Sci-Fi anyone?

[Carl East]

With the recent spate of writing exercise threads, I thought it was about time someone came up with a sci-fi version. So who better than yours truly to start it off (oh only about three dozen other writers) lol

Anyway, this exercise is simple. All you have to do is start an intro to a sci-fi, and anyone wanting to comment on whether or not they'd like to hear more should do so.

I'll start off, oh and incidentally it can be of a sexual nature if you like, but it has to hold a science fiction theme.

The adventurer

Inside the seemingly abandoned ship The Adventurer, lights began to flicker on and a whirling sound could be heard coming from the hard-drive on the ships computer. Suddenly the whole ship sprang into action, as life pods that held the crew slid out of their holdings.

The lights on these pods flickered on, and the gases that held the crew in a deep cryogenic hibernation were slowly being sucked out. Next came the fresh air that was pumped in, and then the pods began to rise until they stood upright.

The pods lock mechanisms were the next thing to activate, as each and everyone clicked open. Captain Billy Donaldson opened his eyes first, and found it hard to focus. He then remembered his training, and also where he was and began to inhale large amounts of oxygen before attempting to open his eyes again.

Just twenty minutes later and the entire crew were fully awake and gathering around the ships mess for a briefing.

"Ok people, as you all know, HubbleII located the planet we're now orbiting and if all of that technology is correct it should hold life, or at least have the ability to sustain life," said the captain, stretching his right arm to get the stiffness out. "Bates, have you scanned it yet?" he continued.

"Not yet sir, I thought I'd do a life support check first," replied Emily Bates, the ships biologist.

"Ok, so let's get a look at this marvel shall we?" said the captain, as everyone turned around.

Captain Donaldson flicked a switch on a console close by and a screen, which was hiding a window, slid open. For a few moments there was utter silence, for there below them was a most magnificent sight. A planet about a third bigger than earth, but which held clouds and clear storm fronts became visible in its entirety.

"Oh my god," said a voice behind them all.

The captain turned to see Bates staring into her scanner.

"What's up Bates?"

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" she replied, turning around to face the crew.

"The good," replied the captain, without hesitation.

"This planet is absolutely teaming with life."

"And the bad?"

"It's still in its prehistoric age, there are creatures down there that are bigger than anything recorded on earth. In fact if we even attempted to land this ship down there, we'd probably become a tooth pick...

Carl

 

[SnoopDog]

My second story I submitted to Lit was actually a Sci-Fi erotic story (well, let's be frank, it was a Sci-Fi porn story, lol). It's in German and has never been finished because there were two chapters at least missing.

I admit the first chapter it's more like crap but the other two got better....... it was set in the future and was about a soldier who got shipwrecked on a foreign planet that turns out to be inhibited by women only, with just a few men still alive. It was kind of an Amazon-not-highly-developed-culture...and he was wanted for being a man (who were obviously needed since there was a shortage of sperm)

I know it sounds sleazy and cheap....that's what it was.



Snoopy

 

[Colleen Thomas]

My sci fi one did exceptionally well. My nano is a sci-fi space opera, so I guess I'll post the intro to it

In the quiet, backwater system of Halderon IV, the old war horse had been put to pasture. She floated majestically in geostationary orbit over the gas giant, that star maps called HV-16 and the locals called Lesvous. A bevy of smaller ships darted around the system, all of them hopelessly obsolete by modern standards, consigned to system defense duty and anti piracy patrols. Compared to the old campaigner, they were state of the art.

Almost one thousand years had passed, since her massive; seven mile long keel had been laid down in the long ago vaporized shipyards at Arnhem. She had been the first of fifteen ships of her class. Massively built, heavily armored, carrying the then revolutionary, fifteen inch Particle Projection Cannons, and internal bays for a whole wing of fighter/bombers. In her day, she had been the pinnacle of space going naval technology and with her sisters had been a thorn in the side of the Terran Authority’s reconquest of the galaxy.

For one hundred bloody years, she and her sister ships had protected the Gunarian Confederation from being annexed into the Terran Authority. The Treaty of Sol III in 3745 had marked the end of hostilities, as the Confederation had bowed to the inevitable and joined the Authority voluntarily, rather than face long years as an occupied power. Four years later, she had been refitted and with a loyal Terran crew, had joined the Authority Navy.

In her nearly limitless positrinic database, the bloody history of the reconquest was stored. She had rained fire and death on the rebellious planted of Sig-Alpha five, taken part in the great naval engagement on Centauri Prime, provided fighter support in the final battles against the Volluskuns and taken part in more skirmishes and fleet actions than most people could imagine. When her battle board was lit, she was as close to sentient as any machine human’s had ever constructed.

Eventually, time and technology turned her cannons into pea shooters and her hangar decks into less than today’s auxiliary carriers boasted. She had been consigned to the scrap yard, when some bean counter realized she was the oldest active duty ship in the Authority fleet. Rather than scrap her, the powers that be had parked her here in orbit and turned her into a training ship for new pilots.

The old warhorse was quiet now. The only sound and fury aboard came from raw recruits shooting at targets or blowing off steam. Her great guns had been silent for more than a century and the battle circuit that would bring her to full wakefulness had been dark for twice that. She slept, and perhaps she dreamed of battles in days long gone by. She remained as a living monument to Man’s determination to conquer the galaxy.

 

[Darkknight2010]

My sci fi one did exceptionally well. My nano is a sci-fi space opera, so I guess I'll post the intro to it

In the quiet, backwater system of Halderon IV, the old war horse had been put to pasture. She floated majestically in geostationary orbit over the gas giant, that star maps called HV-16 and the locals called Lesvous. A bevy of smaller ships darted around the system, all of them hopelessly obsolete by modern standards, consigned to system defense duty and anti piracy patrols. Compared to the old campaigner, they were state of the art.

