From the outer gas planets the end of the earth was a plaintive flash that momentarily rivaled the sun’s glare before fading from view. At mars the Earth’s demise threw a brief shadow across the rust red noon day landscape. The planet had disappeared in the relative blink of an eye. It had given rise to a species that had overrun, for better or worse, the solar system, and, god willing, would venture to the stars and galaxies and screw them up too. In the end its passing would matter little to only the most romantic souls, but its passing would not be noticed beyond the orbit of Jupiter. All of human history, the first humans to crawl from an African Gorge, Plato, Rome, The Great Wall,, Napoleon and Yakov Smirnoff erased for all time, but for the memories of ancestors reaching out across the universe.
Everyone aboard that little ship would remember, as they barreled through space. Even at a tenth the speed of light it took the better part of two days to reach the subterranean colony on Europa in the Jupiter system. The broad red and white bands of clouds sweeping across the giant gas planet were magnificent to behold after so much empty space. Jazz doubted the Corporation would be looking for them. It didn’t seem likely that anyone could have survived Earth’s end. Jazz couldn’t quite believe it either, and was quite certain they had been the only ones to escape.
He looked over at Kate. She was in a tangled heap of limbs with Buzz and the boy. They were sacked out cold against the lockers. Skullboy was sort of weaving, his head tilted back and mouth agape. Jazz felt sorry for the kid. He had lost his dad to the rebels. The wheel had taken a direct hit as Earth broke apart. It smashed through the wheel like a stone through a spider’s web.
They swung around the planet, racing above the swirling cloud tops. Jazz was uncomfortable exposing the ship to the planet’s incredible magnetic field for too long. The radiation meter on the console was nearly off the dial. The ship was pretty well protected for interplanetary space and could withstand short spikes in radiation, but itstruggled around behemoths like Jupiter and Saturn. The ship shuddered and groaned at its closest approach to the planet, and Jazz feared the engines might stall. He sighed with relief when icy yellow Europa came into view.
Showing posts with label science. Show all posts
Showing posts with label science. Show all posts
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Angry Jasper: Forty-seven
FINAL CHAPTER
The Worst Day Ever
If the world sucked before it was about to stop sucking, in the worst possible way! Three hundred miles up a powerful nuclear device detonated behind Maury’s weapon. The bright white flash of the explosion seemed at first to swallow the entire weapon. It was an illusion, as powerful magnetic fields contained the blast. Instantly a tightly focused beam of white hot energy drove deep into the beleaguered planet a hundred miles south of Chicago.
Accuracy wasn’t necessarily a concern with Maury. As the beam liquefied hundreds of feet of earth and rock terrible cracks ripped across the land in every direction. The earth shuddered and trembled as though resisting the onslaught. Fantastic and unprecedented, bolts of white hot plasma energy stabbed at the earth, incinerating anything they touched. They whipped across the land like tornadoes, ten times hotter than the surface of the sun.
Jazz, Maury’s spy and the others reached the surface as the beam slammed into the crust. Jasper stood at the door, stunned into silence at the awesome power of the weapon. He could see those tendrils of energy tearing at the world, and new it was near suicide to try and reach the ship. That is if it was still there. For the moment the others were safe inside the passageway. He would have to try and make it to the ship alone. If he didn’t make it, or it wasn’t there then it really didn’t matter. They’d all be dead anyway.
“Okay, this is the plan,” Jazz told the others. “It’s too dangerous for all of us to go out there. I’ll make a break for the ship. If it’s there I’ll come back for everyone.”
“What if it isn’t still there?” asked Skull boy
“Grow some wings and jam a rocket up your ass, cuz that’ll the only way off this planet, kid!”
“I’m going too,” said Maury’s spy.
“The hell you are,” Jazz shoved him back from the door. Maury’s guy was stronger though and pinned Jazz hard against the wall.
“Think I’m about to see you go out that door and take off without the rest of us?”
“Would I, am I the sort of guy who would do something that low?”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Jazz watched with horror. Even Kate was in on it against him.
“He’s got a point,” she said.
“Et tu, Katy?” said Jazz. “Et tu?”
