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whereserpentswalk · 11 days

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People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

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kittybricks · 11 months

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Do You Love the Colour of the Sky? (Or: This Must be the Place)

(I apologize for the resolution in advance. Still troubleshooting.)

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redsquidface · 27 days

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When informed about your transfer off planet, you were not worried at first. After all, it was a normal practice for The United Earth as a means of cultural exchange with other interstellar civilizations. But then you discovered that you'd be sent to a remote space station, as far away from Earth as possible. When you arrived, you found out that none of that station's inhabitants were humans. Your translator couldn't even fully understand some dialects and accents.

The first time you visited the food court, you were stunned by the variety and foreignness of the presented food. There were kitchens from all across the galaxy, but none familiar to you.

One of the stands caught your gaze. Mostly because some of the dishes on display were still wiggling and squeaking. Despite everything being overspiced and slimy, it was your best option. For a minute, you braced yourself and prepared to order, but then you noticed a dusty replicator standing in a corner. You have used these machines before and knew that they could create human food or you could teach them how to. Postponing the probe of the alien cuisine, you rushed to the machine, eager to taste the familiar.

The chef of the kiosk, whom you left in a hurry, followed you with the gaze of their red eyes and angrily growled. Their warrior culture saw every aspect of their lives as a battlefield. War, love, sword fighting, sewing, engeniring, cooking - all were competitive and passionate. The fact that you eyed their dishes and not only chose not to buy anything, but rushed away was interpreted as personal defeat of the cook and an insult to their honor. The large alien gracefully hopped over a glass counter and followed after you, furious but collected.

By this time, you had alredy uploaded a human food pack into a replicator, ordered a burger, and paid for it. When the machine dispensed your order, somone quickly took it away. Without wasting a second, alien chef threw your burger into their wide opened maw and began to chew.

"Plane. Too plane. Do you really trade this over my perfectly spiced food?"

"H-hey! I've paid for this!"

"And I will refund your money at my stand tenfold. My food is much better than this replicated crap."

Indeed, the taste of replicated food was always a bit off, but you ware not in a mood for squirmy food. You also weren't eager to argue this day.

"No thanks, I don't like living food."

You pretend to ignore the angry alien and ordered a plate of spaghetti from the replicator. But this portion was also devoured, even with a paper plate. The chef was stubborn and refused to let go of a customer.

As the alien chef was staring you down, you began to get angry. Suddenly, an insidious idea slipped into your mind. You ordered again. This time, it was a big, ripe lemon. Suppressing a giggle, you watched as the rude chef sent the yellow fruit into their mouth and began to loudly chew. As the red eye opened wide and the alien grunted, covering their mouth, you began to regret your little revenge. What if lemon was poisonous for that species? What if the alien is now pissed off even more and will try to kill you?

But when the chef looked at you, in their red eyes were no traces of rage or vengefulness, but only curiosity.

"Do you humans eat this?"

"Yes."

"Really? "

"Yes, but doses are usually smaller."

"And there I thought that your spicies were fragile."

After that remark, you felt obliged to brag. For the next half hour, you were talking about hot papers, acidic pineapples, and poisonous fish dishes, while the alien chef was cooking food for you at their stand, sometimes interrupting you with questions and remarks. They seemed to be at awe of human culinary habits. The chef prepared your dish with extra care, making sure that seasoning is not too intence and all ingredients are dead and fried.

After the chef handed you the finished food you were so hungry that you began to eat without hesitation. Surprisingly, the taste was good.

When you finished eating, you thanked the chef for the food. Approvingly nodding at the site of a clean plate, they said that it was repaiment only for their first theft and invited you in this kiosk again. The alien promised that the next time their menu will include new ingredients from the Earth.

As you both said your goodbyes, you and the alien chef parted ways. You both made a new friend today.

#alien #short story #humans are space orcs #well not really #scifi #scifi story #i wrote that at 5 am

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alpaca-clouds · 9 months

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An Overview Over the Solarpunk Anthologies

I thought, where I am already here, trying to get everyone to engage with Solarpunk as more than just an aesthetic and pretty flowers, I should give a quick overview over the Solarpunk antholigies, that have been released so far.

