Run Faith Run

Written for a little short story comp on a forum I go on. Written in roughly an hour.
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Seen from up close, the Ark seemed more geological than mechanical. It's vast, ugly bulk reared up from a wound in the earth as if the planet was ridding itself of some troublesome irritant with a giant metallic cyst. Initial renders of the Ark showed smooth, swooping lines of silver and glass, organic curves and geometric spirals. However, when a more accurate appraisal had been performed, it was determined that humanity had neither the time or the materials required and so a more functional craft had been built. Aerodynamics were not such an issue as all the remaining fuel on earth would be used to launch the Ark out of the atmosphere and aerodynamics were needless aesthetics in the cold vacuum of space. Instead, very functional and necessary elements of the design stuck out at odd angles, as if the core of the Ark had sucked them from their spawning workshops from across the globe and they had adhered to the surface in whatever way the currents of the air had seen fit to throw them. Nothing about the ship seemed comforting. Nothing about it had the decency to act as a beacon of hope to humanity. All it signified was desperation, a last-ditch attempt, a final grasp for survival.

One woman stands at the perimeter fence, catching her breath, gazing at the Ark much like one gazes into the barrel of a gun. She had been called a hero, even a messiah. She had been broadcast into homes all over the world, telling them of the imminent disaster headed towards earth and to tell them of their possible salvation. She had also been denounced as a heretic, a blasphemous evil witch determined to spread misinformation and deceit. She received about as many death threats through the post as she did thanks and on occasion, proposals. Now however, she was just a women who had failed to breach the fence before the outer hatches of the ship had snapped shut. It could be argued that if anyone deserved to be on that ship, it was her. Her sacrifices had potentially saved the human race, her revelation missed by so many others. She wasn't on the ship however, she had refused her ticket when it came in the post. Now she stood within the blast radius of the main engines, as the ship was about to launch. It's cargo safely aboard, in cold storage. They would make it into orbit around Mars, where they would begin terra-forming its surface. A new world and a fundamentally changed race. Give it a generation and Gaian humans would be gone.

As she stood, her mind wandered again to a letter she had received a few weeks ago. The letter that had caused her to resign her pod aboard the Ark, and to have sleepless nights since. Due to the massive undertaking that would make the trip to Mars possible, resources on the earth had been stripped bare. Anything of value had been taken, regardless of who it belonged to or what it would mean for those who hadn't earned a place on-board. The earthbound humans were doomed in a few years anyway the argument had gone, why not speed the process along? Now those humans wouldn't be able to sustain life on the robbed planet for more than a few weeks. The letter had asked her how it felt to condemn 10 Billion people to death, to save 8 million. It hadn't felt good was the apparent answer. She then had another epiphany, a code in the writing, a sign. A sign of malice and anger unfulfilled. It had drawn her here to try and delay the launch, but it was impossible to do so. If launch was delayed, Mars would be out of place for the Hohmann orbit to be successful and all would perish. She could tell no-one of the stowaway who was hiding aboard the ship, the one who promised to end its flight terminally early. As she sank to her knees, she became aware that as she had doomed the earthbound to death, she had also failed to save the starbound. The human race would end because of her. A racking and agonised scream issued from her mouth, before being taken by the wind.

We observe the following scene from above, from a vantage point somewhere aboard the Ark. We see a women rise from her knees shakily. She reaches into her long coat and pulls something out, it looks like a weapon of sorts. She fiddles for a moment, then takes aim at the Ark. We hear a shot and a black disc flies towards our point of observation. it passes through the outer spikes and by chance flies into a maintenance chute currently venting excess carbon monoxide from one of the generators. As we follow its path through the dark metal recesses, we recognise it as a modified bullet carrying what looks like a solid-state memory device. We don't have time to examine further as the ship begins to shudder and shake. The Ark has begun its launch. We risk one last glimpse at the figure. It has fallen back to its knees. Through sharpening our focus we can see her face, though the movement of the ship makes it difficult to see details. She seems to be wearing a smile of absolute resignation and tears are streaming down her face. As our viewpoint begins to rise slowly as the huge bulk of the Ark takes off, we see her mouth one word.

