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In for the prompt.
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May 27, 2016 15:51
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| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 03:58 |
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Check Engine Light On 999 words The sound of static wakes me, as the speakers pour great heaps of white noise across the control cabin. It rattles the base of my skull until the entire bulkhead is buzzing around me, and it’s irritating as all hell, but at least it kills the silence. There’s just been too much silence, lately. I try to blink away the haze of my meds, and watch the noise pattern on the video array overhead. This is good. At least our AV power is back on, if not the actual signal uplink. I guess I can’t expect Satyam to handle both of those jobs, but it feels like he’s been out for hours and Jesus loving Christ, how long does it take to wiggle one transmission tile back in place? Then again, it’s not as if I can really get out there and do it myself. Mellowing to the static, I settle back against the bulkhead and let a fresh wave of numbness flatten my head into an infinite line. I’m ten, maybe twelve seconds into this ride when the lights flicker. poo poo. Did Satyam somehow gently caress up the lighting circuit to get the AV going? Without thinking, I spin to look around the cabin and only have myself to blame when this turns into a zero-gravity tumble. I reach out to grab a wall-rung, but there’s only my stump, so off I go. After a half-dozen somersaults, I come to rest in our designated trash corner and realise that the lights are back to normal. Satyam is braced against the airlock as he fiddles with the catches on his suit, his helmet tilted towards me like a gigantic, gold-lined fly’s head. “You need a hand there?” He asks as he unplugs a set of valves at his collar, his voice crackling through the speakers. His radio is still on. “That joke is wearing thin and you loving know it,” I sigh, kicking away spent nutri-tubes and empty vitamin strips. I almost tip forward into another tumble, but I manage hook my boot into the useless remains of the garbage hatch and settle unsteadily into the Trash Zone. “What took so long?” “What took so long-” His voice sputters overhead as the helmet finally comes off with a satisfying pop. He looks at me through a mess of unwashed hair, sweat and stubble, and has to shout over the harsh resumption of speaker noise. “What took so long is I’m not qualified for this poo poo, and my engineer decided to file for disability.” I shrug, and turn my head to look out Viewport 3. We’re in geostationary orbit, so I guess it’s not that much of a surprise that one of my hands is still floating out there in plain view. The meds hit me again, and for a second it seems to be waving at me. Hi, dipshit. I wave a stump back sluggishly, not wanting to know whether it’s still bleeding under the medical tape or not. I suspect the murder weapon is twisting off somewhere near Phobos, by now. I’d love to meet whoever developed our main communications rig. As far as planar focal arrays go, I guess it was a decent piece of tech. The mechanical steering was a bummer, though, especially when it failed right while I was trying to run maintenance on it. The jitter in the rotator was enough to detach the dish straight into my outstretched arms, and, well… I’m glad Satyam was also suited up, and quick with the duct tape for my sleeves. I look away from the viewport. Satyam is staring at me, expectantly. I blink at him. “What?” “I said, I couldn’t get our signal back,” he shouts, bounding across the cabin toward me. As he lands, a half-dozen empty cartons scatter off amongst the mess of cables and dismantled control panels that deck its walls. “...I think we need to talk about what the plan is from here on.” “We talked about this,” I mutter. “I think it’s a good one. Okay, maybe a little uninspired, but-” “I’m serious. I’m already moving us out of orbit, Ray.” “Great,” It comes before I can think of what to say, angrier than I want to sound. I think my dose is wearing off. “Crash this fucker into the Martian landscape. Let Musk’s team find the black-box. Blow the lid off this whole mess. I’m looking forward to this whole Posthumous Hero thing, personally.” I’m not sure why I’m so pissed about it. Ever since the hands went bye-bye, death just seems the inevitable next step. I just don’t feel like strategising my own demise. This whole thing was so screwed up from the start, anyhow. It turns out that when you use knockoff reality TV as the sole funding source for your colonisation project, your mighty research vessel ends up being designed modularly by fifty different contractors and integrated by shitheads. Someone must have known this before launch. We didn’t. Not me, nor Satyam, nor Erica, nor Xiang, nor Stefan. The latter three probably realised it when the first critical system failure happened, two months back. I suspect they didn’t appreciate getting stuck with the lower three-quarters of the ship. At least Satyam and I managed to keep the life-support module on our quarter. I realise I’ve had my eyes shut. When I open them, Satyam is crouched over me with a sachet of water in one hand, his other a loose fist. In Viewport 1, I can see the orbital glow of the planet’s surface pitching toward us. I look up at Satyam. My lip quivers. “Hey, just… just keep me nice and hosed up, okay? I don’t want to know what I’m doing for this.” There’s a sad look in his eyes as he opens his hand. The last pain meds gleam in his gloved palm… by Christ, I hope they’re all for me. “Sure, Ray,” He says with a tired smile. “I got you covered.”