Almost one thousand years had passed, since her massive; seven mile long keel had been laid down in the long ago vaporized shipyards at Arnhem. She had been the first of fifteen ships of her class. Massively built, heavily armored, carrying the then revolutionary, fifteen inch Particle Projection Cannons, and internal bays for a whole wing of fighter/bombers. In her day, she had been the pinnacle of space going naval technology and with her sisters had been a thorn in the side of the Terran Authority’s reconquest of the galaxy.

For one hundred bloody years, she and her sister ships had protected the Gunarian Confederation from being annexed into the Terran Authority. The Treaty of Sol III in 3745 had marked the end of hostilities, as the Confederation had bowed to the inevitable and joined the Authority voluntarily, rather than face long years as an occupied power. Four years later, she had been refitted and with a loyal Terran crew, had joined the Authority Navy.

In her nearly limitless positrinic database, the bloody history of the reconquest was stored. She had rained fire and death on the rebellious planted of Sig-Alpha five, taken part in the great naval engagement on Centauri Prime, provided fighter support in the final battles against the Volluskuns and taken part in more skirmishes and fleet actions than most people could imagine. When her battle board was lit, she was as close to sentient as any machine human’s had ever constructed.

Eventually, time and technology turned her cannons into pea shooters and her hangar decks into less than today’s auxiliary carriers boasted. She had been consigned to the scrap yard, when some bean counter realized she was the oldest active duty ship in the Authority fleet. Rather than scrap her, the powers that be had parked her here in orbit and turned her into a training ship for new pilots.

The old warhorse was quiet now. The only sound and fury aboard came from raw recruits shooting at targets or blowing off steam. Her great guns had been silent for more than a century and the battle circuit that would bring her to full wakefulness had been dark for twice that. She slept, and perhaps she dreamed of battles in days long gone by. She remained as a living monument to Man’s determination to conquer the galaxy.

Oh, I LOVE military hardware like this! Have you read any of David Webber's 'Honor Harrington' books? Also wonderful use of tactics and techonology... until he gets to the more recent books and is buried in exposition about a galactic war.

 

[Darkknight2010]

Batman story

Time to throw my hat in. Unfortunately I'm not a novelist, but rather a budding screenwriter. (i.e. written 6 scripts, entered a few contests, and PRAYING FOR AN AGENT!!!!!)

Here's a piece I did about... oh, probably about a year ago. I was getting VERY annoyed with the problems producers were having at writing a Batman script, so I said 'fuck it, I'm gonna write one'.

This is the first introdcution of the Dark Knight. What's always annoyed me about the movies is they forget who this guy is; it's not about the car, the cheezey villains, any of that. It's about an urban legend... this THING that lurks in the night, striking terror into a 'cowardly and superstitous lot', and when he strikes...


EXT. GOTHAM CITY - NIGHT

SUPER; TODAY, GOTHAM CITY

The spires of the metropolis are shrouded by a dingy haze.

Streetlights and moving headlights give the city an eerie glow.


EXT. STREET - NIGHT

A BLONDE WOMAN walks along the streets. Her eyes are alert, a container of mace at the ready.

She walks quickly but calmly past some beggars, then the newspaper delivery person.


EXT. HIGH LEDGE

NIGHTWING stands on the ledge of a building, scanning the night.

His face-mask has night-vision optics in the eye-holes.

NIGHTWING
Ok, where the hell are you?
(into his throat-mike)
ALFRED, you sure he’s out this way
tonight?

ALFRED
Yes Master Dick, that was his intention.

Nightwing sees the Blonde wandering through the night.

NIGHTWING
Well Alfie, it looks like we might find
out soon enough if he’s here. Oh wait,
ok, yep, he’s here.


EXT. STREET

The Blonde comes upon an alley and carefully avoids the entrance.

However she misses the trip-wire set across the sidewalk.

The woman trips and falls forward.

Five men rush from the alley and drag her into the dark, concrete canyon.

She SCREAMS in desperation, spraying her mace on the assailants, but each one has swim-goggles on.

BLONDE WOMAN
FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

The attacker in the LEATHER JACKET pulls out a pistol and points it at her forehead.

LEATHER JACKET
Good try with the mace. What’s your name?

BLONDE WOMAN
It’s it’s it’s it’s MARY.

LEATHER JACKET
Well Mary, shitty night so we’re just lookin’ for some fun now.

MARY
Look, you got my wallet and credit cards
I have no freaking idea what you look
like, just go!

A thug in BLUE WINDBREAKER keeps looking up into the skyline.

BLUE WINDBREAKER
Look, just grab her purse and lets go!
You remember what happened to ‘Twan
last week?

The other attackers look up in the night sky like mice wary of a falcon soaring over-head.

They reach into their jackets for their pistols as well.

LEATHER JACKET
Don’t give me that. He was always trippin’. I don’t buy that ‘Bat-Demon’ shit.

While Leather Jacket is momentarily distracted, Mary rams her knee into his crotch and tries to run.

She almost breaks free, but Blue Windbreaker tackles her from behind.

LEATHER JACKET
Oh, that was really cute. I actually was
thinkin’ about letting your ass go, but
now-

A metal shuriken shaped like a bat CLINKS into the concrete.

BLUE WINDBREAKER
OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT!

Black smoke wafts into the alley.

Everyone COUGHS and GAGS from the foul gas.

LEATHER JACKET
EVERYBODY JUST STAY COOL AND TOGETHER!
THIS SHIT WILL BLOW AWAY!

The alley is transformed into a haunted house filled with shadows.

Leather Jacket grabs Mary by her hair and uses her as a shield.

LEATHER JACKET
Ok asshole! I got her.
(to Mary)
You get your cute ass out here!
(to his posse)
Fan out!

They hesitantly venture into the night.

The gas lingers in the alley, creating more ghostly shadows.

One shadow moves and shifts like an amorphous demon, following the thugs.

Leather Jackets stands with Mary, his pistol to her temple.

The alley echoes with the sound of BREAKING BONES, SCREAMS, and GRUNTS.

LEATHER JACKET
Ok, enough of this shit, Rambo! I still
got the woman, now get your ass out!

The fog slowly clears.

One mugger is out cold on the ground.