“To hell with you all,” the spy shoved jazz to the ground. And started through the door. “I’ll find that ship myself!”
The Worst Day Ever
If the world sucked before it was about to stop sucking, in the worst possible way! Three hundred miles up a powerful nuclear device detonated behind Maury’s weapon. The bright white flash of the explosion seemed at first to swallow the entire weapon. It was an illusion, as powerful magnetic fields contained the blast. Instantly a tightly focused beam of white hot energy drove deep into the beleaguered planet a hundred miles south of Chicago.
Accuracy wasn’t necessarily a concern with Maury. As the beam liquefied hundreds of feet of earth and rock terrible cracks ripped across the land in every direction. The earth shuddered and trembled as though resisting the onslaught. Fantastic and unprecedented, bolts of white hot plasma energy stabbed at the earth, incinerating anything they touched. They whipped across the land like tornadoes, ten times hotter than the surface of the sun.
Jazz, Maury’s spy and the others reached the surface as the beam slammed into the crust. Jasper stood at the door, stunned into silence at the awesome power of the weapon. He could see those tendrils of energy tearing at the world, and new it was near suicide to try and reach the ship. That is if it was still there. For the moment the others were safe inside the passageway. He would have to try and make it to the ship alone. If he didn’t make it, or it wasn’t there then it really didn’t matter. They’d all be dead anyway.
“Okay, this is the plan,” Jazz told the others. “It’s too dangerous for all of us to go out there. I’ll make a break for the ship. If it’s there I’ll come back for everyone.”
“What if it isn’t still there?” asked Skull boy
“Grow some wings and jam a rocket up your ass, cuz that’ll the only way off this planet, kid!”
“I’m going too,” said Maury’s spy.
“The hell you are,” Jazz shoved him back from the door. Maury’s guy was stronger though and pinned Jazz hard against the wall.
“Think I’m about to see you go out that door and take off without the rest of us?”
“Would I, am I the sort of guy who would do something that low?”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Jazz watched with horror. Even Kate was in on it against him.
“He’s got a point,” she said.
“Et tu, Katy?” said Jazz. “Et tu?”
“To hell with you all,” the spy shoved jazz to the ground. And started through the door. “I’ll find that ship myself!”
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Angry Jasper-Eight
The Earth-first rebels were a hodge-podge band, the offspring of fools and the destitute, the proud ancestors of those who might have believed the Earth was flat, or that God gave a rat’s ass what happened on that derelict planet. Never mind that Earth’s destiny was to one day, billions of years from now, to be consumed by our dying sun.
The original seed of the revolution was, of course, the fugitives who had opposed the ascendancy of the Corporation. Those men and women were Europeans, Americans, Chinese, Indian, Arab and African, fully a representation of the world’s amazing diversity. But war, and suspicion, corruption and the centuries had reformed the revolution just as surely as the elements had reduced the once proud Egyptian pyramids to mounds of sand and broken stone. The rebellion succumbed from within to the same petty squabbles, power grabs and ignorance it eschewed in their Corporation foes.
Over centuries of near constant warfare, the rebels had been reduced, or chased, into a vast, if disconnected network of subterranean refuges. It hadn’t always been that way, and for a time before retreating underground (literally) it almost appeared the rebels might prevail, at least enough to sue for something approaching peace. Indeed, the wholesale stripping and pillaging of the planet’s resources by the Corporation had all but ceased following a hand full of successive victories against the Corporation. But revolutions are odd creatures, and never what their pie-in-the-sky conjurers intended. Scattered, antagonistic and contemptuous of one another, the rebels lacked the unity to repel the Corporations exploitation of their factionalism.
One might believe this would be a proper time to quote some long dead philosopher, something about how absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps Defoe’s words of wisdom about how every man would be a tyrant if he could. Maybe the religious angle, something on how power and money are the roots of evil, or maybe things are best when they’re left simple. Let’s just say that the offspring of those original good and true fugitives did not follow in their forefather’s footsteps, and that power turns every man into a pimp and a schmuck!
