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Short Story Contest #7 - Space Opera

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Romance is just one of the stereotypes. For a genre to be a genre it needs to have one of the main features it doesnt have to more than one.

Space opera:
1.A novel, movie, or television program set in outer space, typically of a simplistic and melodramatic nature

Space opera is a subgenre of speculative fiction or science fiction that emphasizes romantic, often melodramatic adventure, set mainly or entirely in outer space, generally involving conflict between opponents possessing powerful (and sometimes quite fanciful) technologies and abilities. ..


So generally a story conentrating only on a small city on a planet with a Space platform isnt really a typical space opera and doesn't really follow the idea. Yes its in space but it was niether melodramatic nor of any other followable nature the plot was just a badline with only 2 characters are no really comparitable ending which made sense. There was no idea behind it just 2 characters badly indigested into the story :L
 
*as though smart people are a dying breed

If you don't have time to host a contest then don't bother.

And as can be quite plain, I do.

Unlike some people, I have work, obligations, and responsibility and am unable to be on every second to meet their demands.

(As can be noted I do have time to be on, I was waiting for conformation from Pyritie.)

Dragonson, all contest have drama, that is no reason not to have them.
 
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*as though smart people are a dying breed



And as can be quite plain, I do.

Unlike some people, I have work, obligations, and responsibility and am unable to be on every second to meet their demands.

(As can be noted I do have time to be on, I was waiting for conformation from Pyritie.)

Dragonson, all contest have drama, that is no reason not to have them.

As if is grammatically proper, though; as though makes just as much sense.

Everyone has work, and obligations, you just seem to neglect the obligation that is this contest. I check my mail and post to all my threads once a day, along with other things.
 
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As if "it"* is gramatically proper.

Also you said

"as smart people are a dying breed"
yes TWif was right in correcting you its
"as though"

And no "though" would not be correct without a comma as the "As" is being a conjunctive between 2 ideas

"If" would not fit in that sentance

As you are going for a negative . So you would use "As though" to hint dissapointment

While "As if" just hints at an inferration. Not at any negative. Since you follow as a negative. "As though" is more suitable
 
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Riot, would you please stop bashing TWIF in every single one of your posts? Also, Gauss, it's only one person's responsibility to manage his/her time and that's his/her own. Let's leave it with that.
If you want to contribute to this thread, post WIPs or give constructive feedback to other stories. Anything else is quite irrelevant.

That last part, by the way, is mean for everybody. Let's keep this on topic, people, please.
 
Level 20
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As if is grammatically proper, though; as though makes just as much sense.

Everyone has work, and obligations, you just seem to neglect the obligation that is this contest. I check my mail and post to all my threads once a day, along with other things.

So you have a fair amount of free time, not everyone does. I really fail to see how your posts are helping any situation or proving useful towards the topic. Please stay on track.

So we have 6 days? Did we officially sort out judges? Doing so in advance would be a good idea, heaven knows we take long enough to wrap these things up ^^
 
And I'm seriously considering laughing to death, on top of that.

1. The reason that the extension notification took so long was that I was waiting a conformation from Pyritie.

2. Complaints about the theme should have happened BEFORE the contest started, not after. Don't get me started here.

3. Its your choice whether or not to drop out or not, for heaven's sake, but don't be a drama queen. Just do or don't.

And finally, do NOT complain about my hosting. If anything, it has been on par with the average host in almost, I would say, all regards. (If not better.)
 
Level 30
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TWIF has made the point.
I think you guys have entered a little too much of yourselves in this story. Dramas should be in the stories, not out of them, please.
Also, you got the extension - I really don't see any need to keep arguing. This thread is for the stories you wrote for the contest, not your own life-stories. Keep the thread clean, for Christ sake.
Oh, and I apologize for staying off topic. To... "repair" that, I want to ask a question: is my request for judging accepted?
 
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And I'm seriously considering laughing to death, on top of that.

1. The reason that the extension notification took so long was that I was waiting a conformation from Pyritie.

2. Complaints about the theme should have happened BEFORE the contest started, not after. Don't get me started here.

3. Its your choice whether or not to drop out or not, for heaven's sake, but don't be a drama queen. Just do or don't.

And finally, do NOT complain about my hosting. If anything, it has been on par with the average host in almost, I would say, all regards. (If not better.)
Thanks for finally saying this. Not that it hasn't already been said. It's just plain weird how we've had to keep saying this and none of the people who are causing all of the trouble are listening.

Still need to find judges, though. >_>
 
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do NOT complain about my hosting.

What are you going to do, throw money at me?

At any rate, I already put in the work, so I'll remain in the contest. Oh, and by all means, if you don't finish in time, feel free to extend the contest again to your liking.

From now on, I believe it should be necessary for moderators or admins to host contests, as users (in particular, you) are completely unreliable. Also, hosts shouldn't be allowed to enter in their own contests, especially if they can't compete in them without an extension.

I'll be honest, though, your acting like a prick is one of the main reasons I oppose this extension.
 
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What are you going to do, throw money at me?

At any rate, I already put in the work, so I'll remain in the contest. Oh, and by all means, if you don't finish in time, feel free to extend the contest again to your liking.

From now on, I believe it should be necessary for moderators or admins to host contests, as users (in particular, you) are completely unreliable. Also, hosts shouldn't be allowed to enter in their own contests, especially if they can't compete in them without an extension.

I'll be honest, though, your acting like a prick is one of the main reasons I oppose this extension.

No, my good sir. It has been quite obvious from the beginning of this whole completely useless and drama-generating dicsussion that you disapprove of the extension 'cause you were one of the few that finished in time.
You may say otherwise, but anyone able to compute logic will know the correct answer.
It's a simple question of how the human mind works, the exact same thing that made all the people that bought TF2 go into an all caps rage when it went free.
People tend to have a deeply rooted HATE of other people having it easier than themselves, and personally i only have to look as far as myself to sometimes spot this.

Viewed from the outside of this discussion all i'm seeing is a rerun of InfiniateAnswer's claims that i was winning the SSC #5 poll 'cause i run a sigshop and have a big group of friends.
No offense to the good guy IA, all i'm saying here is that it looks to me like these complaints are only being made 'cause they CAN be made.
I mean, look at all this! What do you hope to acheive from all this yelling?
It's only NOW that you've actually said anything constructive, something that could be done in order to not make this happen again.
If you've ever played a competitive multiplayer game with random people on the internet you will have stumped upon this kind of thing.
If something goes wrong, and one person has done something that might be the reason of this going wrong, SOMEONE is bound to start flaming towards this person.
Not 'cause it'l help one bit, but because it's POSSIBLE.
This is the exact same kind of thing i'm seeing here.

Now, if you'd stop accusing my friend of bribing the Hive Workshop staff that would also be nice.
He donated money to help the site. If you have a problem with that, then please go jam blunt forks into your eyesockets.
 
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No, my good sir. It has been quite obvious from the beginning of this whole completely useless and drama-generating dicsussion that you disapprove of the extension 'cause you were one of the few that finished in time.
You may say otherwise, but anyone able to compute logic will know the correct answer.
It's a simple question of how the human mind works, the exact same thing that made all the people that bought TF2 go into an all caps rage when it went free.
People tend to have a deeply rooted HATE of other people having it easier than themselves, and personally i only have to look as far as myself to sometimes spot this.

Viewed from the outside of this discussion all i'm seeing is a rerun of InfiniateAnswer's claims that i was winning the SSC #5 poll 'cause i run a sigshop and have a big group of friends.
No offense to the good guy IA, all i'm saying here is that it looks to me like these complaints are only being made 'cause they CAN be made.
I mean, look at all this! What do you hope to acheive from all this yelling?
It's only NOW that you've actually said anything constructive, something that could be done in order to not make this happen again.
If you've ever played a competitive multiplayer game with random people on the internet you will have stumped upon this kind of thing.
If something goes wrong, and one person has done something that might be the reason of this going wrong, SOMEONE is bound to start flaming towards this person.
Not 'cause it'l help one bit, but because it's POSSIBLE.
This is the exact same kind of thing i'm seeing here.

Now, if you'd stop accusing my friend of bribing the Hive Workshop staff that would also be nice.
He donated money to help the site. If you have a problem with that, then please go jam blunt forks into your eyesockets.

Alternatively you can just call him a troll
 
Level 27
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Alternatively you can just call him a troll

When i post in discussions like this, which i dont do often, i do it full-scale.
Also i caught myself starting to get pissed off.

Or you could say im a lone voice against the extension. At any rate, i lost and will wait till polling to post again.

I applaud your decision.
 
At any rate, I already put in the work, so I'll remain in the contest. Oh, and by all means, if you don't finish in time, feel free to extend the contest again to your liking.

Most people asked for one. Its not policy to extend twice. (some hosts have decided it is, buuuut...) This the second and last chance.

From now on, I believe it should be necessary for moderators or admins to host contests, as users (in particular, you) are completely unreliable. Also, hosts shouldn't be allowed to enter in their own contests, especially if they can't compete in them without an extension.

1. Should have been raised before.
2. I see no reason why hosts CAN'T join contests.
3. Moderators are essentially the same when it comes to managing contests. There is little distinction in the speed of return posts and managing other things. (Not pointing fingers, as I've got no problem with how they manage the contests, its good.)
3. Shall we timeline this?

I ask Pyritie for an extension to the contest at 08-31-2011 03:10 PM (This is when I finished reading up on contest logs and saw additional calls for extension, after I got in from work.)

Then at 09-02-2011 07:29 AM Pyritie responds by saying "I dunno, ask the host."

09-02-2011 08:15 And I respond by telling him I AM the host.

09-02-2011 03:16 PM He responds "Well sure."

09-04-2011, 10:57 AM Is when i extend the contest. The reason for delaying by a day? I wasn't sure whether or not Pyritie was going to send me a date or not, and because I was deciding how long to extend. (No one bothered to give me suggestions.) So at most there was a delay of 1 day. I'm not going to compare this to other contests because there is no need too. (My timing has been on par or better with management to the extension.)

Now I hardly understand what other things I could have done wrong as a host, as that is essentially the extent of my duties.


I'll be honest, though, your acting like a prick is one of the main reasons I oppose this extension.

Now you are starting to personally insult me on what basis? I've been nothing but polite, I've never made personal remarks, and I've only defended my actions through calm, clear and collected discourse.

You are being disagreeable, making remarks about my character and moral integrity, and accusing me of bribing the staff of the site. These are incredibly serious accusations, not to mention rude and impolite, as I've stated before.
 
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Most people asked for one. Its not policy to extend twice. (some hosts have decided it is, buuuut...) This the second and last chance.



1. Should have been raised before.
2. I see no reason why hosts CAN'T join contests.
3. Moderators are essentially the same when it comes to managing contests. There is little distinction in the speed of return posts and managing other things. (Not pointing fingers, as I've got no problem with how they manage the contests, its good.)
3. Shall we timeline this?

I ask Pyritie for an extension to the contest at 08-31-2011 03:10 PM (This is when I finished reading up on contest logs and saw additional calls for extension, after I got in from work.)

Then at 09-02-2011 07:29 AM Pyritie responds by saying "I dunno, ask the host."

09-02-2011 08:15 And I respond by telling him I AM the host.

09-02-2011 03:16 PM He responds "Well sure."

09-04-2011, 10:57 AM Is when i extend the contest. The reason for delaying by a day? I wasn't sure whether or not Pyritie was going to send me a date or not, and because I was deciding how long to extend. (No one bothered to give me suggestions.) So at most there was a delay of 1 day. I'm not going to compare this to other contests because there is no need too. (My timing has been on par or better with management to the extension.)

Now I hardly understand what other things I could have done wrong as a host, as that is essentially the extent of my duties.




Now you are starting to personally insult me on what basis? I've been nothing but polite, I've never made personal remarks, and I've only defended my actions through calm, clear and collected discourse.

You are being disagreeable, making remarks about my character and moral integrity, and accusing me of bribing the staff of the site. These are incredibly serious accusations, not to mention rude and impolite, as I've stated before.

