MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets

by George Saoulidis

  Barnes followed. "Um, my name is Barnes."

  "I'm Volo, nice to meet you," he said, shaking his hand. He led Barnes up the stairs and into the alien spaceship.

  Barnes looked around like an idiot, of course, jaw hanging. Everything looked cool and futuristic, but since it was all made for humanoids, things were exactly how you'd expect. As in door heights, corridor sizes, steps. The ship even followed the same layout as humans, with hatch doors that could isolate parts of the ship in case of a hull breach. "Everything looks familiar, somehow," Barnes smiled.

  "How's so?" Volo asked.

  "Don't get me wrong, it all looks frickin' cool," he chuckled. "But at the same time, it makes sense. It's not alien to me, you know?"

  "Same shit, different solar system," Volo shrugged. The Encephalons had gotten a reputation in the First Contact team about how easily they picked up slang. It was like talking to a mate from England, it only took them like five minutes to get the hang of it.

  Barnes laughed. "Exactly! I mean, this could have been an Earth vessel, for all I know."

  "I get your point. Your First Contact team has been gracious enough to send us schematics of your non-classified vessels, and we've also seen remarkable similarities."

  Barnes felt a lot calmer. Sure, they were alien. Sure, they came from the stars. But they were friendly and in the end, not at all dissimilar to humans. He even liked Volo, no wonder they sent him to do the tour. "We could both help each other if you did the same."

  Volo stopped and turned to him.

  Barnes thought for a second that he'd blown it.

  Volo smiled warmly. "We can do that. Please, follow me," he said again.

  Barnes followed, this time with a pep in his step. Were they gonna just show him advanced tech, just like that? He pinched the soft flesh of his hand, making it bleed. He needed the adrenaline, needed to be alert. Observe everything, forget nothing. This could be the only chance they Encephalons would ever give them.

  Volo brought him to a clean room, or rather the prep room for cleaning up.

  "I recognise this. It's a negative pressure clean room, just like where we make integrated circuits." Barnes looked aroud.

  Volo smiled. "Then you are familiar with the procedure. Please, scrub down and put on the suits with me, the mainframe room needs to be absolutely clean of contaminants."

  Barnes was now absolutely giddy with excitement. He was gonna be the first computer guy to lay eyes on their computers. He stripped down to his underwear and put on the suit. Volo did the same, glancing at him to see if he needed any help. Barnes didn't need any, he was an actual computer specialist, having worked a clean room before at DARPA. He put on the part on the head and inspected the seals. Everything was well-made, snapping in place, feeling firm and durable. "I think I'm good to go." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realised that this might be the hostage situation the General warned him about. But, he realised, that he was willing to risk it.

  What would it be? A quantum computer, certainly. Nah, humans had already built a crude version of that, and they were nowhere near space-travel at this scale. It must be something even bigger and faster that quantum.

  Volo finished suiting up. "With your permission," he said, and when he got an affirmative nod he put his hands around the seals of Barnes' suit. Satisfied, he smiled again. "Follow me, please."

  Barnes followed into the clean room.

  Volo opened his arms in a presentation and said, "This is the mainframe."

  Barnes ran his gaze slowly from bottom to top. His breathing became frantic, his hands trembled. The suit felt like a million degrees, and he wasn't taking enough air through the filter. There were three other Encephalons working around the mainframe, wearing suits like them.

  And, in the middle of the room, was a giant brain floating inside a transparent box.

  There was an eerie red light, and the brain looked squishy and pink. Barnes could swear he could see the signals firing in the synapses.

  "This can't be the mainframe," Barnes wheezed after a long while. He thought his eyesight was getting blurry.

  "I assure you, it is," Volo said proudly. "It's the way we calculate spacetime travel. It's impossible to navigate otherwise."

  Barnes gulped. Get yourself together, man. This is a unique opportunity, don't waste it. "O-Okay," he stuttered. "And the computers link up to the brain?"

  Volo turned to him, frowning. "What do you mean? That is the computer."