Two more are dangling upside-down from a fire-escape like bugs caught in a spider web.

The one still SCREAMING has his leg twisted and bent like a chewed straw.

Leather Jacket stares in shock at the carnage.

Mary SHRIEKS.

LEATHER JACKET
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! OK, COME OUT
RIGHT NOW, GET YOUR ASS OUT OR I’M
GONNA DO HER!

A large shadow emerges from the haze. It’s pointed ears and ‘wings’ make it look like a demon from hell.

Leather Jacket’s grip on the pistol slips a bit, and Mary pushes away from him.

The DEMON lunges forward with amazing speed.

It grabs Leather Jacket by the throat and lifts him off the ground, pinning him against the wall.

LEATHER JACKET
Oh my god oh my god oh my god you’re
real you’re real you’re real you’re real!

DEMON
Yes, I’m real, I’m your worst nightmare,
I’m vengence. I’m BATMAN.

Mary continues to SCREAM in terror.

Nightwing drops from his perch and shields Mary from seeing anything more with his body.

NIGHTWING
Mary, Mary, it’s ok, he’s on our side, the cops are on the way, it’s ok, it’s ok.

Mary quietly SOBS against Nightwing’s shoulder.

Leather Jacket faints.

Batman drops the thug to the ground.

Nightwing stares angrily at his former mentor.

Batman cannot return the gaze.

 

[Carl East]

Batman vs The Creator


The scream came from the old warehouses, as the caped crusader jumped over the final ledge. Spreading his arms out, his cape caught the rush of air, which slowed his descent. With a loud thud, he struck the ground and billowed his cape back into place around his body armor.

After taking only a few steps, he caught the sight of blood covering a lamp-post. Just above the blood, he witnessed what looked like a claw mark that had been gouged into the metal. On closer inspection, he found a talon embedded in the metal.

Opening up his utility belt, he retrieved a tube and placed the long and blooded talon inside. He then heard a growl coming from behind him, and sharply turned with his cape flailing about him as he did so. He couldn't see what was making the sound, but he knew that whatever it was, it was watching him.

"Time to dance, you freak," he muttered, as he realized the sound was getting nearer.

Just then he caught a blur of movement from his right, and crouched down to avoid the bulk of some kind of animal as it sailed over him. Righting himself, he quickly raised his right arm and fired a grappling hook into the warehouse guttering, before retracting it and rising into the air at some speed.

Looking down as he did so, he witnessed the creature clearly in the lamp-posts light for the first time. He knew instantly what it was, but his mind didn't want to accept it.

'Lycanthropes don't exist,' he thought, as he watched the creature starting to scale the warehouse wall.

Carl

 

[Bandit1]

Here is the raw, unrefined intro to a science fiction story that I am writing.




When men first came to the world now known as Tapestry, It was simply identified by catalog number: 711653.
The first men to arrive at 711653 came in a colony slowship. It was a one-way trip for all 12,000 people on board. Most of them in cryosleep. They brought their familiar animals to establish an ecosystem friendly to man.
Much to their surprise, the planet’s surface seemed hospitable. The first robotic landers confirmed this, although there were a few anomalous readings.
The anomalies were quickly dismissed in the colonist’s eagerness to get planetside and out of the confines of the ship.
If they had realized the nature of the planet, they might well have tried to travel on to another world.

From space, the planet looked like a patchwork quilt, with differing textures, shapes and colors. Thus the captain of the colony ship dubbed the planet Tapestry in an unusual display (for him) of humor.

The shuttles took many trips to ferry down all the colonists. They were scattered among the most promising looking areas on the planet.
No one as yet had paid too much attention to the mistwalls that were visible from space, but not the surface.

It was only when the scattered settlements tried to contact each other directly that they noticed something was very wrong.
Settlements could communicate with the ship. And the ship could relay signals. But direct communication was impossible.

Parties set off overland in an effort to visit neighboring settlements. However, despite being steered by the ship overhead. The parties only found empty land where the ship could see the various parties.

Then the ship vanished. And the settlements were on their own.
It was the son of the senior colony leader who figured out what was going on. Each patch in the crazy quilt tapestry was part of a separate reality, many worlds in one.
And only a few scattered places to pierce the veils between the worlds.

Curiously, the geographies of the various worlds were NOT close matches. And the dominant forms of life in each varied wildly from world to world. Inevitably, the worlds grew apart. Developing their own technologies and beliefs.

After a few generations, children were born who could pass between worlds at will.

World walkers.

But not everyone welcomed travel between the worlds.
Physical changes had come to men in the various worlds. And their appearance in neighboring worlds gave rise to the legends of Demons and Gods.

For millennia children born with the telltale sign of the world walker were slain out of hand. To be born with the crescent birthmark meant death at birth for most.
And certain death later if discovered by other men.

Inevitably, there were those who escaped death to live lonely lives far from the company of men. Traveling between realities gathering knowledge and technologies from far and wide. These became the wizards of legend.

Then there was born a boy child in Cragmere Realm.
At the same time, there was a girl child born in the Island Realm.
Together these two would change the nature of the planet itself.
But that is another story.

For now, we car concerned with a lad born to the High Runners clan in the Painted Realm.

 

[Darkknight2010]

Here is the raw, unrefined intro to a science fiction story that I am writing.




When men first came to the world now known as Tapestry, It was simply identified by catalog number: 711653.
The first men to arrive at 711653 came in a colony slowship. It was a one-way trip for all 12,000 people on board. Most of them in cryosleep. They brought their familiar animals to establish an ecosystem friendly to man.
Much to their surprise, the planet’s surface seemed hospitable. The first robotic landers confirmed this, although there were a few anomalous readings.
The anomalies were quickly dismissed in the colonist’s eagerness to get planetside and out of the confines of the ship.
If they had realized the nature of the planet, they might well have tried to travel on to another world.

From space, the planet looked like a patchwork quilt, with differing textures, shapes and colors. Thus the captain of the colony ship dubbed the planet Tapestry in an unusual display (for him) of humor.

