“West Airlock entry in five minutes. Hyde City Station arrival in ten.”

Danny glanced at his watch. The man sharing his bench was finishing his salad, and the invisible cloud of garlic stench that hovered around him seemed to grow stronger with every wet and crunchy bite. The only sound that annoyed Danny more was the hoverbus announcer’s voice.

“Approaching West Airlock traffic pattern. Looks like a slight delay.”

As the monstrous transporter turned into a new trajectory, a flood of bright pink and blue light filled the cabin. A few riders briefly glanced out the windows as if to pay quick homage to the mighty sun.

Sitting near the window, the salad-muncher paid no attention to the scenery. Danny had a minor dilemma. Would he break character and talk to a stranger, or suffer the offending light? As much as people as a whole annoyed him, he found the idea of being blinded for the next ten minutes a worse fate.

“Excuse me. Would you mind closing your shade?”

The man looked at Danny as if insulted. A bit of feta cheese desperately clung to a piece of wet spinach that dangled from his lips. He continued to chew at a painfully slow pace, and swallowed, making dramatic efforts to illustrate out how offended he was to be asked to do something mid-chew.

“Sorry,” he said, returning to his food. “I enjoy the view.”

Stonehenge, sitting neatly in its floating glass dome like a patient snow-globe, drifted by.

“Dude. You aren’t even looking out the window. My eyes are sensitive to light. Please.” The man took a gander at the view. His face lit up.

“Did you see that? Wow! Every time… I swear I’m going to take my kids to see that rock formation soon.” He gleefully looked out the window at the surrounding domes.

“That’s not a rock formation,” Danny muttered. “It’s a man-made structure from another time and place. It doesn’t belong here. It’s from the surface.” He said the last word with deliberate contempt.

“But look at—now just look at that pyramid over there! You can’t tell me that’s not beautiful, set up against the layers of clouds… and that beautiful iridescent glass…”

Danny sighed. He was talking to one of those people.

“Why must we celebrate the civilization that… that… that stupid bloody race of men that caused us to abandon the ground?”

“We saved those relics before the Great Ascent,” the man boasted. “I can’t imagine what beauty would be gone if we hadn’t brought them up.” As if to save his mood and reconcile, he tried to change the conversation. “You must admit the sky is lovely today, huh?”

”West Airlock in one minute. Welcome to Hyde.”

“You know,” Danny started. “We used to breathe that air. What you label ‘lovely’ is tainted vapors. Poison. The fumes left over from a destroyed world below. We’re forced to live in our crappy glass bubbles and you people just take it all in. You’re told how neat and pretty and safe everything is and you accept it. You call it progress… I call it a failure. It's ugly.”

With a thunderous noise the hoverbus jolted. Passengers panicked as most fell from their benches. The sounds of twisting metal and rushing gas drowned out helpless exclamations.

Danny regained his seating and saw that his bench mate had hit his head against something. A little blood leaked through his hands clinging to his forehead.

“Are.. are you okay?” he yelled to him.

“I don’t think it’s serious.”

The noise subsided and everyone tried to return to their places. Children cried as adults began to assess the situation.

”Ladies and gentleman, be calm. We were in a traffic accident with another hoverbus. As soon as we reach the airlock we will—“

The intercom went silent as the power inside failed. The sound of the engines waned down to a whimper and ceased. For a quick moment all was peaceful. Then panic struck as the behemoth vehicle, only a few hundred yards from the dome entrance, began to fall.

The world as they knew it went mad. The sky began to darken as they fell into thick layers of vile air. A horrid scent filled the cabin.

During the two minutes of freefall, Danny reflected on the utter beauty and majesty of the word he was leaving.

______________________________________________________________________
Inspired by "Relics" by the very talented [url="http://www.worth1000.com/stories/stats.asp?u....

Sara watched the iridescent bubbles shimmer in the air as they danced on the frail breeze. They would pirouette higher and higher, before popping in a million colors and water droplets. Her friends shrieked in joy, and then frantically dipped their wands back in their bottles to replace the glistening orbs.

Sara was not allowed to blow bubbles. Her mother had forbidden her from blowing bubbles years ago, without explanation. Sara vaguely remembered a birthday party and small bottles of bubbles being given out as party favors, which her mother had frantically snatched from her hands, but it had been so long ago, and whenever Sara tried questioning her mother about it, Mother’s lips would make a tight line and her forehead would furrow. “Bubbles are forbidden to you,” Mother would say, and then she would change the subject to something unpleasant, like how messy Sara’s room was, or how Sara needed to defrost some liver for dinner.

