. The sources seem to be getting closer. It’s almost as if they are, well, coming our way. The algorithms hinted at what could be seen as a pattern.”

The astronomer scoffed. “A pattern? Getting closer? Where did you go to school? The only thing that causes Gamma Ray spikes like this are exploding stars. Please feel free to commit career suicide by suggesting there is some cosmic phenomenon at work. Be my guest. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some real science fiction to write.”

He was right of course. It was a ludicrous thought. To even suggest that the exploding stars were anything other than a natural occurrence was career suicide. It was unthinkable. Indeed, there were those who counted on such complacency.

The astronomer re read his most recent paragraph and basked at his own inventiveness. In that moment, every celestial monitoring device in the facility started urgently chattering out data.

The vast alien fleet appeared from nowhere just beyond the rings of Saturn. In a few short moments, in an explosion of stellar magnitude, their weapons blasted the Earth to oblivion. Pausing momentarily to confirm that no life forms existed elsewhere in the Solar System, they moved swiftly on to continue their conquest of the galaxy.

- The End -

CHANCE MEETING

It hadn’t been the best of days. His boss had been a nightmare. He’d lost his cell phone yet again and now it was raining. As ever, the citizens of Manhattan showed their worst side as the deluge soaked him; the competition to find a cab only one step away from anarchy. He gave up the struggle and stepped into a Starbucks. The sudden change in temperature immediately fogged his glasses. He cursed himself for not picking up his new contact lens prescription. If that SOB of a boss of his hadn’t buried him with work he’d have had time to do it. He cursed himself again that he didn’t have the courage to stand up to him. Not that it would have made any difference. He’d probably get fired if he did and good jobs were a rare commodity in this town. Not that he had what he considered to be a good job but it paid well. A good job, as far as he was concerned, was one where you enjoyed what you were doing. Mick Jagger, now he had a good job. He was sure that George Clooney enjoyed getting out of bed most days, and he doubted that Tiger Woods ever had problems with the boss.

Not that he envied their lives, at least not too much. But he knew that they wouldn’t have envied his. He wasn’t actually poor and he was successful in his way but that was about the sum of it. Thirty beckoned in three weeks and this wasn’t how he thought it would turn out. He reached for a tissue and wiped his glasses. As he replaced them he made for the counter and placed his order.

Nursing his tall latte, he walked to the last free table. As he sat down he looked at the other occupants of the establishment. He accidentally made eye contact with a woman at the table opposite. As he was about to smile she looked away, disinterested. Was it not ever thus in this city?

Frustration rose up in him. He had so much to offer. He was so much more than a number cruncher. He wrote poetry. Good poetry too. Not that his opinions were shared by New York literary agents. He was pretty proficient on the piano too. He wrote songs, ballads full of meaning and emotion. He spent hours refining his lyrical prose to reflect his thoughts. Not that anyone other than him had heard them of course. His offerings had been returned unopened by the music companies, with sharp notes informing him that they didn’t listen to unsolicited material. He was kind, compassionate and sensitive but no one seemed to care. Oh, he’d had dates since he moved to the city but the rapaciousness of New York women just steamrollered his sensibilities. The ones he found interesting discarded him like used tissues, actually, most of them discarded him like used tissues, sometimes in mid date.

Not that he was unattractive. He modestly considered himself to be not less than average looking. He was in shape, still had his hair and was in possession of all his faculties. And, when given the opportunity, he was a good lay, but it rarely got to that stage. He was a considerate and imaginative lover. It wasn’t ego. He knew this to be true of him. Why other people couldn’t see his redeeming features was a mystery. Happiness appeared to be so easily achievable for others. It seemed that others had something that he did not but he was too intelligent to think this was really the case. He was a nice guy but he wasn’t a wimp. Notwithstanding this it seemed his life was in the ultimate rut. Nothing he did or said seemed to make a difference to the way his life developed. As he considered these thoughts for the millionth time he was once again at a loss for answers. Could it be that none of his talents were enjoyable or worth anything unless he shared them with others? Did they actually mean anything if they were never expressed? It seemed he had all the gifts necessary for happiness. All the basics were there. It was as if he was poised on the launch pad, waiting for ignition.

The rocket’s fuse was irrevocably lit by the woman who interrupted his thoughts. Asking him if he could share his table, she sat down before he could reply and launched into a tirade of abuse regarding the city he now called home. Her colourful language forced a smile to his lips as her invective brushed a number of his own touch points. She tore open her sugar sachets with venom and fixed him with a stare. “So what’s your story?”  She’d snapped, with a hint of a smile.

And that’s when it happened, when his life changed.

She was a little older than him, probably the just the wrong side of thirty-five but very striking with it. Not traditionally beautiful, but blessed with such an excess of character he hardly noticed. On that first day she had interrogated him so rigorously he found himself laughing out loud at the onslaught. As he’d laughed, she’d laughed with him, seemingly realising the reaction her insensitivity had caused but enjoying it nevertheless. He had never known anyone like her.

As the afternoon passed to evening she sucked information out of him as if feeding on it. He was bewitched. Here at last was someone who seemed to be appreciating all that he had to offer. In apparent return for her enjoyment of him she offered scintillating humour, outrageous observations and an insightful intellect. She seemed very wise. Within two hours of meeting her he had looked inside himself and was embarrassed at the conclusion. He liked everything about her.

It was the little things: the way she reached out and touched his hand to make a point; the way she said ‘Bullshit’ when he got ahead of himself; her genuine consideration of his opinions, and her painstakingly honest assessment of his views. In return, he was no fawning recipient. He challenged her sweeping generalisations and probed her as deeply as she did him, luxuriating in her robust responses.

Later, at his apartment, (no one was more stunned than he) he winced as she pronounced his first stumbling song as ‘sentimental horseshit.’ It took a good deal of persuasion to get him to perform a second, which also didn’t meet with much approval. The third hit the spot. Her mood softened. “Now that’s what I was expecting,” she said quietly. That they’d made love that night surprised him. That his ministrations were so obviously and so utterly appreciated delighted him. He’d never seen anyone so comprehensively satisfied. In turn she was urgent and creative, shocking and thrilling him with equal measure with her outrageous sensuality.

The next five days were a blur. In between falling totally and deeply in love he attended meetings with music and literary agents arranged through her connections. His poetry was received with embarrassing enthusiasm and music companies seemed to be queuing up for his songs. Every moment he spent with her was a revelation, every night a voyage of discovery. Life was suddenly good and he was pleased to see that she revelled in every moment with him.

The woman smiled at her counsellor. “Yes, it was everything you promised. It was well worth the money.”

“You’ll be doing it again?” enquired the counsellor.

“You betcha,” confirmed the woman. “It’s just wonderful to feel so needed.”

The counsellor looked across the pristine uncluttered surface of her desk. She tapped rapidly on a touch sensitive screen in front of her and studied the data carefully then offered, “You put most of this together yourself didn’t you? Well done. Most of our first timers take advantage of our consulting services to help construct a play scenario. Are you sure you want out now?”

The woman laughed. “I’m not made of cash you know.”

Smiling, the counsellor fixed her with a steady gaze. “Are you going to tell him? We always recommend that you don’t. Sometimes the guilt can have an adverse effect. It’s best to let us handle matters.”

The woman thought for a moment. “Yes, it’s probably best that way,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry,” said the counsellor, standing up and walking over to her. “It’s company policy.” She started to remove the electrodes from the woman’s shaven head. “We always dispose of our client’s sentient creations humanely.”

- The End -