"Please..."

2 Months Later

Faith ran through robot avenues, ducking under giant tubes and over insulated power lines. She was headed towards the central processing core, the hub of processing for the Ark. She had been awoken prematurely from cryo-sleep by a small maintenance droid, carrying what appeared to be a bullet. Using the droids built in imaging device, she had been shown a small recorded message. As soon as the recording had finished, she had begun to run. The message was lacking in information, obviously it had been made in a hurry, but luckily she had enough knowledge to discern the true importance of the message. She was the daughter of a very prominent bio-engineer specialising in human enhancement, and since an accident in her childhood, faith had been enjoying the fruits of her fathers labour for some time. Those benefits were in full effect now as she sprinted at super-human speeds through the Ark, using her advanced vision to map the fastest course to her destination. Despite the ease of her gait and her seeming confidence in rushing to confront a mystery assailant, her eyes betrayed her feelings. Doubt rushed through her mind when she thought of the task fate had chosen her to perform. “I'm just a normal girl!”, she protested to everyone and no-one, “Why should I have to save humanity?”

Our viewpoint rushes unheeded through metal walls deep into the bowels of the ship. We follow snaking cables that, if we were able to perceive electromagnetism, would pulse with light, the pulsing moving in the direction of our travel, to the central processing hub. We have overtaken Faith and await her to catch us up. We arrive well before her to find the figure of a man hanging from a slim shiny line suspended from a high point above the cathedral like hub. The appearance of the man isn't traditionally human, as many different mechanical and organic appendages protrude from various points of his body, which itself is bound in what seems to be a single, black rubber bandage. The man is extending a thin, fleshy cable from his right eye and moving it towards a communication port of the hubs main interface. The Bio-mechanics in this cable are undetectable and once the hack is complete will allow him to interface directly with the systems of the ship, such as the navigational array and the cryo-sleep control. As the hack progresses, the mans tongue emerges from between his thin, dark lips, itself a reptilian organ, no doubt concealing some organic technology. This tongue extends upwards, pushes through the man's dark, lank hair and begins to wet his left eye. This appears to help his concentration. The tongue retreats into his throat and his newly moistened right eye revolves to look seemingly at us. We know we are unobservable and realise he must be looking straight through us. It is at this point we notice footfalls echoing from the corridor we had arrived through. We retreat to a suitable point, and settle in order to watch the next scene in detail.

“Stop! Get away from there!” shouts Faith as she bursts into the wide space. As she sees the bound man hanging her breath catches in her throat. She had never seen bio-engineering on the scale, she estimated the creature before her to be roughly 20% human. He was grotesque, and seemed to revel in her disgust. A squirming sound comes from his right eye and his eyeball, still attached via that thin organic cable, drops from his head. Its regular pulsing tells us that its work continues. The man then extends 3 thin bio-metallic legs from his back and reaches them to the floor. As they touch and continue to grow, he is lifted up and his hanging line goes slack. With an elastic snap, the line is withdrawn into a recess in the mans lower back. His human form dangles limply from his 3 legs and swings back and forth as he moves between Faith and his eye. He stares at her with his remaining eye as a dark green liquid dribbled from the empty socket. Faith had a strong stomach but she had never seen anything like this man. The more revolted she became, the more his thin, sticky lips spread into a sickening smile. The man cocked his head to one side and spoke.
“Or?”
“Or I'll make you!”
With this, Faith squeezed her eyes shut tightly to block the image of the man from her sight and swung her enhanced arm towards him in a roundhouse punch. The blow connected and the mans head shattered. His legs however didn't move and he swung between them like a pendulum. When he turned back, his face was caved in from the punch.
“Hadn't thought anyone would be awake. Hadn't thought a Bio-human like me would be the one that was. Hadn't thought they'd find me. Unlucky.”
The blood that had spurted from the mans mouth and nose had hit faiths shoulder and had begun to burn her skin, acid medium for his bio-mechanics.
“So typical of you humans. Killing to live. Shouldn't be allowed to continue on different planet. No right.”
“We do have the right! The right to live!”
“The right to live?! Living is a privilege. This will be a long flight, you will learn.”