Sara’s friends continued to blow bubbles, darting after them, full of giggles. She sighed heavily with the weight of being left out, and sat down on the picnic table bench, pulling her knees to her chest. She glanced around to see if anyone noticed her melancholy and let out another self-pitying sigh when she realized nobody did. What was Mother’s issue with bubbles, anyway? They were harmless, bits of water and soap filled with air. Still, harmless and inane as they were, there was a certain mystery and magic about them. Certainly her friends found the bubbles more interesting than she was.

It was then that Sara noticed an abandoned wand sitting in a puddle of spilled solution. What harm could it do, to blow just one bubble? Glancing around to see that nobody was watching, she picked up the wand and watched the membrane within the loop thin near the top, as a thick drop fell into her lap. Startled, she rubbed at the spot, and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Would her mother see the spot on her dress and know what she had been up to? She blew frantically at her skirts, carefully holding the bubble wand out the way, and breathed a sigh of relief when the spot dried, unnoticeable.

With one final glance around, Sara held the bubble wand up to her lips and gently blew. The membrane stretched, rounded, and as Sara gave the wand a tiny flick, sealed itself into a perfect globe. Sara watched it float on the breeze, and suddenly had the feeling of something being very wrong. Her bubble was not translucent. There was an opacity to it that was uncharacteristic of bubbles, and it looked like there was something in it. She stood up, moved closer, and was shocked to see a tiny replica of Neuschwanstein Castle hanging in the air. Every brick, every turret, was an exact match for the poster hanging on her wall. Sara watched the bubble dance away, and as it drifted too high in the sky, pop. Quickly she scraped the wand against the table for more solution, and this time blew another castle, this one brown brick on a tiny island.

Excited at her new-found ability to replicate buildings in bubbles, she blew two skyscrapers, the White House, and a tiny country cottage. Just as she was blowing her own home, her mother came darting out of the house, frantic and red-faced.

“Stop blowing bubbles! Stop, right now! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Sara turned to face her mother. She came to a stop a few feet away and stared, horrified, at the miniature replica of their home hovering between them. Before Sara could explain the magic of the bubbles, the one suspended between mother and child popped.

Their house shattered behind them.

Thanks to linder's Bubble World for the inspiration!

Please view this marvelous Dreamscape by pocogal before reading the story.

The Valley Below

Sheré watched as the golden shafts of sunlight winked out one by one to make way for the purple cloak of dusk. Clouds clung to the crags of the distant mountains. Her steel-grey eyes – the hallmark of the royal family of Derland – dropped from the soothing vista to take in the foetid valley, festering under a riotous carpet of vegetation.

She rose from the bleached bone chair in her lonely aerie and turned toward the castle. Her hawk took flight and patrolled the updrafts along the cliff’s edge, alert for intruders from the mire below. She shuffled her feet through the dry sand, reveling in the sensation of the warm grains against her skin.

Halfway back to the castle she met a Watcher policing the cliff with a small bucket, shovel, and thick gloves. He bent down to dig up a sprig of green that had taken root in the shade of a small dune. Sheré turned her head, disgusted. Even with the protective gloves, she did not think she could bear to touch such filth.

Overhead, Nightwind spotted a small bird rising on the current. The hawk gained altitude and maneuvered behind the intruder. Sheré watched, unable to avert her eyes from the grim tragedy unfolding in the darkening sky. Nightwind folded his wings and dove at the invader, intercepting it with an eruption of feathers. Sickened, Sheré dropped her gaze and continued back to the castle. The memory of having watched Nightwind feed years ago brought the sting of bile to her throat.

Sheré strode beneath the castle gate and let out a great breath she didn’t know she had been holding. It felt good to take a gulp of air scrubbed by the castle’s control system, untainted by any hint of the teeming life from the valley below. She stopped to fill her lungs to their capacity, savoring the sweet, sweet smell of nothing.

She marched directly to her father’s room to resume an argument they had been having for the past ten years.

“Just because we have been banished to the cesspool doesn’t mean we can’t do something about it!” Sheré stood between her father and the wall sconce, forcing him to drop his pen and address her.

“Sheré, we are not banished. It is a great honor to be the Protectors of the Realm, keeping the land clean and pure.”

She could see the tired lie in his eyes, steel-grey mirrors of her own.