The shuttles took many trips to ferry down all the colonists. They were scattered among the most promising looking areas on the planet.
No one as yet had paid too much attention to the mistwalls that were visible from space, but not the surface.

It was only when the scattered settlements tried to contact each other directly that they noticed something was very wrong.
Settlements could communicate with the ship. And the ship could relay signals. But direct communication was impossible.

Parties set off overland in an effort to visit neighboring settlements. However, despite being steered by the ship overhead. The parties only found empty land where the ship could see the various parties.

Then the ship vanished. And the settlements were on their own.
It was the son of the senior colony leader who figured out what was going on. Each patch in the crazy quilt tapestry was part of a separate reality, many worlds in one.
And only a few scattered places to pierce the veils between the worlds.

Curiously, the geographies of the various worlds were NOT close matches. And the dominant forms of life in each varied wildly from world to world. Inevitably, the worlds grew apart. Developing their own technologies and beliefs.

After a few generations, children were born who could pass between worlds at will.

World walkers.

But not everyone welcomed travel between the worlds.
Physical changes had come to men in the various worlds. And their appearance in neighboring worlds gave rise to the legends of Demons and Gods.

For millennia children born with the telltale sign of the world walker were slain out of hand. To be born with the crescent birthmark meant death at birth for most.
And certain death later if discovered by other men.

Inevitably, there were those who escaped death to live lonely lives far from the company of men. Traveling between realities gathering knowledge and technologies from far and wide. These became the wizards of legend.

Then there was born a boy child in Cragmere Realm.
At the same time, there was a girl child born in the Island Realm.
Together these two would change the nature of the planet itself.
But that is another story.

For now, we car concerned with a lad born to the High Runners clan in the Painted Realm.

I like the idea of a planet that SEEMS normal... until you land and realize you're in a pocket dimension that cannot communicate with the other realms.

 

[Bandit1]

My sci fi one did exceptionally well. My nano is a sci-fi space opera, so I guess I'll post the intro to it

In the quiet, backwater system of Halderon IV, the old war horse had been put to pasture. She floated majestically in geostationary orbit over the gas giant, that star maps called HV-16 and the locals called Lesvous. A bevy of smaller ships darted around the system, all of them hopelessly obsolete by modern standards, consigned to system defense duty and anti piracy patrols. Compared to the old campaigner, they were state of the art.

Almost one thousand years had passed, since her massive; seven mile long keel had been laid down in the long ago vaporized shipyards at Arnhem. She had been the first of fifteen ships of her class. Massively built, heavily armored, carrying the then revolutionary, fifteen inch Particle Projection Cannons, and internal bays for a whole wing of fighter/bombers. In her day, she had been the pinnacle of space going naval technology and with her sisters had been a thorn in the side of the Terran Authority’s reconquest of the galaxy.

For one hundred bloody years, she and her sister ships had protected the Gunarian Confederation from being annexed into the Terran Authority. The Treaty of Sol III in 3745 had marked the end of hostilities, as the Confederation had bowed to the inevitable and joined the Authority voluntarily, rather than face long years as an occupied power. Four years later, she had been refitted and with a loyal Terran crew, had joined the Authority Navy.

In her nearly limitless positrinic database, the bloody history of the reconquest was stored. She had rained fire and death on the rebellious planted of Sig-Alpha five, taken part in the great naval engagement on Centauri Prime, provided fighter support in the final battles against the Volluskuns and taken part in more skirmishes and fleet actions than most people could imagine. When her battle board was lit, she was as close to sentient as any machine human’s had ever constructed.

Eventually, time and technology turned her cannons into pea shooters and her hangar decks into less than today’s auxiliary carriers boasted. She had been consigned to the scrap yard, when some bean counter realized she was the oldest active duty ship in the Authority fleet. Rather than scrap her, the powers that be had parked her here in orbit and turned her into a training ship for new pilots.

The old warhorse was quiet now. The only sound and fury aboard came from raw recruits shooting at targets or blowing off steam. Her great guns had been silent for more than a century and the battle circuit that would bring her to full wakefulness had been dark for twice that. She slept, and perhaps she dreamed of battles in days long gone by. She remained as a living monument to Man’s determination to conquer the galaxy.

Now this is a story that I am wanting to read!

Colly, are you open to bribes for a chance at a preview? (j/k)

but I really do want to read it if and when.

 

[Colleen Thomas]

Oh, I LOVE military hardware like this! Have you read any of David Webber's 'Honor Harrington' books? Also wonderful use of tactics and techonology... until he gets to the more recent books and is buried in exposition about a galactic war.

I'm not familaiar with him, but that isn't surprising, most of the sci fi I have read has been at my little bropther's place when I was home

 

[Boxlicker101]

I have written two science fiction stories and both of them, like almost everything else I have written, are strictly smut. In the first, George Boxlicker is drawn up by a tractor beam into the flying saucer of Zuzie, an observor from the planet Zoop, because she is horny. They fuck. Zuzie cums twice which is an amazing experience. The second is a sequel and it's not a lot different. I am going to write another sequel but I haven't startred it yet. Both of them were well received in terms of voting but neither has very many views.

 

[TheEarl]

Colly: Loved your piece. It read like a passage from Iain M Banks. Have you finished it yet and can I beg a preview as well?

The first chapter of my unfinished sci-fi novel:

Chapter 1:

Maris Van Niekerk regarded the error message on his computer with no little alarm. It was informing him that he no longer had access to the file he wanted to retrieve and to contact his superior as soon as possible.

Maris didn’t have a superior. It was a perk of being one of the few people able to understand exactly how the computer system worked. He had a skill that only two other people from the ten million on board the Infinity even understood and therefore answered only to himself.

Unfortunately, that meant that something was wrong. There should have been no files that Maris had no access to, especially not key system files like this one. There was either a corrupted file or…problems. Maris’ skin prickled as the realisation of what was happening came over him. He’d been blocked from the one file that he needed to continue. They knew. How they knew, he didn’t know, but they knew. Suddenly his study seemed a very oppressive place, only one exit, nowhere to hide. He half expected Infinity Police Officers to jump out from the walls to arrest him. Or worse.