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May 29, 2016 22:46
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*cued entrance music* In. I'm a
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May 31, 2016 08:28
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Bad Seafood posted:You may also request a genre or anime-inspired flash rule from me, the King of Anime, directly. So, I will right now plant my hideous flag on the Mecha genre, because why not and it's probably horrifically awkward to write concise fiction about people sitting inside giant robots' chests, pushing buttons that make the robots do things. However, cheeky as it may be, I request that Bad Seafood assign a flash rule to me within the Mecha genre. Reasonable request or outrageous dickery? YOU DECIDE, THUNDERDOME
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Jun 3, 2016 08:01
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Flash Rule: No character may speak (sebmojo) Flash Rule: Thursday Flash Rule (Anime- Mecha Genre) - word limit increased to 1300 Flash Rule: Your protagonist is disguised as a member of the opposite sex for plot reasons. Nobody notices. (Bad Seafood) (NB: I done hosed up on this one, shame on me) Pursuit 1293 words ***radio bands L, S, C, X jammed – you’re on your own*** Eva sighed, staring blankly into the auxiliary display at her hip. The letters flickered up at her, pixelated green-on-black amidst the white glare of the cockpit’s central screens. She looked up, squinting through her flight helmet at the radar overlay on her right. Like her radio and magnetometer readouts, it did nothing but gargle noise at her, completely defeated by her pursuer’s electronic warfare module. She released the starboard controls, moving her gloved hand to the telegraph display’s keyboard. So this was the only way to talk to the flight commander now, was it? Its narrowband signal was admittedly stable in the face of an electronic attack, but… typing while flying? She briefly considered a reply, but an urgent pang in her gut swiftly brought her hands back to the control sticks. She leaned forward, scanning the vast cloudbanks that surrounded her fighter. How long had it been since she’d seen the enemy? Half a mile below, the transport soared on its enormous wings, a great silver bumblebee that happily scorned gravity. Even from up here, she could see the blackened scorches on its number-four turbine, its drive shaft torn up by gunfire. For now, it flew on only three steams of thrust. If another one were hit, however... Eva gritted her teeth, her gaze lingering on the transport’s aft bays. Not a single gun nor fighting vehicle was stowed in its vast innards, its only armament the old fighter that Eva had volunteered to fly. However, there was enough raided harvest in there to feed an army for two months. Two months to live, to turn the war around… To her left, a glint of reflected sunlight flashed in Eva’s eyes. There it was, the hostile fighter making its move! Submitting to reflex, Eva pushed her fighter into a dive. It complied stiffly, tucking its angular arms close to its torso as it dropped from the edge of the clouds. A warbling tingle spun its way from Eva’s tailbone to her ribs as she plunged, killing the tension, erasing anxiety and duty and mortality in those brief moments. There was nothing quite like the dive… Wait. Eva swung her head to scan the sky, her body still pressed tight into the sudden plummet. The enemy was nowhere to be seen. Now almost level with the transport, Eva pulled her fighter up and swung its silver legs forward. Firing the yaw thrusters to make a swift turn, she tilted the sensor module up. The crosshairs centred, focusing on the patch of sky from which she’d just flown. For a second, there was nothing. Then, like a cat pouncing, a sleek form tore its way out of the thick cloudbank. Eva growled in frustration. She’d fallen for a feint. The hostile craft’s thrusters howled as it descended on her, its body bristling and wasp-like in the sun. It was a terrible beauty just to watch it fly. In the moment it took her fighter to level its rifle, something low and deep pulsed in the pit of Eva’s stomach. It was becoming clear now, why only a lone unit had come after them. It seemed deadly enough to get the job done without any support. Probably a high-power prototype. Its pilot probably considered this a game. The crosshairs blinked red, as the rifle was brought to bear. It fired in a churning staccato, spitting lead in a rough, desperate cone. The enemy fighter twirled aside and adjusted its arc of flight, swooping around Eva’s shots with startling agility. As it curved around to face her again, extending the cannons mounted on its forearms, she mashed frantically at the controls to force her fighter to one side. The cockpit lurched, and Eva saw black spots at the corners of her vision as her fighter spun evasively. A cascade of white-hot rays shrieked from the enemy’s dark arms, flashing past Eva’s fighter like thunderbolts. She