“Even you don't believe that,” she scoffed. “If only you hadn’t married that disgusting greenlander…”

“Enough,” he shouted. “I forbid you to speak of your mother in that tone!”

“Mother? What kind of mother abandons her child to return to the slimy den you rescued her from? What kind of mother gives up the Derland name to return to that…that…jungle!” She spit the last word out as if afraid it might leave a taste in her mouth.

“You don’t understand…”

“I understand too well, Father. You are weak! Who else but a halfwit could ever lay with such a dirty…”

“Stop!” Her father jumped from his chair, scattering papers and books. “You will never again speak of your mother in my presence. Leave me now, before I do something we both regret.”

Sheré ran from the room. She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her. She had been obligated to give her father one more chance to see the clear path. He had made his choice, and in doing so had made hers an easy one.

She went directly to the luxurious quarters of the Major-Domo.

“Meldrin, is everything in place?”

The young man with the clean-shaven head and plucked eyebrows that Sheré favored looked up, surprised.

“Tonight?”

“We gain nothing by waiting. My father will never change. The scum of the earth has infected his soul. I’m sure he would rather we all lived in the horrid green miasma, with things crawling unseen between our toes, burrowing into our very lungs, and,” she shuddered, “living on our very skin. Is everything ready? Are you certain we will succeed?”

“Against your father? Yes. That is a trifle. Everyone sees how he leans. They will welcome the change. The valley? This is another matter. Change of the magnitude you are suggesting will take time. Much time.”

Sheré rocked back and forth on her heels, smiling.

“Think of it,” she said, closing her eyes and admiring the world she would create. “Nothing as far as the eye can see! No more stinking valley to watch. No more decay and stench rising up the cliffs. No more growing things, crawling things, creeping slimy things. No more green line blocking the empire of Derland to the east. After that, how can the King refuse to bring me back? Am I to blame for the accident of my birth?”

She cracked one eye open and looked down at Meldrin.

“And you, of course, faithful Meldrin. You will accompany me to the highest court in the land. Faithful Meldrin.”

Sheré took her leave to prepare for the evening. She would need to look every inch the grieving daugher when news of her father’s death spread.

The dragon surveyed her surroundings. The two full moons were up illuminating the desolate landscape of her planet. The dragon, despite her apparent size, was much more powerful than she looked. Part of that power came from the magical stone that was her most prized possession. She felt a warning tingle, and looked over at it. It was glowing. Trouble. Something was after it again.

Immediately all senses came to full alert. She gazed into distance and spotted them. Fully armed and armored as usual, and skulking their way towards her. She shrugged. She teleported to them. They had no time to aim shoot, or even scream. As she gazed at the fresh devastation she had just wrought, an energy beam hit the ground to her right. It figured. She teleported into the ship, and made her way straight to the reactor. She learned long ago it was easier to destabilize the power source than to fight all of them individually. The few that stood in her way did not for long. She found the engine room, destroyed the controls, watched the engine reach critical mass, and teleported out. There was a new small nova in the sky.

All in an afternoons work. She flew back to her stump feeling somewhat dirty. The stone had stopped glowing. She rested as best she could.

Many had come to attempt to take her stone, all had failed. She had no remembrance about how it became hers, only that it was. Her stone, hers to guard, her reason for being. She slept.

She felt the warning tingle of the stone again. She looked over, it was glowing. She mentally searched her planet to find the intruders. There were two of them, a wizard and a soceress. No armor, no weapons. She shrugged.

She teleported and attacked. She felt her teleportation wrap itself around her like an invisible net. She fell to the ground. She had been vanquished. She gazed up at her captors, unable to move. Much.

“Watch the tail”, the wizard said.

The sorceress launched a spell, and the dragon felt her tail become immobilized. So much for that.

“Dragon, do you remember me?”, the wizard asked.

She gazed at him, uncomprehending.

“I didn’t think you did”, he muttered. He put his hands on her head, she felt memories return, as well as her ability to speak.

“You were the one that gave me the stone”, she said. “Did you return to take it back?”

“You should be so lucky”, the wizard chuckled.

“Why are you here?”, the dragon asked.

“Call it a 10,000 year check-up”, the wizard answered. “You have been injured in numerous battles, we are here to repair those injuries”.

So saying, he and the sorceress went to work healing the many scale breaches, radiation burns, and any other damage incurred. After a while, the sorceress said”, looks like that does it.

