Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Spaceships and Awsome images

The allure of skillfully painted fantastic pieces of a vision of the future or fantasy world has always been incredibly appealing. It started at an early age my dad had a huge sci-fi paperback collection thousands of books. Two awesome books I still have Mechanismo by Harry Harrison, and Views by Rodger dean. I still have those two books and pour over the images still.

Take a look at these books you can just search for the titles or the artists. Recently in my hunt for spaceships came across this collection of space images.

Some Aliens

Have fun and merry Christmas.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009


As I climbed the outer crater wall of Thasis city; everything changed for me. The world kept turning at 868.22 kilometres per hour but my internal world careened out of control. The steep climb reminded me of the struggle to get here; the many tumbles down the slope mirrored my tumble. With careful method, I had become a monster, and the man who did this with me now stood over me with a predatory gaze. I had tried to do something terrible. I thought it was the right thing to do; like many terrorists before me, here and back on earth in years gone by; I had justified every soul-destroying decision believing I was dragging humanity forward.

Minks, my long time friend and mentor stooped over me, his long, lean form glinting in the Martian sunrise. That the messenger was Minks - my comrade, my brother - hurt the most. Gently, he took my small, personal canister of poison. Meekly, I let him. I feel like a kid whose big brother breaks all his toys; hopelessly crying for my parents. They aren't listening, they stopped listening long ago, or maybe I stopped crying and hadn’t noticed. My work was wasted, the self I had been was lost on an ocean and no one was looking for me.

Remembering my sister’s birthday, the first time I met him. He told me about his plans to change the world; told me I was good at what I did, he encouraged my creative side. Together, as we worked, we felt like gods striding across a new frontier, the work was all we could think about. Nothing else mattered. Slowly I lost all my other friends; then I lost my family. I was arrested, and bailed out; I committed crimes against the state, against people, against anyone and everything. Maybe even against nature. Minks, the others and myself had been Junkers: a new form of revolutionary - we changed ourselves and the world around us. That was our need, and our instinct.

Minks was older than me, wiser and even more screwed up. He picked me for my innocence, my naiveté. I was a hacker of sorts: I adjusted the ‘code’ of living tissue rather than computer programs. There were only a few of us doing it and Minks had picked me for his gang. How the technology worked or what I did is not important, what is important is that we thought, no – we knew it was the new frontier of human civilization. Together we would change humanity. Now, lying on the cusp of this dry, dead crater with Minks gazing down at me, the disappointment of my failure is as barren as the alien, crimson dust of this long-dead planet, which is greedily soaking up my rapidly freezing blood. We were the vanguard of human civilization; on the broken edge of science playing with powers we just had an understanding of…

…The human race was not ready to accept genetic manipulation. There were riots for and riots against. The UN created special economic zones on mars to allow the technology to be researched and tested. The technology was simply abhorrent to many people. Big business had invested trillions in the research but the only items that were accepted were cloned organs to extend life. People just didn't want to change; that's where we fit in.

Junkers took the broken science and used it. We changed ourselves to prove it could be done. To show the world what humanity could be, and in changing, in demonstrating what humans could be, we no longer were. We didn't know that then, and maybe we wouldn't have cared anyway. Junkers were a force; a movement for change: we weren’t just trying to bring change, we wanted to become change.

When heat builds up in a system, steam escapes with a blast, usually a pressure valve is used but sometimes there are leaks and the leaks explode. We were the leaks in the system; people who were living on the edge, and with the nothing we thought we had to lose we were able to show others what was possible. This, I discovered, was our function: to show mankind that genetic manipulation was not only possible in a living being but also Natural Selection.

Mink's had become so charmed by his own existence; that his charm just rubbed off like scales from a butterfly. He sprinkled his fairy dust around and others followed him. People like me, a new and naive kid genius ready for the next big thing. I, we, would follow him around and hang on his every word. I remember once how he got on to some talk show, about troubled teens who were followers of this new "Junker movement" he stated plainly:

"Junker is not only cool, its liberating; imagine being able to fly in space on solar wings, that's where we will be one day and you'll all be dead. Because some Luddites don't understand doesn't mean the UN can pass restrictions. I'm not condoning the attacks on protos like you. I am saying that change has come and you can either embrace it; or get out of our way."