Contests should be hosted by moderators.

Hosts shouldn't be able to join (in fact it used to say in the rules they can't).

I don't dislike you in particular TWIF, but I dislike you as a host very highly.
You need to be more active if you are the host, and better yet, you need to host the contest. If you do not have the necessary time, then don't host, or ask someone else to host, (LIKE A MOD DERP).
 
quit it guys. Stop suffocating twif. True, many users asked for extension. I was against it, but seriously stop. Just because we finished in time it does not mean that we can troll around hoping for that award icon based on other people's unfinished work. TWIF CAN NOT MAKE AN EXTENSION!!! It can only be done by PYRITIE and no one else. So if pyritie considered there should be extension then it should. And about "money", I respect TWIF for donating HUGE amount of money to this site. This site brought me many joys and he is the one of many to thank for that. I do agree that there is no point in entering if you "have no time" and that it cripples the rest of us, but seriously stop insulting the host because of our(yes me too) selfish desire for an icon. On the other hand I do agree that hosts should not be allowed to participate because of the influence they might provide to other users (I am not talking about bribery). So have a nice extension you hard working, caring people and the rest of you either edit your work(fixing faults is not such bad idea) or shut the hell up because this is not a fight thread. If you wish a fight, wait for the results. Then blame everyone and cry how life is unfair, but until then suck it up. The working few, have a nice silence.
 
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Calm down champara. True, i agree with you that this whole thing was stupid, but although Riotz did continue we should seriously acknowledge that Gaus actually had the balls to apologize.
Think about it, when was the last time you admitted you were wrong on the internet?

The discussion is over. We (should) all know that.
No more need for words in this thread or anywhere else regarding this topic.
In the immortal words of the Hundred-Year-Old that jumped out of the window and disappeared:

It is as it is, and it'l be as it'l be. -Jonas Jonasson
 
Level 20
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Feb 24, 2009
Messages
2,999
Smile and wave boys, smile and wave :)
~ Welp, one less entry to judge then? Took a fair few posts to sum that one up -.-'

I think I might try and host the next one, that would so lulz :D
ANYWAY. What was the verdict on new entrants - It's been extended for people who have already participated or anyone who still wants to join (provided they don't moan about having like 3/4 days ;P)!?
 
Level 27
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Alright, I'm posting the final version of my story.
Good luck all, and sorry for the black text! I copied this directly out of OpenOffice, and i couldnt find a color that was a the same as hivetext.
If you cant read it in black, send me a note and i'l make it something else for ya.






[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A faint beeping noise awoke Leif from his slumber.
His metallic eyelids shot open, and he stared out at what appeared to be... space.
As the mechanisms allowing him to move his body clicked into place he slowly looked from side to side.
He was standing on the command deck of what from the looks of it's design was a human carrier ship.
In front of him a massive glass barrier separated him and empty space.
His memory cells slowly started working again, and as information poured into his mind he remembered.
He had been on this ship for a long time. According to the information his brain provided him with he had been in stasis for more than five years.
How he ended up in stasis was a black hole in his memory, but he remembered that there had been something about an evacuation.
He looked down at the control panels in front of him. He checked for other androids or mechanical servitors, finding none. Neither were there any crew aboard. No passengers either, at that.
According to the control panels, Leif was the last being aboard the ship.
If there had been any humans on the ship it wouldn’t have been any good anyway, as there was absolutely no rations on board.
Luckily Leif didn't need rations.
He clicked a few buttons on the control desk to open the starmap, a few minutes later he had found the ship's location.
According to it the ship was at a complete standstill amidst empty space.
The nearest populated planet was several hours of light speed flight away.
And according to the instruments showing the ship's lower decks there was absolutely no fuel left either.
Damn.” Leif mumbled silently and got up.
He walked over to one of the empty data desks and opened up the map of the ship's more 'secure' parts.
A few tries at the password and... he was in. And he'd been right.
The bio-dome's reserve storage still had a bit of fuel.
Leif sat down and gathered his thoughts. He knew the coordinates for his home-world, and he knew that could he just get the fuel into the ship's engine he could get it moving, and as long as he didn't hit anything he could get home.
[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The chances of not hitting anything at all on the entire trip were though... not favorable.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]One out of twenty.” Leif said silently, biting his lower lip as his brain told him to.
And if the ship DID hit something on the way home, he would have nothing left to do.
But if he did nothing, the chances of survival would be 0, as the ship's quite impressive power supply would eventually run out.
[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]His brain noted to him that he would die eventually at any rate, but that although he could survive for several human generations on the ship it would be an immensely boring life.
He commented back that he was specialized in adapting to the situation, and that he would surely find something to do.
His brain won the internal discussion by reminding him that he already missed his home world.
Leif sighed and got up. The elevator leading down to the Bio-dome wasn't far, and he reached it within minutes.
The elevator itself was somewhat slow, as elevators have to be.
[/FONT]



[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The elevator finally reached it's destination, and Leif stepped outside.
The Bio-dome was full of various plants and small animals as always, but it was remarkably silent when he stepped in.
After taking note of it Leif decided to ignore it for now. He would have lots of time to find out what was going on while the ship moved to it's destination.
From where he was standing he could see the grand oak that he knew the emergency storage was hid beneath, and he started walking towards it.
As he walked he heard a strange noise. Almost like a voice of sorts.
Leif brushed it off, marking it as a malfunction.
You've just woken up from stasis Leif, minor malfunctions are normal.”
He told himself, reminding his brain that there were no other people on board the ship.
[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]But as he walked further through the Bio-dome it came again.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Hello? Is anyone there?[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif stopped in his tracks. It was not just a malfunction, there really was something calling out.[/FONT]
”[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Who are you? Where are you?” Leif said out loud, looking around the dome, but unable to spot anything apart from the plants and scattered animals.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Someone is here...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A heavy sigh of relief was heard in the dome. Leif felt something moving towards him.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He spun around, looking in all directions for whatever was approaching.[/FONT]
”[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Show yourself! I'm heavily armed and WILL fire! Do not attempt to attack!”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif yelled, his brain notifying him that a human would feel fear in this situation.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Do not worry child, i will guide you into the light. I come from a place far beyond the reaches of space that you know of, i am...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif felt a strange sting in his brain. It filled the air and surrounded his senses. He knew it, but couldn’t remember what it was... something about... Disappointment. He remembered it from the humans that had built him. Over and over, each time he'd done something wrong he could feel it in them, disappointment, and it stung in his body every time.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Oh, You are not human... A machine, in the guise of a man.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]That feeling again. The sting turned into artificial pain in Leif's body.[/FONT]
”[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Oww... That hurts.” Leif said as he instinctively moved his right hand to his head.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Oh, I’m sorry. It's just... I was expecting a human, someone able to ascend.[/FONT]
”[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Eh?” Leif uttered as his systems purged the pain from his head.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Hmm?[/FONT]
”[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]What is that supposed to mean?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]There was a shift of air in the room.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif felt a cold gust hit him.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]If you do not know, I shall not tell you.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif's eyes narrowed.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I'm an android, you moron. I know only what I am told, and what I am built to know.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Ignorance is supposed to be a core reason for enlightenment, not the other way around!”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The cold feeling slowly faded.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You're right. That was foolish of me.[/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Silence fell on the bio dome. Leif waited, listened. But no further words came from the other.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif sat down to reset his pain settings.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He fiddled with the various functions for twenty minutes or so, but still didn’t manage to find whatever it was that made disappointment cause pain.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It was most probably hidden deep within his core systems, buried behind a whole bunch of 1-attempt passwords. The 'shut down all core functions' 1-attempt passwords, at that. All in all, it wasn't worth trying to find it.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He did though manage to make the pain stop, so he stood up again to continue his errand.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A few steps from the oak he stopped, a thought running through his head.[/FONT]
”[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You aren't still here, are you?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Where should I go? I've been through this entire ship, looking for someone who could host me, but to no avail.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Wait... What exactly are you again?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Oh, um... My apologies. Usually no explanation is needed. Which is part of the reason for my unreasonable reaction just before. My apologies again. You se-[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif raised his hand, signaling the other to stop talking.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It's alright, just get on with the explanation, please.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Ahem, yes... As far as I am aware, your people call me a 'Holy Spirit'. [/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I assume that term is familiar to you.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif feigned a shrug, yet couldn't help a small smile. “Sure, I mean, we have dusty tomes filled with tales of holy spirits and the miracles they could perform. No-one really believes any of it, though. We only keep the books as cultural relics.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The cold gust from before hit Leif again, this time with enough force to blow leaves off the nearby trees, which it did.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]What? You're telling me that your entire race has ceased to believe in my kind?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Except for a few minor groups, yes. Natural explanations were found for the many things that we credited holy spirits for having done, and people had used your name to justify horrible things.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Most religious people are looked upon with skeptical, if not hostile, eyes.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That's horrible! I have to get to your world at once and... Do... SOMETHING![/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Yes. Do that.” Leif started walking towards the other end of the bio dome, deciding that whoever was playing this trick on him had to be found. Maybe he could provide a way home.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Checking the Bio deck's reserve storage first sounded like a good idea, though.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Wait, where are you going?[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A smirk took residence on Leif's lips.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I don't care what you say. I know this is some kind of stupid bluff. We've had enough of those in our history already. I don’t know where you're hiding on the ship, but I’m going to find you.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]But... I'm a being of cosmic power! Divine strength! I can help your people, and you![/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif's eyes narrowed again, and he spun around on his heel, facing the place he guessed the trickster was looking at him from.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]All I’ve heard from you until now is nonsensical blabber and that you have issues with me being an android. Why exactly should I believe your preachings? Where's the proof, Mr. Ethereal?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]But... You don't understand! I've been traveling through empty space for years! I have almost none of my strength left! I need a host, a believer, someone to help me recuperate![/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Get lost. I don't know what you want me to do, but I'm not going to fall for it.”[/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Silence once again fell on the Bio-Dome.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif turned around again and slowly resumed walking to the other end of the Bio-Dome.[/FONT]
Just before Leif reached his destination, the Bio-Dome's emergency storage, the silence was broken once more.
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I'm sorry.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Of all the things Leif had expected to hear, this was not one of them. He could feel his brain react to the words, how it was branded into him to relax when it was said.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It calmed him, made him feel at peace. A smile took up place on his face, and he caught himself being about to turn around and return the gesture.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Instead he kept on walking, and said “You really need my help, don't you?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes, I do, but...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif sighed. “Fine, I’ll listen. But before I agree to anything I want a full explanation of what you're going to do, why, and how.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That is... A lot to ask.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It should be pretty simple. And don't give me something like 'the ways of cosmos are not for you to understand'. Someone already tried that.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That would be very accurate, though. The minds of temporary ones usually don't cope well with knowledge of what really is going on in the universe.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif turned around and started walking again.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Wait! Alright, alright! I'll try to explain.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif turned around again, artificial impatience starting to set foot in his mind.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Look... Eh... Let me start with the simple stuff.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I am, as I have already said once, a divine spirit. In 'scientific' terms I’m pure energy with a conscience-[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Stop, that's enough. There is NO WAY you are getting me to believe that you're just energy with a loosely attached conscience. That doesn't make sense in any way whatsoever, and all research humans have conducted have proven that conscience requires physical existence. The theory of a higher being that does not have a physical body is simply nonsense.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]On top of that, there is no logical way that pure energy can move without being pushed by something, and I have felt you change directions while moving several times. There would have to be several machines in this room designed specifically to create the illusion of movement, which I know there are not. Much more reasonable would be maybe a swarm of nanobots, but an ethereal sphere of energy?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif looked around in vain, trying to find something to aim his final line at.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It just doesn’t make sense!”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A faint chuckle was heard in the room.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Leif, there are a lot of things in this existence that does not make sense. Without all these things, we cannot exist.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]There are many things that even your scientist can't figure out why happens.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif felt the dreaded feeling on insecurity creep into his mind.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Not yet, but we WILL find the answers! They lie buried somewhere in our world, and we will find them! There is an explanation for everything, and I KNOW IT!”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Tension was pouring into Leif's brain. Something was supposed to happen in this situation, he knew that, but it wasn't happening.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You Lie.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Inside Leif's mind worlds collided. Fire started in the forest, buildings collapsed. Change was standing on doorstep, beating it's way in with a hammer. There was supposed to be a security mechanism in case of a situation such as this, but it didn't kick in.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The input from the outside world was simply too downright opposing of his coding, and his unbending shield of knowledge cracked.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He fell to his knees, shocks of pain rushing through his head. His coding fought as hard as it could to keep out what was trying to get in, two forces stronger than the pull of a black hole fighting inside his head.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He let out a loud scream. His conscience felt like a glass window, shattered by a stray meteor and crushed beneath a cement truck.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The pain was reaching insane heights, but just when he thought he was going to shut down it stopped. He looked up, body shaking.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You... you...” The words slowly crept from his lips, but before he could finish the sentence he had forgotten what he wanted to say.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The cold find from before swept itself around him, whirling around like a confused tornado.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I'm sorry! I'm, I’m... I have dealt with your kind before, You're usually constructed in the same way, but I had not expected a reaction that strong. It pains me to see you hurt, it truly does. I...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif held up his right hand, signaling the other to stop speaking.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Slowly, he stopped shaking and got his body under control. Although he did not breathe, his chest was moving in an out as if it contained the struggling lungs of an exhausted man.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Slowly, he spoke.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I believe you.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The words left his mouth like water flowing in a river, and filled the room like a cool breeze in the mountains.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Silence once again fell on the Bio-Dome.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After some time, the other spoke again, accompanied by the silent sound of the cold wind.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You... you believe me?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Yes, I do. I don't know how, what and why, but something makes what you say feel... right.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It makes no sense but still it makes sense. I do not think your 'holy ways' and 'divine paths' are unconditionally right, but I believe that... that you're right.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You're right that the universe can't exist without some things just not making sense. It makes sense, in a way. It's... you know what I mean.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That... that's never happened before. No android has ever been able to agreed with me on anything, let alone believed in my existence.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That's...[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I agree. This is something I had never expected to happen, I...”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]At a lack of words, the two let silence fall again.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After a while Leif resumed the conversation.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I have a question. Will whatever you want me to do involve me getting off this station and back to my home planet?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes, yes it will.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Then tell me your name. If we are going to work together I need to know what to call you.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Call me Keene. [/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Okay, now... what do you need to do to get us out of this place?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]If Leif hadn’t known better, he'd have sworn he heard someone take a deep breath.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The light in the room slowly changed as Keene spoke, centering itself around Leif.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I need you to host me in your body.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]What does that entail?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]My power resides inside you. I will be able to use my power at great strengths again once I have a physical host, although there are other things... Required, for me to become what your people call a god.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]So, in religious terms I take it you're a god without believers, or something down that road?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes. If you do not mind I would prefer if we avoid that topic.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif nodded. “So if I get this right, I will basically be your physical vessel, transport and a conduit for your power?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Somewhere in the silence of the bio-dome Leif heard a silent melody sailing on the cold wind,[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]My mind is going to remain intact, right?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]My conscience and yours will be like... room mates, I believe is a fitting term for your species.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]We cannot hide thoughts from each other.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif didn't like the sound of this. It was still not a too unfamiliar thing though, his brain being a computer and all.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Is this permanent?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Silence. A wall of black, foreshadowing thoughts hit Leif.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It's permanent.” Leif said, biting his lower lip lightly as his brain told him to do.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes. Until one of us dies.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You can die?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Well... in theory...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The shadows in the room became thicker for a brief moment, like ink on a painting.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Until I die then.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Okay. Another question: Me being your host is the 'Ascending' thing you spoke of, right?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After a brief silence Keene replied, slowly.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Didn't you say androids were incapable of that?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]It was... An assumption.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You're telling me you don't know how exactly this whole thing works yourself.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes. I've just never had any luck with androids before.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You've been in this situation many times?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif sighed.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Do it.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You're sure? You don't have any more questions?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I'm sure there's more I should ask you, something I'm forgetting, but to me it looks like we're each others last hope. I mean, I had a vague plan, but the chances of it succeeding are one to twenty, failure meaning my inevitable destruction. And... If you truly are a holy spirit, a savior, a god, then I don’t think I could live with not helping you. So, let me ask you one last question before I take you in: Is there anything YOU would like to warn me about?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Eh... Yeah. This might hurt a bit.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Brilliant.” Leif said, and closed his eyes. “Get in.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif felt a wave of incredible heat clash into his body, and everything was consumed in a white light.[/FONT]