The wizard nodded in agreement. “Dragon, do you remember why I gave you that stone?”.

“To guard it against anybody who would take it”, the dragon replied.

“Not exactly, but I can see why you would say that. Long ago, a warlike race was passing itself off as gods, and plundering a corner of the galaxy. As luck would have it, bad luck for the inhabitants of the galaxy, they came across an ancient magical item, crafted by a race so old there is no recorded history about them. The item is pure evil, and would have allowed them to conquer the whole galaxy, it not the universe”, the wizard explained.

“It does not LOOK evil”, the dragon pointed out.

“One of its many, er, ‘wonderful’ powers is the ability to cloud minds. You don’t see it the way it really is, but it also helps you defeat intruders, since they do not see you the way you really are” the wizard explained.

“So anyway, once every 10,000 years, I need to offer you a choice”, the wizard added. “You can guard it for another 10,000 years, or be free to return to your own kind”.

The spell confining the dragon was lifted. “If you look at the stone now, you will see it as it really is”, the wizard said.

They teleported back to the stone. Pure, black, pulsating evil it was, exuding black purple stone tentacles which poisoned the earth where they touched.

“THAT is what I am guarding?”, the dragon asked horrified.

“If you wish to continue to do so, yes”.

The dragon gulped. “And if I don’t?”.

“Then I must guard it”, said the sorceress.

“It would destroy you to do so”, the dragon pointed out.

“Yes”, the sorceress agreed. “But it is that important".

The dragon sat on her stump, Gazing at the landscape, her precious stone was glowing again...

Inspiration

After three days of drifting with the winds, the sea tired of its plaything and tossed me onto the sands which mark the edge of its domain. My crew had mutinied after countless days at sea. They feared the unknown more than they feared the consequences of returning without their captain. I harboured no ill will for them

The beach where I washed up was shaded by graceful trees. A river ran into the sea close by me. I refreshed myself in its waters and immediately felt the urgency of hunger. I knew that upon eating some other need would grip me. Such is the life of an adventurer. The hunger was strong, but I saw nothing that was obviously edible, so I decided to walk in the delightful shade. The grass was soft underfoot, and the music of wind in leaves a miraculous change from the constant sounds of the ocean.

I whistled as my meandering steps took me farther and farther from the ocean. I soon stumbled on an exquisite clearing with fruit trees gracing its edges. Naturally, I reached to pick a fruit, only to be knocked violently to the ground. An immense weight settled on my back and my vision began to darken. The wind must have picked up because the rustle and creak of branches nearly deafened me. Suddenly the weight was removed and I could roll over to see what had struck me. All I saw were trees, but such trees. Where the trees of home are anchored to the ground, these trees moved and walked with graceful step.

A branch offered a bruised fruit to me, and I took it with thanks. Yet, even in my hunger, I noticed how the branch trembled. The fruit trees had disappeared. It was a linden tree that had dared approach me.

Between windfall fruit and fish that I caught in the river, my hunger was soon assuaged and kept at bay. Now loneliness reared up and took me in its grip. I determined to communicate with this brave linden that stayed by my side.

Leaning the language of the trees took months. It is a beautiful language of movement and sound. With a rustle and creak of branched Slimbark could pass the news of the day to his friends around him. I called my companion “him” though “her” or “it” would be equally true. Not all the trees were walkers. Some were content like the familiar trees of our country to remain rooted in place, but unlike the trees of home they chatted and sang through the day.

The trees were for the most part peaceful. They knew of us animals, but didn’t tolerate us. Most animals live by eating plants, and the trees didn’t wish to be eaten. Slimbark told me how close I came to being crushed. It was my whistling that saved me. The trees loved birds. They enjoyed the birdsong, but also needed the birds to keep the insects from boring into their bark.

I wandered through the forest listening to Slimbark talk to the trees around us. I began to call them dryads to distinguish them from the insentient trees of my home. Just as I learned to hear Slimbark’s words in rustle and creak he learned to interpret my words. He was fascinated by my stories of travel, but most loved to hear me sing or whistle.

Eventually we arrived at the shore of a lake. It was just at sunset and I saw something that will bless my memory until I die. A willow was leaping and dancing in the fiery light of the dying sun. It was the sheerest poetry in the language of any being, and I heard the echo of my awe in Slimbark’s stillness. After dark had come the willow came over to talk. She had heard of my coming and wanted to meet me. We would walk through the day and talk then she danced every evening for sheer joy of life.