He grabbed a bag and started shoving things into it, anything and everything that he thought he might need. It probably looked suspicious to the ceiling cameras, but if he was right, then looking suspicious was the least of his problems. There was no time for him to carry out what he’d prepared for. Plan B was now in effect and Maris was only a hair’s breadth away from surrendering to the panic which had seized him.

The bag was full all too soon. Maris swore and started repacking, trying to fit in everything that he needed. He cast an eye over the meagre collection that he was taking with him and sighed at all the stuff he was leaving behind. He had loved all his toys, everything electric and automated. If you weren’t going to enjoy the pleasures, then why aspire to A-class at all? Everything seemed tainted now, cheap bribes for treachery.

Part of him wished they’d never told him. It had been a lot easier to enjoy himself when he didn’t know what the alternatives were. He could have quite happily lived the playboy lifestyle if he hadn’t known. His room contained all of the luxuries that the Infinity could provide, but he could find no joy in his possessions anymore. Compared to what the ILA had offered him, it seemed like nothing.

He fastened the bag, straining the clasp to fix it shut then slung it over his shoulder. There was no point in regretting anything. He couldn’t go back to where he was before; the only way now was forward.

Maris glanced around his quarters, taking one last breath of A-class air before leaving. He’d probably never live like this again. He headed for the door, a sharp pang of sadness infusing his mind. Ignorance truly was bliss.

He was about to put his thumb on the ID pad by the door when a sixth sense warned him that something was amiss. A high-pitched whine was coming from the other side of his door. His brain took a second to register the sound, but his body reacted instantly, hurling him away from the door as it exploded, sending shards of metal scything past his head.

Sound surrounded and enveloped him, a tsunami of light and noise blanking out all senses as he was thrown across the room. His entire world was fire and pain and insufferable cacophony, never ceasing just rumbling on, growing to a crescendo. He staggered to his feet, dragging himself vertical only to be met by a second explosion that drove him to his knees. His head thumped against the wall, an extra note of pain in the symphony of agony, as the wave of hot air swatted him like a fly.

Large chunks of metal scythed past him, whistling through the air before embedding themselves in the wall behind him. One caught his flailing hand as it passed, neatly removing a finger and pinning it to the wall like a butterfly. Maris struggled to his knees and held his hand up in front of his face, turning it over and over to stare disbelievingly at the gap where his index finger used to be. An acid pain seized his body, radiating out from his hand and he howled. All the suffering in the world was just a pale shadow of this. Colours swam across his eyes as he squeezed them shut, pure agony in visual form.

The officers charged through the mangled doorway, brandishing their guns as though he was some dangerous gunman who could break free at any second, rather than a battered and bruised computer programmer. Maris looked up at the black uniforms and laughed, before another wave of nausea grabbed him and he was noisily sick at their feet. Two men grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor, their powerful arms hauling him to his feet. Maris dangled limply between them as he was frogmarched to the doorway, his conscious mind failing to make any kind of impression on the wall of pain and fear that held him. His ears were still ringing from the explosion and stars danced in front of his eyes. Every movement was pain.

Commander Boone marched in, his strut suggesting that he expected his arrival to be announced by a herald. His shiny shoes clicked on the floor and Maris watched them as they approached. There were a thousand weights pressing down his head, but he struggled to lift it. He needed to see the commander’s face. When their eyes met, his last hope faded and died. Boone’s eyes were empty, devoid of any humanity. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Maris Van Niekerk, you have been arrested on suspicion of treason against the Infinity. You are going to be shot dead while trying to escape.”

Boone raised his gun to point against Maris’s chest. Maris regarded this with a detached horror. Treason. Shot. Dead. These dull, deadpan words sparked something inside Maris’s groggy mind as he realised that he was going to die. This sentence from a man on remote control would be the last words he’d ever hear.

“Take him to the doorway.” Boone’s voice was flat, as though he was reading from a script. He opened his mouth to add something, but it was drowned out by a loud creak. Boone’s eyes came alive, as if he’d just been switched on, and he whipped his head around, searching for the sound’s source.

“Is this place stable?” Another mournful creak echoed round Maris’s quarters and the wall opposite the door bulged. Boone began to issue orders into a radio, lowering the gun to his side and Maris was surprised to see fear in the other man’s eyes. Before any action could be taken, a loud crunch sounded, booming round the enclosed space. The entire room watched in horrified amazement as the window cracked and then imploded; the titanium hull crumpling around the fissure like a screwed up tissue.

The room seemed to twist, the artificial gravity made irrelevant by the force of the suction as all the air rushed from the room. Maris flew towards the hole, the vacuum tugging at his body as it sucked all of the air out of the room. His head snapped back with a jerk, slamming against the metal wall. The blow shocked him back into full consciousness and he looked up and around to see what had stopped his slide into the abyss. The strap of his rucksack was caught on the jagged edge of the exploded door. Maris looked at the silent mime of the policemen struggling to cling on to something. One of them was just metres away from him, a rookie who looked as though he was on his first assignment. His fingers were clawing at the handrail by the door, desperately trying to get a hand on it to haul himself out of the deathtrap. Maris watched helplessly, dangling by his tenuous safety line, seeing the terror in the young man’s face as his finger desperately clung by one hand, grasping for safety. Suddenly the rookie dived, throwing himself at the handrail in a desperate attempt to reach it. His fingertips brushed the rail and then the suction caught him, tossing him away. Maris could only look on at the expression of utter stunned surprise on the man’s face as he fell tumbling into the void, his screams muted by the roar of the vacuum.

Maris suddenly saw what had precipitated the man’s futile stretch for salvation. The pressure door was closing. Every internal door had a backup pressure door in case of hull breaches. It would close within seconds and unless he could get to the other side of it, he was dead. It seemed to be stuck on a piece of debris from the explosion and was closing excruciatingly slowly.

