science fiction
The bridge between imagination and technological advancement, where the dreamer’s vision predicts change, and foreshadows a futuristic reality. Science fiction has the ability to become “science reality”.
Tour of Duty
Prologue Defense Vessel Nibarger Hatacan System Captain Dalia Genar’s finger absently tapped the spine of the book she was reading, or rather trying to read. Her thoughts lingered on the orders that had brought her battle group just inside the Hatacan system. For nearly two weeks, the Defense Vessel Nibarger had been on station along with the Mirico, Geriss, and Priana. Long-range scans had indicated the presence of several Pridrallian and Yaarmoan ships inside the system, as was expected. The meeting between representatives of those two worlds to ally themselves with the warlord Nai Lamarco was apparently underway.
By Tim Ellerbe II8 years ago in Futurism
The Strange Case of Doctor Omega
For years as a Doctor Who fan, I've been vaguely aware of something called Doctor Omega. No, it isn't a spin-off of the long-running British science fiction series. In fact, it predates the BBC series by more than a half-century. Originally published in French as Le Docteur Oméga in 1906, this early science fiction novel with its tale of interplanetary exploration featuring a title character who is an old man with white hair certainly would seem on the surface to be quite like William Hartnell's First Doctor. Yet is there more to it than that? Is Doctor Omega the predecessor to Doctor Who?
By Matthew Kresal8 years ago in Futurism
Lives of Future-Past Chapters 2 & 3
Chapter Two Draagh "Lord Draagh, it appears all is going according to plan." An older, robed gentleman, possessing a medium-length beard with a long mustache stylishly braided within responded, saying, "Yes, Socrates. So far, that is."
By Steve Benton8 years ago in Futurism
Lives of Future-Past Ch. 1
In the Beginning The planet known as Earth provides a rich history, dissimilar from the billions upon billions of inhabited worlds in the visible universe. While most cultures were quickly discovered and nurtured throughout their difficult beginnings by their older intergalactic brothers, Earth stood alone, on the edge of Orion, a minor spiral arm of the Milky Way Galaxy, watched by those of immense power who nearly always chose a path of non-interference. These beings, the Prīmulī, would analyze all from their timeless dimension, known as The Hub, from which all time/space emanated. They were patient, as they held the secrets of the universe in their hands and had all eternity in which to wait.
By Steve Benton8 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #37
Blood on these hands. How long has it been now since we started all this? Years. Years and years. Too long for any one person to stand, too long for the people to have to cope, but we carry on all the same. The fight eternal. We warriors, it is what we do, but at the sake of what?
By Brutalist Stories8 years ago in Futurism
Outrun Stories #37
A partnership born out of necessity rather than convenience. I hated him, he hated me, but we seemed to get the job done, somehow. We’d make it out of whatever job we’d gotten ourselves into, and you know, sometimes we’d even make a little bit of money. Not this time.
By Outrun Stories8 years ago in Futurism
Chronicles of Captain Chromium
One Paris night, in 1798, a young boy was born. The baby did not come out crying, but he came out laughing. The baby was born with pale gray skin and vivid fiery red hair. From the moment he was born, his father, Nicholas Louis Vauquelin, knew he was special.
By Elizabeth Harris8 years ago in Futurism
Under the Clouds
I was surrounded in black smoke. I was suffocating, choking on the ash that fell from the black clouds like acid rain. My clothes were covered in soot as I continued down the blackened street, coughing up the polluted oxygen that stuck in the air like thick fog. If a doctor checked me out and looked into my mouth, he’d probably see swollen and red tissue that makes up my throat. Mentally cursing myself for forgetting my oxygen mask at home, I hurried down the charcoal sidewalk, squeezing my way through a crowd of rowdy teenagers as they screamed and hollered at each other over some petty incident. Making my way through the crowd, I briskly walked the few steps to the bus stop, glancing around me at the many skyscrapers that were drenched in black snow. Downtown Indova was the worst part of the city. The pollution was the worst here, always choking someone on the street until they could breathe no more, and they would fall dead onto the black concrete. No one would pay any mind to the victim; he’d either get stepped over or ran over by a car before the Emergency Officials actually came and picked him up. There was no grass on the ground either, or at least, no grass visible to the human eye. The entire ground was hidden in darkness, covered in ash, soot, chemicals, and any other pollutants that are quickly killing Indova’s population. The Indova Hospital was overflowing with sick patients, citizens on the verge of death from breathing in toxins and poisoned oxygen.
By JaTori Honora8 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #36
The memory of a memory of a memory. What am I supposed to be remembering here? This thing they’re trying to get from me, right? I’m here to try to help them? Are they asking me or telling me? There’s something that’s occurred at some point in this time, in this life, but so much has gone on, so much as passed? What part of it do they want, what part of me are they looking for? How will it help them?
By Brutalist Stories8 years ago in Futurism