Now the next demon need came to grip my soul, just as it had since I left home as a child. I needed to find out what lay in the hills on the far side of the lake. The lake was the boundary of the trees’ country. They could not cross it and had no real desire to. I had to cross even at the risk of my life. It was my calling and curse that I must always go the next step.

Early one morning my friend Slimbark came to me with a gift. He had somehow separated a branch which he offered to me as a staff. So it was with Slimbark’s gift held tight, I swam across the lake to learn what awaited me on the other shore.

Thanks to WizBrain for a truly inspiring picture .

“What are you doing?”

Jawlib jumped at the sound of the voice. When he saw that it was his little sister, Cohi, he decidedly ignored her and turned back to the large stone monoliths.

“I scared you, didn’t I?” Cohi laughed.

Jawlib had already tuned her out as he stared intently to the weather worn engravings that riddled the stone. Of the three remaining, this one was the least damaged by time, weather, and ignorance. His eyes intently followed the spidery script of a long, dead language.

“You’re supposed to be working, Jawlib. And Mom told you to stay away from these things.” Cohi said. When Jawlib didn’t answer, she continued, “What are you doing here anyway? These old rocks are nothing special and they’ll be gone soon. They’re tearing them down tomorrow.”

“What?” Jawlib exclaimed. “What do you mean tearing them down?” Anger crept into his eyes.

“Uh, nothing.” Cohi stammered. “I just heard some of the elders saying this is prime farmland and these big rocks are just in the way.”

“Farmland?” Jawlib cursed. “This is Holy Land! They’ve already torn down so many of these shrines and converted it to farmland. I’ve got to stop them!” He quickly stood and brushed the grass from his clothes.

“And how are you going to do that? You’re a kid. They won’t listen to you.”

“I’m almost an adult.” He mumbled.

“You still have two more years before you can ask to be named a man. You know they’ll not listen”

Jawlib knew she was right. Talking to the elders would do no good. “Then I’ll solve the riddle of the stones.”

Cohi laughed again. “You? Solve the riddle? Nobody knows what these stones are here for. They’ve been here longer than anyone can remember and nobody knows what they are. Shoot, nobody even knows if those scratches are words or pictures, or some animal sharpening their claws. Smarter men than you have tried. And failed.”

“I know what they are.” Jawlib said softly. “They’ve told me. They speak to me in my dreams. I just need to figure out how to work them.”

“You’re joking, right Jawlib? You’re not dreaming of these things are you?”

Jawlib gave his little sister an angry look and once again turned back to study the stone.

“Jawlib!” Fear trembled in her voice, “Please don’t tell anyone you’ve dreamt of the stones! If they find out you’ve dreamt of the stones, they’ll…well…I don’t know what will happen to you!” Cohi grabbed Jawlib’s arm, her eye pleading. “Do you remember what happened to Markesh when he said that he was dreaming of the stones?”

“They’re portals, Cohi; doors to other worlds.” He said serenely. “There used to be one hundred portals here, and this was all Holy land. Travelers from all over the universe would step through the door on their planet and magically appear here. Then they would step through the next one to continue their travels. The men who lived and worked on this Holy land also protected it. There were laws of safe passage. Nobody would dare take their wars through the portals. The monks were loving and caring men, but they were also deadly.” He leaned against the leafless tree and pulled his cloak tight against the evening chill.

The twin moons, glowing their respective green and purple, sat low in the sky.

Cohi sat quiety, hoping Jawlib would continue the tale, even though she knew it would mean his death if the elders ever heard a word of it.

“But a conqueror did come.” A tear rolled down Jawlib’s cheek, reliving what he learned in his dreams. “The monks were not prepared. As they kept a close eye on what came through the portals, they never thought to watch what came from the sky. In a last desperate act, the monks sealed the portals and sent the women and children into hiding. Every monk all died. And with them the secret to the portals.”

“And the kids?” Cohi’s curiosity got the better of her.

“They’re us.” He replied. “Or at least they were our great, great grandparents.”

Jawlib continued. “The conqueror tried for years to reopen the portals but he couldn’t figured them out. Without the portals, the conqueror didn’t want or need this planet, so he left. It took a hundred years before the children of the children came back. By then most of the stories were considered myth or legend.

“My dreams have promised me that I can rebuild the lost tribe of monks, if only I can open this portal.” His hand slowly caressed the cold stone. “Through here, I will have all the answers. But my dreams won’t tell me how. I have to figure that out on my own.”