The original seed of the revolution was, of course, the fugitives who had opposed the ascendancy of the Corporation. Those men and women were Europeans, Americans, Chinese, Indian, Arab and African, fully a representation of the world’s amazing diversity. But war, and suspicion, corruption and the centuries had reformed the revolution just as surely as the elements had reduced the once proud Egyptian pyramids to mounds of sand and broken stone. The rebellion succumbed from within to the same petty squabbles, power grabs and ignorance it eschewed in their Corporation foes.
Over centuries of near constant warfare, the rebels had been reduced, or chased, into a vast, if disconnected network of subterranean refuges. It hadn’t always been that way, and for a time before retreating underground (literally) it almost appeared the rebels might prevail, at least enough to sue for something approaching peace. Indeed, the wholesale stripping and pillaging of the planet’s resources by the Corporation had all but ceased following a hand full of successive victories against the Corporation. But revolutions are odd creatures, and never what their pie-in-the-sky conjurers intended. Scattered, antagonistic and contemptuous of one another, the rebels lacked the unity to repel the Corporations exploitation of their factionalism.
One might believe this would be a proper time to quote some long dead philosopher, something about how absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps Defoe’s words of wisdom about how every man would be a tyrant if he could. Maybe the religious angle, something on how power and money are the roots of evil, or maybe things are best when they’re left simple. Let’s just say that the offspring of those original good and true fugitives did not follow in their forefather’s footsteps, and that power turns every man into a pimp and a schmuck!
Angry Jasper-Seven
“The most powerful weapon ever built. Put an end to the Earth-firsters once and for all!”
She might have guessed, but the words still stabbed through her. She managed a smile, which is what made her by far the best spy in the rebel alliance. Inside she was scared as hell, figuring how she might get word back to Earth without blowing her cover. By the looks of things time was running out. It appeared that the weapon was almost finished. Just when the Corporation was likely to put it to use was the real question.
“Nearly ready, huh?” she asked, working at any crumb of information. Maury eyed her suspiciously. He had always harbored some quiet suspicion of her. He was suspicious of everyone, the consequence (or attribute) of growing up in a crime family. Nothing he could necessarily put into words, but definitely something. For so long he merely counted it as his natural suspicion of every woman’s quiet intention. Women played by different rules. They could make passionate love with a man while planning his demise at the same time. But more than that he never quite grew comfortable with the way she so completely and quickly disappeared after each tryst.
“A month, maybe two.” It was lie and he knew it. The weapon was nearly ready. Despite the frenetic pace around the contraption, his men were going through the final system checks. By all reports the weapon would be working within the week.
“How much to keep me quiet?” she flirted.
He stood and wrapped a sheet around his rotund little body, like some overstuffed Caesar. Maury turned abruptly, suddenly jealous and curious all at the same time. Not that he had any concrete cause to be either, but then a man in his position could not be too careful.
“What do you do with all your money? Certainly I’m not your only client.”
“That’s my business.”
“I could find out.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to see through her.
She stood and stepped into her white leather corset. A shiver of dread ran down her spine. She smiled nervously, pulling on long knee-high boots. “You could, and the next time you get horny call a hybrid.”
“Ha, at least they don’t argue all the damn time!”
“Lot’s of things they don’t do, or know how to do,” she cocked her brow knowingly. “And that, my love, is why you pay me the big credits.”
“Indeed,” Governor Maury chuckled as she turned and left his chamber. He groaned slightly watching Kate's womanly ass rise and fall with each step. She did indeed do and know to do all sorts of things hybrids didn’t know to do. And she was an expert, but there was just something about her. There was something behind those eyes Maury didn’t trust.
His curiosity was enough to have her followed. He could do that as the regional Governor. He could do almost anything he wished. It was jealousy pure and simple, and the thought of someone else tapping that gorgeous ass pushed him over the edge.
An aid entered in Katy’s wake to remind Maury of his schedule. He was a small, officious looking bean-counter in a tailored pin-striped suit and glasses far too big for his gaunt face.
“I should remind you,” he began in a thin, nervous voice, “there is a meeting of the finance comm….”.