It was not long after this point we became fugitives, attack on protos by Junkers had increased and we felt squeezed into a corner. We never ran from it, we ran into it and fought back, the cops, the army, our parents, our siblings if you didn’t have the scent and look you were walking meat and we never cared. Minks told everyone to take it up a notch and we complied. That charm still so strong, even though he could no longer be recognised as human or even ‘Minks’ anymore. Thousands followed us in the ether, and news casts. Protos wanted to be like us: different from the Protos, they wanted a standard package to get started. Enhanced eyes and ears, better brawns and more smarts. Bands started doing it, brawing out or getting really crazy with scales and feathers. They flocked to the cause and protested in their schools and colleges demanding a lift of the bans. Overnight instead of a ‘movement’ we became fashion, there were labels of clothes and bands, and all the paraphernalia associated with all fashion and fads. Still we kept striving, searching for the waterfall to jump off.

Minks still so charming, was smiling now. I remember him saying “Tommy, those Proto fuckers should give you a noble prize, you’re a fucking genius”. We worked so hard to achieve acceptance, I never realised just how popular our movement would become. It seemed serendipity that bands came out, with music we liked, clothing just as we wanted it to look, and more people to indulge in the change with us. Minks pops something into my pocket a small thing, white with letters on it. “Rest up Tommy, the war is over; I called an ambulance for you, your going to get a nice room, I booked it in this nice clinic by the sea you’ll like the sea we don’t have oceans on Mars. When you’re better; I got a job for you to. Can you still sing Tommy; there is this benefit for the victims of the poison. I said I would bring some Junkers to sing this old song “We are the World”. It’s going to be all over the ether on all the casts. Lots of normals’ will be watching; it’s a big deal. Hey Tommy, do you think before the gig, you can do something about my teeth; I want them to be blue now, you know to go with my eyes.”

He pushes more stuff into my pockets, a data stick labelled songs to learn. I look at the small item in my shirt pocket; it’s a simple white card with his name Michael Minkins director of marketing Sibel and Dawn.

Monday, December 14, 2009

God of War

God of War
by Morgs

I took my coffee and biscotti from the teen age assistant at the deli paying the 50 Euro; I remember when a coffee was 40 Euros. She called me a fascist. I said at least I’m somebody pointing at her pink I’m an Anarchist Hello Kitty T shirt.

I made my way across the floor and watch the sun rise. The atmosphere processors spewed a healthy blend of water vapour and O2 down the steep slope of the crater wall as the sunlight shone through it rainbows appeared and vanished framed with a red and orange halo just below the blackness of space like the God of War himself wishing me good morning.

I said hi to Silvia as I made my way to the elevator, she looked tired and handed me my days work. I work for the United Nations Armed Forces; it’s a good job for a triple Masters Degree death strategist like me. I work long hours, I get good vacation and can retire on a pension that most of the citizens of Mars would wish was their yearly salary.

When I sat down at my desk I frowned looking at the report that had arrived on the overnight print run. It was thick, dense, heavy, bound in plastic. The front page told me it had been carefully constructed with a summary to be handed out to the grunts and an appendix that would make the scientists salivate. It was perfect; United Nations Explorer Service had done their homework. The calibre of the writing was excellent, centuries of practiced Earth bureaucracy had honed the creation of documents of evidence down to a fine blade and all it needed was the stamp of my approval. The machine of Mars would go to war and one million highly trained genetically altered killing machines would board their ships and cross the galaxy to give it to any enemy we told them to. They would ask questions, and they would be answered by the document.

The scientific detail about the Osteo-Chords in the analysis showed clearly how to kill them, how to maim them and how to just slow them down. I imagined the soldiers fighting on the frontlines using weapons of mass death to blow the enemy to pieces. As I thumbed through the scientific analysis I paused. Nervous tissue surrounded with bone, decentralised motor control, brain split up into seven apple sized bundles. They were tough, build for combat; maybe Mars had finally met his match. Maybe Mars was paying a visit to Hades.