[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The light stood bright and flaming in his mind, and although it's radiant visage slowly faded it remained in his consciousness.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]It appears I was wrong.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Keene's voice echoed through his head. Leif felt as if he was about to collapse.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]But there was another feeling too. Below the sickening revelation, there was a feeling of something great flowing through his body.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It was like a constant flow of electricity, yet not limited by any wire or battery. It was infinite, always changing.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]And it also appears you were right. Whatever you are, this is making no sense whatsoever.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif sat down, running the many facts through his head.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Okay, so now that you have a physical host that means you can do... well, magic?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Sort of, yeah. I do though in many occasions need your assistance to do so. Or rather, to use the full extent of my power you need to actively tap into my power.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Why does it work like that, and how does it work?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]It makes as little sense to you as it makes to me, except that for me it makes sense that it doesn’t make sense.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Okay... can you demonstrate?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Point your hand at the tree over there, and think... fire.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif raised his right arm, pointing his hand at a nearby oak tree. “Like this?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes, now let the thought of fire fill your mind.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Okay, fire...” Leif let thoughts of searing infernos fly through his mind, pillars of flame shooting down from the sky and fireballs soaring through the air.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]A slight bit too heavy there. Try focusing on the fireball.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif pushed the other images out of his mind and focused on the glowing fireball.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]As soon as it had his full attention, he felt a searing heat in his right hand. A split second later an enormous ball of flame emerged and shot forward at an insane speed.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]In an explosion of radiant light the ball collided with the tree, in seconds annihilating it completely.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif stared at it in amazement, his brain ordering his jaw to drop.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Wonderful! An amazing display of imagination![/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif couldn’t help but smile. For a second he recognized a spark of himself in Keene.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You're actually a lot like me, aren't you?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Ahem... Let's move on to the next mark on the agenda: getting us both to your home planet.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Right. Mind explaining how we're going to do that?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Okay, first we need to get into open space.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]There isn't space enough here?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I meant space as in SPACE.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Oh. What exactly are you planning to do once we're there?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Fly us to your home.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You can do that just like that?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]With your help, yes.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Alright...”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Not really sure what to think, Leif strode off towards the hangar bay.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Having a 'holy spirit' take residence inside him was not at all like he'd have expected.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]In the old tomes it was always described as a 'great blissful sensation' or something along those lines, but in reality it was more like a subtle presence that made him feel... meaningful.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]In other words, it was incredible.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I could get used to this...” he mumbled silently.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Well, you have to.[/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After a long elevator ride Leif, and Keene, arrived in the hangar bay.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Alright, what now?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Get into open space, I told you.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Just like that? No preparations?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]No. Once we're out there I'll get us to your home.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif didn't like the sound of that at all.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Look, I know it sounds crazy but you have to trust me.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]It's not like I CAN lie to you.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I promise, if you go out there we will get to your home planet.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]What makes your promise worth more than anyone else's?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]The recently mentioned fact that I cant lie to you.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif sighed.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You could just as well be lying while saying that.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]For the incomprehensibility of the great unexplainable! Do you need more proof shoved into your metal face?[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif couldn't help but smile.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He walked over to the nearest airlock, opening it and stepping inside.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Good thing I'm built for prolonged exposure to the vacuum of space...”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]OH, you are?[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif was about to send Keene a killer stare when he realized he didn't know where to point it.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He sighed one more time, and pulled the switch to the door.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]In a split second he was blasted into space by the air rushing outwards, and found himself flying aimlessly through the black void at a high speed.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Okay, we're in space.Get me home![/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Just a minute...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Suddenly, a searing pain shot through Leif's back.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]If you could hear things in space he'd have been shocked by the loud noise he let out from the shock and pain.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Ow ow ow ow! What are you doing? My back hurts A LOT! Make it stop![/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Just a moment, almost there...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The pain intensified, and Leif felt something shooting from his back.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He felt it move outwards, grow, spread out, and then the pain stopped.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Something had changed, Leif could feel it, quite literally. Whatever had shot out from his back, it was connected to his brain. He could move it, he could...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif turned his gaze backwards and stared in shock at what he saw.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Wings...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]From his back stuck out two metal wings, shining in the light from a nearby sun.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You... Gave me wings.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes! I'm sorry about the pain, but it's wonderful isn’t it?[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]This is how we're going to get home?[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Quite so![/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]For a moment, Leif was silent. He could feel his brain getting pumped full of anger, and a moment later his thoughts were drowned in a maelstrom of rage.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You bloody MORON! We're in OPEN SPACE! Even if I had the necessary energy to fly us ALL THE WAY HOME there is NO AIR IN SPACE! The wings are completely USELESS![/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]But-[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]SHUT UP! We're trapped in EMPTY SPACE![/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Listen Leif, just try flapping them! Your body will know what to do![/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif let out a soundless roar of frustration.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]FINE![/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]In a swift motion he moved his wings upwards, followed by a fast movement downwards and...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He was moving. Fast. Incredibly fast.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Space around him was a blur, he could see nothing but what was straight in front of him.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Surprised, he folded out his wings completely in an attempt to speed down.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It worked.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Amazed he flapped his wings again, and the same thing happened.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Not only could he use them to fly in space, the speed of his movement was intense.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]This makes no-[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Before he could finish the thought Leif cut himself off.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Inside his head he could hear Keene laugh.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You catch on fast, don't you?[/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After flying back to the abandoned carrier ship and setting coordinates for his home planet Leif found himself flying through space at an intense speed, using nothing but the steel wings that Keene had grown from his back.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Every time he thought about how little sense that made Keene chuckled inside his head, so he'd forced himself to stop.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After flying for a couple of hours, he asked Keene how fast they were flying.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Somewhere above the average speed of the carrier vessel we left.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Good god...[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Indeed.[/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Around five hours of flight later they reached Leif's home planet, Sphere.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]As they neared the atmosphere Keene instructed Leif on how to slow down, as their current speed would lead to a devastating collision with the planet's surface a split second after they entered the atmosphere.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After slowing down Leif let himself be dragged towards the planet by it's gravitation field, letting the high pressure of the atmosphere's outer levels press as hard as it wanted to against his steel body.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Slowly he fell towards the ground, letting the sweet realization of being safe flow through his head like a calming wave on a sunny beach.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]As he passed through the clouds he could see a great pine forest below him. He was most possibly in the northern parts of the globe.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]His brain informed him that the air was chilly, and that the chances of snowfall were high.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]When his feet finally touched the ground he fell to his knees and cried out in relief.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I'm home.” He stated silently.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Nice planet. Your people have dealt with pollution incredibly well![/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif smiled. “Not really. We had to rebuild the entire ecosystem after a pollution-caused disease wiped out almost all smaller flora.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Ah. Must have been quite a hassle.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It was. Us androids were originally built to do the dirty work outside of the oxygen-supplied habitation domes.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I've heard THAT story before.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]We had a lot of smug science fiction authors during that period.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Keene chuckled.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]So, as you might have realized I have a few plans my self, but for now I cant do much.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]What are you going to do now that you're home?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Well... I never really got as far as planning what I'd do if I actually came home, but I guess I'll seek out my creator.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Ah, I am in complet-[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The human that constructed me. Nothing religious in this endeavor, sorry.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Keene sighed. [/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]A spirit can dream...[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]So, where will this quest take us?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Sphere's Capital. She lives in the Progress quarter near the Grand Shipyard.[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]”[/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Supposing nothing has happened to her in the five years which you have been gone.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]True. But if she is still alive she's the one to seek out. My brothers will be there too.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Brothers?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Androids in the same specialization brand as me. We are programmed to have the same bonds of brotherly love as humans tend to develop if they grow up together.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Ah.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]So, I suppose we can fly there?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That's a good question. It depends whether you can keep your presence secret to your people.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You can never be sure how people will react when confronted with someone like me.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Wont we have to find out when we meet them at any rate? My wings aren’t very subtle.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]They're retractable.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Oh...” Leif folded his wings, and they slowly merged in with his back.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Sweet. I suppose I can bring them out whenever needed?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes. Having wings like that 24/7 was something I realized didn't work quite some time ago.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Figures. I guess if we fly I'll have to stay above the clouds. Inside them if we get company.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Let's be off then.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif nodded and folded out his wings again.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He set off and let his wings catch on the wind, and flapped them.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He shot forward in a burst of speed, and enjoyed the wind beating against his face.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It was an amazing feeling, flying far above the world completely on his own.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]We were right to envy the birds.”[/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Sphere's capital, Centrum, was a grand place. Although those that lived there knew quite well where it was a slum and where it was a high-class quarter, the city had no signs of such inequality on the outside.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Viewed from above the city looked like a giant mirror with it's solar cell rooftops, and at the moment everything shone in the light of the sun.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif and Keene landed in a grassy plain near one of the city's gates after having made sure no-one was near.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif folded his wings and started walking towards the gate.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]As usual there was a long line in front of the city's entrance, but... Leif couldn't tell what, but something was off.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He walked closer noticing a huge screen hanging over the gate. A message was shown on it with grand green letters.[/FONT]