“Never mind that,” said Maury, cutting him off. “I want Katy Did followed. Monitor her transmissions. I want to know where she goes and who she sees. And I want to know what she does with my credits!”
“You suspect something, boss?’
“I suspect everything, and something is not right about our little space skag.”
“One more thing, Governor. One of our ships is missing somewhere near Chicago.”
“Casualties?”
“Unknown, boss, but ambassador was on board. There are indications some of those on board survived and were captured by the rebels. We have an unofficial message indicating the rebels are interested in a prisoner exchange.”
“Any intelligence on the rebel base?”
“Not yet, sir. They are far too careful, masking their movements and guarding their transmissions.”
“Get someone on the damn ground!” exclaimed Maury.
“Our patrols simply disappear without a trace, Boss.” His tone was almost pleading. Maury gave a throaty sigh and waddled across the room where he could look out at the Earth. The sheet slipped baring far too much of that fat hairy crack of Maury’s for the Aid to stomach. Dirt was caked there among pimples and pustules, some of which looked on the verge of infection. The Aid looked sharply away and tasted the acidy bite of bile in the back of his throat.
“And what of this Thomas?”
“The rebel leader?”
“Yes, the rebel leader, you pug!” Maury grunted. The Aid, who was well use to the Governor’s infamous tirades and insults, pulled an antacid from his pocket and swallowed it quickly.
“Almost nothing,” the Aid replied. “He seems as much of a mystery to them as he is to us.”
Maury turned and narrowed his eyes at the man, who probably weighed less than his last meal. He went over and straightened the man’s lapels in the most suggestive and threatening way. “You’ll get me that information.”
“It is quite impossible to crack their security, Governor.” He regretted the words the instant they left his lips. He was already cringing, closing his eyes. Not so much for the expected explosion, but for the usual shower of spit and rancid bits of old food that accompanied those explosions. Only this time it didn’t come. He warily opened one eye, surprised to find Maury pacing the room, as if in great thought.
“Prisoner exchange, huh?” Maury was naked now. He pressed his hands to the glass, his man boobs and protruding stomach crushed there too.
“The rebels have made a tentative offer.”
“Signal the rebels and tell them we are interested in what they have to say, but make no promises.” He turned and regarded the Aid for a moment. “If my hunch is correct we might deal with the rebels on Earth once and for all.”
She might have guessed, but the words still stabbed through her. She managed a smile, which is what made her by far the best spy in the rebel alliance. Inside she was scared as hell, figuring how she might get word back to Earth without blowing her cover. By the looks of things time was running out. It appeared that the weapon was almost finished. Just when the Corporation was likely to put it to use was the real question.
“Nearly ready, huh?” she asked, working at any crumb of information. Maury eyed her suspiciously. He had always harbored some quiet suspicion of her. He was suspicious of everyone, the consequence (or attribute) of growing up in a crime family. Nothing he could necessarily put into words, but definitely something. For so long he merely counted it as his natural suspicion of every woman’s quiet intention. Women played by different rules. They could make passionate love with a man while planning his demise at the same time. But more than that he never quite grew comfortable with the way she so completely and quickly disappeared after each tryst.
“A month, maybe two.” It was lie and he knew it. The weapon was nearly ready. Despite the frenetic pace around the contraption, his men were going through the final system checks. By all reports the weapon would be working within the week.
“How much to keep me quiet?” she flirted.
He stood and wrapped a sheet around his rotund little body, like some overstuffed Caesar. Maury turned abruptly, suddenly jealous and curious all at the same time. Not that he had any concrete cause to be either, but then a man in his position could not be too careful.
“What do you do with all your money? Certainly I’m not your only client.”
“That’s my business.”
“I could find out.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to see through her.
She stood and stepped into her white leather corset. A shiver of dread ran down her spine. She smiled nervously, pulling on long knee-high boots. “You could, and the next time you get horny call a hybrid.”
“Ha, at least they don’t argue all the damn time!”
“Lot’s of things they don’t do, or know how to do,” she cocked her brow knowingly. “And that, my love, is why you pay me the big credits.”