As I got to the strategic section, I was having doubts; not doubts that we wouldn’t win doubts about the accounting. The report didn’t speculate how our own people would react as much as I had liked. That made me worried it had happened before; Vietnam, Canada, Titan and Europa. Wars we had gone to and got the leash put on and then lost. Well, they won’t be able to call us back anyway, and after 20 years of mission the troops that are left will probably need to be segregated anyway.

Entry point photos showed herculean buildings on Venus millennia old, surrounded by ice. I frowned more, advanced technology. Nothing a good amount of nuclear ordinance won’t fix I figured. I could imagine all the religious delegates at the UN talking about demons and judgement day and end of all things etcetera. I wouldn’t buy into that, I’m an atheist; science is real there is no room for devils and angels in my world, although I do admit they look kind of like devils. According to the brain boxes, they use those massive wings to fly through the other dimension we call hyperspace. That’s a problem, how do they pop out see page 1400 appendix Xx. Gradual amplification of electromagnetic and gravitic fields generated by a series of ceremonies they perform brings one of them from hyperspace into real space using their brains as amplifiers, during this time they are disorientated. That’s good news maybe we can sucker them all in I wonder. I pull the top of the red ink, get my solid gold stamp of my department seal and slam it down hard. I get the pen my niece gave me for Christmas and sign my name Markus Hawthorn Fleet Admiral of Mars. That was a pretty good day, the next few weeks with the UN would be a suck fest like nothing else.

I stand up from my chair at the United Nations Assembly Hall on Mars. I like my job, its cold it’s hard it’s factual although at the moment I’m a whore. In my best persuasive voice, I begin to clearly state the facts and my conclusions. I look out at the delegates and I’m immediately disgusted by the fear on their faces.

This report has been approved by the Mars branch of the United Nations Armed Forces. There is a clear and present danger presented by these hostile Aliens at any time. You have read the report and seen the footage; you know what must be done. I sit down, I look calm and collected ready to kick Aliens the out of the sky.

A Sufi by the looks of it stands his frail frame holding up his pointed hat, the man seems to grow as he speaks commanding respect. Obviously a practiced orator probably schooled for a long time in rhetoric. He speaks loudly into the microphone no malice or venom in his voice but the stern resolve I wish my superiors had. The Quran and the Bible has many writings detailing Djjin or Demons. This act will be catastrophic, plunging us into a war against the fallen, if you invite evil in it will come. The Collective will stand apart from the United Nations, Ala have mercy on you if you start this war.

I hear one of the delegates from Mars whisper something like shit maybe it’s a bad idea is it too late to pull out. I just keep thinking back to the report how I had to read that massive tome of knowledge and weigh up the probabilities in my own mind of wining loosing, causing a stalemate. These guys aren’t going to let me go. I’m thinking of my retirement plan to buy a place on earth on the northern tip of Australia. Not much I can do now, it’s coming down to a vote shit.

The delegate from the Anarchist colony on Europer stands up some queer looking guy in a turtleneck. I instantly don’t like him, he’s not the fake Anachist in the deli he’s the real deal born and bred die hard. Although we can’t speak in an official capacity as we have not received sovereign state status from the UN I speak for some of the Anachist movement and state we do not approve of any hostile action toward any alien regardless of how dangerous they appear. This report has no proof that they will attack earth, merely that they have the capacity to do so from their base on Venus.

Shit I say under my breath, for a weirdo from a busted up colony on a shitty moon of Jupiter he has a point. I knew the accounting section was fubr, sassy bastard must have read the whole thing.

Like biscotti dissolving in my coffee, the delegates start to separate and crumble. I see their resolve slipping from sullen faces. With all the pages of evidence and countless plans and re-plans they are going to vote No, I’m sure now. The God of War will have to go home and wait for the call. Instead of marching out and confronting the enemy, Mars will sit silent waiting, soldiers prepared and ready. I change my retirement plans and buy a large apartment in Tharsis Crater just opposite the Mars Military Academy.