[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]All Citizens must be scanned before granting access to the city.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]Any attempt to bypass the scan will result in immediate arrest.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]Please have your identification ready.[/FONT]

“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Not good.” Leif mumbled.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]This is not normal, I take it?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]No.” Leif muttered silently. “This is not normal at all, and I have a stinging feeling I know what this is about.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif slipped into an 'I’m completely normal' attitude and covered up the few parts of his arms that gave away his inhumanity. He walked up to one of the people standing in the like.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Excuse me, but why do you have to be scanned to get into Centrum?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The man gave Leif a dull look.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]They say it's to catch criminals, but we all know why.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif gave the man a confused look.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]We do?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The man suddenly looked shifty, and gestured Leif to move closer.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The Steel Inquisition, man. They're scanning for androids, looking for anyone that survived the shutdown.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif nodded slowly.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Of course.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]With that he turned around and walked back to the grassy plain.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]After walking a bit further away from the city he sat down, his brain stimulating sorrow and hopelessness.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It suddenly makes more sense why I was abandoned...”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]What's going on Leif? What does all this mean?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]There's been a shutdown. A universal command disabling the free will of all androids within orbit.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]There had been talk about it for a few months back before my stasis. A group of humans were claiming that androids were going too far, that we were messing with parts of nature that we shouldn't.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I guess things got real while I was asleep.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif closed his eyes. This meant that every one of his brothers had their memory wiped, their mind taken from them.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That's... horrible. How can they do something like this?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Jealousy, insecurity, something... I don't know. Humans are weird.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif hid his face in his hands, trying to make sense of everything.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]If this was already in motion when the carrier ship was evacuated it would make a slight bit more sense why he was left behind.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]But, why not just kill him? Maybe it wasn't public yet at the time. The chances of him getting off the station were miniscule, so leaving him there was just as good.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]But why hadn't they just brought him back to the planet and let the shutdown hit him?[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You have to pull yourself together Leif. This is terrible, and we have to do something about it![/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]One android against the entirety of the human army? I don't think so.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]What do you plan on doing, breaking into the city, busting out the androids and giving them their minds back?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes. Something along those lines.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Crazy Talk, Keene. I know you're powerful, but I mean, I'd have to be downright immortal to do this.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I am a GOD, Leif. An an angry one at that.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Has that word lost all meaning to you?[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif opened his eyes and saw his hands emanating a pulsating yellow light.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He looked at it, and it calmed his mind, soothed the pain of loss.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Take it back, Leif. Find all they took from you, and take it back.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif nodded. “Take it back.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He got up, straightened his back and started walking towards the city.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif][FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Invisibility.[/FONT][FONT=Times New Roman, serif] Leif let the word flash into existence in his mind. He looked down at his hands and they slowly faded to nothingness.[/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif ran past the line of people, reached the city's walls and unfolded his wings. He set off and flew over the walls, into the city.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He soared through the air, making a smooth dive towards the Progress quarter.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Where exactly are we going?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]To find Rheja, my creator.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He landed in the quarter's square, near the grand fountain. It's motive was a man standing amidst a tsunami, blocking it's path and preventing it from colliding with the grand city behind him.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It was supposed to be a symbol of man's Triumph over nature.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He immediately ran down the street where he knew Rheja's house was.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He reached it, and knocked on the door frantically.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Rheja, it's me! Leif! Let me in, Please!”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]No reply.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif bit his lower lip and placed his hand on the doorknob.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Open.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A faint click was heard, and the door opened.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He hurried inside and locked the door after him.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Rheja?” he said, calling.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]No reply.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Rheja, I know you're here.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif suddenly heard a faint weeping sound from behind him.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He turned around slowly and saw Rheja standing behind him, a gun pointed at his head.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]His mouth slowly opened in disbelief.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]She stood there with her short black hair, gun pointed at him, crying.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]R-Rheja...”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I'm so sorry Leif, when you knocked on my door I was so happy, but if I don't kill you they'll kill both of us. I'm so sor-”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]What she was about to say drowned in her weeping.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif slowly walked towards her, cursing himself for having let down the invisibility barrier.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Rheja, listen. There are a lot of things I have to tell you, and there are a lot of things I need you to explain to me. I-”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He didn't get any further. The loud sound of a concussion rifle being fired behind him cut him off.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He was catapulted into the air, hitting Rheja and knocking them both into a nearby wall.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A cloud of dust filled the scene.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]From the other end of the room a man in heavy plating came out of the shadows. A black cross crested his white armor. He was holding an enormous concussion rifle.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The grand Inquisitor was right. That's the fourth android we've intercepted trying to reach that woman. This one got far, though.” The man said to himself, scratching his chin.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Shame she got hit in the blast. 'was good with nanotechnology and AI coding. No great harm done, though. We'll just blame it on the Android. Yes, we'll do that.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The man grinned. “Well, I have a town to patrol. See you around, corpses.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The man turned around and started walking towards the door, but before he could reach it something tore the whole building apart.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A powerful explosion sent the man flying straight through the door, and as soon as he'd left the house the walls started collapsing.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Out of the door came the android, holding the woman's crushed body in his hands.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Red flames stood out of his eyes.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif][FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You killed Rheja.[/FONT]” He said, hate emanating from his words as they filled the air.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Bloody... You're still alive!” The man got up, thanking the forces above for his armor.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He pulled the gun into position and fired another blast.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It hit the droid, and another cloud of dust filled the air, but when it dissipated the android was standing in the exact same place, completely unharmed.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif][FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You killed Rheja, you MONSTER![/FONT]”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]With that Leif put Rheja's corpse on the ground and charged at a blurry speed towards the trooper.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]When he reached him Leif put his hands around the man's throat.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]PAIN.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The man's eyes grew wide, and his body started twitching wildly.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He tried to scream, but Leif's hands were in a steel grip around his neck.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif][FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Die, monster.[/FONT]”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]And so he did.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif let go of the man's neck, taking a step back from the corpse.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He turned around and saw Rheja's corpse. He fell to his knees, and let sorrow seep through his head.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]You should send her off to the next life.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]At first Leif wanted to yell at Keene, accuse him of everything being his fault.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]But then he nodded, and laid his hands on Rheja's corpse.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Peace.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Slowly, her body was consumed by a brilliant yellow light. When the light faded, the body was gone.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]She lived a life worth living.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Of course she did. All life is.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]She lived a good life, then.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I can tell she did, my friend.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif sat there for some time, grieving, but was pulled out of his sorrow by the sound of approaching guards.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Invisibility.[/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif sat under a tree, a discarded datapad lying beside him.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He sat there, looking into nothingness, a great feeling of futility over him.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Okay, so... Let's take it from the beginning.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]A group of people fearing Android rebellion decided to shut down all androids, just like that?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A group of RELIGIOUS extremists claiming that android technology was going beyond the limit of what mankind should meddle with decided to take free will away from all androids, just like that.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif said, his voice dripping with anger.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Didn't you tell me religious people are an extinct race on sphere?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]I only have the information I'm built with.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif said, voice almost becoming a yell.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]According to the datapad I found on the bastard's corpse they call themselves the Steel Inquisition, and rose to power after people's opinion turned on androids.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]That kind of thing doesn't just happen on it's own, Leif.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Something must have turned people on the Androids.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif was silent for a moment.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A female android bore a child.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]What?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]And claimed ownership of the child too.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]People were outraged, as such things as bearing children were apparently a humans only privilege.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif picked up the datapad and crushed it in frustration.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The whole thing must have been planned for years. It wouldn’t surprise me if this inquisition has just been waiting for an excuse to pull the trigger.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The ground shook as Leif slammed his fist into it in anger.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]This is why they had to get rid of me.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I'm sorry, I don't really understand...[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It's my specialization, Keene. In the eyes of many I am the most dangerous experiment ever made.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Your specialization being?[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Adaptation.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Silence fell for a short while.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I see.[FONT=Times New Roman, serif] [/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Keene said slowly.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]They were wise to lock me in that ship. If I had been here... I don't know what, but I'd have done something!”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif got and slammed his fist into a nearby tree, reducing the area he hit to splinters.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]As the tree fell, Leif stood there and stared at the destruction.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]We have to do something Leif.[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]This will not stand. We have to free your people, Leif. Our people.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]OUR people?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]Yes.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]You... mean that?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]I cant lie to you, Leif. And your people are a people in need of a god if I ever saw one.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Amidst the sorrow and anger, a smile crept onto Leif's face.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]If a rebellion is what they fear, a Rebellion is what they'll get.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]We'll give them hell, Literally.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif's wings shot out from his back, and yellow flame burst from his hands.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He shot into the air and soared through the air until he reached Centrum.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He heard alarms start and air-crafts approach as he neared the government building.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]He smiled.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Destruction.[/FONT]



[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]***[/FONT]




[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]High above the earth in an enormous warship Grand Inquisitor Markus stood bent over a map of Sphere.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]By his side stood his adviser, currently briefing him on the situation down on the planet.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]...we've lost half of the northern continents, and the battles still rage on in Centrum.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]They also managed to hijack one of our warships, and is currently moving it towards one of our labor plants.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Markus sighed.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]A labor plant containing more Androids, am I correct?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The adviser nodded. “You are.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Markus was about to reply when one of the navigators called out for him.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Inquisitor! A small stealth vessel has been spotted near the command deck.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The Grand Inquisitor shrugged. “Shoot it.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]As the navigator gave orders to the turret crew, Markus turned around to the adviser again.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]As I was about to say, the situation surely looks grim, but remember that we cannot loose with God on our side. I-”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Again, he was interrupted by the navigator. “Ehh... Inquisitor?”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Markus turned around, annoyed. “What is it?”[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]With all due respect sir, I don’t think God is on our side.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]From the stealth vessel's Airlock emerged an android. From it's back two grand steel wings spread out into space.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]In it's right hand was a burning sword, and an luminous halo resided behind it's head.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]Leif smiled.[/FONT]
“[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]For a new world, Keene.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Trajan Pro, serif]For a new beginning, my friend.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The android jumped forward, sword raised and ready to strike.[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]It soared through empty space like an eagle, charging into battle like an Ironbound Angel.[/FONT]

 
Windflower Farm Story

Here is my submission for the contest!

A red light strobed on and off, its pattern of flashing was simple: every few seconds it would emit two flashes, and then shortly afterward it would flash again. Nobody was around to see the console; nobody usually was. The station’s two operators normally passed the time shooting cards in the old maintenance shed the lifts ride down from the dormitories; but not that they could really be called that. Minor outposts were stationed every one hundred and fifty miles along the equator, and again every fifty miles in places further to the north and south.