stifled a gasp, feeling their heat through her flight suit. Raw instinct hit Eva, and she slammed on the pedals to turn her fighter around. At least for now, just right now she had to try and escape, make some distance between herself and this thing… Something at her side bleeped. She glanced down, a single bead of sweat rolling down her brow. A new telegraph message blinked from the auxiliary screen. ***lure to bay doors*** Eva pulled up on the controls with quivering hands, climbing her fighter in a clumsy corkscrew. She turned her back on the enemy with rough abandon, her vision narrowing as she laid eyes on the transport once more. Many thoughts skittered and looped through her forebrain as she zigzagged across the sky- flee, eject, surrender, hide. When her hands finally steadied and her breathing slowed, those thoughts had faded. All that remained were the telegraph’s words. Her fighter was drawn close to the transport when she spun to face the attacker again, both machines dwarfed by its bulbous profile. In all the time that Eva fled, the enemy fighter had not fired on her again. Now, it careened towards her with a kind of playful aggression, its segmented hands extended into sharp talons. Oh, this was definitely a game. Eva tilted her fighter and thrusted forward, casting its rifle into the open air as it surged its narrow body toward her foe. The enemy fighter mirrored her maneuver, rushing to meet her talons-first. A horrific crunch and whine of fatigued steel tore at her ears as they collided, instantly setting off an array of klaxons and warning lights in the cockpit. Eva felt her head crack back against the seat, throttled by her own safety harness… The sensor display stuttered as her vision blurred, the enemy fighter a spindly black blob that raised an arm above its head… Another impact. More lights and klaxons, red and loud and desperate… …a bleep, at her hip. Eva’s eyes snapped open. The growl began low in her throat as she fumbled for the thruster control, the enemy fighter still gripping hers grimly, its claws flecked with silver fuselage. The growl became a raw scream as the lateral thrusters engaged, pulling the two fightercraft into a sudden pitch towards the towering aft bay doors. Eva dug her crippled fighter’s hands into its shoulder plating, buckling the burnished steel with galvanised fingers as she pushed its dark body into the path of the bay doors. The enemy twisted in Eva’s grip, insectoid legs thrashing as it fought to be free from the dance it no longer led. And as they tumbled into place, Eva could hear the bay doors begin to tear open, shearing violently from a force within. Her scream ended with little more than a breathless snarl as she swung her fighter back and inverted its thrust, leaving the enemy behind with another shriek of twisting steel. She was barely ten feet clear of the aft bay when its entire cargo ripped its way out through the buckling doors. One hundred and eighty-two tons of potatoes, enough to feed an army for two months, struck the enemy fighter in a single, solid impact. Eva sank back in her seat and watched millions of potatoes scatter into the air, interspersed here and there with the mangled, shattered remains of a high-powered fighter. She glanced around the confines of the buckled cockpit, idly wondering whether she’d be able to fly it into the aft bay without too much trouble… Bleep. Eva looked down. ***better than losing the whole transport – return to hangar and disembark*** A wide grin broke on Eva’s lips. Maybe they would all starve, soon. But at least she didn’t have to do so on her own.
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Jun 6, 2016 02:44
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Screaming Idiot posted:Small Potatoes  I got yer Ball right here feddy scum
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Jun 6, 2016 08:52
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Carl Killer Miller posted:As failure-penance for notposting, I'll crit up the first three replies. I expect that this AMAZING OFFER will go quickly so call now. Have at it.
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Jun 6, 2016 15:51
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In, because every great story starts with a milk-sodden breakfast. Over here in South Africa, our cereal brands sort of crudely ape the stuff you regularly find on shelves in the USA... maybe someone can suggest a tasty cereal for me?
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Jun 14, 2016 07:54
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Benny Profane posted:
 drat it Bokomo, 'wholewheat' is not a flavour 
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Jun 14, 2016 14:33
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| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 03:58 |
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In.
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Nov 16, 2016 13:26
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