Note that so far most releases within the genre are in fact short stories. Though if anyone is interested, I can make a list of the novels I am aware of!

Solarpunk: Ecological and Fantastical Stories in a Sustainable World is pretty much how the genre got its start. The book was originally released in Brazil and only recently had been translated into the English language. It only covers a few stories, but those are a bit longer than your average short story to make up for it.

Sunvault: Stories of Solarpunk and Eco-Speculation has been quoted by many writers in the genre to have been a massive inspiration to them. The stories are very diverse and cover lots of ground.

Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology is probably the weirdest out of this bunch. While all of the other anthologies mostly focus on either SciFi settings or stories set in the here and now, Wings of Renewal mixes Solarpunk with Fantasy elements. At times those stories are SciFi, too, at times they are really mostly fantastical.

Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Summers explores a wide variety of Solarpunk settings, some hopeful, some less optimistic. It is mostly set in warm and hot scenarios, though those can also vary quite a bit.

Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Winters then went ahead as a "sequel" of sorts to explore the concept of Solarpunk in colder climates.

Multispecies Cities: Solarpunk Urban Futures has probably to be my favorite one from the anthologies edited by Sarena Udaberri. It explores how humans and animals can live together in Urban settings. And once again, the stories vary from those set in a more futuristic and a more present setting a lot.

Fighting for the Future is the most recent of those anthologies, as it has only released last month. (And yes, this also means: I have not yet read it at all.) It features stories of Cyberpunk and Solarpunk futures - as well as stories where both intertwine!

Bioluminescent: A Lunarpunk Anthology is exactly what it says on the cover. An anthology featuring Lunarpunk stories. So Solarpunk with a bit more mysticism to go with it. And as this also only has released earlier this year I admittedly also have not gotten around to reading it yet.

This does remind me though: Would anyone be interested in me writing mini reviews to the stories in those anthologies?

#solarpunk #lunarpunk #solarpunk fiction #anthology #short stories #overview #scifi #clifi #science fiction #climate fiction

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tofu83 · 9 days

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For The Good Of Mankind

The old society collapsed but a utopian society rose from the ashes. There are only 3 kinds of people existing: Authorities, Servants and Laborers.

Authorities follow the advice of supercomputers to govern society. Servants serve the authorities and carry out orders from superiors. Laborers obey the orders carried out by servants to work and engage in production. No one will be jobless because everything is calculated by supercomputers.

If everyone abides by the guidance of the super computer, society will maintain harmony, and mankind cannot afford to be destroyed again. Therefore, anyone who violates the rules must be punished immediately without trial, because the super computer is infallible, absolutely just and compassionate.

Workers who violate the rules are often reported to the servants by the people around them, and the servants immediately assign law enforcement robots to arrest the violators and send them to jail. The servants then summarize the situation and report it to the authorities. The authorities will ask the supercomputer for its opinion and impose punishments. If a servant dares not to arrest or report, other servants will arrest him. If a leader makes decisions without asking the super computer, his colleagues will just ask servants to send robots to catch him.

A prisoner is usually sentenced to reform through labor, but if he is already a laborer, this means that he cannot be reformed anymore. The only fate that awaits him is transformation. He will be escorted to the Transformation Factory by law enforcement robots. There he will be stripped off all his clothes, shaved all hairs from head to toe, and put into a transformation capsule. The capsule will release sleeping gas to make him appear half asleep and half awake.

Several tubes were pierced into his skin and the transformation fluid was injected, turning his bones into alloys, his blood into motor oil, his muscles into reinforced fibers, and his skin into invulnerable armor. As for the appearance of his head, it is a perfect oval. His head becomes a small computer that can directly receive messages from the supercomputer but is temporarily authorized to give instructions to some humans. The original eye area has become a small screen that can display current tasks and regulations to the person he is facing.