Saturday, December 5, 2009


By Morgs

Archon performed the final safety checks; the magnetic coils were warmed up, the fusion reactor running at maximum efficiency. He was ready to intercept the skag, this one would be messy he thought. He had been on vector heading for Pluto, his interceptor making a 10,000 kilometer long plume as he accelerated towards the last outpost before the deep cold of interstellar space. The skag was headed for Mars. He had been screaming on the broadcast all day now. Arc stretched out his arms as far as he could in his confined cockpit. Two days he had been on hard burn, taking a minimum of 6 g's for the whole time. Normal humans couldn't take that sort of punishment, but Arc was different. He was one of those young guns from the academy, his blue eyes and movie star looks belied the madness that seethed beneath his calm exterior. His perfect frame, enhanced to the maximum for space travel. After an eventful school life at the United Nations Defense Force academy on Mars, Arc began his tour on the Defense Platform Saratoga. Now he was pushing 40 million Kilometers per hour, and would need to keep his acceleration going for three more hours before he cut the engines.

The broadcaster crackled into life, the quantum communicator was linked with central command on Mars, for all intents and purpose communication was almost instant for Arc and the rest of the Force.

"Archon, come in Archon this is Mars command over."
"Archon receiving, over"
"Perp assailed four officers, this one hurts he stole a Pursuit special, one of the G8s, very toey, he's not enhanced. He's making for Mars. Baxster and JG are in pursuit from Platform 62, they won't catch him it's up to you."
"Message Received and understood Archon out"
"That's bullshit I won't catch him, that skag and his floozy there goner die Baxster out"
"Rip the guts out of her give it the bejezus JG out"

Just as Archon is about to reach for a drink, the receiver unit crackles to life again.
"Baxster coming up on him, he is turning vectors... your goner die skag"

The gravity sensors on all the pursing ships signal a massive burst of gravitons from the Pursuit Special. For anyone within 1 million kilometers of the Pursuit Special the brilliant blue beam of energy looks like a ribbon as it bends and flexes along its 20,000 kilometer length. The ribbon slices through space, igniting the oxygen tank on Baxter's pursuit ship. Crystals of escaping gases sparkle like diamonds against the black silk like sky, Baxster's ship yaws and changes course.
"See that Bronze! Do you see me man."

"This is Baxster, unable to continue pursuit he clipped my O2 tank with the ribbon gun. Better prepare the freezers, Johnny coped a food tray in the throat. Baxster out ... fuck fuck fucker shit"

"I am the nightrider; I'm a plasma injected suicide machine. I'm the chosen one, the mighty hand of vengeance sent to strike down the un-space worthy. I'm laying down a deuterium road to freedom..."

"Mars command, to JG don't get cutup like Baxster you can't lose another ship JG Mars out" Laughter is heard by all on the broad cast.

"I hear you just um lost your ship again Baxster, looks like your heading towards Saturn going for a holiday" More laughter.
"Fuck off!" Screams Baxster.
"Mars command, cut the chatter and get back in the game rescue ships have been dispatched Baxster begin deceleration. Mars command out"

Archon carefully finishes his drink and puts the orange container into the waste capture unit. Flexes in his midnight blue space suit. After checking all his instruments for a final time, he begins his calculations. Archon is poking out his tongue as he muses over his calculations. He knows timing must be to the nano second; any mistake in the math will mean he will miss and the pursuit which almost ended in disaster would be meaningless. After a few short moments, Archon reaches for the receiver.

"Come in Mars command, this is Archon in position."
"Continue Archon, take that skag down."
"The Toe Cutter, he knows who I am, one down two to go! die space cops."

