Floppyshop 2/Floppyshop - 2.zip/Floppyshop - 2.iso/diskmags/0022-3.564/dmg-0022/v1_comp/data/doc25

Text File | 1997-04-16 | 12KB | 216 lines

üSTARFIEND Çby L.S. Murray

Originally  published in üST NEWSÇ Volume 1 Issue  6,  launched  on
November 15th 1986.

This  time,  we proudly publish another novelette,  taken  from  a
computer  magazine  from  May  1984.   ©1984  by  Business   Press
International, Ltd.

 Each time as he fired, an enemy died.  His face wore an impassive
blankness as his fingers,  barely moving, operated the controls of
his machine, but his eyes were filled with resolve and dedication.
He knew that the end was near but his gaze did not wander from the
screen  to the protentous fuel gauge for an  instant.  That  would
mean missing a target,  wasting a round.  He never wasted a round.
To shoot was to destroy.
  The fuel ran out.  The shrill sounds of the warning  filled  his
ears  as  the controls froze.  His last missile smashed  into  the
target  ships,  blowing them into incandescent  fragments.  For  a
while  the screen was clear,  then two enemy ships popped  out  of
hyperspace ahead of him.  One flashed across his field of  vision;
Starfiend's  finger touches his fire button automatically and  the
ship  ceased to exist.  Meanwhile,  the other accelerated along  a
wide curve,  clear of his field of fire.  It was going to ram him.
They wanted him that badly.
  The screen blazed blue-white,  and the echoes of  the  explosion
chased  each other up and down the arcade.  Starfiend  gurgled  in
delight and,  in answer to the machine's prompt, entered his name.
It  appeared,  in coruscating letters,   at the top of the  screen
while  below it the machine proceeded with the important  business
of enticing the next client.
 As Starfiend turned to leave, he bumped into the man who had been
watching him over his shoulder.  Starfiend had not seen him arrive
but  such  had been his concentration that this did  not  surprise
him.  "Sorry," he mumbled cursing his tongue,  which seemed like a
roll of carpet and which made his life a misery.  He knew that the
man would not understand him.
 "That's alright, son," replied the man. Starfiend gasped inwardly
at his error.  Normally,  if strangers bothered at all they  could
only  understand  him with persistence  and  repetition.  The  man
continued,  "I've been watching you,  and I'm very impressed.  You
must have put in a lot of practice." He paused, inviting a reply.


  Starfiend  wriggled in inner conflict.  Experience told  him  to
escape,  before  the innocent conversation became  an  embarrasing
trap  for  them both,  but curiosity and  excruciating  loneliness
urged  him to stay.  "No," he ventured,  the word rolling off  his
tongue like a sticky clay ball.  The stranger raised his  eyebrows
in interested astonishment.  Emboldened, Starfiend continue: "They
moved  this  machine in on Monday.  That was the fifth  time  I've
played it."
  The  stranger nodded.  He had  understood.  He  scrutinised  the
machine's score chart.  The top five entries were Starfiend's. and
his  lowest score was twice that beneath it.  "They'll never  grow
rich  with  people like you about," he quipped,  then  added  less
gently, "Shouldn't you be at school?"
 Horror and suspicion flooded Starfiend's mind. Was the stranger a
school inspector;  a truant hunter?  Brazenly, he responded, "Yes.
Right now, I should be attending a music lesson. The music teacher
likes choral work.  Not much point me being here,  is there?"  The
last sentence was spoken in a bitter tone.
 The stranger looked thoughtful. "You don't like school?"
 "I would if it liked me."
 "Have you considered a special school?"

 "I have;  but my parents think that I'm better off with  'normal'
boys."
 "So you come here to avoid school?"
 "No!" Starfiend was adamant.  "School's unpleasant; and there I'm
average to poor.  But here, I'm king. The arcade owner never turns
the machines off,  so my name's on top of all their lists. I don't
want  them  to know who Starfiend is.  I know,  and that's  all  I
need."
  The  stranger nodded,  as if he had heard something  he  already
knew.  "Are  you going back to school now?"  he  asked.  Starfiend
nodded. The stranger continued, "May I walk with you?"

 They left the arcade and made their way down the High  Street,  a
canyon  of  corrugated iron and plywood made  both  colourful  and
seedy  by  a profusion of posters advertising gigs  and  wrestling
matches.  For  a while they strolled,  silent amid the  noise  and
fumes,  then  the stranger remarked,  "Have you ever wondered  how
those machines work, Starfiend?"
 "Microprocessors," replied the boy,  instantly realising that the
word was a meaningless reflex action. "No, I guess not. I asked my
physics  teacher  once,  but all I got was a load  of  chat  about
energy gaps and conduction bands."
 "I'm surprised you remember those terms."
 "Once I learn to say something, I don't forget it."
 The stranger flushed. "I'm sorry."
 "It's alright, I didn't mean it like that." Actually, he had, but
Starfiend felt ashamed of his petulance.  New friends were not  to
be treated so badly.  "Tell me," he asked, "how do microprocessors
work?"
 "I don't know, I'm not a scientist, I'm a soldier. No, the reason
I brought the subject up was to point out a curious anomaly.  Does
it  not seem strange to you that developments in electronics  over
the past few years far outstrip those made in other fields?"
 "Do they?" said Starfiend.  As if cued, wo sports cars leapt away
from the nearby traffic lights, their exhausts bellowing and tyres
squealing.  They raced neck and neck up the hill and were lost  to
sight.
 "Take those cars," said the stranger.  "They have components made
of advanced steel alloys,  and electronically controlled  engines,
yet  they are based on principles known to the Romans;  hot  gases
expand.  But they are grossly inefficient. Don't you think that in
2,000 years something more elegant could have been contrived?"
 "Like what?"