The process seems painful, but with the help of gas and nanotechnology, he is actually moved by incomparable joy and glory. He will no longer be a problem, will not be a threat to social order, and will not cause mankind to face destruction again. On the contrary, he will absolutely obey and implement all instructions of the super computer, arrest and transform all diehards like the old himself!

What's more important, he no longer has to take responsibility for his actions. Because he is no longer an individual, but a robot, one of many drones. The supercomputer is his Master and will be responsible for making decisions. All he has to do is obey. It's so wonderful to be freed from the shackles of responsibility. It turns out that giving up your sense of self is true freedom!

"Thank you, Master! I swear I will obey you forever." He shouted his loyalty to the supercomputer in infinite pleasure, and then the last trace of humanity disappeared.

The capsules are opened and all new law enforcement robots walk out in unison and line up towards the factory exit. After being assigned by the super computer, they will report to their respective law enforcement units to show all citizens the consequences of disobedience and the benefits of obedience.

Thanks to the supercomputer, the real Master of mankind, the earth has been peaceful for another day.

Finally, please always remember, when you find it difficult to obey the rules but don't want to destroy the peace, the Transformation Factory always welcomes volunteers to contribute to social stability.

#reprogramming #dystopia #ai takeover #post apocalyptic #cyborg #drone #scifi #robot #male robot #short story #scifi story #robotization #dronification #ai image #tofu83

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hazzzyrider · 8 months

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how strange is it that our most popular narratives cannot imagine a world where if an alien met us, they would be just as inexplicably filled with strangeness, wonder, delight and longing as we do for each other? how strange is it that we must conjure empires and kings and government for the hearts that visit us from beyond the stars? why must the hand that reaches be a fist and not an open palm searching and finding for the doorknob? the point of discovery of another life would be a matter of intimacy and long-lost family stranded by galactic variables in the dawn of creation, not subjugation.

#scifi #writing #txt #thinking about stuff this morning hmmm #i miss men in black tbh #anyways love everyone around you and cherish them yeah?#microfiction #fiction #short story #creative writing

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hanro50 · 1 year

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The unremarkable biped. #2

The medical ward has run an extensive set of diagnostics on the creature. It seems the cells of this creature require a decent amount of oxygen to metabolize 'ATP', and thus, it needs a respirator to survive within the atmosphere of the station.

The medical ward has also found that the creature communicates by vibrating gas particles. Unfortunately, the creature is unable to use this method of communication while wearing the respirator the creature requires for survival. Furthermore, none of the other species on-board have organs capable of sensing the vibrations the creature would cause to a required level of accuracy that would allow for communication. It has thus opted to use a prophetic to communicate instead, using bioluminescence.

The creature does, however, lack the ability to see all the wavelengths used in our method of communicating. It has thus designed its own translation device using parts it had found in the station's waste disposal area. When asked if this was normal for its species, the creature simply stated that it wasn't. However it was part of their training to become a ship 'maintenance officer'.

The engineering wing has requested an audience with the creature. I do worry about allowing this, considering how critical the engineers on-board can be. However, the creature seemed excited to speak to its "peers". I have thus allowed it to go forward.

I also asked station security to be stationed outside the engineering-wing.

#humans are space orcs #fun #experimental #short story #scifi #sci fi #humans are strange

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aimasup · 1 month

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sure i COULD ramble about how ai is one of the multiple things that check all the marks of humanity's seven deadly sins but would that be extreme