“Indeed,” Governor Maury chuckled as she turned and left his chamber. He groaned slightly watching Kate's womanly ass rise and fall with each step. She did indeed do and know to do all sorts of things hybrids didn’t know to do. And she was an expert, but there was just something about her. There was something behind those eyes Maury didn’t trust.
His curiosity was enough to have her followed. He could do that as the regional Governor. He could do almost anything he wished. It was jealousy pure and simple, and the thought of someone else tapping that gorgeous ass pushed him over the edge.
An aid entered in Katy’s wake to remind Maury of his schedule. He was a small, officious looking bean-counter in a tailored pin-striped suit and glasses far too big for his gaunt face.
“I should remind you,” he began in a thin, nervous voice, “there is a meeting of the finance comm….”.
“Never mind that,” said Maury, cutting him off. “I want Katy Did followed. Monitor her transmissions. I want to know where she goes and who she sees. And I want to know what she does with my credits!”
“You suspect something, boss?’
“I suspect everything, and something is not right about our little space skag.”
“One more thing, Governor. One of our ships is missing somewhere near Chicago.”
“Casualties?”
“Unknown, boss, but ambassador was on board. There are indications some of those on board survived and were captured by the rebels. We have an unofficial message indicating the rebels are interested in a prisoner exchange.”
“Any intelligence on the rebel base?”
“Not yet, sir. They are far too careful, masking their movements and guarding their transmissions.”
“Get someone on the damn ground!” exclaimed Maury.
“Our patrols simply disappear without a trace, Boss.” His tone was almost pleading. Maury gave a throaty sigh and waddled across the room where he could look out at the Earth. The sheet slipped baring far too much of that fat hairy crack of Maury’s for the Aid to stomach. Dirt was caked there among pimples and pustules, some of which looked on the verge of infection. The Aid looked sharply away and tasted the acidy bite of bile in the back of his throat.
“And what of this Thomas?”
“The rebel leader?”
“Yes, the rebel leader, you pug!” Maury grunted. The Aid, who was well use to the Governor’s infamous tirades and insults, pulled an antacid from his pocket and swallowed it quickly.
“Almost nothing,” the Aid replied. “He seems as much of a mystery to them as he is to us.”
Maury turned and narrowed his eyes at the man, who probably weighed less than his last meal. He went over and straightened the man’s lapels in the most suggestive and threatening way. “You’ll get me that information.”
“It is quite impossible to crack their security, Governor.” He regretted the words the instant they left his lips. He was already cringing, closing his eyes. Not so much for the expected explosion, but for the usual shower of spit and rancid bits of old food that accompanied those explosions. Only this time it didn’t come. He warily opened one eye, surprised to find Maury pacing the room, as if in great thought.
“Prisoner exchange, huh?” Maury was naked now. He pressed his hands to the glass, his man boobs and protruding stomach crushed there too.
“The rebels have made a tentative offer.”
“Signal the rebels and tell them we are interested in what they have to say, but make no promises.” He turned and regarded the Aid for a moment. “If my hunch is correct we might deal with the rebels on Earth once and for all.”
Friday, November 20, 2009
THE LAST MAN: Part Twenty-five
“We’re leaving the city, fleeing up the coast,” says Alice Walker, as I warm myself at the fire. Her husband is tending to the wound on my neck. It is deep enough that he must stitch it closed. A curative tea numbs the pain enough as John Brown pinches the wound closed and works the needle through the torn flesh.
It was he who rallied my rescue. He was rummaging in the Archives when I burst in, chased by Section Twenty-one. I don’t thank him, as there is nothing to celebrate or be thankful in the deaths of others. It was only what had to be done. Now it remains to be seen what the Corporation will do. The exodus of the Low City has little to do with that particular act. The family, all of the clans are already or nearly prepared to leave.
Some have already begun to move. They are not the first. Hundreds have piled up on the beach, bottlenecked as these apparent refugees make their way along the narrow, debris strewn shore. They are deathly silent in that endeavor, the few words spoken to comfort children.
“Strange through all this,” I say soberly, “I count you as a dear friend.”
The tension of the moment was fully evident in John Brown’s face. His wife looked over at the remark, as she prepared for the journey. Unlike John, she could find no cause to smile. She hauled a heavy satchel onto her shoulders.