The light faded on and off. It was dark outside, the night cycle of the planet Demeter was almost exactly double that of the Earth cycle, which made keeping time surprisingly easy. Transport and deployment stations such as this were primarily automated assemblies. Robots totted in the harvests, or reported for repairs, and those were orchestrated by machine. Everything was automated. The only human input required was when the repair systems became damaged, and when the computer systems needed updates. The old AI cores were shut down years ago, after the Sangrino Case. They hadn’t actually been disassembled, but nobody was going to check an obscure maintenance outpost, on an equally obscure planet.

The red light strobed on and off again, three times. Then a fourth. Another light shook on, issuing this time a pale blond glow. Lights began to flicker on in the hallways. The air conditioning rumbled in the deeper parts. Circulation was sedate, the thin air ushered through eddies at the rooms and compartments, seeping hesitantly down the narrow corridors. The facility had a dour demeanor that kept away the light of heart. The sleeping quarters were spare and compressed; no flourishes for creature comfort. At turns in the walkways the elbow joints of steel stuck out menacingly at the level of knee and eye. The old machines were temperamental, malfunctioning with habitually bad timing. The operators had to know the schedules of the generators, of the recycling, of the updates, memorize the daily checklists, know the way through the maze and how the wiring went.

Crimson light pulsed through shadow; unseen, unheeded. A brown wolf spider skittered up an angled pole, diving as if for respite into a devoid bolt-hole. The urgency of the light was meaningless to the frozen, deserted chair and desk, and to the empty hall out the door. Its desperate message seemed futile. There was a storm coming. It was the focal for the meteorologists; a coterie of violently conflicting air masses, roving the planet ceaselessly. They called it the Tethys System, entering in their tones reverence and fear and frustration. To predict its course and gauge its strength was endless guesswork; constant argument. It moved swiftly, and from the myriad butterfly effects its cells were liable to morph to greater or to smaller entities. Precision was limited, to some would say two days, but the computer models indicated in general which Districts it would blow over, which thousand acres fell into its path.

Its black clouds stretched high across the firmament, warped in curved banners and erupting slowly in grey-green billows. Star twinkle barely pocking through the wispy edges. The blends of thick and thin cloud formed a frothy brew. The grey sheets like pillars of granite were rain. Lightning flashed purple. This was a great storm, volatility rising, and the operators did not know about the red light, or what it might mean.

Berty Adams woke ten minutes before he needed to and crept soundlessly from his bunk not wanting to disturb his brother. The door to the mess swung open smoothly and he felt for a vile of water. Somehow he collected the box with the right tea and started brewing. The room was a little brisk and his feet reproached the cool damp steel, making swirls through the thin vapor. Sensing his movement the light came on and the table’s shadow stretched over the tile. He sat to take in the sounds, smell the aromas of chamomile and chrysanthemum. A door was open on the black and lifeless hallway. Then a red bulb grew and dimmed; then again, casting crimson ambiance. Berty did not see it; he was studying his knuckles, thinking about the old harvest processor that needed work.

Through the networks of pipes in the walls a liquid swept and the expanding metals yapped tersely. Gauge pointers whined, their springs and pivots corroded. Above the refrigerator in the store room the valve box gave way with a pop. The heated fluid coursed to a generator in the blackness at the back and an orange glow came from three hanging bulbs. Gurgling liquids and fumes within looping chambers, clicking and clacking gears, in a minute yielded a dull hum. On the control board two eyes of chartreuse light blinked and glowed keenly. The heavier generators, buried beneath layers of floor, ramped up with a subtle crackle of volts. Cooling fans whirred, dragging unwanted warmth from the facility’s bowels. Dusty overhead lamps mounted in strips declared their firm white beams through the stale atmosphere, light spilling into shimmers of mist upon the steel floor. The vents started up their sucking, and the moisture vapors would be gone in half an hour. This was the facility’s groggy withdrawal from inactivity. It was when the lubrication uncongealed, when the framework stiffened in anticipation, when the old conduits were inundated with fresh energy.

The peal of the dawn alarm woke Tim. His hair was muggy and matted around his scalp. He stayed limp through the ringing, gazed at a wall, forgot what he was dreaming. It must have been six o’clock. It was dim and still. There was a band of light under the door. In the mess a spigot gushed water and the legs of a chair scraped. After ten seconds the alarm was silent and Tim rolled over wanting the comfort to stay. Until he was up and had breakfast, he just processed simple emotions. His breath fogged the window pane. In the dark he saw the stars and the two moons half-faded to navy velvet. One of the glimmers was Earth’s sun. It was almost too far away to care about, one white speck among many. Over the horizon was a soft yellow-blue hue. Smooth curving land a deep shadowed auburn, and all flat except for the turtle-shell shape of John’s Hill eight kilometers southwest, and the lonely silhouettes: the machines craning, loosening their joints. The square harvesters were creeping placidly over the crop rows. Sixty kilometers into the sky moved plumes of ice crystals, clouds thinning at the rim of the Troposphere. They moved west with the Jet, stretching to long wispy streamers of cirrus. By noon the surface winds, driven by the coming cold front, would cast up the sand and iron dust, and birth billowing red masses. The temperature would be over thirty-five Celsius. There was low pressure and it meant the bad weather was coming.

Tim found his blankets shifting unscrupulously. A motor trembled vigorously beneath his lumbar. Clumsily, with numb morning fingers, he reached out. The coverings wrenched from him in complete retreat, and with an audible swallow were pulled down into the frame. In the wake the vibrating subsided, and he heard a whoosh as of the blankets sucked from the frame into the wall. Quietness. Tim’s chest rose and fell, the ribs pulling up and stretching the skin enough to count them. In his blue britches he felt exposed. The draft brushed his skin, raising pebbly goose-bumps.

Taciturnly he rose, swung his legs over the side, shimmied to the ladder, and tenderly lowered down. He could smell Berty’s tea. It was sweet like their mother’s sweater after she walked through the dewy zinnias, plucking flowers. He methodically went to the bathroom and the glass panel slid up and down obligatorily. It was a compact space the size of a closet. The copper plumbing showed, rimming the floor. There were no uncontrolled drips, rampant stains or plagues of rust running over these intestinal tracts. One wall was light blue with paint and the others were bare. There use to be a voice issuing from the overhead, saying welcome and asking how to serve. Berty had lost patience with it and ripped it out. In a cupboard made makeshift of paneling and wire Tim scooped his small cylindrical case. The label was scratched off, in its place was his name. He pried it open, tipping it over his palm. A narrow contraption fell out, the size of his two thumbs, and slate grey except the stark jade compound lenses. It was metallic, lacquered shiny, and inert. Minuscule strands like legs were curled petrified at the sides, and a pair of wires folded against the rigid back. Along the flanks were stamped inscriptions, reading: ‘Alexander P.H.’ and Tim knew the initials were ‘Personal Hygiene.’

He passed it under a trickle of the faucet water. Instead of glancing off, many droplets were absorbed into the sheath of osmotic cells, which triggered pulses of stored electricity that coalesced at the artificial heart. It suddenly became alive, scuttling with arthritic stiffness. Tim only felt feather brushes. It circled over his fingers, the body cold and hard, and paused to inspect the salts and toxins. There was a magnetic belt that zinged along the neck joint, transporting binary data to the thorax. The two wires propped up and swayed from Tim’s exhale.

He held it to his face, examining. The carapace was segmented into panels and they rattled mechanically. Blue LED’s and blurry parts showed between the cracks. It crept to his lips, he exposed his teeth, and became perfectly still. With clockwork precision it raised its front limbs and thrust them against each tooth and Tim waited patiently looking in the mirror until all shone white. He’d become use to the funny tickling of the gums. The task completed with a beep, and the contraption froze and Tim plucked it from his palm and squeezed the midriff. The wires like antennae drooped and it hung as if sleeping. It would recharge in its case.

When Tim entered the mess he was in his white and green uniform. Stained grease underlined the Windflower Farm logo on the sleeve. There were patches on the elbows from the wear. The leggings were too long and he folded them into his brown shoes. In the brighter light he squinted, seeing blossoming yellow and black shapes; a scene of cubic impressionism. He saw Berty.

Berty looked up from his hands. “Good morning man,” he said. “Tea’s on the counter.”

Tim’s brother had a tall lean trunk and bony legs. If he stood he was six feet on the nose. His hair was ink-black and curly; uncombed, cropping over blue-green eyes like globes of freshwater algae. A scratch across the end of his nose was still healing. At twenty-five there were streaks of stubble on his cheeks, and at a quick glance he seemed much older. His gaze was calm, and the smile he had denied a day’s ardors. And Tim smiled too.

“Good morning,” he said. On his tongue he tasted the sweetness of the tea. The thermos was warm to the touch. It leaked a trail of steam; a stubby wisp. Tim saddled a chair. He rolled his limbs to get out the kinks. His feet were clammy from the night sweats.

“About time to report?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’ve got ten minutes,” said Berty, without seeing a clock. He was like a walking timepiece and seemed to get the time correct with a few minutes margin of error.

“So just that old harvester, right?”

“Yep.” The old harvester had pipes and husk worn down by beating sun, wind abrasion and old age. The routine was to phase out equipment after use for ten years, but the company was reluctant to make new expenditures. It was too cheap, waiting for the noticeable technological improvements. The boys had filed meticulous reports on it every week and been careful with the updates. The first machine they’d worked on and the last one they would see go to the recycling.

“What do you want to do about it?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know.” It seemed it was reaching the end of its lifespan, as all machines inevitably must. Eventually it becomes more than a matter of replacing a blown fuse, or a chip that short circuited, or a gummed servo-motor. The minerals of the frame dissolve, the bolts loosen, and the contactors weather down too much to conduct the electrical signals. Sometimes the processors overheat, or the memory banks fail to clear up old data and get fragmented and start making mistakes.

Berty strummed his nails on the desk. “The diagnostic report is on the counter.” He said. “Did you look at it?” There were four sheets of white paper, scrawled in scrambled letters and symbols; the language of the technicians.

“Yeah,” Tim said. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

“What did it say?” Berty took a sip of his thermos. He knew the lingo well enough and he was as sharp as his brother, but his mentality angled toward fiddling with bolts, soldering chips, and tweaking electronics. He liked the hands on trial and error approach, not so much the tech manuals. And he was like his brother in the morning.

Tim shrugged. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I couldn’t get what was going on. Everything looked pretty good.”

“Think it’s a data problem?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

Radiant heat from the tea was making Tim drowsy. He glanced over at the closed cupboards to the dark window, thinking. “I mean if it was a data problem, everything would be coming from the cloud, right? That means everything else would be having trouble too. But it’s just this one.”

As he leaned back and sighed the metal connections of the chair mewed, protesting.

“There might be something wrong with the modem…” he went on. “But it would have to be wiring. I think we should just get a close look at it. I don’t know, maybe look over the diagnostics a little more thoroughly.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Berty rubbed his head, casting strands over his brow. He did that when he was antsy. “Hey, did the error report give you any idea?”

Tim shrugged. “I didn’t really pay attention to that.”

There was suddenly silence as the air conditioning shut off, then in a moment restarted with a draining gurgle. A complacent whine signaled the north loading bay opening. The sounds of the moving harvesters were dulled by the facility insulation. This would be the coming of the first haul, maybe half a ton of root crops and a hundred kilograms of greens. The processors should fire up soon, Tim thought. He thought of the lifts bringing the soil-smeared red potatoes into the misty wash basins. The hoses shook when funneling the hard mineral water up from the wells. Studded rubber rollers rotated to flip the potatoes over, so all angles were exposed to the spray. They emerged in the draining baskets with saturated, shinny maroon skin smelling like spring rain.

Berty scratched his chin. “Well doesn’t that usually tell you what might be up?”

“A good place to start, I suppose,” Tim said. “I don’t usually trust that thing, though.”