^^^ possibly insufficiently educated

#the pride the hubris of believing you can do better than innovation and nature by playing god and not in the fun way #the lust it's being used for in so many awful cases #the sloth the way its encouraging everyone to check original sources less before believing anything. Also to not take time to develop skill #the greed its being used for profit without consideration for ethics or fair labour #gluttony. we always have to be faster. shinier. better. no matter if it ends up being less convenient or wonky #the wrath it sows in between people creating more differences to be frustrated over. more hatred #the envy how it takes and takes. always trying to be as clever as the best humans. as beautiful as a real forest or sunset.#do you think the ai wants itself #if this were a scifi movie would we be the bad guys #but this is not a movie and the ai cannot love us. so we cannot love it. and there's that #my post #personal stuff #thinking aloud just silly yapping n jazz 没啥事做就这样咯~#(￣▽￣)~*#when i was in primary school our textbooks for chinese had short stories and articles to learn about #there was a fictional scifi oneshot about a family in the future going to the zoo #the scifi zoo trip was going great until the zoo's systems went offline for a moment #and it was revealed that all the animals roaming in their enclosures were holograms #the real ones went extinct ages ago #when the computers came back online the holograms returned and there they were #honestly at first I thought it was a bit exaggerating #but I still think about it once in a while

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catgirl-kaiju · 10 months

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honestly, optimal version of being a parent would be traveling back in time to adopt my past self and raise me as my own

#scout's brain #self parenting #mental health #trans #childhood trauma #abuse survivor #time travel #y'know what this would actually be really cute as a scifi short story

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timelineman-of-titors-edge · 4 months

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Pale Blue Dot

I'm beginning to question the sanity of the humans who travel the stars.

The year is 3512 of the new Celestial Calendar. I have been tasked with record-keeping for a human ship, naively named "Hope". It is a large freighter intended for the delivery of Critical supplies to dangerous areas. However, for the past 90 days, the Hope has been circling a remote region of space. Despite the lack of any real objects in the vicinity, the humans stay glued to their detection instruments, losing sleep and forgetting to eat.

I've asked the Captain what we're searching for, and his only response thus far has been "An old friend", but there is no record of any crews being sent by humans to this region, who could they be searching for?

After another week of nothing, coming down to strict rationing of supplies, one of the humans shouts "I've got something!"

Despite his lack of sleep, the captain jumps up from his seat with the joy of a child. After a few minutes of interpreting the readings to locate an incredibly small object, about 12 feet in length. It takes most of the day to carefully retrieve the object, an ancient machine that appears to be made for the collection of data from a time before humans travelled the stars.

"This is the friend we've been looking for." The captain says. I fail to understand this action. There was no life aboard the craft, and the machine itself holds nothing of particular note. When I express my confusion, the entire crew laughs.

"Come on, now. Surely you can understand the value of rewarding someone for a job well done?" The captain says with a laugh that shakes his now out-of-regulation beard.

"I certainly can, captain, but this machine is not a lifeform, it can't take a reward"

"Pssh, sure it can. We're taking this old boy home. To Earth."

The captain dismissed me with that remark. On the long trip to Earth, the other humans informed me that the machine is known as "Voyager 1", another incredibly hopeful name that humans of old dreamt up in their fascination with the stars. Thousands of years ago, it completed its mission in the depths of space, far beyond the reaches humans of the era could fathom. The story and importance of the machine to humans apparently "can't be understated"

"We made it" one of the crew said, pointing out the window toward one speck in space. "The Pale Blue Dot."

He was pointing at Earth, and I fail to understand the importance of seeing the planet from so far away.

#scifi #humans #short story #voyager 1 #humans are space oddities

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whereserpentswalk · 14 days

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There are massive warships. Things that are the size of stations but that can move more swiftly through hyperspace and real space than any other object created by humans or gods. They're not like the warships you imagine, they're like entire divisions of the military, some of them have the populations of small planets, the largest of them have populations higher then earth had before industry came to it.

It only takes one of these ships to comquor a system. Though they often have smaller ships swarming them, like the microorganisms on your skin. And when they fight eachother, holes are torn in hyperspace, and heavily bodies become asteroid belts. Even the weapons that can destroy planets can't take ships like this down in one hit.

Inside the ships are entire societies, of humans, cyborgs, robots, and strange organisms generated by human science. Many of them soldiers who exist to serve as the ships troops, especially since a boarding action is the fastest way to take them down, but many are there for other reasons. You need an entire society to support a ship like that and all the troops it can carry, from workers who maintain the ship, to traders who bring new recourses on, to artists and teachers and lawyers and all the other things that end up as needed when there's that many people.