-------------------------

This story is based on the image "Options" by dettemelow

Edwards Vision

The museum sat at the top of a rock of a rock spire amid a small town which served to supply whatever the museum staff and visitors needed in the way of lodging, food, and other items. These days it was not much, very few visitors physically came by to see the museum, it was a victim of its own success.

Andromeda was one of the rare visitors. She had viewed the museum through virtual reality links like most people did, but felt she was missing something. So she made the trip, and was now standing outside the imposing structure itself. The entire history of computing lay before her.

She rang the bell, and an elderly gentleman answered it. He appeared to be a scholar, in a relatively grand fatherly way. White unkept hair, wearing a sweater with patches on the elbows. Andromeda stifled a grin. It seemed ironic that such a man would be in charge of such an advanced museum.

He welcomed her in, and introduced himself as Professor Twiddle.

“That fits”, Andromeda thought to herself. “Thank you for taking the time to see me professor. I did attend your lecture, and the holographic tour of the museum, but I felt I was missing something, and hoped seeing you would help me understand”.

“Of course, we get visitors so rarely these days, I was happy to get your transmission asking to tour our exhibits. Please, come in”, Professor Twiddle said, ushering her into the main gallery. “You are familiar with the holographic field method of computer control of course”.

“Of course Professor, I was interesting in learning more about how it came about”.

They walked further into the museum. “The precursor to the holographic field was something called ‘virtual reality’, whereby a person was immersed in a fictional situation that could include a special helmet, and sensors for the hands and feet. This of course was quite a bit more primitive than the present holographic field with its direct brain wave interaction”, the professor explained.

“I understand that”, agreed Andromeda. “I was interested in that came before that”.

“Before that, there was what was called multimedia and voice recognition. It was a step further away from reality. You could control the computer with voice recognition, it could understand your commands. It displayed pictures, music, and other items in response”, Professor Twiddle said.

“So the further back you go, the more separate the computer and the operator became”, Andromeda said.

“Exactly. Since the beginning, humans have searched for ways to make computers seem more natural to use. The early ones really were not used by many simply because it was too difficult to learn them. The Multimedia stage was the first where there was direct control outside the keyboard and mouse”, the professor said.

“So what came before voice recognition?”, Andromeda asked.

“This little device here”, the Professor said, pushing a small grey object. “This thing points to an object on the screen, then you click on it to make it do something”.

“May I try it?”, Andromeda asked.

“Of course, it is an ancient model computer though, I think it was called an orange or banana, or something like that”, Professor Twiddle said.

Andromeda fiddled around with the mouse, but soon became bored. “I take it this was the beginning of the line”, she said.

“Oh no”, corrected the Professor. “Before the mouse, humans used this device”, he said, pointing to a strange rectangular shaped piece of plastic.

“Interesting. What are all the buttons on it for?”.

“Well, way back in the beginning, you would have to type commands into the computer”, the Professor explained. “This strange looking device was called a ‘keyboard’”.

“I don’t understand”, Andromeda said. “Type what? Pictures? Sounds?”

“Oh no, originally you typed commands to the computer. You can see it over here”, Professor Twiddle said, leading her to a two colored screen.

He went to the keyboard, and typed in ‘DIR *.*’. The screen scrolled down with a bunch of words.

Andromeda sat back stunned. “There’s a text section?”

Inspired by 'Floating Worlds' by strown

Keller figured 12 hours of non-stop partying was enough. As he made his way to the periphery of the non-stop rave he thought he'd have to make a stop at one of the spa islands, the nearest of which was four islands away, seven if he wanted to avoid the respectable business districts.

He thought the extra jumps would be worth it.

The city-sized rave was nearly a mile behind him now, but he could still hear the massive sound system pumping out its continuous electronic dirge, and the few people he saw were either coming or going via the routine shuttle drop offs.

This particular orbit of the solar system was occupied by a collection of land masses that floated gently about the sky, completely enveloped in a standard earth-like atmosphere. The islands averaged 45 square miles of total teraformed surface area; some were very small but a few were truly gigantic. They each had their own artificial gravity, and each island was connected to its nearest neighbors by gravity slides, tenuous “filaments” of invisible force energy designed to keep the shuttles on line. The shuttles were not powered, but rather were lifted upward (or sideways) by the slides artificial gravity or, going down, did so via free fall; upon reaching the bottom the gravity was reversed gradually, thus producing a gentle braking effect.

