Time Flies At A Standstill

by Marc Morisseau

 

Okay, time for a new post. It's 2024, seems like Eons since the last one on this site. The RISFC, the organization for whom this blog was originally created, has undergone some big changes.

For one, there was COVID. COVID has pretty much killed the in-person Fan Clubs like ours. We've had fewer members at our monthly meetings, so we decided in January of this year to meet Quarterly. Now we'll get together formally in January (our Holiday Party), April for an event with a different theme each year; June for our Annual Picnic; and October for Halloween. In between we'll meet at friends' home for smaller watch parties, Movie trips, Conventions, and whatever else people want to do. The days of 40+ people at a RISFC meeting are over (people are more accustomed to getting their Sci-Fi fix on their phones), but a stalwart few will still meet in person, cause in-person is still the most...personable!

What does this have to do with Rogue Island Station? Nothing, except that this was a writing project for Club members years ago. More importantly, we've had to make some changes to our RISFC.org website, as it will be replaced with a Blogger site. Hopefully we can connect the two and start writing for this one again. We'll keep you updated. 

 

Update on Rogue Island Station

   A lot has happened since the last post in 2014! My daughter grew up, graduated from college, and got married. I have moved on to another job. Let's just say life has a way of flying by, and Rogue Island Station took the hit.

This project has always been a labor of love since my friends and I from the Rhode Island Science Fiction Club started it as a writing project all those many years ago. I've always thought this would make a great web comic, along the lines of Sean Wang's 'Runners' (look up his site if you love great SF comics, you won't be disappointed.). 

But for now, until I can organize the storyline and get it resumed, please check out our website:
www.risfc.org.  And if you live in the Rhode Island area, please check out the Meetings section of the site, and join us for one of our monthly events.

Hey, if you have any ideas for Rogue Island Station, please send them along! It just might set the spark that gets this project up and running again.

Thanks,

Marc

'A Bibbit's Work Is Never Done'

   Author: Marc Morisseau

Bibbit woke up in the garbage chute again. That's what usually happened after a night of binge drinking at one of the station's many small time bars. He would roll in, consume any leftover alcohol from the glass of a patron foolish enough to leave a drink unattended, get caught by the owner, and usually ended up in the nearest garbage chute.

That was okay with Bibbit, because when he wasn't drinking, he was eating garbage. It was his job, and he took it seriously: wander through the many garbage chutes and access tubes in the station,  eat the garbage, and scrub the area clean.  His internal furnace engine broke down the junk into fine particles, which he stored in his hindquarter section. So when he literally had to take a dump, he would roll over to one of the external ports, stick his butt into the exit, and let loose. The stuff just dissipated into space.

"Bibbit, Mr. Bibbit, please report to Central Command." It was Floyd, the station's computer. Bibbit flayed his arms and legs, trying to get on top of the garbage pile. He reached out to the control panel, inserted one of his fingers, and gave it a twist. The garbage chute recognized him, and opened the door, where Bibbit was unceremoniously tossed into the hallway.

"Well, better get rolling" hummed Bibbit, and he headed toward Command.

System Changes

"Floyd here. System is experiencing some type of temporal anomaly. Timelines seem to be merging and changing. Unsure of result, but will backup core data, and report on any new changes. Floyd out."

Chapter 11: "The Shlarg"

Author: Marc Morisseau

-Woonsocket Module-
Gripp stood at the edge of the rink, and looked out over the ice. He was always the first to arrive during the morning shift, the last to leave when the hockey games were finished, and the fans retired to their homes for the evening. For the last 60 cycles, this rink was his pride and joy, and he reveled in its pristine condition. He looked up to the rafters at the holo banner that displayed “Rogue Island RockHounds: Season Champions.”

He adjusted his skates with two of his arms, using the other two to steady himself on the boards. He grimaced a bit as the lower right cyber arm adjusted itself to the cold, servos whining in protest. A quick push, and he was off to the center of the ice. The surface was a bit slushier than usual; he’d have to speak to the inhabitants of the rink.

He reached the center of the ice, and stood in the face off circle. Gripp lowered his arms, closed his eyes, and heaved a huge sigh as he cleared his mind. The ice became softer, almost the consistency of yogurt, and started to climb his skates. Being only four feet tall, it quickly covered his smooth, emerald green body. Gripp mused about the time a child commented that he looked like an ancient Earth confectionary known as ‘gummy bears’, but with all those arms and sharp teeth. The Rinkmaster opened his eyes, and saw that the ice had stopped climbing when it reached his head.