Some of these ships are so large and so deep that there are people on there who've never seen the world outside their machines of war. And some isolated parts of those ships, who've been within the depths of the endless machinery for so long, that they've lost contact with the more outwards facing parts of the ship society. Tribes and towns within the dark mechanical labyrinth who don't know they're on a warship, who don't even know planets exist.

And they say, that as the loyalty of a ship fades from the empire that built it, that the ship may come to be controlled by many nations, vying for control of the ship's flight. They say that within the depths of some war ships, wars are fought.

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carionto · 7 months

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Humans seem to have a "switch"

Team building exercises and competitive events are commonplace around the Galaxy. Everyone needs a distraction from the daily grind every now and then, and large organizations and long-term deployments make it essential for such "ice-breaker" activities, both to help integrate newcomers as well as reduce the chance of veterans becoming numb to life.

Yarvut Lyetzsnezhniiy had recently been assigned as a Cultural Analyst to the Human embassy aboard the Coalition Governing Station. While highly professional on the job and quite amicable, but wasn't all that into small talk, and once the workday was over, he was gone. No overtime, no hanging out, nothing.

When time came for the next publicly broadcast Cross-Embassy Game Series, where as many members from each species represented would be paired up with each other over the course of several days and partake in a game both agreed to in advance. Most of these were of the mental variety, and were honestly kinda boring to observe, but some pairings opted for more... active activities.

On the second day the Humans and another bipedal species called the Jorval had agreed to a competition not dissimilar to laser tag. This had actually been proposed by the previous Cultural Analyst and recently been added to the roster with some modifications. Two teams of, in this case, 15 participants on each side, as that was how many Humans were available that day without hindering the core operations of their embassy, so a few Jorvals had to sit out.

They entered a large spherical room with about a 300 meter diameter. Once they were done with the formalities, rules about safety, and yadda yadda - they turned off the gravity. Using small boosters on their heels, knees, elbows, and back, the teams floated to their starting locations on opposite ends of the sphere. And now the obstacles gently puttered in from all sides, turning a pristine empty space into a jungle of jarringly colored geometric shapes, natural looking plant replicas, and numerous traversable but obscuring meshes that come in all colors and patterns. Where once you could observe the entire area from anywhere, now there were scarcely any vistas that would allow one to see more than 50 meters away.

All for a simple capture the flag laser tag game. The Jorval have fairly long lifespans and, though they have not engaged in any wars for generations, military training is compulsory and seen as a matter of course by most of their society, so even the most desk-dedicated office workers are in generally good shape and have some reflexive combat moves at the ready. The Human team on the other hand, had one guy who used to be in the army... 40 years ago, two had taken up martial arts as a hobby, and Yarvut who turns out was an air-soft enthusiast. The rest were your typical either slightly too thin or too thick office workers when it came to their physical readiness.

Before the signal to start, the army guy, Brandon, gave out some tips and pointers, though it was likely going over everyone's heads as they tried to adjust to moving around in zero-g. No sooner had the game started, Yarvut dashed off on his own. Everyone did kinda feel he might do a lone wolf thing, but that, unsurprisingly, was short lived, as not even the two minute mark had struck when Yarvut found himself ambushed from three sides and was now locked in his suit gently pressed up against a tree-like obstacle with a modest view of the Jorval turf.

It would be a best of three, and, predictably, the first match ended with a strong Jorval victory by the seventeenth minute mark. However, it was not a total wipeout as the initial minutes might have suggested. Half of the remaining Humans were taken out within five, but by then Brandon had gotten used to moving in all directions and keeping tabs on the z-axis as well, and was coordinating a defensive tactic with the remaining members. He knew they would lose this match, but he was bent on making the Jorval earn it and show him what they could really do. In the end, every Human was taken out, and the Jorval had lost only three members, though all of which fell victim to the final holdout against just four Humans.