Keller had discovered that one didn't need the shuttle to travel from island to island.

He walked to the edge of the land near the shuttle dock and, looking straight out from this vantage point, nothing was visible except blue sky, dotted with the occasional wispy cloud. He tilted his head downward and still saw sky. He knew there was another island down there somewhere...

Keller leaned forward and pushed off. As he fell, he immediately twisted around and saw the bottom of the island quickly receding from view; before too long it was nothing more than a speck in the distance and would soon disappear from view.

He twisted and turned as he reached terminal velocity and saw nothing but blue sky in all directions, and luxuriated in the total freedom as the wind whistled past. He had changed into his jump suit, complete with wing flaps sewn into the sides from underarm to ankle, but now he put his arms by his sides, scuba-diver style, and rocketed through the yawning expanse of sky like a bullet, whooping and screaming like a madman.

***

After several minutes he had decided to take a short nap, which would require him to turn his back to the on-rushing wind, go limp in a sort of reverse dead-man's float and nod off, when he saw something that mesmerized him.

Off in the distance was a slowly undulating ribbon of some glistening, silvery substance; its movement reminded him of a massive flock of birds wheeling across the sky. Without much in the way of reference points, it was hard to tell how big or how far away the phenomenon was, but it stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions.

As he got closer Keller noticed that the silvery curtain was moving more or less from left to right, at which point he realized what he was looking at.

It was rain.

Somewhere off to his left was an island known for having many lakes, ponds, pools, small rivers and streams...and waterfalls, lots of waterfalls. All the water on this island wound up near the bottom of the land mass and basically ended up as one huge waterfall that fell away into nothingness. From there it followed its own gravity slide across the sky for hundreds of miles, perhaps a thousand or more, and gathered on another island off to the right, where it cycled through and wound its way back to the first island, closing the loop.

In between, the water broke up and essentially became rain, and Keller torpedoed right into it. He thought he'd never experienced anything so spectacular and refreshing, but the water splashing on his goggles and skin at 120 mph became uncomfortable, so he spread-eagled and used his suit flaps to slow down a bit.

Exiting the rain 7 minutes later, he streamlined himself again and continued on to his destination which came into view before too long. Starting a number of miles up he felt the gradual reversal of gravity slow his descent and minutes later he set down, feet first, like a superhero. A small crowd saw him coming and, upon his landing, gave him a polite round of applause.

He bowed and headed off towards Meowza's Palace of Questionable Delights...

Isolated from civilization only a valley below, an elaborate model of the perfect home – one with wall-length windows at every angle, triangular roof arches, and a frame bathed in the color of white marble – rested upon a rocky, earthed eagle replica never to take flight. Water fell down this eagle’s back, delivering life to the valley.

Or was death being delivered? A debt being paid?

The eagle wants for nothing more than to fly, to be free. And he waits for his moment of flight. With every moment, he hopes he has done enough. That he is doing enough. His cold eyes look down at the valley – at life and the opportunity to move ahead. No life, no change, flows from his eyes. Only death, regret, and stability swim. These emotions are never to leave and become liberated.

This was the case fifty years ago, when a manipulated, confused and deranged massive eagle felt the end rushing toward him, eager to rip from him his final breath. Life burdened him, weighing down his ability to think and to act, to love and to realize that there are at least two sides to everything. But as he plummeted toward the valley, he took in none of this. There was nothing there – whatever there may be – for him. Fate had sealed him into a vacuum bag, stealing all that was good and light away from him, locking him in a dark cell that he saw no escape from. His mind twisted and distorted every notion he had ever had about life. He became the figure of despair. And this was a position he did not care to uphold. With his entrance, his final landing, his first crash, into the valley he felt nothing. Nothing but morbid satisfaction.

His collapse hit like an earthquake. The ground ripped apart, becoming serrated, just as his mind had been. A deep hole dug into the earth, becoming a tomb for those unfortunate enough to be caught in the mess.

And then it was over. As soon as it had begun, it ended. When people came into the valley to rejuvenate themselves, they were horrified at what met their eyes. It was not the destruction that stunned them, but the dead bird that had caused it. The people had checked the bird for signs of abuse, of a gun wound, of an arrow. They checked for anything and found nothing and thus shook their heads in disgust over the large bird. It was to be removed immediately. The dead were to be given a funeral. And the soiled land – soiled by the deliberate death of one’s own life – was to remain soiled. Within its own natural time, the land would be a haven for relaxation again.