With this, the man suddenly sprung to life. His legs bent once and launched him into the air. With a sound like a thousand vacuum packs opening, his body split into hundreds of pieces. These aspects landed all over the walls of the chamber and scuttled away into dark tunnels. It was over in a moment and quiet reigned. Faith was too shocked to move, but quickly shook her head from side to side as if to rearrange her thoughts. She walked over to the central console and stamped on the pulsing eye, ending the attack. It was then that the pain from the acid hit and she sank to her knees. Sobbing quietly, she thought about when others were due to wake up. She would have to guard the chamber until that time. The man had been right about one thing, it would be a long flight.

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Sunday, 30 August 2009

Forgotten your password?

A short one written on the bus to uni.

Please enter your e-mail address and password.
Thank you. Please type the letters you see in the following image.
Thank you. Please look directly into your webcam.
Thank you, retinal identification confirmed. Please place your index finger into your USB dongle.
Thank you, fingerprint and DNA identification confirmed. Please check your e-mail and click on the link contained in the e-mail we have sent you.
Thank you, e-mail verified. You may now log into facebook.

You have 50 friends online.

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Monday, 27 April 2009

Format Disk Y/N?

Written on a Sunday on the way to work on Cooking With Elvis, on a notepad on the bus.

I awaken in a room. The walls are bare and smooth. After the moment it takes to collect my thoughts, I realise I have no recollection of who I am or how I came to be here. A moment later I realise the peculiarity of this room, being that it contains no doors or windows. No openings of any kind disturb the purity of these four walls. Each surface curving slightly at its extremities as if the whole structure were made of a single, off-white component.
Rising shakily to my feet I approach what I arbitrarily deem the northern wall. To the touch it seems almost porcelain, but it's exactly the same temperature as my fingertips, and feels like pressing against the palm of an identical twin. It gave no clues to its material construction. I rap it with my knuckles to determine how thick the walls are, yet my impact makes no noise. Even my hardest blow fails to force the walls to acknowledge my presence.
Why was I here? Suddenly anger, born of confusion, bloomed. "What is going on?"
You are being punished
for your sins
during your past life
The voice had filled my mind, direction seemingly an outdated concept, this voice had transcended the need to be heard, it was felt. Spinning, I scanned the room for this presence, and found her.
Never before had I seen beauty so raw it had hurt to look at it. She shone like a glacier bathed in starlight, and her eyes were just as cold and ancient. However, these icy mirrors did not reflect my desire, quite the opposite. Just as beauty on this scale was unprecedented, so was this level of sheer hatred, directed unmistakeably at me. What had I done to spawn such feelings in this angelic being?
Your imprisonment
will finish
when you can repent.
"Repent for what?"
You need not know it
to reflect
and to regret it
With this, she gave me one last stabbing look, and wasn't there anymore. So began my period of incarceration for a crime I did not remember committing and all I had to do to escape was repent an action I have no knowledge of. I sat cross-legged on the smooth floor, and began to recall every memory I could find. Try as I might however I couldn't remember anything of my life before this room. Why? had they been taken from me? I racked my brain to remember anything, but all I found was the hollow feeling of lost memories. There was nothing, no friends, no families, no good times, no bad times, no life, nothing. Suddenly, my imprisonment seemed like a less pressing issue. Even if I got out, what would I be without my memories? I had nothing to escape to. Again, anger flared in my gut. This was no fit punishment. Nothing I could have done was enough to warrant this. I started to shake. This wasn't fair. They had taken everything from me, no, worse, everything except the knowledge that I had lost everything else.
"Who did this to me?" I shouted, unsure if anyone would here. At once, the ice angel reappeared, and after fixing me a stare, different than last time, spoke.
The guilty party
sits alone
in an empty room
You did this to yourself. You decided that your memories had no value and discarded us. A whole life, deemed worthless and thrown away. Now look at you, you are nothing without us.
With this, she placed a finger on my forehead and gave me a fleeting glimpse into my own past. Going to the 'start again' centre and telling them that I wanted to forget my old life. As the images streamed past, I began to weep. How stupid...how blind! Falling to my knees the realisation of what I had done hit me. "I'm sorry! I didn't know...can you get them back? What will I do? How could I...so sorry...forgive me..."I realised that the figure had moved closer, and I was kneeling at her feet. Looking up into her face, I saw the tears and the smile, and realised that everything was going to be alright. She helped me to my feet and as I looked into her eyes, I saw images, alien but familiar. She was my world, my life, and I would never let her go again.