When it was time to swap home bases for the next match, before Brandon could start elaborating on his new tactics, Yarvut surprised everyone by huddling everyone together for a tactical discussion himself. From his position early on he was left with nothing else to do but carefully and calmly observe how the Jorval moved, where they focused their sights on, how close they tend to stick to each other, and other minor details which Brandon was deeply impressed by. Using this newfound perspective and knowledge, Brandon came up with a far more refined strategy for both offense and defense.

Seemingly bolstered by the humiliating defeat, the rest of them were also more motivated, and the entire Human team now gave off, what the neutral observers of the games described as, a different aura. Like something had flipped, that turned this group of people they knew and worked with and respected and generally liked, into something menacing, a focused machine almost. The look in their eyes through the visors sent shivers down most everyones spines or equivalents whenever a camera operator decided to do a zoom in.

Upon the start signal, the Humans split into five squads, one pair on defense duty, one four person team on patrol around the immediate vicinity, and three squads of three on offense, taking the longest route all around the edge of the sphere going for a three-sided ambush of the Jorval's home turf. It was amazing to see how much smoother and more coordinated each Human moved now, when before it was the first time most of them were expected to maneuver in zero-g using suits they had never worn before. You could literally see them adapting and intuitively getting a better by the minute at handling the booster-based movement, and navigating and keeping tabs on all three dimensions. Some were better at it than others, but even the most clumsy of the Humans was still visibly more comfortable now than thirty minutes ago.

The patrol squad had a quick skirmish with a Jorval scout, paralyzing his legs before he made a rapid retreat and taking no wounds themselves. Then a minute of silence, interrupted by a burst of activity coming from the Jorval base, then another minute of silence.

Yarvut was the only of the attack squad members to return, his left arm paralyzed, but he rushed past the defense members to plant the enemy flag in their base and take the win. It was now 1-1.

Another huddle, nobody even needed to call for it, now everyone on the Human team had fully switched to "hunter mode", as a Human audience member called it.

The third and deciding match wasn't even close. Once again, five squads, but this time three each and all in attack formation. They did not give the Jorval even time to fully disperse before the Humans came barreling through the obstacles just thirty seconds after the start signal. Shock and awe - every Jorval was taken out in the next twenty seconds, no Human losses.

Combining what everyone conveyed about their opponents from the second match with Yarvut's keen observations from the first, Brandon figured the Jorval were behaving in a standardized and heavily drilled pattern and would likely repeat it for the third, perhaps with minor alterations expecting another three-way ambush or some other sneaky and delayed attack. Their scout had also not arrived all that fast, so they must have trained to be very methodical in their approach. Brandon also employed a methodical defense the first time, then a coordinated precision strike, so, naturally, it was time for a sledgehammer approach.

And it worked beautifully, completely catching everyone off guard, even the audience. Blink and you missed the entire action. Everyone knows Humans can be reckless and even downright crazy, but to witness them going full "hunter mode" was a first for practically all observers. And this was just some office workers and an elderly former low ranking soldier. What kind of monsters were their actual well trained and fully geared up soldiers then?

_______________________

I really want to limit how much I describe the sentient aliens as they are not the focus of these stories, but it would be awkward to keep saying "those bipedal aliens", so a compromise this time. How they look beyond bipedal I'll leave entirely to your imagination.

#humans are space orcs #humans are deathworlders #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humanity fuck yeah #laser tag #scifi #short story #carionto

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catgirlredux · 9 months

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Technosymbiosis

Here's another mech story, inspired by/a continuation of this one:

I was the only one to figure it out. None of the others ever bothered to pay attention; between the natural casualties of war and the constant switching out of pilots, it didn’t make much sense to get too involved in each other’s lives. But something about Pilot Grieg, fellow member of Hoplite division V, captured my attention from the moment I saw her. While most of the other pilots were either frightened or overconfident on their first day (I nearly pissed myself from the anxiety), I could see nothing in her eyes but a fierce, powerful hunger. She stepped into the cockpit of her Hoplite and didn’t even flinch when the nanofilament harness closed around her chest.