A focused telescope on the dark patch of sky between Jupiter and Mars; sees two majestic comets trailing a bright blue-green flame racing towards each other at 40 million Kilometers per hour; the tail is thousands of Kilometers long; the two fiery streams are moving slowly towards each other over the unimaginable distance. That's how it appears to Roy Jones the telescope operator on the platform Saratoga. Roy relays the image over the broadcast to Archon, just five days ago the two of them had been watching movies in the mess hall with the rest of the crew. The frantic scramble to stations and preparation for the interceptor had left the mess hall, well messy. Roy had had sleep, twice in the five day vigil for four hours; he feels tired, worn out and a bit gritty and dirty. Roy knows it's only a few hours now soon he can sleep in his bunk or chill out to some music; maybe even read a book but not till it's over. Roy carefully checks the calculations the computers have made, adjusted for gravitic distortion. He punches them into the computer on the manual keyboard, and sends them to Archon. He then reaches for the slightly worn plastic receiver.

"Saratoga to Archon Interceptor, vector confirmed collision in 2 hours. Saratoga out"
"Message received Archon out"

A tall, average build man enters he switches of the broadcast signal. His grey and green space suit tells Jones that he is the ships doctor, Winston Harp. "Jones" he sighs in a slow drawl. "I think Archons been doing this to long, we should probably give him some time off."
"He's fine, just a bit lonely probably" Spits Jones, clear stress and impatience on his tense voice.

"You could probably do with some time off too"
"Piss off its about to go down" growls Jones.

Sweat starts pouring down the skags face; his straggly beard is soaking it up like a mop. His girl is asleep and he is pulling some drugs out of her top pocket, and popping them like tick tacks. She stirs. "Hey, Mick what time is it, are we on Mars yet?" Her soft sleepy voice jars him like a sledge hammer. "What am I doing, fuck fuck fuck he screams" "What's wrong" as Sandy says it; with a very sleepy voice long brown hair falls around her face like some primeval lions mane. She is floating, weightless wearing a skin tight space suit she picked up at the travel center on the way to the terminal. The bright Tropicana colors clash wildly with the clean white and grey lines of the police pursuit specials' austere interior. Mick looks at her; remembers why he escaped; why he is going to Mars to get out of his contract by defecting to the Freebird colony on the surface. Space is dangerous, colonies are a little safer, he loves her and wants to live with her to grow small plants in the soil and eat real food. Not the shit they sell you on the asteroid mines, made from piss and peanuts or strange single celled cultures. Food, shelter, warmth, and procreation it's not too much to ask. Mick looks at the scanners, they show the police interceptor on a collision course.

"Shit is that a ship" Sandy's voice trembles as she leans over the telescope monitor.
"He's got to change vector soon, he has to" Mick reassures her and pats her shoulder. Sandy sees he is looking tired, worn out and spaced. His breathing is labored and panic is causing his eyes to dart form side to side.

"Give me the stick for a bit honey" she gently takes the joystick from the second seat.
"Sandy I'm fine, this guy is going to turn any second now" His voice is grating and out of breath.
"Well its fine, I mean it's all on auto right you set the course right" she pleads.
"Just go out back and get me a drink or something" Mick is getting angry now. Like two cats meeting in the night they hiss at each other until Sandy heads out the back crying.
"I'm in control, I'm in control" Micks head is starting to nod as he repeats his mantra.

Five million kilometers away, Arc has prepared his rail gun for its single shot. His hands are steady, his gaze fixed on the gravitic engines of the other ship. "Looks like you're not going to move out of the way night rider" he mumbles to himself as he adds a damping agent to the cabins fluid. "I know I'm not moving, if we collide it's all over."

"I'm the night rider, the mighty hand of vengeance"

The two blue-green streaks across the night sky, approach. At the last minute, far too late moving at massive speeds Mick pulls the stick up as he does a tiny neuron in his tiny brain is registering his mistake. The ship appears to be fine; it's now heading towards Venus. Archons ship starts to decelerate, his rail gun fired its single shot using a black marker he marks another ship on the bulkhead.

"This is Mars command, looks like intercept is successful. Ships probably recoverable for forensics teams have setup electromagnetic nets all the way to Venus. Good job Archon. Mars command out"

On the pursuit special, two orange and red bags of goo float in their ripped and torn space suits one a simple company suit from a small and insignificant mining company, the other a bright Tropicana tourist suit