Later, walking from the start again centre, it was explained to me that all candidates for neural formatting has to complete the confirmation program in order to see whether they truly wish to forget. Apart from the obvious moral issues, it was mostly a legal precaution to prevent lawsuits. To me however all this was irrelevant. As the scientist spoke, I was mainly thinking about how much he reminded me of a friend I had, have, called Martin, and how I haven't seen him in ages. Leaving the centre I was struck by the vibrancy and familiarity that surrounded me. The scent of the willows lining the avenue I walked down reminded me of playing down by the river as a child. The Zeppelins floating lazily over the city reminded me of the first date I went on with my first girlfriend, and the first night. Each sight conjured up an image from my past, and I was grateful and appreciative of each one, even the ones I previously would have wanted to forget. Now I knew, each one made me who I was, and without them, I was nothing.

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Monday, 20 April 2009

Nanoculture - 28/05/08

I wrote this to see whether me being tipsy affected my writing in any way. Few drinks knocked back, we'll see what happens.

The only way you would notice is that everything is clean. Even the bricks are spotless. No dust ever settles, no grime collects. It's all brand new.

The nanobots maintained everything. Every building was patrolled by nanobots that continually cleaned and repaired every surface. The air was always fresh, even airborne dust wasn't safe. Noise pollution was recorded and played back in anti-phase in order to cancel it, floating microscopic speakers seeking to make the world a more audibly pleasing place. Chemical pollutants are plucked from the water and air in order to fuel the new and convenient fusion techniques that kept the nanobots powered. Food was cooked from the inside out, and excess fat and unhealthy elements are removed one molecule at a time. Every mouth and gut is full of the bots that help break up foodstuff into easily digestible components and to remove undesirable ones. Muscles are constantly massaged and maintained, strengthened by nanoscale personal trainers. The airborne bots constantly communicated with the bots that took up residence in the brain, providing information about nearby objects such as mass, density, make-up. Drinks could be analysed for alcohol content, food for nutritional content, products for price and better deals could be provided, all at a single glance. The brain bots also used the nervous system to monitor the body and give alerts for major bodily events and to flag possible future illnesses and even search for and administer treatments. Many of the bots travelled in the blood to quickly reach other areas of the body, and to quickly react to wounds, where they constructed the platelet shields with great efficiency. Skin was also maintained by the nanobots, sweat and bacteria constantly removed, hair not included on the given body plan was removed, and hair that was on the body plan was encouraged out. Even fat was redistributed in order to fulfil the ideal body image of the person inhabited. In women, the nanobots maintained the womb, painlessly removing the need for periods and even becoming a perfect contraceptive, eradicating any sperm that came within their reach. If conception is desired, the zygote is guided to the ideal spot and a live stream of it's development can be accessed. The bots even assisted with birth, manipulating the baby into the ideal birthing position.

These people lived in a world that refused to let things be. Nothing was unchangeable, and many people believed nothing was impossible. Practically anything was plausible. Music and video could be accessed at any time in any place, lighting conditions could be manipulated by square foot of air. The air itself could become an artistic medium.

The nanobots had changed everything. The only thing that troubled the people of nanoculture is whether they had given too much power to the bots. The life of every person could be ended at any time. All of the people of nanoculture lived in utter comfort, some of them lived in constant fear.

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Sunday, 19 April 2009

Whiteblood's Rebellion - 16/05/08

I'm going to try writing what a great site called 365 Tomorrows terms 'Flash fiction'. Basically writing a part of a story without giving to much exposition. Dropping the reader straight into the world and letting them experience a flash of story. It seems similar to the way I usually post stories, but I usually spend a bit of time trying to explain the world. This way, I'll just jump straight in. Check out 365 Tomorrows to see people doing it far better than I do.