Maris pulled one arm from his rucksack and began to swing, stretching out further each time, his fingertips brushing the rail, but just failing to grab it. His hands were frozen from space and he couldn’t get his fingers to close properly. The pressure door jerked another couple of inches, before stalling again on another chunk of metal. The strap on his bag was beginning to fray, worn by the motion against the jagged edge. His ears cracked as the pressure increased and he began to hyperventilate. He was asphyxiating and soon it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t reach the rail.

The door thundered down, suddenly freed and Maris threw himself, swinging out and letting go. His hand caught the rail and his fingers gripped, his adrenalin fuelled muscles straining as he pulled himself through the doorway. The pressure door slammed shut behind him, scraping his heels as he flew into the corridor.

The world had twisted back again. Maris stared at the blank grey slate of the door for a second, his body pounding with the closeness of his escape. His stomach hitched again and he doubled over, but there was nothing there to throw up. He ran a hand over his forehead, not noticing the blood seeping into his brown hair from the hole at his knuckle. He was safe for a moment; the police wouldn’t come into this area until they were absolutely certain that the breach was controlled. That gave him a headstart.

Maris staggered away down the hall, now devoid of any personal possessions at all.

The Earl

 

[millennium_bard]

Colly: Loved your piece. It read like a passage from Iain M Banks. Have you finished it yet and can I beg a preview as well?

The first chapter of my unfinished sci-fi novel:

Chapter 1:

Maris Van Niekerk regarded the error message on his computer with no little alarm. It was informing him that he no longer had access to the file he wanted to retrieve and to contact his superior as soon as possible.

Maris didn’t have a superior. It was a perk of being one of the few people able to understand exactly how the computer system worked. He had a skill that only two other people from the ten million on board the Infinity even understood and therefore answered only to himself.

Unfortunately, that meant that something was wrong. There should have been no files that Maris had no access to, especially not key system files like this one. There was either a corrupted file or…problems. Maris’ skin prickled as the realisation of what was happening came over him. He’d been blocked from the one file that he needed to continue. They knew. How they knew, he didn’t know, but they knew. Suddenly his study seemed a very oppressive place, only one exit, nowhere to hide. He half expected Infinity Police Officers to jump out from the walls to arrest him. Or worse.

He grabbed a bag and started shoving things into it, anything and everything that he thought he might need. It probably looked suspicious to the ceiling cameras, but if he was right, then looking suspicious was the least of his problems. There was no time for him to carry out what he’d prepared for. Plan B was now in effect and Maris was only a hair’s breadth away from surrendering to the panic which had seized him.

The bag was full all too soon. Maris swore and started repacking, trying to fit in everything that he needed. He cast an eye over the meagre collection that he was taking with him and sighed at all the stuff he was leaving behind. He had loved all his toys, everything electric and automated. If you weren’t going to enjoy the pleasures, then why aspire to A-class at all? Everything seemed tainted now, cheap bribes for treachery.

Part of him wished they’d never told him. It had been a lot easier to enjoy himself when he didn’t know what the alternatives were. He could have quite happily lived the playboy lifestyle if he hadn’t known. His room contained all of the luxuries that the Infinity could provide, but he could find no joy in his possessions anymore. Compared to what the ILA had offered him, it seemed like nothing.

He fastened the bag, straining the clasp to fix it shut then slung it over his shoulder. There was no point in regretting anything. He couldn’t go back to where he was before; the only way now was forward.

Maris glanced around his quarters, taking one last breath of A-class air before leaving. He’d probably never live like this again. He headed for the door, a sharp pang of sadness infusing his mind. Ignorance truly was bliss.

He was about to put his thumb on the ID pad by the door when a sixth sense warned him that something was amiss. A high-pitched whine was coming from the other side of his door. His brain took a second to register the sound, but his body reacted instantly, hurling him away from the door as it exploded, sending shards of metal scything past his head.

Sound surrounded and enveloped him, a tsunami of light and noise blanking out all senses as he was thrown across the room. His entire world was fire and pain and insufferable cacophony, never ceasing just rumbling on, growing to a crescendo. He staggered to his feet, dragging himself vertical only to be met by a second explosion that drove him to his knees. His head thumped against the wall, an extra note of pain in the symphony of agony, as the wave of hot air swatted him like a fly.

Large chunks of metal scythed past him, whistling through the air before embedding themselves in the wall behind him. One caught his flailing hand as it passed, neatly removing a finger and pinning it to the wall like a butterfly. Maris struggled to his knees and held his hand up in front of his face, turning it over and over to stare disbelievingly at the gap where his index finger used to be. An acid pain seized his body, radiating out from his hand and he howled. All the suffering in the world was just a pale shadow of this. Colours swam across his eyes as he squeezed them shut, pure agony in visual form.

The officers charged through the mangled doorway, brandishing their guns as though he was some dangerous gunman who could break free at any second, rather than a battered and bruised computer programmer. Maris looked up at the black uniforms and laughed, before another wave of nausea grabbed him and he was noisily sick at their feet. Two men grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor, their powerful arms hauling him to his feet. Maris dangled limply between them as he was frogmarched to the doorway, his conscious mind failing to make any kind of impression on the wall of pain and fear that held him. His ears were still ringing from the explosion and stars danced in front of his eyes. Every movement was pain.

Commander Boone marched in, his strut suggesting that he expected his arrival to be announced by a herald. His shiny shoes clicked on the floor and Maris watched them as they approached. There were a thousand weights pressing down his head, but he struggled to lift it. He needed to see the commander’s face. When their eyes met, his last hope faded and died. Boone’s eyes were empty, devoid of any humanity. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Maris Van Niekerk, you have been arrested on suspicion of treason against the Infinity. You are going to be shot dead while trying to escape.”

Boone raised his gun to point against Maris’s chest. Maris regarded this with a detached horror. Treason. Shot. Dead. These dull, deadpan words sparked something inside Maris’s groggy mind as he realised that he was going to die. This sentence from a man on remote control would be the last words he’d ever hear.