“Nothing some Associate knows for friends.”
“I know enough to feel indebted to you and your family, and to worry over your journey.”
“No worries,” he says. “Body’s needs to do what they needs to do, and these bodies needs to go.”
“Where will you go?”
Alice walker helped her mother to stand. She is pale and terribly weak. Though I do not notice, John confides she had a stroke the night before and has been thoroughly disoriented and confused. Fear she will not survive the journey but do not say so. Alice heaves bundle onto her back and shakes her head, straining under the weight of her burden. “We are eternal refugees, the forever pawns of war. We would we go when there is no place for us?”
“Do your time in this world good to come along,” John brown offers.
The offer was a tempting one, to remain among these good people. I could well imagine a place among them. I could well imagine a life in which color or difference or handicap was less point for disagreement as an opportunity for perspective. But I felt pulled to those ruins far out to see, though that fate was far less certain.
“You will forgive me?” I said, taking his hands in mine, clasping them tightly.
“Your ruins?” He replied.
“I must know.”
I watch them leave and take their place among hundreds pressing towards the shore. Many more remain, no doubt waiting until the others had moved on. I hardly knew them. I hardly knew anything of their lives and suffering. Their culture and way of life is so fundamentally different then mine. There can be no doubt my caring for these people. Our lives and fates were intertwined, and that was not a deliberate happenstance, at least not for any of us. No man is ever lone, except in his own heart. We were all tumbled madly in the whirlwind of life and fate, thrown together as random assemblages, tasked by burdens and pleasures with making the best of things as they come. As I turned away and started for the sewers I already missed them terribly.
It was he who rallied my rescue. He was rummaging in the Archives when I burst in, chased by Section Twenty-one. I don’t thank him, as there is nothing to celebrate or be thankful in the deaths of others. It was only what had to be done. Now it remains to be seen what the Corporation will do. The exodus of the Low City has little to do with that particular act. The family, all of the clans are already or nearly prepared to leave.
Some have already begun to move. They are not the first. Hundreds have piled up on the beach, bottlenecked as these apparent refugees make their way along the narrow, debris strewn shore. They are deathly silent in that endeavor, the few words spoken to comfort children.
“Strange through all this,” I say soberly, “I count you as a dear friend.”
The tension of the moment was fully evident in John Brown’s face. His wife looked over at the remark, as she prepared for the journey. Unlike John, she could find no cause to smile. She hauled a heavy satchel onto her shoulders.
“Nothing some Associate knows for friends.”
“I know enough to feel indebted to you and your family, and to worry over your journey.”
“No worries,” he says. “Body’s needs to do what they needs to do, and these bodies needs to go.”
“Where will you go?”
Alice walker helped her mother to stand. She is pale and terribly weak. Though I do not notice, John confides she had a stroke the night before and has been thoroughly disoriented and confused. Fear she will not survive the journey but do not say so. Alice heaves bundle onto her back and shakes her head, straining under the weight of her burden. “We are eternal refugees, the forever pawns of war. We would we go when there is no place for us?”
“Do your time in this world good to come along,” John brown offers.
The offer was a tempting one, to remain among these good people. I could well imagine a place among them. I could well imagine a life in which color or difference or handicap was less point for disagreement as an opportunity for perspective. But I felt pulled to those ruins far out to see, though that fate was far less certain.
“You will forgive me?” I said, taking his hands in mine, clasping them tightly.
“Your ruins?” He replied.
“I must know.”
I watch them leave and take their place among hundreds pressing towards the shore. Many more remain, no doubt waiting until the others had moved on. I hardly knew them. I hardly knew anything of their lives and suffering. Their culture and way of life is so fundamentally different then mine. There can be no doubt my caring for these people. Our lives and fates were intertwined, and that was not a deliberate happenstance, at least not for any of us. No man is ever lone, except in his own heart. We were all tumbled madly in the whirlwind of life and fate, thrown together as random assemblages, tasked by burdens and pleasures with making the best of things as they come. As I turned away and started for the sewers I already missed them terribly.
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