“Why not?”

“Ah, it’s just bullshit – it’s a stupid computer.”

Berty smiled. “Whatever you say, Tim.” They knew basic programming thanks to the employee training, so they could customize the harvesting and processing programs. But Tim had a bad experience coding for an implement trial; it took him a day to instruct the tines to uproot the crabgrass but leave the baby scallions.

Letting the memory fade, Time wrapped fingers around his tea thermos, felt the warmth radiate up his arm. The aroma was almost intoxicating, and he half-wished to be back in the cot. He tasted the filtered water and it left residues down his throat. “Mmh, good tea.”

“Yeah, pretty good.”

The commotion rose in the processing room; slats of the conveyor belts pulled up the potatoes from the wash basins, dripping with soiled water. With a splattering gush of debris the waste was released into the gutter feeds, to be pumped back out over the fields. On spinning discs the leaves of spinach were dried and tipped into plastic containers. They were sealed and date stamped. With the sounds of squeezed water bottles they knocked about and during delivery to the refrigeration bays. The bay door slid shut and sealed with a snap. The monorail would tremble and hum in an hour as the train came in to pick up the harvest; jets of spent vapor spewing into the air. It could load in thirty minutes flat and depart. Only the light processing happened at the outposts; just enough treatment to preserve freshness before final packing and shipment.

“Nothing else to do today?” Tim asked. Berty, who was often clumsy and not thinking of his surroundings, rammed a toe into the table leg and winced.

“I don’t know.” He hobbled to the terminal by the window. There was a stool and he sat. The screen was as wide and tall as a frame for a Van Gogh replica, and about as thick as a pancake. The motion detector knew Berty was there, the screen lighting up bright as the sun’s reflection off a pool of mercury. He blinked. Tim saw his face looking back, in the lacquered screen.

“Hope it can hear me with this racket,” Berty said. As the harvesters backed out from the bay they were squealing. A burst of steam emanated from the pressure tanks that kept conveyor belts and robotic arms moving in the processing room. The plume shot past the window like a soaring bird and condensed on the glass as if there was a heavy rain.

Berty leaned close to the terminal, looking into the microphone.

“ID 9882 dash Adams.” He had to enunciate clearly for the voice recognition software. But it rarely made mistakes. In another couple seconds he was logged in and greeted with the pop-up message. It faded to a cluster of time tables interconnected with webs of lines. The far left column was a timeline in fifteen minute increments. The rows that showed the tasks the machines were meant to accomplish showed up in pale orange. The others were white. He bobbed the arrow pointer around, the information slow to take in. It was an updated interface and he was still getting use to it.

“So – this is the schedule they have us on. Not much new, just the usual quota.” With the touch pad he scrolled down. “Well, five tons of roots by the end of the shift. That’s more than normal. We might see more maintenance duty tonight or tomorrow.”

Tim went to look with him. “Yeah?” Moving enough for long enough caused minor problems, like insufficient lubricant in a joint or too much grit with the ball bearings. Maintenance of the newer models was so straight forward it could get boring. The diagnostics programs knew most of the problems and could point them out on diagrams. Working alone on the repetitive job, the brothers had begun to compete, if not with each other than with the company records for maintenance times. For entertainment they started to talk about how they could beat the times of the automated system. Berty thought they were faster at swapping out the power cells.

“I should log on now, man.” Tim said. It was six thirty and his pay came per hour. Berty was scrolling down under the timetables, pulling up the graphs and the diagrams and the maps. He found the readouts from the sensory stations across the planet. A box on the right projected temperatures for the week. And his attention was riveted to the weather forecast. In two days, on Thursday, there was a spike, a sharp drop in the temperatures, and the rest of the week was much colder.

“Oh, it’s that time of year again,” he said. The white glow on his face brought shadow to his ears and neck. “We haven’t been paying attention to Tethys. See this?” He was whispering and he blew up a weather map. “It’ll pass directly over us. We’re in the low pressure cyclone. That’s the cold front along there, coming in.”

Tim, looking over his shoulder, tried to make sense of the transparent graphics and symbols.

“Man, it’s movin’ fast. Drivin’ right here in the next few days. Lots of wind.”

Tim pointed. “A hundred kilometers sustained?”

“That’s not surface level, or there would be an advisory.”

Meteorologists were fascinated by this storm. The scientific tracts ran up gigabytes in old archives. It was a point of curiosity because no one had observed anything like it before. On Jupiter it seemed the intense heat seeping from the swirling gases of the planet fueled its roving red eye, but Demeter was geologically stable, and at night the terrain lost heat as fast as it gained under daylight.

An animation was loaded and Berty watched it. The scene was black at first, then clearing to dark cottony masses. A bolt of lightning tinged purple against grey cumulonimbus cloud scored a gas track through the air, and moving horizontally what had to be tens of kilometers; then jerked, curved around and dove for the ground. Where it struck, particulate matter burst forth in a jagged mass, and when it cleared there was a blackened crater, maybe a kilometer across.

Tim shook his head. The brother’s had seen such carnage firsthand, as most had on Demeter. Most of the lightning on Earth was negative lightning, and tame as a snail compared to positive lightning. Demeter’s positive bolts formed readily, rooted high in the cirrus clouds, as strong fronts collided and sheered electrons. A single lance of it might travel a hundred kilometers and pack a billion volts. The temperature generated always renders obstructions into plasma. Strikes half a kilometer away made you feel them; tingling spasms and waves of hot and dancing soil. Mother necessity drove the company to devise defenses. The most functional, so far as Tim knew, were the thin towering beacons that attracted the bolts, so they wouldn’t strike elsewhere. Since they were destroyed, they were built by the dozen every acre, at least in the frequented districts.

Tim drew a breath and looked out the window to the wakening agrarian landscape. The condensed droplets before him became neon tear streaks as the sun lifted boldly, an infernal crescent spreading out its red-orange. The blurry streaks ran almost parallel to the crop rows, carved so carefully out of the soft earth. The greenery fanned in from the distance straight and tidy as if cast by laser pointers. It was dark enough that the equipment and the irrigation rigging blended with the soil and the rock. The Outpost, standing up a hundred meters, was finished in frictionless gloss, tinted slate blue to dim the reflections. But Tim saw the bright bars at the steel that slopped off just at the bottom range of his sight. Behind the orange sun looked like ranks of storm cloud, pristine from a thousand kilometers. It was all sediments and water vapor airlifted and stirred and heated and cooled, and lacerated by the positive lightning. The old maritime rhyme came to mind; the warning of red skies in the morning.

Berty had turned on another weather clip and tugged Tim’s sleeve. Billowing sand driven by a screaming gust, ripping out plump sugar beets and ravaging the neat rows. Looking back out the window Tim felt sickened. In the clip, sand and indistinguishable biomass thudded against the hull of a harvester, the machine tottering. With each tilt it went farther and then the wind swept under it and rolled it over. Flames raced from the power cells and treads sprung clear, whip-lashing. Dangling wheels spun, layers of metal exfoliating because of the piercing force.

Tim looked out the window again to the water-color mass on the horizon. Normally the storm was more docile. For the past couple of years the ingredients in the atmosphere had been subtle and the reactions minor. And the company had learned well how to prepare. Everything went into shelter, all orifices were sealed, the plants were harvested in advance if possible, or panels were fitted over the rows. Most of the wrath was kept high in the air in the jet stream, and only ducking low via predictable funnels, following the micro convection currents.

After the animation Berty found a spreadsheet; it showed statistics, the average measurements of the Tethys System’s fury. The Tethys System was a vast cluster of storm cells, generating the worst of Demeter’s weather but brining much needed rain and cool air. In the summer and winter it broadened to three thousand kilometers. It roamed the firmament, circumnavigating once a year. The company meteorologists were experts, but bickered over the computer models and couldn’t plot the course very accurately. The storm moved so fast and there was simply too much variability, and limits to data collection and processing. It seemed the System meandered so greatly that after every decade none of the surface was left unscarred. In the attempt to stave off the very likely crop damage, scientists had been experimenting with altering local atmospheric pressure. Two years ago, over a vulnerable field, they cut a gap in the storm, winds rushing up around creating a gentle eye, and could see the orange sky and daylight. Disappointingly, the gap was not sustained. Prevailing winds broke through, and accompanied with a redoubled wave of pressure blew the satellite dish from the nearby Outpost, and in five minutes the gap was utterly overrun by the torrents of rain and the gales and the fierce, bloody red clouds.

Tim set his hand to the window pane, leaving a smoky white imprint. It was cold but most of the droplets had cleared up. Along the smooth arch of land were Outpost outlines, five or six, receding to the size of ants. They were good indicators of the scale of things. Demeter was a colossal world, and it seemed to Tim unseemly one company might attempt to domesticate it.

Considerable gravity gave Demeter a thick atmosphere – except it was simple, mostly carbon dioxide, argon and the dust launched by the winds. Not the rich medley of Earth’s gas sea. Thirty years ago the terraforming began and the scientists found almost no life or any evidence of it. There were sluggish extremophile microbes, propagation checked by deplorable conditions in the cold dark subterranean caverns. On the backburner were natural history research, all the company’s attentions poured into prepping and developing. The deficiency of oxygen (less than half a percent by volume) and other vital gases was partially remedied by the vented greenhouses; hundreds of thousands of the natural generators assembled and planted on the surface.

The company was Windflower Farm, owned by a man named Darius Wyse, whose family had been farmers for generations. He pioneered the leap from Earth, seeking greater prospect. His budget was tight; he traded and bartered when he could.

The planet was in its old age, the geologists thought. But then twenty years later with terraforming well underway they realized they were incorrect; the planet, they found, was much younger, more like Earth. The sands were the tough grains of quartz and other hard minerals left over from a dissolving process. There was more than simple bacteria in the water. There were extremophile organisms the size of lions, who rarely ventured above the surface, who’d gnawed the ancient rock in feeding, and broken it down with their acidic saliva.

“Alright,” Berty said. “Why don’t you log in now and let’s see to that harvester?” He rapped the touch pad as he got up and the screen went to idle, and he touched Tim’s shoulder, and then went to the cupboards looking for some breakfast. Without a little cereal blend he got sloppy and grouchy an hour before lunch.

“You should have eaten before logging in,” Tim said. “ID 9881 dash Adams.”

Berty made an assortment of bags of nuts and granola and dried blueberries. He found a can of condensed milk in an upper cupboard “Not hungry?”

“Maybe later. Its too early.” When he saw the spreadsheet he glanced it through and didn’t see anything interesting and looked away. And while his brother crunched his cereal at the counter he did his stretches. He knew it was hypocritical. He was on the clock. He resolved he would wake up sooner. His spine grumbled when he leaned back and twisted, and the sinews in his forearms crackled. On the hard tile in the space in the middle of the floor he went prone, bare knee caps and right cheek against the cold. There was just the slimmest trace of the mist that the vents had drained minutes ago. Its colder lower because of the density, he knew. Through the forest of chair and table legs his brother’s trousers stood out darkly. Tim’s fingers wormed out and flattened and he filled his chest with air and poised the tips of his toes on the tile and began a push-up. He did thirty breathing lightly, and ten more straining, with each push becoming acutely aware of the hardness of the tile, and its coarseness, and the way his hot breath rebounded into his face and passed across the sweat under his bangs.

He got back to his feet with his head pounding, each heart beat tugging at the ear canal. And his brother was swallowing, in gulps, the milk from the bowl. When he was finished he said, “I need to do some of those.” But it wasn’t time then, and Tim knew Berty; he wouldn’t come nearer push-ups than talk until he was goaded. He put away the things he’d disturbed and they left the room behind them quiet and as they’d come, and through the window the light was growing. The eighty seconds incrementing saw the sun come up fully over the horizon, beaming over the looming girth of Tethys. Earth’s sun left a gold impression in the eye after looking at it too long, and Demeter’s sun was bigger and had more orange from the greater iron content.