“Take him to the doorway.” Boone’s voice was flat, as though he was reading from a script. He opened his mouth to add something, but it was drowned out by a loud creak. Boone’s eyes came alive, as if he’d just been switched on, and he whipped his head around, searching for the sound’s source.

“Is this place stable?” Another mournful creak echoed round Maris’s quarters and the wall opposite the door bulged. Boone began to issue orders into a radio, lowering the gun to his side and Maris was surprised to see fear in the other man’s eyes. Before any action could be taken, a loud crunch sounded, booming round the enclosed space. The entire room watched in horrified amazement as the window cracked and then imploded; the titanium hull crumpling around the fissure like a screwed up tissue.

The room seemed to twist, the artificial gravity made irrelevant by the force of the suction as all the air rushed from the room. Maris flew towards the hole, the vacuum tugging at his body as it sucked all of the air out of the room. His head snapped back with a jerk, slamming against the metal wall. The blow shocked him back into full consciousness and he looked up and around to see what had stopped his slide into the abyss. The strap of his rucksack was caught on the jagged edge of the exploded door. Maris looked at the silent mime of the policemen struggling to cling on to something. One of them was just metres away from him, a rookie who looked as though he was on his first assignment. His fingers were clawing at the handrail by the door, desperately trying to get a hand on it to haul himself out of the deathtrap. Maris watched helplessly, dangling by his tenuous safety line, seeing the terror in the young man’s face as his finger desperately clung by one hand, grasping for safety. Suddenly the rookie dived, throwing himself at the handrail in a desperate attempt to reach it. His fingertips brushed the rail and then the suction caught him, tossing him away. Maris could only look on at the expression of utter stunned surprise on the man’s face as he fell tumbling into the void, his screams muted by the roar of the vacuum.

Maris suddenly saw what had precipitated the man’s futile stretch for salvation. The pressure door was closing. Every internal door had a backup pressure door in case of hull breaches. It would close within seconds and unless he could get to the other side of it, he was dead. It seemed to be stuck on a piece of debris from the explosion and was closing excruciatingly slowly.

Maris pulled one arm from his rucksack and began to swing, stretching out further each time, his fingertips brushing the rail, but just failing to grab it. His hands were frozen from space and he couldn’t get his fingers to close properly. The pressure door jerked another couple of inches, before stalling again on another chunk of metal. The strap on his bag was beginning to fray, worn by the motion against the jagged edge. His ears cracked as the pressure increased and he began to hyperventilate. He was asphyxiating and soon it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t reach the rail.

The door thundered down, suddenly freed and Maris threw himself, swinging out and letting go. His hand caught the rail and his fingers gripped, his adrenalin fuelled muscles straining as he pulled himself through the doorway. The pressure door slammed shut behind him, scraping his heels as he flew into the corridor.

The world had twisted back again. Maris stared at the blank grey slate of the door for a second, his body pounding with the closeness of his escape. His stomach hitched again and he doubled over, but there was nothing there to throw up. He ran a hand over his forehead, not noticing the blood seeping into his brown hair from the hole at his knuckle. He was safe for a moment; the police wouldn’t come into this area until they were absolutely certain that the breach was controlled. That gave him a headstart.

Maris staggered away down the hall, now devoid of any personal possessions at all.

The Earl

I want to read this one when you finish it!

 

[Colleen Thomas]

Colly: Loved your piece. It read like a passage from Iain M Banks. Have you finished it yet and can I beg a preview as well?

The first chapter of my unfinished sci-fi novel:

Chapter 1:

Maris Van Niekerk regarded the error message on his computer with no little alarm. It was informing him that he no longer had access to the file he wanted to retrieve and to contact his superior as soon as possible.

Maris didn’t have a superior. It was a perk of being one of the few people able to understand exactly how the computer system worked. He had a skill that only two other people from the ten million on board the Infinity even understood and therefore answered only to himself.

Unfortunately, that meant that something was wrong. There should have been no files that Maris had no access to, especially not key system files like this one. There was either a corrupted file or…problems. Maris’ skin prickled as the realisation of what was happening came over him. He’d been blocked from the one file that he needed to continue. They knew. How they knew, he didn’t know, but they knew. Suddenly his study seemed a very oppressive place, only one exit, nowhere to hide. He half expected Infinity Police Officers to jump out from the walls to arrest him. Or worse.

He grabbed a bag and started shoving things into it, anything and everything that he thought he might need. It probably looked suspicious to the ceiling cameras, but if he was right, then looking suspicious was the least of his problems. There was no time for him to carry out what he’d prepared for. Plan B was now in effect and Maris was only a hair’s breadth away from surrendering to the panic which had seized him.

The bag was full all too soon. Maris swore and started repacking, trying to fit in everything that he needed. He cast an eye over the meagre collection that he was taking with him and sighed at all the stuff he was leaving behind. He had loved all his toys, everything electric and automated. If you weren’t going to enjoy the pleasures, then why aspire to A-class at all? Everything seemed tainted now, cheap bribes for treachery.

Part of him wished they’d never told him. It had been a lot easier to enjoy himself when he didn’t know what the alternatives were. He could have quite happily lived the playboy lifestyle if he hadn’t known. His room contained all of the luxuries that the Infinity could provide, but he could find no joy in his possessions anymore. Compared to what the ILA had offered him, it seemed like nothing.

He fastened the bag, straining the clasp to fix it shut then slung it over his shoulder. There was no point in regretting anything. He couldn’t go back to where he was before; the only way now was forward.

Maris glanced around his quarters, taking one last breath of A-class air before leaving. He’d probably never live like this again. He headed for the door, a sharp pang of sadness infusing his mind. Ignorance truly was bliss.

He was about to put his thumb on the ID pad by the door when a sixth sense warned him that something was amiss. A high-pitched whine was coming from the other side of his door. His brain took a second to register the sound, but his body reacted instantly, hurling him away from the door as it exploded, sending shards of metal scything past his head.

