by M. D. Cooper
“No. Tithi’s getting me a place up-spin. We’re moving in together.”
“By the stars, brother. You’re doomed.”
“You’re only saying that because you want me to be as lonely as you.”
“It’s not lonely if we’re together,” Starl growled. He turned to unlock the door and pulled it open. The auto-lights flickered on, and he motioned for Zanda to go inside.
Zanda hesitated. “You sure you want me in there?”
Starl gave him a surprised frown. “Of course I want you to come inside. We’re still brothers, aren’t we? Just because you’re running off to join a cult of crazy people doesn’t mean we can’t share a brew like we always have. Are they going to teach you to actually be able to hack things?”
Stepping over the high threshold, Zanda said, “I’m getting a Link next Tuesday.”
“You’re getting the surgery? Where’d you get the money for that?”
Zanda shrugged. “A gift from Tithi.”
“Don’t look so bashful,” Starl said. “Nothing wrong with being a kept man. Be careful she doesn’t have a bad dream and blow your head off while you sleep. I saw that pistol she keeps in her arm.”
“It’s got an override,” Zanda said quickly.
Starl withheld his smirk out of respect for his friend's future heartache and pain.
“Let me give you the grand tour,” Starl said, wanting to change the subject. He went to the cooling cabinet and took out the case of beers he’d bought for the occasion. He cracked one open and handed it to Zanda, who nodded and accepted it. Starl cracked his own beer and took a long drink, enjoying the sensation. It tasted like old piss, but he’d bought it with his money and was enjoying it in his place. The security token on the door was his.
Zanda smiled. “All right. I’ll take the tour. Do we have to walk far?”
Starl gave him a smirk. “Here we have the entertaining kitchen, complete with a water spigot that saves you the trouble of deciding between hot or cold, since everything coming out of it is lukewarm. You also get the surprise of usually getting water, but sometimes getting something else. Will that gray goopy stuff kill you? Who knows? There we have the cooking pad where I can warm my protein gruel, and there are the storage cabinets. You’ll notice someone did me the favor of removing all the hardware, so I don’t have to bother with locking anything; while on this side of the wall, each cubby has its own locking code, so I can challenge my mind with remembering them all. Good in the event I jam twenty more people in here, I guess.”
Starl turned slightly and motioned toward the rest of the rectangular space, where a couch faced a scarred wall with a vid screen. A low table by the couch would serve as both coffee table and dining table. “When I’m feeling fancy, I can push the table out and sit on my knees like civilized people do,” Starl said.
The wall near the door had two long cabinets that looked suspiciously like weapons lockers, but were used now for extra sets of clothing that Starl might obtain at some point in the future. He excitedly pointed out several hooks inside the locker doors where he could hang his bowtie collection, when it came to exist.
Starl pointed out the interesting scorch marks on the ceiling from errant pulse fire, which led him to his next thought. “I sure appreciate you pawning that pistol so I could get my things, Zanda. This place would be even emptier, if not for you.”
“It’s what friends do,” Zanda said. “I guess you’re right. It’s not like I’m leaving Cruithne or anything. I’ll be on the spin. We can see each other whenever we want to. Grab a beer, whatever.”
“Maybe work a side job, if such presents itself.”
“You know the Rack isn’t especially forgiving about side work.”
“I didn’t say immediately,” Starl said. “Discreet opportunities present themselves and ready folks take advantage. Isn’t that how we do?” He held out the beer can for a toast.
Zanda nodded. “Yeah, that’s how we do.”
They clinked beer cans, drained them, and then Starl went to the cooler for more.
Eventually, they were sitting on the couch with a Crash match on the vid screen and empty cans scattered all over the low table and the floor beside the couch. Starl’s bowtie was vertical. Zanda had somehow spilled beer down his pants, but didn’t care.
“You sure you didn’t piss yourself?” Starl said. “The lavatory is right there.”
“Have to refill the tank for the kitchen faucet, yeah?” Zanda said, burping.
“Exactly. Everyone pulls their share.” He looked around, bleary eyed and pleased with himself. “You heard anything from Fug?” he asked.
“She’s gone.”
Starl perked up slightly. “What?”
“She bought a ticket, and left for the Mars Protectorate. She said she isn’t stopping until she’s on the other side of the Jovian Combine.”
“I thought she wanted to go where there were people and civilization?”
Zanda shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what she said. She creeps me out, honestly.”
“I don’t know. I think she has a certain charm to her.”
“She looks like a human gave birth to a bat.”
“Now that’s unkind, coming from a man with a German Shepherd for a father.”
“That’s just terrible on several levels,” Zanda shot back, “and unfair to German Shepherds everywhere.”
Starl grinned. He found the last two beers in the box beside the table and handed one over to his friend. They cracked them open and he took a long drink. They would need to find more soon, which meant a good long stumble to the corridor bodega.
“So, Zanda,” he said, raising his eyebrows to keep his eyes open. “Did I tell you about the talking parrot?”
Zanda was leaning to one side, squinting like a pirate. “All parrots are talking parrots, dumbass.”