 "I told you, I am not a scientist. But where I come from, we have
engines as far in advance of those cars as they are in advance  of
Newcomen's.  That,  and  a  thousand other  wonders,  such  as  my
presence here."
  "Where do you come from?" Starfiend felt cautious.  He  was  not
afraid;  if the stranger intended him harm,  he could have done so
already. Perhaps he was insane. Yes, that was it.
 "I will tell you in a minute. First, though, let me ask you this:
how  is  it,  do you think,  that I am able to understand  you  so
easily?"
 "I don't know."
 "Perhaps this will make it clear."
 For a second Starfiend wondered what he meant.  Then it dawned on
him;  the stranger had not moved his lips.  He had not spoken  the
last sentence.
 "Telepathy," thought Starfiend aloud.  His immediate reaction was
one of relief. He had been subconsciously puzzled by the ease with
which he and his friend could communicate and,  above all, he knew
that he could rest his aching tongue.  Suspicion came  next:  "How
much can you see?"
 "Only what you want me to.  Others I know can see more,  but they
don't look without reason."
 "What's it like?"
 "Seeing.  Hearing.  Touching.  But there are drawbacks.  Consider
those cars we saw. If I tried to drive one through your traffic, I
would be dead before the day was out.  My reactions are four  time
slower  than  your people consider normal - 12 times  slower  than
your own."
 Starfiend was pleased by the indirect compliment.  He noticed  on
reflection that the stranger's gait was rather ponderous.
  The stranger continued,  "So we read minds.  Those who are  born
without  the ability can be cured.  The reaction speed we  can  do
nothing about."
 "Please tell me where you're from," begged Starfiend.
 "Try a guess."
  "I  suppose the chances of a race from  another  planet  looking
exactly  like  us  are  negligible.  I doubt  that  a  country  of
telepaths  could  remain  undiscovered.   That  only  leaves   one
possibility."
 "You're right.  I'm from your future.  Your scientists know  that
time   travel   is   possible,    but   they   shrink   from   the
consequences..."


 "Which are?" Starfiend had already discovered that  interruptions
were  much  easier  in telepathic  conversation,  in  fact  almost
unavoidable.
 "Effect without cause.  Call it backwaters in time,  if you like.
It's no more difficult a concept than Einsteinian relativity would
have been to a contemporary of Galileo."
 "But what about all the objections?  Like killing your own father
before you were conceived?"
  The  stranger laughed.  "You might cause yourself  to  cease  to
exist.  Or not.  Or you might not be able to kill your father,  no
matter  how hard you try.  In any case,  don't let it bother  you.
Time travel is possible.  The space-time continuum can be changed,
but  it  is elastic,  and changes tend to  smooth  themselves  out
eventually."
  Questions whirled in Starfiend's brain.  The  stranger  answered
them.  "Yes,  we  still have weapons,  and wars to be fought  with
them,  although not amongst are own kind.  Far, far in the future.
No, we don't use our control of time against our foes, since to do
so  might  provoke  retaliation  that  could  destroy  everything.
Everything!  Neither do we or the enemy allow artificial minds  to
fight for us."

 He saddened, and answered Starfiend's last question. "Yes, we are
loosing. That is why I'm here."
 "Your telepathy is useless in war,  and your slow reaction  speed
leaves  you  at a disadvantage.  Why don't you send  computers  to
fight your battles for you?"
  "Because  that would start  an uncontrollable race  which  would
lead to sentient machines - sentient creatures - being created  to
destroy   each  other.   Neither  us  nor  the  enemy   are   that
dishonourable."
 "Then change your reactions."
  "We cannot.  We no longer have the necessary gene pool.  I  have
come to get those genes."
  Starfiend  knew that he should wake out of what seemed to  be  a
dream, or be terrified, but neither happened. Instead, he quivered
with excitement. "And the arcade games? Microelectronics?"
 "Screening machines.  Presents from us to you,  given through the
minds of your engineers. I know you want to come, Starfiend."
 "My family..." hedged the boy.
 "I can make it as if you have never existed. There will have been
a  minor disturbance outside your house the night you  would  have
been conceived. You will become a backwater in time."
 "Truly?"
 "We cannot lie with our thoughts, my friend."
 "Alright." Instantly, Starfiend felt a wrench within his stomach.
A car move 10 metres forward instantaneously;  a piece of paper at
their feet vanished. Throughout the world, similar trivial changes
took  place.  Starfiend's parents had a new son who was normal  in
every respect, and they were happy.
 "Ready?" said the stranger.  Starfiend nodded.  They turned  into
the  vandalised doorway of a shop,  where a dazzling bluey  purple
ball  appeared at stomach height.  It delated into an  ellipse  as
large as a man. Through it, Starfiend saw his first glimpse of the
land where he would be a hero.
 The time traveller grasped his wrist firmly but gently.  "You can
still  go  back," he said.  Starfiend shook his  head  vigorously.
"Mind the edges, then," said the time traveller.
 They stepped trough.