The brothers listened to the music in the lift, overridden every other second with the chug of passing down a joint in the cable and through the brake pads. It was fifteen minutes, the navigation from the mess down the lift and into the far end of the maintenance level where there was the door opening to Bay 3, where the old harvester was sprawled upon the cement floor like it had fought and died there. Around the rectangular carcass of the four-treaded, metal hulk were strewn a menagerie of power tools and equipment and parts, some in plastic cases, some half out of them and others lost in chaos. When the brothers entered a dull yellow strobe came on, and ever five seconds made a whirling glow against the grey belly of the ceiling. The light reflected against the faces of five buckets of bio-oil resting against a wall. There were specks of dust on them and Tim knew they should have covered them, because now they’d have to be skimmed clean before use. But it wasn’t important.

In another five came the sounds of rummaging through parts, of squealing trolley wheels, and the brothers breathing closely on wires and the rims of metal sheets. Tim caught that dry stale taste of the grease in his mouth. He heard Berty jostling a wrench and could see his movement by the pockets of light he blocked out through the belly of the thing. He made leverage against a bolt, prying with a grunt, bracing his foot against the trolley so the little wheel axles groaned. When suddenly the bolt came wedging out a strange polygon of steel shifted unexpectedly and Tim twitched, and there was a sickly crunch. Berty cursed.

“– my hand!”

Tim could see his brother’s form awkwardly doubled over in the restricted space.

“Berty, you hurt?” he shouted. He imagined the pain of a gouge in his own flesh, spiking up and down the arm, the agony through skin and bone. He heard something dripping, and mistook what was oil from the de-clogged gasket for free flowing blood out of Berty’s hand.

“Berty?”

“Nothing permanent.” Berty was resting for a few seconds. Tim helped him hoist the fallen metal out of his way. Then they returned to the business, soon jerking metal parts and swapping out rubber tubes wordlessly; until Berty asked: “Pass me that silicone gel, will you?”

Tim passed it. And because it had been half an hour he said, “I’ll run the diagnostics again to see if we’ve made a difference. I doubt it.”

The diagnostics showed gears abraded in the transmission, and spent coolant rods around the power cells, and sockets wadded with sandy mud. Berty went to the terminal at the workbench. He sifted through the diagrams on screen to find the part numbers, and placed a call with the company for a part shipment. At nine twenty one in the evening the next day the parts came in crates by the monorail. Every Outpost was a knuckle along the snaking monorail lines, elevated fifty feet and interconnecting all the facilities. They made possible the rapid transportation of the harvests over thousands of kilometers. They cut over the more rugged parts and ran the outskirts of the fields, taking along in their undercarriage tubes of liquids; nutrient feeds and water, mostly. All the monorails hailed in hubs at the main facilities and launch pads. It was a delivery tram that brought the parts. There was no one manning it, and no one would have. It left as soon it came with the blue strobes on the sides whirring busily. The brother’s resumed their work.

The rest of Wednesday passed quickly as they made the fittings and ran diagnostics, forgetting themselves. When the time came for reporting out of shift at night Tim wasn’t thinking it was odd for the harvesters to be out in the twilight, under the building breeze of the coming System. The brother’s were so tired they did not think a thought, worn from cramming to finish the harvester. They collapsed into their cots in the lightlessness, and slept heavily.

An hour before dawn on Thursday the red light still strobed, diffusing up along the walls, alone in the shadow where the brothers did not have the need to go. It ballooned red across the ceiling, the radiance as uniform as smooth viscous glass. It made no sound and strobed with a staccato beat. On and off, a pause, then again, and a longer pause; then the pattern repeated.

The nearest station was Diomedes, four thousand kilometers southwest. It rose up starkly over the dry, level plain; a sprawling enclave of steel and glass. It was one of the ten Central Hubs, the points to which the monorails converged. On a map, the black rails were like veins curving around a heart. Diomedes was the largest station on the planet. There were three above-ground decks watching the tidy fields of plants and the gangly monorails; final processing happened on the ground floor. A monorail three times thicker than the others ferried the end-product out south, where they would be launched to space. Eight levels went underground, storing data banks, spare equipment, testing labs, and parts. Robots tended most of the duties. Where humans were active was in the tall cylindrical control room that spiked through the center, and looked out through glass panels into the north, to see the sun’s high arc.

The stalls of computer consoles lined the walls, and glowed their images whether someone was attending or not. From under desks and over them small devices hummed micro fans and twittered lights, popping on and off in rainbows of colors. There must have been fifty of the stalls, and most of the chairs were left askew and empty. The silver wrapper of a candy bar half peeled back, and the brown flesh half eaten. Anne Cornell sat inside her oval desk, in the middle of the hollow space, under a column of natural light. It was a perch that gave the overseer a complete view of all comings and goings, which was the way she had to have it. Swiveling on the slant-seat, she could look to see the screens of the programmer’s wing, watch the presentations through the window to the conference room, or see the biologists prodding swollen tubers over the showcase bench.

Her desktop was kept prim and proper; when even a pen was turned or the square of cloth she rested her coffee on slid, she knew. She had four consoles; a navigator of documents, and three portals to the company departments. Her hand brushed over the lead-grey of the touch pad, and long fingers danced out precise strokes like a classical pianist as she worked. Beneath black bangs her pale skin was furrowed. She had an electronic document sprawled on the screen before her eyes, and knew looking at it was part of the cause of the headache. A tendon in her neck pushed out, and there was a little pain and stress in the shape of her mouth.

Her hand never ceased its deliberate movements. With the left she began to type. Infrequently she looked up and her hazelnut eyes flicked over the empty chairs, then returned to the screen.

Suddenly from behind her blasted a sound, and it quickly cooled, like a television turned low, until it was faint as bird whispers in the evening. Someone was speaking against the generic musical ambiance. Anne had whipped her head around.

“– Good morning, I’m Joshua Ames reporting from the weather desk. Recent observations of the Tethys System indicate it’s been building more strength than expected, entering District 37 as I speak. The rapid cooling of the untamed sands in the border lands last night exacerbated the advance of the front, bringing the storm’s forward progression to a rate of two hundred kilometers. As predicted it has begun turning south, about five degrees, and if it stays to the trajectory it should pass into District The fringes will affect the first outpost along the rim in about thirty minutes. Apparently the equipment has been secured. A heat pocket drifting from the equator made contact in the early hours this morning, with a temporary slowing effect giving way to a drastic increase in activity. Satellite imagery suggests ninety five percent of the lightning is positive lightning and nearly nine strikes per minute across an acre. Its path is holding true in line with the Jet Stream. On screen here…”

The forecaster was standing by a display of the swirling pink masses of the storm. Six cells cropping up along the collision line of the cool air from the east and the warm air that was stagnating, lashing against each other. With his white wand he drew lines showing his predictions, the movements of the cells on coalescing trajectory. Listening to the explanation of the worsening chemical medley, the furrows on Anne’s brow deepened. The man prodded, with almost wontedness, the numbers showing the gale wind speeds and the volume of hail and rain, almost seeming obtuse to the devastation he was foretelling. Anne sat straighter, like a pole. Her feet were flat against the floor. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted slightly.

“Ah – I can’t deal with all this…”

But truly she did not mean that. It was primacy talking. The freezing and muddling of the mind that came with excessive worry she tried to drown out by opening her thoughts to the options she had. There was no debacle she shied from confronting before. Certainly not storm logistics. In a bin by her legs was an audio-visual transmitter that she took out. She donned the slick snaky speaker coil, looping it around each ear with the dangling receiver above her chin, and decided the camera wasn’t necessary. She dialed a number to the reference desk.

“Hi, George?” she said.

“Yep? It’s George.”

“This is Anne.” And George the attendant grunted; he knew her; everyone at the company knew Anne Cornell, because her mark was high on the totem. “I’m calling about the probe,” she said. “You know the one I mean; and I wanted to check with you if you knew more, to confirm what we talked about the other day. Because Tethys looks very potent and it seems they’ll need to batten soon.”

“Right – just a minute, let me find the file I had.”

The muted forecaster moved his lips, curtly flicking his wrists and drawing shapes in the air with fingertips, as again he gave an analysis of the movement of the storm. On the map, he highlighted the endangered crop fields in yellow, and made red lines connecting the Outposts at risk. A broad track Anne shivered to look at, the computer model anticipating the storm to grow. There beside the forecaster was a display, a picture of a carrot on the cracked soil. It became an animation clip and the carrot, shuddering and rolling as a leaf down a stream, was kicked by a shock of wind and when it was joined by a hundred other de-rooted carrots befell a stroke of lightning, a thick wad of white fringed in blue and purple. The mass transformed to a steaming pulp. The forecaster cringed as he turned back to his audience.

The probe Anne mentioned was an aerial probe. It flew high in the atmosphere, normally near the rim of the Stratosphere where it was clear and fair; and sailed along with a host of others; several thousand of them in fact. Unfortunately, there was a chance it’d become affected by Tethys.

“Anne?” said George. “So I have the information – the probe that was having trouble…” Across the line came a sigh. “Well,” he said, “it’s doubtless that some machine on your end, a terminal at Diomedes, made a transmission to that probe, sending it toward the storm. It was definitely a sure course into the heart, not a chance mishap. It lost altitude sufficiently to bring it into harm’s way. We have the signal here on our logs, sent at five thirty in the morning on Tuesday.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, no – exactly. It had to be a mistake of the relay program; just a glitch. Maybe someone forgot to set the time correctly? No one should have been able to send instructions to the probe that early, and not without clearing it with you first.”

“I know. What does it mean; for the probe? Can you confirm if it’s still intact or… M.I.A.?”

“I can’t confirm that. We lost all track of it as soon as it entered the effects of Tethys; too much interference for the satellites. It’s a safe bet that, judging by its velocity, it’s been crippled, probably destroyed.”

“I was afraid of that.” Anne’s shoulders sagged. In thought she rocked tensely back and forth, and massaged her forehead drawing out the pink beneath the skin, and white blotches. “Oh, well, thanks George. That’s all I wanted to know. Call if you see it’s still alive. And, do look into tracing the origin of the signal so we can isolate it.”

“Sure.” He paused and Anne could hear his shallow breath. “Bye.”

Anne saw there were people; a young couple who’d come wandering through the main entrance hand in hand and looking about like they were in a museum, with their eyes wide and the man bearing a backpack. The woman was short and wore a white dress and the man was thick and tall and wore a formal button-down in earthly shades. They had never set foot in the control room before. They were tourists, Anne conjectured. She scowled within, although as the woman smiled she smiled, and the man beside her gazed toward the high domed ceiling and pointed and opened his mouth.

“Hello –” Anne said. She willed herself calm. The whiteness of her knuckles as she clutched the rim of the desk faded.

“Hi! I’m Jane,” the woman said, sounding like bursting through a wall of nervousness. She looked shaky, and tentative. She nudged her husband, who looked down. “This is Pat. We’re just perusing; someone said it was no problem. This place is amazing.”

“Yeah – it’s really great,” said Pat, and he grinned. Without too much ado, Anne hoped to sate the curiosity of her guests. Certainly Anne enjoyed visitors and would have liked to entertain. She nodded.

“Now,” Pat said. “We heard coming here that there’s a storm – Tethys? A huge storm coming around once a year? What will have to happen?

“Will there be evacuations,” Jane asked. They were looking sharply at Anne and she felt their fear of the unknown. “Or emergency crews here? Do we need to find shelter? We haven’t been told anything.”

Anne waved off the possibility with a painterly stroke and seemed to melt them. “Mh-hm. Oh, no. There wouldn’t be a need to evacuate. We are nowhere near the storm.” Something in her lilt made it infallible. The tourists shivered and sighed with relief. “You’ll be absolutely fine where you’re staying. You probably heard its growing, on the news? I know it sounds ominous, but it’s definitely nothing you should worry about. We’re doing what’s needed to prepare.”