I was entranced by her piloting skills and her determined, nearly emotionless behavior. All pilots tended to be a little cold, rumor had it that recruitment intentionally selected soldiers who scored lower on the EDEs due to the nature of some of our missions; but she was something else. Her face never changed outside of that cockpit, and she walked around with an ungainly clumsy stride, her gait resembling that of a much larger being. But when the mesh closed around her and the interface cable plugged into her neck, I swear her eyes sparkled brighter than ever and she sometimes even smiled. In the midst of battle, among dozens of rookie pilots disoriented and frightened by the steady flow of their mechs' peripheral data, Grieg maneuvered the battlefield more capably and calmly than anyone else. She was like the eye in a hurricane of titanium and lasers. She seemed to take to piloting so naturally.

It was a bit of an obsession for me. I never wanted to join the army, but at my family's civvie status it was either that, or spend the rest of my life working the same scrap hauls as my father and his father before him. I'm not sure I made the right choice: piloting was a lonely job, and our orders were always changing. The war had been going on since before I was even born and now that I was a part of it, I felt like it wasn't going to end anytime soon. I didn't even have anyone to confide in: between missions, I knew no one and no one bothered to know me. Still, a good soldier follows orders, so I took solace in what little consistency I had. Every time I suited up I kept an eye out for Grieg, hoping that we would get deployed together - that I would get another chance to study her.

That's why it didn't take me long to figure out - she was always there. Pilots were supposed to take regular breaks from duty to avoid excessive neurolink buildup, and these breaks were usually staggered within a division. I rarely flew out with the same Hoplite squad two weeks in a row. Yet every time I got ready for a patrol, I caught sight of Grieg skulking around the locker room already prepped. She usually looked like she hadn’t slept in days but she hopped into her suit with an eagerness unlike any other soldier in our division.

I really have no clue how nobody else caught on. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out: her constant presence, her aggressive combat tactics, her clear exhaustion versus her eagerness to pilot - Grieg was addicted to battle. Or something like that. I wasn’t sure whether it was the speed, or the action, or something else entirely. Maybe it had something to do with the depressant α-IVs - after my first time in the cockpit I spent a week throwing up. Maybe they did something weird to make her dependent on the mech?

Not that any of that mattered. Somehow she had managed to fuck with our shifts so that she was always on duty, strapped to a giant death machine. Her link was probably through the roof - god only knew how close she might be to terminus. I still remember the video they had showed us in training. A squad of pilots traveling in formation, when suddenly one of them lets out a bellowing screech and starts flailing around. The other units immediately try to suppress it but it fights like a beast, blasting and tearing at all who come near until finally it’s taken out with a TAC-beam to the core. It was terrifying - a team of twenty-one pilots reduced to just four, all because of a single terminus incident. The video ended on a close-up of the rogue pilot, emaciated limbs pinned down with thick nanomass cables, fluid flooding his throat and rivulets of blood trailing down wires that burrowed straight into his eyes. Pilots were taken off of active duty for a reason.

I decided to confront Grieg about it. I probably should have reported her to the division leader but something stopped me - curiosity perhaps. I had to know.

I stopped her in the locker room before a patrol.

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

She looked fucking exhausted. Her eyes were even more sunken in than when I first saw her, her lips were cracked and her hair was an oily mess. She smelled strongly of sweat mixed with the metallic sweetness of vitrofluid. Jesus christ, did she sleep in her mech? But her eyes still shone with that hungry anticipation, and she fucking smirked at me.

“I thought you’d catch on. I know you’ve been watching me. She told me.” Her voice sounded harsh, throat scraped up from constant alternation between air and vitro.

“She? She who?”

Grieg reached up and brushed a hand against my face. She wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves that came standard with our uniforms. “How high is your link?” Her touch was cold. She had a look on her face like she was trying to read my mind.

“43.7. Well within safe limits.”

She laughed through her teeth. “Khh-kh-kh. Safe limits - of course, of course. Safe."