During this hiatus Mother Nature began to nurture part of her torn child. The river, which had been blackened when the eagle crashed, returned to its radiant teal color, willingly giving nutrients to the soil surrounding it thus revitalizing the valley piece by piece.

When the valley had recovered, a new generation of people returned to the valley. Instead of rejoicing, they went to work, reformatting a large mound to resemble the eagle that had crashed fifty years prior. The eagle alone did not get their point across. On the back of the eagle, a model of an elaborate home was created, designed articulately enough to resemble that of immense white marble. The waterfall was designed to be wedged within the house, giving the illusion that something was coming out of it. Something worthwhile. The house itself mirrored that of the former empress’, who herself plunged into a self-planned premature death. When construction was completed, the people left the valley.

While the valley still served as a haven, it also became a memorial with the intent to show whoever passed that everyone and everything contributes to life. And that is to be taken with great esteem.

Link to photo: Inspiration

The date is March 25, 2295, or so it was according to earth time. Exactly when and where we are now, I have no idea. My son Timothy and I were heading back home after a lengthy mission in the Alczervik solar system. After a series of catastrophic system failures onboard the ship, we were adrift for months until we came across what appeared to be a deserted planet. The ship was a dead stick with no way to navigate or get any kind of readings from the planet below us.

We eventually began succumbing to the gravitational pull of the planet and started drifting towards it. The ship was built in space and was designed to stay in space; it was not equipped to withstand the re-entry of a planet’s atmosphere and since the transporters were useless our only option was the escape pod. We didn’t have much choice and from what I could determine from the window, it appeared to be a class M planet. I could see oceans and vegetation so I could only hope and pray that the air would be breathable. The ejection from the ship was rough and abrupt and I heard Timothy gasp as he watched the ship reduced to burning embers as it streaked across the alien sky. Thankfully the controls of the pod were still mostly functional and we were able to safely land on the surface.

I figured we might as well get out and survey our surroundings, I mean, what choice did we have? We obviously weren’t going back the way we came. I asked Timothy to gather up firewood to keep him busy and I would try to figure out what our next step would be. “Don’t go too far son, we don’t know what kind of creatures live around here.” “Ok dad” and he took off without a second thought. His optimism and resilient attitude helped calm my fears, at least for now.

I found some old star charts tucked away in the escape pod and hoped that would give me a clue where we were. After hours of calculating our position, I was able to determine where “here” was. The answer didn’t make me feel any better. We were on the planet Tripadon, an ancient and long dead civilization. I climbed to the top of a large hill to get a better view of our new home. Along with the star charts, I also found a digital spectral analyzer (DSA). Although a highly sophisticated piece of equipment, it was very simple in its design; it resembles an old Viewmaster child’s toy. I can view for miles around with amazing detail. From the top of the hill, I can see the beautiful landscape, the ocean and even an ancient city. From afar, the city glistens in the sunlight but closer inspection with the DSA, it is a ghostly memory of a once flourishing civilization.

I thought the DSA was starting to malfunction as the readings indicated a sharp rise in temperature and as I lowered the device to inspect it, I realized the source. A large scaly beast about 6 meters high with legs as big as tree trunks standing there staring at me. Its breath was like a furnace but it stood there just looking at me. I was frozen but my mind was frantic searching for options, run, play dead or be dead! I chose to run! “Timothy! Run son! Run for your life!” I ran faster than I ever thought I could run. My only thought was to get Timothy to safety. The ground shook tremendously behind us as the beast gained on us with every step. We ducked into a nearby cove along the shore, hoping that the jagged rocks would be enough shelter from the gargantuan beast. The roar was deafening and it shook the ground almost as much as it’s thunderous footsteps.

Luckily it was too big to fit in the shallow cave we were hiding in but its head was taking up the whole entrance and there was no way out. I put Timothy behind me, closed my eyes and hoped for the best. I could feel its hot breath as it flicked its long tongue in and out. Just then, I felt a hard slap across my cheek from its tongue and in shock, I opened my eyes to see the beast wink at me and in a tiny little voice, it said “Tag! You’re it!” and it scampered away down the shoreline making a high pitched noise as what I could only describe as “giggling.” I was stunned. Speechless. The only thought that ran through my mind was “Oh no he didn’t!”

Iguanaphants, as I found out, are not only vegetarians but notorious game players. Silly iguanaphants.

This story was based on Ozplasmic’s excellent chop titled New World