“The Shlarg welcomes Gripp” the ice said. “Gripp is glad to be in the Shlarg’s presence” he replied. “Look, I need you to be at your best tonight” Gripp said. “The junior hockey league has their semi-finals scheduled for this evening, and the kids would really appreciate a nice, smooth skating surface.” “The Shlarg like Gripp, we like the feeders. We will be happy to comply.”

The Shlarg fed off the kinetic energy created by the skaters. They were the equivalent of Earth’s coral reefs; small colony creatures that formed one massive life form. But the Shlarg were also sentient.

When the First Ones settled on to Rogue Island, it was decided that they needed a place for recreation, to take their minds off the fact that they were pretty much stranded in deep space.  The Woonsocket contingent quickly voted to convert their ship into an ice rink, and hockey at Rogue Island was born. The Shlarg were discovered by accident; they covered the walls and floors of the station when it was first discovered. By the time all remnants of the Shlarg had been scooped up, and were ready to be tossed out an airlock, enough of them had come out of hibernation to engulf the poor tech that was disposing of them, explaining who they were, and how they had been stranded by the station’s former inhabitants. So the Shlarg were invited to occupy the ice rink. They would survive and thrive under the arrangement, communicating telepathically.

“Great, let’s get ready, shall we?” Gripp waited until the Shlarg melted away from his uniform, then started to skate across the perimeter of the rink. He could feel the Shalrg surface getting firmer as he picked up speed, throwing in a few leaps and jumps along the way. “Yes, Gripp said. It’s gonna be another great night.”

Chapter 10: Kinship

Author: Marc Morisseau

“I don’t get it, Ida” Skitch said. “We’ve been studying this thing for three days now, and I still don’t have a clue as to what it is, where it came from, or how it managed to transport the Commander to us, just like I wished.” I’Da’Arae, the station’s Security Chief, gurgled. “Perhaps it is limited in its wishes”, she said. Skitch could tell by the twitching of Ida’s tentacles that the plant was as frustrated as he was. “Doesn’t the Earth tale say that only three wishes may be granted by the holder of the magic amp?” “Lamp, that’s lamp, Ida” Skitch answered. “And if that’s true, you’re saying maybe I used up the last wish?” Ida bowed in agreement.

“Ok, well, there’s only one way to find out.” Skitch flipped a switch on the exam table where the object lay, bathed in the orange glow of the containment field. One of Floyd’s robots, ‘Trixie’, was holding the object on the table with one of its claws. ‘Thanks, Trixie, I’ll take it from here,” said Skitch, and the wheeled robot released the object, then backed away from the table. Now that the field was off, he  picked up the object, cupping it in his hands. His body had turned a bright turquoise.

“I wish I knew where this thing came from,” Skitch whispered. A flash, and the room was gone. Skitch, Ida, and Trixie were standing in the middle of a star field, a myriad of planets surrounding them. There were bright red filaments connecting the worlds, and flashes of light raced between them. In the center of the field was a glowing ruby star, “no, it's the object",  Ida thought. Another flash, and they were back in the exam room, the object now held tightly in Skitch’s hands. “Wow, that was amazing!” Skitch screamed. “I’ve never seen anything like!” “I have” said Ida. I’ve seen that star system before.” 

Chapter 9: "Be Careful What You Wish For" Pt. 2

Author: Marc Morisseau
Originally Published: 7/30/01


"Floyd, get a level 3 containment field around this object!" Darian shouted. "Containment field active," the computer toned. "Do you wish to activate quarantine protocols?" "No thank you, not at this time" said Darian. "But if you detect any increase in energy levels from this thing, this whole level gets evacuated. Understand?" "Oui, monsieur", Floyd answered. Darian would have to look into who was teaching Floyd to speak French. He leered at Skitch, who's crystalline body had turned blood-red. "I-I don't know what happened, boss, Skitch stammered. "I was just talking to Broxy, said something about you being here to see this, and wham! Here you are in the flesh. Pretty cool huh?"


Salyenka's Apartment
Chal could feel the pheromones working, like a huge weight pressing against his body. He was weakening by the second, as Salyenka moved closer. He closed his eyes, waiting for the feel of her avian body, but it never came.
Chal's eyes widened in fear as Salyenka let out a primal scream; her form arched back in pain, her talons grabbing at her throat. The jewel set in the base of her neck was glowing, and Chal felt the release of the pheromones. He bounded off the bed, and raced to the doorway. Grabbing his clothes in a panic, he bolted out the door, leaving Salyenka alone in agony.