  "No, I mean the electronics, the ones in your machines."

  Volo kept looking as if he wasn't understanding his words. Which was weird, because they even picked up pop references and slang. "That's what's in our machines, specialist Barnes, I assure you."

  Barnes was frustrated now. He stepped closer to Volo pointed at his pocket. "No, your electronics. The integrated circuits. What are they made of?"

  Volo brought out his communicator. Every Encephalon had one, it was like carrying a phone around. "This one?"

  "Yeah, that. Can you crack that open?"

  Volo offered it to him. "Be my guest."

  Barnes accepted the phone and spun it around. He found a notch, just like a phone from Earth. It was hard to dig his nails into it with the gloves on but he managed it somehow, and popped the lid open, expecting to see the familiar block of integrated electronics.

  What he saw, would haunt him until the end of his days.

  The being, was squished, rectangular, thin. It breathed. It hooked up to the screen and the buttons, and in his shock, Barnes pulled the screen apart, making it separate with a disgusting squish.

  Barnes looked up at Volo, then at the giant brain in the box. "These are your electronics?"

  "Of course," Volo said helpfully. "What else would we use?"

  The cellphone's eye blinked and followed Barnes' face straight into his nightmares.

  The End.

  The Hole City

  "You mean the whole city?" the new mayor asked.

  "No, the hole city. Just the part inside the hole," the e-person explained to him.

  The mayor rubbed his chin. "I thought I'd be the mayor of the city."

  "Yes. Of the hole city," the e-person repeated patiently.

  The mayor looked around, reaching down over the edge of the flyer. The hole was enormous, it went down into the bowels of the Earth, a fabricated hole in a fabricated city, allowing him to take a peek into the darkness. "I think you're just messing with me."

  The e-person tilted its head to the side. The LEDs on its face illuminated into a pattern that indicated a human smile. "We could have, but it wouldn't be efficient. No, the voting is automatic, the people would have preferred you over the other candidate, and you are now the mayor."

  "Of the hole city," the mayor added, his patience being tested. He had even put on a suit and gotten shaved an everything! This was supposed to be his big day.

  "Yes, laws indicate that 10% of the city should be governed by organic persons. It's a retro law, however we cannot ignore it." The e-person raised its palm up apologetically.

  "But there's nothing down there!" the mayor spat out.

  "There are plenty of things, I'm sure."

  "But not civilians," the mayor said, frowning like any person from the last century who was talking to a voice-recognition call centre.

  "That's unlikely."

  "So, what's the point?"

  "The point is that we are true to the letter of the law. Organic persons get their elected official via fair electronic means, utilizing predictive algorithms of their views and political opinions. The candidates are chosen randomly from the population, elections are held automatically and here you are."

  "Over a hole in the city," the mayor deadpanned.

  "Yes. I'm sure I've said that before."

  The mayor slapped his face. "Okay, fine. So, what now, what are my duties? Do I get an office?"

  "Of course," the e-person said, and wheeled in a leather chair.

  The mayor rai
sed an eyebrow. "Okay, that's not bad, actually. I've never even seen real leather before," he said, running his fingers on the surface. It rubbed and squeaked nicely. It was weathered, used but perfectly nice. He sat on it, feeling his way around with his butt. Oh, yeah, he could get used to this.

  "I'm glad you approve, mayor," the e-person said.

  The mayor clapped his hands together, looking back at the form of the e-person standing behind him. "Okay, I get it," he said, wagging a finger at him. "I'm just a mayor for show, so you can say you've met the quota. Alright... I'll play along, but the pay better be good. But why not just, you know, not elect an organic person?"

  "We would never break the law like that," the e-person said with a tone of voice as if was offended by the mere thought.

  "Fine. Now what?" The chair had wheels, and he moved around a bit on the big alcove of the flyer, there was plenty of room.

  "Now, we put you in office," the e-person said, and shoved the mayor with his chair over the ledge and down the hole.