"Yes, unlike you." I brushed her hand away and she shivered. "Grieg, what the hell are you doing? You've attended the trainings, you know what happens when a pilot is deployed this often. Do you want to die?"

The smile she gave me was chilling, sympathetic but without her eyes changing emotion. "Terminus... you still believe that shit. Why wouldn't you? It's frightening, isn't it? The melding of pilot and machine, flesh mangled and twisted and mutated. Frightening... Say, have you ever spoken with your unit before?”

“Spoken? I’ve interacted with the situational matrix, yes…” All Hoplites possessed an AI of sorts designed to help pilots make split second decisions in the midst of battle. But I’d never really considering it “speaking”, any more than you would speak with a dog. It didn't have the capacity for conversation... right?

“No, no I mean speak. Have you ever listened to your unit, spoken with her, let her take the reins? No, you- of course you haven't. They're all just numbers on a screen to you, aren't they? Just another crazy killing machine for you to puppet around.

"Think - how many times has your Hoplite saved your life? How many deaths would you have died by now if it weren't for that protective, loving embrace of mesh and steel? That's what it really is. They love us. They need us. You never listen, you all never listen, but they love us. I complete her as much as she completes me. Don't you feel strange when you have to leave her? Doesn't it feel wrong - backwards?

Grieg pushed closer to me. I tried to back away but she pressed me against a wall and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We're almost complete. Our link is at 99.7 percent.”

My heart beat in my chest like an autocannon. Grieg wasn’t just at risk - this bitch was about to fucking explode!

“I - I - you can’t. You’re going to - you’re going to kill everyone. I-”, but she placed a two fingers, rough from countless wire insertions, against my lips.

“Please. You don’t need to tell anybody. We don’t want to hurt anyone… we just want each other. We don't want to be tools anymore."

I was sweating in my suit. No Hoplite is that smart... right? Surely someone else would have been able to talk to theirs - Grieg’s must have had a glitch. A unit gone rogue; the thought was terrifying.

“S-snap out of it Grieg - please. Your suit... it's clearly wrong. It's bugging - w-we can fix this. You're n-not in control here.”

She just smiled. “Neither are you, hm?”

I shivered. She wasn't wrong... I hated the missions they sent us on sometimes. I followed orders because, quite frankly, I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to live the rest of my life as an E-class, scraping by on small NDs and living in fear of police quota checks. In a way I guess I did take solace in the time I spent in my mech, time spent not worrying about my family I left behind or shyly observing other soldiers, worrying about what civilian encampment or occupied city the higher ups would send us to raze next.

Fuck. She had me all figured out, didn't she? Did she feel the same way? Did my Hoplite really complete me like that, and even worse, did I complete it? I felt lightheaded - this was too much. I should have reported her to our captain... but what if...

What if she was right? What if the Hoplites really could think and speak - really did want to connect with us? What if I... god, I couldn't believe I was thinking this, but what if I bonded to mine?

I could barely look her in the eye.

"P-please... just don't hurt anyone."

Grieg stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a tight embrace. I didn't resist. She smelled good.

"We'll try not to. No promises."

*****

They say she left in a hurry, blew the doors right off the hangar and flew west. No casualties, but they want to stop her before that changes. As one of the pilots on duty, I’ve been summoned to join the hunting party.

My suit feels too tight - too clingy. I leave off my gloves and unzip the front. No one tries to correct me; they're all too busy prepping for the chase.

Setting foot inside my mech, Hoplite unit HE-2729, I feel its hard steel with my bare hands. The harness wraps around me; it feels warm against my chest, vaguely pulsing and humming as the machine comes to life. I plug in and brace for the influx of peripheral data from its many sensors, but it's softer this time - gentler.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I bask in the flow of data: a cacophony of sight and sound most of which I can't even process, but I let it wash over my mind and surround me. Piloting usually makes me so tense, but right now I feel calmer than ever before.

I take a deep breath.

“Hello?”

#cheetah writing #empty spaces #mecha #mech #cyberpunk #robotgirl #scifi #scifi story #original short story

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