As Unthar scanned the enemy lines a sly smile spread across his battle-worn face. Only 300 men stood before him, all bloated with untested confidence. His allies this day would be Amber, princess of the Ro-anall tribes, and his long-time companion, Whiteblood. As the enemy lines began their charge, he bellowed in a roar that rivalled any war beast
"Whiteblood! Tear into their flanks! Decimate them!"

Whiteblood did nothing but stand stoic and unmoving. Unthar looked at him puzzled. "Why do you not obey me?" Whiteblood turned to him and growled deeply. Finally Unthar understood. Their last battle had been closely won. Whiteblood didn't trust him. "We really don't have time..." he began, but was met by a deeper, guttural roar from Whiteblood. "Fine...So be it." Taking off his Bone Cloak and Gauntlets, he dropped to all fours and issued a roar towards his companion. It was time to re-establish his dominance in their 2 strong pack, and they would do it in the only way the giant canine understood.

Claws met fist, teeth tore flesh and blood stained both fur and skin. This was no empty display, this was a test. Whiteblood couldn't serve a master he didn't respect, and respect was hard won in the packs of the Great Wolf. The enemy lines advanced, but warrior and wolf paid them little heed. This was the real battle of the day. Finally, Unthar pinned Whitebloods great clawed paws to the ground and gripped the beats throat between his teeth. The wolf cried submission and the two separated. "Now my friend, will you serve me?" In answer, the great Battle Wolf Whiteblood flew into the enemy lines and the cries of battle greeted Unthars ears.

"By the sounds of things, I'll be able to make a new cloak this night."

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The Black City, Persephone and the Two Brothers - 02/05/08

This is the first draft/chapter/concept of a possible story that I'd like to expand on. It borrows very heavily from a certain Terry Pratchett story, but I'm hoping to bring in a lot of new ideas.

This is the Black City wallows deep in the great swampland of Eastern Pangea. Deep in a giant mangrove forest, shaded by the shadow of Ignos Mountain and bathed in the sea mist from the coast of the Great Tethys Ocean, the city is built on the ruins and battlements of an ancient castle-town claimed by the swamp. Now all that remains of that town are granite brick walls rising from the depths and the two towers that dominate the skyline.

The city is alive. Everyone knows it. There is so much life in every crack and pool and shack and bowl that it would be impossible for the city not to catch some of it. The inhabitants, skin every shade of brown under the sun, buzz around the city in a commotion of sound and smell and colour. Everyday is market day and every day is a festiva. The swamp provides very little edible, and so the inhabitants cook everything. Stews containing every conceivable ingredient and a few inconceivable ones fill the air with aroma. There are no roads in the Black City, only spaces between the ruined walls, the market stalls, the reeds and the water. The fastest way through the city is by boat, though boats in the black city usually have more legs than the sailors. Boats aren't so much rowed as argued through the crowd of swamp plants, alligators and other boats, all of which going in pretty much the same direction and still managing somehow to get in each others way.

If you listen with a trained, and usually shielded, ear, you can pick up friendly inflections in the shouting and profanity the boat-drivers used. They are friends and neighbors, and the swearing is a way of saying hello, even with the language being at times more confused and obscure than the swamp that had created it. It incorporates so many different languages that it has become some sort of anti-lingua franca, confusing people regardless of their heritage or origins. If you brave the 'streets' then you will have to let go of the naive notion of a 'destination'. You don't set out to get anywhere in the Black City, you set out to find something, and where you found it was your destination.

Considering that the majority of permanent structures are at least semi-aquatic and very adaptable to sudden rises in water level, you rarely find anything in the same place twice. In fact, floods are very beneficial, they usually cleaned things up a bit, bring in new fish and fresh water crabs and occasionally a boat or two. The only inconvenience to the residents is that they have to get out the ladders to dry their washing and have to redirect lost shoppers or visitors for a week or two.