“Well, this parrot had an AI in its head, which made it quite eloquent.”
“You’re shitting me,” Zanda mumbled.
“I’m not, cross my heart. I think it’s going to take over the world.”
Starl waited, but Zanda didn’t answer. Eventually, his friend released a long, gurgling snore.
Chuckling, Starl leaned over to take the full beer from his friend’s hand so he wouldn’t drop it. He set it on the low table, then sat up on the couch and kicked one foot out to rest on the table. He looked around at the shabby, grimy apartment, feeling quite pleased with himself.
He sipped his beer. “What I was going to say, Zanda,” he said, “is I think those little fuckers are going to take over the world, brother. Mark my words.”
Zanda answered only with snores.
“And that’s why they deserve it,” Starl said.
THE END
— — —
Want to read more by James S. Aaron?
Aeon 14 Sentience Wars: Origins (The Sentience Wars)
It has been one-hundred and seventy-five years since the birth of the first truly sentient AI. It has been just two short years since Lyssa's birth...
Captain Andy Sykes just wants to keep his family in one piece.
Once a combat pilot for the TSF, he gave it all up for love and a family. But two years ago, his wife disappeared, leaving him with two mouths to feed: eight year-old Tim, ten year-old Cara.
Since then, he's managed to scrape a living hauling cargo between the Jovian Combine and InnerSol. It's not glamorous, his ship's falling apart, and it's boring as hell, but it keeps them in fuel and calories.
When a cargo run to Cruithne Station meets with more than one catastrophe, Andy finds himself accepting an offer a less desperate man would refuse: delivering an illegal AI named Lyssa.
The AI is the property of Heartbridge, a powerful, interplanetary corporation, and they want their latest weapon back. With a private army, gangs, and pirates all vying for the precious cargo Andy carries, it's going to take everything Andy has to keep his ship flying, his kids safe, and get Lyssa to her destination.
Even if he succeeds, Lyssa's very existence may spark a war like no other humanity has ever seen.
Read Lyssa’s Dream on Kindle now
About the Author
James S. Aaron is an SF Author and Army vet with XP in journalism, airspace control and chicken wrangling. He’s one of those Oregonians you hear about.
He’s currently collaborating with M.D. Cooper to develop new stories in the Aeon14 Universe. You can learn more at www.aeon14.com.
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Miss Planet Earth
By S.E Anderson
A pageant queen out of time. A secretive assassin in the wrong body. Space pirates and demented droids. It’s been a long day.
Katra Zorento won the title of Miss Universe only days before first contact was made. Armed with only her charm and her golden bikini, she was sent to compete on the real stage, against the rest of the Milky Way—only to overshoot the arrival by 13,000 years.
Now, with her visa expired and no one on her side, she must make the arduous trip back to the planet that once was Earth… That is, of course, if dashing space pirates don’t get in the way. And to make matters worse, her fiancé’s brain might be trapped inside her head. Katra’s only allies are a mysterious assassin trapped in a nine-year-old’s body and a ‘service’ droid with memory issues. But if she survives this, she could win the most valuable crown in the universe.
CHAPTER 1:
In which mistakes were made, and visas revoked
Katra Zorento woke up to find she had overslept the pageant by 13,000 years.
Her fingers were still frosty as she sat at the desk, trying to warm them in the soft fabric of her leggings. To her left was the open casket she had been pried from: her cryogenic sleeping pod, packed with her makeup bag, her red ball gown and a bikini. There was also the large golden disk she had brought from Earth, a replica of the one from the Voyager probe, a gift for the Council of Twelve.
Every member of which was now dead. The council itself abolished 4,812 years ago, after an incident with a gas cloud which proved once and for all that diplomatic missions and fire breathing dragons do not mix.
At least not on a spaceship.
All this Katra gleaned from the overstuffed office she found herself in. Posters covered the walls, telling the history of this weird planet through snippets of Public Service Announcements. The Council’s abolition was a stark reminder not to travel through nebulas in the first place.
They tried the gas – and ended civilization. Don’t gas and drive.
The entire floor space was taken up by her pod, two chairs, and a desk, so Katra had to tuck her legs under her seat since there was no room to put them down. Across from her sat what appeared to be a formless blob of gelatin, which wobbled back and forth on its hovering chair, as if waiting for her to speak. Every once and a while, a paper on its desk would ruffle, though how it was moving Katra had no idea.
“You understand your visa has long since expired, yes?” the blob said. The voice was loud, and somehow directly in Katra’s mind, which made her spine tingle. She had never met a telepathic alien before, nor any kind of alien, so the entire experience was a little unnerving, to say the least.
“Yes, but, what happened?” she asked, trying to keep her still thawing limbs from trembling. “I was supposed to meet Chancellor Forbin and…”
“As I explained earlier,” said the blob’s voice, somehow conveying a sigh through its haughty mightier-than-thou airy voice. “Chancellor Forbin has been dead for over thirteen millennia.”
“But the trip was only supposed to take fifty years,” Katra protested, “and where is Marcus?”