Sound surrounded and enveloped him, a tsunami of light and noise blanking out all senses as he was thrown across the room. His entire world was fire and pain and insufferable cacophony, never ceasing just rumbling on, growing to a crescendo. He staggered to his feet, dragging himself vertical only to be met by a second explosion that drove him to his knees. His head thumped against the wall, an extra note of pain in the symphony of agony, as the wave of hot air swatted him like a fly.

Large chunks of metal scythed past him, whistling through the air before embedding themselves in the wall behind him. One caught his flailing hand as it passed, neatly removing a finger and pinning it to the wall like a butterfly. Maris struggled to his knees and held his hand up in front of his face, turning it over and over to stare disbelievingly at the gap where his index finger used to be. An acid pain seized his body, radiating out from his hand and he howled. All the suffering in the world was just a pale shadow of this. Colours swam across his eyes as he squeezed them shut, pure agony in visual form.

The officers charged through the mangled doorway, brandishing their guns as though he was some dangerous gunman who could break free at any second, rather than a battered and bruised computer programmer. Maris looked up at the black uniforms and laughed, before another wave of nausea grabbed him and he was noisily sick at their feet. Two men grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor, their powerful arms hauling him to his feet. Maris dangled limply between them as he was frogmarched to the doorway, his conscious mind failing to make any kind of impression on the wall of pain and fear that held him. His ears were still ringing from the explosion and stars danced in front of his eyes. Every movement was pain.

Commander Boone marched in, his strut suggesting that he expected his arrival to be announced by a herald. His shiny shoes clicked on the floor and Maris watched them as they approached. There were a thousand weights pressing down his head, but he struggled to lift it. He needed to see the commander’s face. When their eyes met, his last hope faded and died. Boone’s eyes were empty, devoid of any humanity. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Maris Van Niekerk, you have been arrested on suspicion of treason against the Infinity. You are going to be shot dead while trying to escape.”

Boone raised his gun to point against Maris’s chest. Maris regarded this with a detached horror. Treason. Shot. Dead. These dull, deadpan words sparked something inside Maris’s groggy mind as he realised that he was going to die. This sentence from a man on remote control would be the last words he’d ever hear.

“Take him to the doorway.” Boone’s voice was flat, as though he was reading from a script. He opened his mouth to add something, but it was drowned out by a loud creak. Boone’s eyes came alive, as if he’d just been switched on, and he whipped his head around, searching for the sound’s source.

“Is this place stable?” Another mournful creak echoed round Maris’s quarters and the wall opposite the door bulged. Boone began to issue orders into a radio, lowering the gun to his side and Maris was surprised to see fear in the other man’s eyes. Before any action could be taken, a loud crunch sounded, booming round the enclosed space. The entire room watched in horrified amazement as the window cracked and then imploded; the titanium hull crumpling around the fissure like a screwed up tissue.

The room seemed to twist, the artificial gravity made irrelevant by the force of the suction as all the air rushed from the room. Maris flew towards the hole, the vacuum tugging at his body as it sucked all of the air out of the room. His head snapped back with a jerk, slamming against the metal wall. The blow shocked him back into full consciousness and he looked up and around to see what had stopped his slide into the abyss. The strap of his rucksack was caught on the jagged edge of the exploded door. Maris looked at the silent mime of the policemen struggling to cling on to something. One of them was just metres away from him, a rookie who looked as though he was on his first assignment. His fingers were clawing at the handrail by the door, desperately trying to get a hand on it to haul himself out of the deathtrap. Maris watched helplessly, dangling by his tenuous safety line, seeing the terror in the young man’s face as his finger desperately clung by one hand, grasping for safety. Suddenly the rookie dived, throwing himself at the handrail in a desperate attempt to reach it. His fingertips brushed the rail and then the suction caught him, tossing him away. Maris could only look on at the expression of utter stunned surprise on the man’s face as he fell tumbling into the void, his screams muted by the roar of the vacuum.

Maris suddenly saw what had precipitated the man’s futile stretch for salvation. The pressure door was closing. Every internal door had a backup pressure door in case of hull breaches. It would close within seconds and unless he could get to the other side of it, he was dead. It seemed to be stuck on a piece of debris from the explosion and was closing excruciatingly slowly.

Maris pulled one arm from his rucksack and began to swing, stretching out further each time, his fingertips brushing the rail, but just failing to grab it. His hands were frozen from space and he couldn’t get his fingers to close properly. The pressure door jerked another couple of inches, before stalling again on another chunk of metal. The strap on his bag was beginning to fray, worn by the motion against the jagged edge. His ears cracked as the pressure increased and he began to hyperventilate. He was asphyxiating and soon it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t reach the rail.

The door thundered down, suddenly freed and Maris threw himself, swinging out and letting go. His hand caught the rail and his fingers gripped, his adrenalin fuelled muscles straining as he pulled himself through the doorway. The pressure door slammed shut behind him, scraping his heels as he flew into the corridor.

The world had twisted back again. Maris stared at the blank grey slate of the door for a second, his body pounding with the closeness of his escape. His stomach hitched again and he doubled over, but there was nothing there to throw up. He ran a hand over his forehead, not noticing the blood seeping into his brown hair from the hole at his knuckle. He was safe for a moment; the police wouldn’t come into this area until they were absolutely certain that the breach was controlled. That gave him a headstart.

Maris staggered away down the hall, now devoid of any personal possessions at all.

The Earl

I am basically done with it. it's my nano story :0 If you will PM me an email addy I'll mail it to ya, It's a pretty big file

*HUGS*

 

[Colleen Thomas]

I have written two science fiction stories and both of them, like almost everything else I have written, are strictly smut. In the first, George Boxlicker is drawn up by a tractor beam into the flying saucer of Zuzie, an observor from the planet Zoop, because she is horny. They fuck. Zuzie cums twice which is an amazing experience. The second is a sequel and it's not a lot different. I am going to write another sequel but I haven't startred it yet. Both of them were well received in terms of voting but neither has very many views.

Sci fi gets fewer views. My one sci fi piece, Alien Sensations is doing well vote wise, but has fewer views. I think it's one of my more complete pieces and those who like it are efusive in their praise, but fantasy sci-fi will always net you fewer views.