In the Black City, life moves fast. Usually because it was either chasing or being chased by some other life. In the Black City, you say goodbye as if you are leaving forever and you say hello as if you have just got back. You live without regrets, without limitations. You live the life that you could get, before someone else gets it, and barters it away for Rum.

In amidst this bubbling chaos there lives a girl. Her name is Persephone, but most people called her Seph. She lives alone in a bamboo stilt house usually situated in the outskirts of old town, but at times she wakes up in the shadow of the Dead Tower, which is her cue to lift the stilts and row a little further into town. She's always puzzled that it only ever seemed to happen to her. No-one else was ever swept this far out. There's a current nearby that will take her back to town. She could make the journey in two days. She made her way to the current, then spent the rest of the time hauling up crayfish to make a gumbo. A few hours and a dozen dazed crustaceans later, she went to bed sated and relaxed. She would probably be awoken by the bump of softly colliding with her occasional neighbours. To the smells of gumbo, both swamp and crayfish, she slept.

"Shall we play a game brother?"
"Depends on the rules and wager..."
"The Queen is coming..."
"The Queen is already here brother, and I know you know that. What is your point?"
"There is only one who could defeat her."
"She will never take the place of Queen."
"Nonetheless, she is the only one."
"Go on brother, what do you suppose?"
"A wager as I said. The one who defeats the Queen wins. The wager is the Black City."
"That is not yours to risk."
"Nor yours, that is the point is it not dearest brother. He who controls both towers controls the Black City. The loser must forfeit their tower."
"All I have to do is defeat the Queen? Huh...I accept your wager. May the Baron smile on you brother. You will be treated very well in my city."
"Thank you a thousand times brother. May the Baron smile upon your tomorrows."

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Cursed Eyes - 07/12/07

A short story/teaser written in about 20 mins on a flash of inspiration. It's a bit dark and macabre in tone, but I think it's got places to go.

He hated his eyes. They saw things no-one should have to see. He feared them, he feared this gift, this curse. He spat bitter resentment at the God's he was sure existed, for this type of torture couldn't have been an accident. These dark red eyes, deeper than oceans and as crimson as blood. “Why me?” was the question that plagued him in his sleep. These red eyes, they saw peoples futures.

Babies were the worst. He would cry for hours if he passed a happy family complete with newborns. It would take the smallest glimpse and then he would see. Her dog dying at the age of 4, her father hitting her mother at the age of 9, being betrayed by her friends at the age of 15, being stripped by a gang of boys at 19. He would see the innocence drop out of their faces, the torment pile up in their eyes, and he would see another new soul become tainted by a world they had no part in making. Sometimes, he would see suicides, murders, rapes, young men going to war, and he would weep.

“Why don't I do something?” was the next question that ate at him in the dark corners of the night. “What can I do?” was the same answer, always uttered with the same resent and cowardice. Could he tell his boss that she would die drowning in a urine-filled toilet after being beaten by her third husband? Could he tell the pretty women across the way that she would suffer a miscarriage and never be able to look at the father, the love of her life, again because she would see the baby that never was in his eyes?

There was the time that he had stopped that guy being hit by a bus, merely by bumping into him and mumbling an apology. There was the time he posted £450 anonymously to prevent a young women from being forced into prostitution to pay the rent. He still had the scar from the time he had run into the darkness one night and become one young women's knight in shining armour, and had been rewarded by a knife glancing off his ribs. He still had her picture. He saw nothing in the picture, and because of that it was his most treasured possession.

It was only those times that stopped him from ending his life or stabbing out his eyes. Her face looking out from that picture gave him hope, and a sense of duty. He couldn't right all the worlds wrongs, but he would try to help. He would do what he could, but wasn't some kind of superhero. He was Ray Lemant, and he was just trying to live. He would continue to live, helping when he could, and hating himself when he couldn't. The times he did though, would make up for it.

That was, until 2011, when it changed. He woke, washed and left for work. As soon as he reached to bottom floor and looked into the world, the bomb hit. It all stopped, every single life, just gone. Everyone he looked at, the unconcerned women selling newspapers whose skin would burn from her flesh, the happy children who wouldn't stand the first wave and would evaporate, they would all die.

“What do I do?”

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