“Marcus?”
“Yes, my bodyguard, Marcus. We were put in cryo-sleep together.”
“Ah, the male.” The blob mentally ruffled the pages on the desk. “I thought they explained after they woke you? And your visit to a dislocation officer didn’t make it clear to you?”
“I’m not quite sure what a dislocation officer is, exactly.”
Katra looked down at her lap and tried to avoid eye contact. Not that there were any eyes to latch onto, but gazing in the blob’s general direction made her mind swim uncomfortably.
“You’ve been sent to see a dislocation officer – me – because your traveling companion’s mind was too damaged by the time spent in the cryo-sleep.”
“Marcus is dead?”
Katra couldn’t help but glare at the blob in complete shock. Marcus. Dead. He was – no, had been – more than just her bodyguard and constant companion. The two of them had been engaged to be married upon their triumphant return to Earth.
And now he was dead. And was there even an Earth to return to?
She wanted desperately to ask all those questions, and more. But she was face to face with a sentient slice of Jell-O and not quite sure how to proceed.
Her heart shook with silent, terrified grief.
“His body passed away not long after your departure from the planet formerly known as Earth,” said the blob, “though… how much do you know about dislocation?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Ah.” The blob seemed to hesitate. “Did the officer who put you in the chamber explain the process employed to preserve your body during the cryogenic session?”
“Vaguely,” Katra replied. It might have been thousands of years ago in history, but for her it was less than an hour ago that the strange man with gray skin had hastily sputtered some space jargon before sealing her and Marcus into the pods. That in turn was only minutes before she woke up in a strange orange room, surrounded by giant lizard-men trying to spray her down with a hose.
“So you know the consciousness is downloaded to a quantum cell, in case the physical mind is damaged in transit.”
Katra’s heart leapt. “So Marcus’s mind is still alive?”
“Yes, and no,” the blob almost seemed embarrassed at this. It was hard to tell, what with the lack of facial expressions. Or any face to speak of, for that matter. “Due to a malfunction that must have occurred during the incident that destroyed the male’s physical mind, his upload was compiled with yours. So when you awoke…”
“Shut. Up!” Katra could almost shout with glee. “He’s alive? In my head?”
“Yes,” the cloud said, perplexed, “you do not find this perturbing?”
“We were to get married!” she sputtered, “this is even better! Two minds, one body. For as long as we both shall live, in sickness and in health. This is better than marriage!”
The blob swiftly tossed a stack of papers into the trash. Katra’s excitement faded. She had probably just lost a massive bargaining chip with her outburst.
Marcus? Are you in there? I need you. I’m making a mess.
Nothing.
“You sure he’s in here?” she asked. The news alone was enough to bring heat back to her chest, drawing out the ice forever. “Safe and sound?”
“Yes, the download was definitely complete,” the blob said proudly, “your mate’s consciousness is safely in your head. But he may not present himself at first: he must carve a space in your gray matter. Humans have gray matter, correct?”
Katra nodded, though not entirely sure. It was the future, after all; maybe modern humans had done away with the stuff entirely at this point.
“Once the consciousness emerges, he may try to take control of his new host body. We apologize for any inconvenience this brings you.”
“What is inconvenient is me being here in the first place,” said Katra, her spark finally returning. Maybe it was the news that Marcus was safe and hers alone; maybe it was the heat creeping back into her extremities. Either way,
she was majorly pissed. She crossed her arms over her chest and propped her extremely long legs on the blob’s desk.
The blob said nothing. Katra wondered how it even saw what she was doing.
“How come I wasn’t woken up in time for the pageant?” she spat, “the engineers calculated everything perfectly. A fifty-year trip, not a minute longer. What happened?”
“Well, this is closer to ancient history for us, now,” said the blob, “you understand, a year after your departure for Earth, faster than light travel was invented.”
“So?”
“The council decided they didn’t want to wait another forty-nine years for you to arrive at the pageant when they could have everyone show up the next day. So Earth sent someone else.”
“Who?” Katra slammed her hands on the table, making the Jell-O wobble. Which was an odd sight to see. It wobbled to one side and then back, like someone had poked it with a stick. “Don’t tell me it was that bitch, Riley. Miss Australia? She had no place as my runner up.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know that Miss Earth – formerly Miss Australia, according to my notes – was eaten and digested by Miss Ma’jarkeen. Which is why the pageant was canceled and hasn’t been held since.”
“So our ship got there and you… what? Put us in a warehouse and forgot to revive us for thousands of years?”
“I’m sorry, not my department,” said the mound of gelatin, “I’ve already outstepped by pulling up so much information from this case. To make things short: we’re sorry for the inconvenience, and we’re sending you home right away.”
“To Earth?”
“It used to be called Earth, yes.”
“What is it now?”
“Super-freaky funland dark-side death-zone powered by MnM.”
“You call that my home?” Katra sputtered. She would have stood up, indignant, but there was no space for her to do so in the tiny office. “What the fudge is super-strange dark world death thingy?”