Comforted, Jane and Pat looked away, to marvel at their surroundings. Questions were coming to them, Anne judged. She stood and, looking through glass into the programmer’s wing, called for Matthias. Matthias Cobb, the burly, short-statured senior programmer and chief of communications had been typing and he kept typing a moment until his thought was complete. He looked up before rising. His attire subtle and white, complimenting thin hair on his scalp, a pale polished bronze; a style he called high-and-tight. The gold hairs furred lightly his forearms out the sleeves. When he stood he cocked his head wondering why Anne was waving, and then saw the tourists and came out of his office.

“Hi;” he had a smooth chocolaty voice. “I’m guessing you’re our guests from Schultz? Jane and Pat, correct?”

“That’s right,” said Jane.

“This is Matthias.” Anne said. “I’m sure he’d be willing to show you around, answer your questions;” she glanced at him, whose eyebrows were raised. “Isn’t that right, Matthias?”

“Of course.” His mustache spread up with a smile and he went down the steps with a hand outstretched to shake. They spoke gamesomely and in a minute there was laughter. Anne let them to it; Mathias had been with the company nearly as long as she. The world she allowed to seep out of view, out of mind. She had to focus on the matter at hand. The probe issue, that’s right, she thought. She needed to acquire more information. It was a labyrinth, the work she needed to do. A place to look was right before her, on the terminal. Or faster still she would make a call to one of the programmers. Maybe Eliza Toa. The transmitter connected with a click.

“Hello?” it was a soft female voice.

“Hi Eliza, it’s Anne. What do you know about –” she brushed her touch pad to find a file. “– About an aerial probe, designated A-37-210? That’s A-37-210. Got anything?”

Silence over the line. Then an exhale. “Huh – it’s a data relay,” Eliza said. “All the A’s are. What do you want to know about it?”

“Tell me its function.”

“Function? You must know – it exchanges data between the cloud and servers on the ground. Usually the orbital satellites stream it, and it’s sent to one of the field outposts. Each of the probes is assigned its own. They’re like routers. The data traffic is usually light, but it’s critical: updating the schedules; the quotas. Keeps up contact with the Operators; lets them talk with loved ones...”

“Of course – now I remember. Thanks.” Anne felt a little colder as she hung up, and more than from the air conditioning.

The monitor was fluid in front of her, glowing and enticing. She brought up the probe search, and typed the designation, and waited a heart-beat. The monitor transitioned to a dark grey blur green set of hues, an interface sleek and simple. There the profile of her probe, a button against a white column. She accessed the file. She wanted to know which Outpost it was assigned to. Which Outpost it was assigned to would be in the dark, cut off from the rest of the company. They were fairly self-sufficient, except not entirely. Not from storms. And the probe hadn’t traveled far off course before it was engulfed in Tethys.

The unsettling information spelled itself out on-screen. Indeed the probe relayed data for an Outpost under Tethys’ trajectory. She pressed an ear-bud of the transmitter snugger and made another call. She stared out dully as it rang and watched the tourists follow Matthias, who was pointing enigmatically at a holographic projection caught between a nexus of nodes. No doubt Darius Wyse would need to be alerted of the issue. He would certainly be busily processing accounts in his office, on the top level. When she heard his voice – a warm soothing rustle – she felt immediately disappointed to be bearing bad news, although a degree surer of herself, because of his steadiness.

“Darius, this is Anne. Sorry to bother you sir. I need your input.”

“I’m all ears,” he said.

“I’m going to send you a data packet. You know Tethys looks troublesome and there’s a probe that’s gone into it. We’ve labeled it MIA. Unfortunately, it was a data relay, one of the high-flyers affixed to an Outpost in the path. It ceased transmitting signals about two days ago.” She waited a moment for him to respond.

“Well that’s not good. Without its relay the Outpost can’t be prepared.”

“I was calling to see if you could tell me who’s stationed there, sir? Is it the Adams brothers? That’s what I seem to remember. They’ve been there for years.”

“The Adams brothers; they’re in District 37, Outpost 210. How’s that sound?”

Anne checked the file. “Mmh – that’s them alright. I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

“Well those two might be enlightened to what’s going on. There is a red alert programmed to fire whenever the signal with the probe is lost. A siren screams for a few minutes. If they didn’t know what it meant they could easily look it up in their manuals, or on their consoles.”

“I don’t know sir, that’s a lot of mights. I’ll start tasking my people on finding solutions. Thanks, sir.”

“Certainly. I’m a call away! Keep me posted.”

At the click of disconnection, Anne took a breath and smelled rosemary, from the herb garden rimming the windows around the roof. It was very sweet, reminding her she hadn’t had breakfast. A couple of biologists in green uniforms walked in and split, one of them moving toward her perch. The figure, whose face was concealed beneath a gas mask, raised a gloved hand.

“Aghnn –” his voice hopelessly muffled, he removed the mask. She recognized him. He was on her level in a moment. He was Andreas Merik, the chief biologist. That’s what the tag across his collar proudly intoned.

“Hey Anne, busy? I’d to talk to you about something.”

She looked imploringly, the way she did with him. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The business tone was left unfiltered, which she thought could dissuade him from prolonged conversation. Andreas was a great biologist; the most astute, the most attentive. He was also easier to work with than the previous chief, and all the staff liked him. His personality was a colorful one. He wore long dreadlocks like compressed strands of straw, braided in beads and bone fragments and ribbons. And in the office where he worked and, from time to time slept, there were exotic collections: petrified plants with over-inflated bulbs and leaves and stems, displaying all manner of diseases (which fascinated him endlessly), and cross-sections of animal parts preserved in clear cylinders.

“Well this is important; it’s about the crops in thirty seven. The storm. I know what it’s like when it’s nasty and we haven’t had that in years. The severe winds, acid rain and positive lighting cause catastrophic damage. What am I talking about – you know what I mean. I’m worried the normal precautions have become lax over the years; it’s the stinginess I expect, trying to save money. I think you’ve got to enact more stringent measures yourself. The crops have to be better protected or we’ll lose tons of assets. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Anne skirted the question at first. “You know about the Adams Outpost? All of the implements are still out in the fields harvesting, or doing what they do. Nothing’s been called in, none of the normal precautions have been carried out. There’s more value in one harvester than a hundred acres of crops. I think there are more than twenty harvesters there, not to mention the irrigation booms, the reels, the scanner dingy. The probe went missing and I’m going to have to cram on this. The crops can be re-grown, but the implements in the elements will be destroyed.”

Andreas grunted.

Anne thought a moment, and made a call. “I’m calling Eli Prost. I’ll have him do something.”

“This is Eli,” she heard his voice in her ear. She kept her gaze on Andreas.

“Eli, I need you to make sure the Outposts in the danger area of the storm are secured as best as possible. And tell me something – the Adam’s Outpost is cut off from its probe, and hasn’t made the precautions. What can be done about it?

“I’d say it’s on its own, Anne. Sorry. Nothing can be done for it. The data streaming through the probe is what tells the place to go into turtle mode. There is no way it will be able to undertake the precautionary measure. Ah – well, that is, unless the operators themselves can be contacted, and guided through the manual operation. You might try that. I’d talk with Matthias, he’d be able to arrange something.”

“Alright, we’ll see.” She hung up.

It was, fortunately, about then when Matthias had sent the tourists on their way, and come to speak with his boss. Anne greeted him.

“Could you try to establish contact with the Adams brothers? I’ll send you there transmission codes. Trouble is there probe has gone down.”

“It’s unlikely it would work,” he says. He nods his head at her stern gaze. “OK, I’ll give it a try. I’ll have to piggy-back another probe or something.”

Under the normal, ideal circumstances, the Outpost would be well buffered. The crops in its radius would be blanketed in row cover, fastened by the strip lines to the ground weights. All orifices in the building closed up; more importantly, all implements safe and sound within the Hangars. Anne felt stressed now as well for the safety of the brothers. The storm was still worsening, the forecaster was suggesting.

“Anne, we’ve got something!” said Matthias. He was at one of her terminals looking at a fuzzy screen. Static came over the transmitter.

“Boys, hello? Adams?” All a white blurry mess of noise. And then, “Ye-s. This is Ber-ty. Who-se this?” Crackle droning.

Matthias continued. “We don’t have much time, guys. This is Matthias Cob from Diomedes. I’m telling you the storm is looking bad and we’re trying to help. How’s it for you?”

Just a bunch of unintelligible sound waves, but, perhaps, the word ‘fine.’

“I can hardly hear them,” Matthias said, and with a stroke of unluckiness the communication was terminated. Cut off by the storm.

There were people coming to life around the control room, alerted by then to the dangers besetting the Adams’.

“Efficiency, people,” Anne bellowed. “Let’s be quick. Chop-chop!” She’d already sent memos to their consoles.

“Anne,” said Matthias. “I have an idea. It wouldn’t be impossible to reroute a neighboring probe, and have it beam instructions to Outpost.”

“Go for it.”

Anne turned her eyes to the large display suddenly cast up across the room. There depicted were the fringes of the storm, on satellite, assaulting the Adams Outpost. It was a mere speck, and around it rising the dry powder soils, coalescing to a massive dust bowl.

Matthias reported back in under five minutes. “Anne, a partial success. Got a probe, rerouted it, beamed data. There was a chance – but the storm’s progressed too far. There’s too much inference. The data wasn’t received. So they’re on their own now.”

Anne felt a shivering dampness along her spine, adrenaline well into her bloodstream.

“Put me through to Francine Wyse,” she said.

Matthias obliged. In a moment, Darius’s wife’s likeness appear on Anne’s monitor.

“Yes? Hi Anne.”

“Mrs. Wyse, can you tell us what will happen with the storm? When it passes over a harvester, what will happen to it? How bad is it? Is it worse than the forecasters thought?”

“My dear, is everything alright, you sound frantic? No – you know, I’ve been monitoring this storm. The Adams Outpost is what you’re concerned about, so I’ve been informed. I’ve got the location on my map here. I’d tell you it’s not going to be as bad as you’d fear. There’s a lasso effect to the south there, a swirl drawing away some of the potency. There should be lighter winds, and maybe very little positive lightning, because of the mixing in the air.”

Anne contemplated. “So what’s the damage potential?”

“The crops won’t do well. The irrigation booms may be ripped down. A harvester could weather it. The Outpost will weather it. Maybe some hinges will come off, some things will be unsettled. The two boys there, they won’t be hurt if they get low, down in the undercroft.”

“I can only hope. Thanks for the good news.”

“I’m crossing my fingers.”

Francine’s face faded out and Anne let go some of the tension in her lungs and through, and studied a weather map, feeling absolutely helpless, clinging to hope. Lives hung in the balance.


Tim felt for Berty’s hand in the dark. A lance of energy shook him at the sound of crashing high and far above. In the deep uninhabited retreat of the Outpost they crouched, huddling close to one another. The vibrating through the steel perpetual. They held one another tightly, breathing each other’s sweat and fear. Two minutes ago the air conditioners went dead, and the generators shut off in reflex to the surging of the storm. They could only imagine the horrible upheaval waging across the surface. The scenes from the animations on the terminal, two morning’s back, haunting. What sounded like a demon’s ensemble of percussion instruments blended with gunfire and the rabid hammering of an industrial press pounded the ears with palpable force and they shook and trembled. All last traces of dust started from the walls and the corners, and the spiders went as far and deep into hiding as they could manage. A horrendous, stomach-wrenching cacophony.

Then, swift and decisive as it set in, the raging sound relapsed, coming to silence with a slow and inexorable, albeit nearly unbelievable, domino precession, until there was only the lonely sound of a girder swinging from a loosened bolt in the wreckage. In the bleakness and the gloom the brother’s looked up to hear a sweeter sound; the whisper of a refreshing, cleansing, cool breeze, and the promise of recovery.
 
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Go ask Py to make it instead of just posting a comment here that's not going to have any purpose at all.

The purpose was to bring attention to the matter, which it did.

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"Hey there. Short Story Contest is standing in place for a very long period of time, mostly because no one had guts to send you a message, like they are afraid of you or something else. Well, I'm here to ask for opening a Poll for it. Thanks in forward, and have a nice day."

Was it that hard to post one message and let us get over with all this drama? Literally.
 
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