  Chucking Moon Rocks on the Back of my Pickup Truck

  Wade chucked a rock at the back of his pickup truck. He loved his pickup truck, it was the best one in the entire moon, literally. There was none other in the entire rocky place, no siree.

  He loved that truck. He washed it, he took care of it, he drove around in it.

  The job wasn't much, but it was an honest day's work, chucking rocks at the back of his truck, driving around to where the computer told him to, stopping, getting out, chucking more rocks.

  Even an idiot could do it, but he'd get bored very quickly. Wade was the perfect kind of idiot, he could both do the job and not get bored. No siree, all he needed was his country songs and his beer and his trusty ol' truck.

  Songs were easy to obtain, and the computer could even make more up as it went! How cool was that? It claimed they were 'formulaic' or something and Wade just pressed a button and the damned thing spat out more singin' just like that!

  Wade was wary at first, but he liked some of the new ones the computer made so he stored them and played them on repeat.

  Yeah I'll have Callisto beer

  But I don't wanna hear

  No songs about moon trucks

  No no no

  No more songs about moon trucks

  No no no no no

  He sang along to the tune, bobbing his helmet up and down. He reached out with his rake and picked a small rock. He could use that for the smaller ones, the large ones he had to use a shovel, maybe a pickaxe. It was an honest day's work.

  Wade chucked the rock at the back of his truck. It was funny how gravity was light on Callisto, being a small moon and all that, so he could chuck it far with a flick of his wrist. It took him a while to get used to it but he got it eventually, chucking rocks like an NBA VIP. Yessir.

  Wade could do with a beer, right about now. He checked his watch and the computer display, he was within the route parametres. He was gonna pick up one more rock, chuck it at the back of his truck and get inside to cycle the airlock, unscrew his suit's helmet, and drink Callisto beer.

  He could practically taste it already, that sweet and sour taste that the autobrewery produced. He loved that machine back at the Hub, it was his pride and joy. It made his beer, so he took real good care of it.

  Wade absent-mindedly picked up another rock. It slipped from his rake, so he leaned down to grab it with his hand.

  He stretched back, and was about to chuck it towards the truck.

  "Hey, wait," someone said.

  "What in God's name?" Wade started, looking around. He turned off his music, looked around. There was no one there. He shrugged and extended his throwing arm.

  "No, don't."

  "Aw it cannot be!" Wade said, freezing in place, now spinning around frantically. This time he heard it clear as day. The voice.

  "Down here. In your hand."

  "Ah!" Wade got startled and dropped the rock. It fell and rolled a bit on the icy surface of the moon.

  "That was rude," the rock said.

  "You can speak?" Wade asked, squinting at it. He held his pickaxe up high, ready to strike.

  "Obviously."

  "Okay. Are you a rock?"

  The rock sputtered. "We're not all called rocks, you know... We're... Okay, never mind, yes. I'm a rock."

  "Okay. I'm gonna leave you be and go back to my truck," Wade said, stepping away to do just that.

  "Wait, what? Aren't you curious about me? I mean, you found alien life on an icy, rocky moon."

  Wade shrugged. "Not really. Do you have any beer?"

  "No, I don't have any beer. I'm a rock."

  "Do you have music? Rock and roll?" Wade snickered.

  "Yes, we have music. Wanna hear?" the rock asked.

  "Sure. Let me see."

  The rock made some crumbling sounds.

  "That's it?"

  "It's one of the finest ballads of my species," the rock said proudly.

  "It ain't no country music, that's for sure."

  "Was it the one from before? I liked those vibrations."

  "Yeah, wanna hear it again?" Wade lifted his wrist and typed on the keyboard with the other. He started the music, lowering the volume a bit. He bobbed his head to the rhythm.

  "I don't wanna hear, no songs about moooon truuuucks," the rock sang. "Yeah, it's nice."

  "Glad you appreciate, rock." Wade tipped his head in a cowboy's salute. "Well, I must be off. There's a schedule to keep."

  "For what?"

  "For rock samples."

  "But why are you gathering those rock samples in the first place?"

  "Those scientists back home really seem to like 'em."

  "And they're looking for what exactly?" the rock asked, as if talking to a child, presenting a string of thought.

  "To find alien life or whatever. I dunno."

  "But I am alien life," the rock exclaimed, losing its patience. "You're found it."

  Wade pushed his chin forward. "Ungh... I dunno man. I'm not sure."

  "You're not sure about what? From your perspective, I'm an alien. And I'm talking to you, so I'm intelligent."

  "I don't think you are. I mean, no offence, but you're just a rock," Wade said, his palm up to it.

  "But-But I'm speaking to you? I'm even sure I have a more extensive vocabulary than you!" the rock sputtered.

  "I dunno... Nah, this cannot be." Wade scratched the outside of his helmet, mulling it over.

  "Seriously, what is there to think about? Just get me in touch with a scientist," the rock said.

  "What would a rock have to say to a scientist?" Wade asked, laughing.

  "The very fact I'm able to talk is enough!" the rock said, losing its patience. "Really, man, how thick are you?"

  Wade thought about it for a moment. Then he waved the comment away with a gloved hand. "Nah. I'm leaving, my beer is waiting for me in the truck." He started to walk towards his truck.

  "No, wait! Wait!" the rock's voice became smaller and smaller as he left it behind him.

  Wade climbed on his truck. He stopped, thinking it once again. He hopped back down on the ground, his boots crunching on the frozen rocks below. He reached out and picked one that was about the same size as that goddamn talking rock from earlier on, and he chucked it at the back of his truck.

  There, quota met. The computer would be happy.

  He climbed on his truck, went inside the familiar cabin, cycled the airlock, unscrewed his suit's helmet, and drank Callisto beer.

  "Ah, yeah!" he said, smacking his lips together with the taste of the beer on them.

  He sniffed, then held on the steering wheel. The computer was happy about the day's quota and rock samples, so he could just head on home and put his feet up.

  One hand on the wheel, a beer in the other, songs in his ears and his face towards the Hub, he felt great about livin'. He'd let nothing disturb that, no siree.

  "Stupid rocks and their talkin'," Wade shook his head, driving on home.

/>   The End.

  Euclidia

  Euclidia was the only Geometer brave enough to go to the obsidian mine. The problem was simple, as such problems went: The obsidian golems had gone on a strike.

  "Knock, knock," she said lamely when she reached the mine's entrance. It was simply a cave that had been dug out properly, with the added supports to keep the roof up. It was on the side of the island that met on a path with the shipping pier.

  "What do you want?" the black voice of the obsidian golem came. It was like speaking inside a glass box.

  "I'm Euclidia," she said, braving another timid step inside. "I've come to negotiate."

  "Do what?" the golem asked.

  She all but slapped herself. She knew that golems could converse and could sometimes appear as if they were intelligent, but really all they could do was some basic back and forth in correspondence.

  So, no big words, really.

  "I've come to talk. You're angry about something?" she added.

  "Yes..." the golem said.

  "Okay. About what?"

  "About how you Geometers treat us. It's not black at all."

  "Okay, that's good. I mean, that's black. I get it, you want to be treated blacker. Right?"

  "Yes," was the simple reply from the golem.

  Euclidia dared another step inside. She couldn't see inside the mine, as it was dark, and the golems needed no miner's lamps. "Black. We can talk about that. Can I see you, face to face?"

  "Why?"

  "Well, that's how people talk." Her eyes darted around the dark interior, trying to see the golem.

  There was a pause, then a shuffle, then some stones cracked as it shifted. It finally appeared, reflecting some of the sunlight on its glossy surface, vanishing like a visual illusion into the darkness. Keeping her gaze on it was a dizzying experience, but she kept doing it.

  "Oh, hi there. Black to meet you."

  "Sharp," the golem replied as they sometimes did, with obsidian qualities that they considered good. It was part of their vocabulary, and the weird thing was that none of the Geometers claimed to have put that in their magical programming.