The rising twin suns peeked over shining blue mountains, casting their gaze on Woźniak’s hulking frame as he dipped his paintbrush into the can.
inside the cabin, a crackling record started playing and a centuries-old ghost sang about trees of green and the beauty of red roses.
Woźniak watched small droplets
The ship’s hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss. My team stood behind me as the door lowered to create a ramp. I walked about halfway down and stopped. The grassy meadow we’d chosen for landing spread around us. A dense forest circled the meadow in every direction.
“I’ve got the xallenite,” Myra said
Some posts were lonelier than anywhere else in the universe.
The lighthouse at the edge of the Black Nebula was loneliest of all.
It existed literally in the middle of nowhere. Near no star systems. Out of the way of everything except a backroad intergalactic freightway that hardly anyone took anymore, unless the cargo wasn’t
Any ship on approach gets to see the giant ring I call home. It’s a beautiful structure, gleaming brightly against the backdrop of space. Great place to live, but honestly—a circle is the worst when you’re trying to evade someone who wants to space you.
Robyn whipped around a corner. She tried to activate her comms
The blast doors gave way, pummeled into slag metal by relentless energy blasts.
Cody lowered his hands and marched into the centrifuge. The surviving Takton sentries retreated, their clawed toes clacking on the icy floors. Frost bitten wind whipped Cody’s hair and tugged at his tattered wool coat. Fists clenched and teeth
The Taxman’s Cull could lay easy claim to being the seediest bar in the country—and the country itself was no picnic. It was a loose confederation of drug kingpins, mobsters, and pirates—barely stately enough to call itself a nation. Police and military tried in vain to keep order, but the city of Oryphon overwhelmed them.
Read it now
“I’m Luke Skywalker, and I’m here to rescue you!”
I stride through the doors of my time machine, my compact, titanium blaster swinging jauntily from my hand.
Beneath her white lace cap, the young woman’s eyes widen. She scrambles to her feet. The iron chains clamped to her wrists rattle loudly.
The synaptic probe slides into my brain, battering down the doors to my treasured memories. There is no time to prepare for the pain. Instead, I focus on the memory of a kindly old face.
Would my creator be proud of me?
“Are you smiling, RS-47? Such emotional mimicry will not hold sway here.”
By Meaghan E. Ward I lean harder against the apartment wall and press a mask to a little girl’s face. Outside, ash rains on the desolate streets of Mid-level, Sector 4. The staticky hiss of the blast cannon’s recharge and the click of heavy boots echo from everywhere and nowhere. “Did I not warn you?”
Read it now
It’s a girl.”
The phrase buzzes into my ears like a swarm of mosquitoes. Unwelcome. Unbearable.
A paper towel appears in the doctor’s hand and rubs at the clear gel slabbed over my stretched skin. Indifferently, though; a cold glob remains in my belly button.
A girl.
“Any questions?” the doctor recites.
The drop freighter loses its savage grapple with gravity for a moment. Everything inside the vessel rises and falls from the interruption. Like those old music machines with the plastic wheels. Discs. Records. They’d collect dust, and songs would skip.
“Ya know…” starts Sergeant Cava, battle rifle resting against his chest. “
The house sits in darkness except for the faintest orange glow seeping between the downstairs window blinds. Probably the boys watching TV, bundled in blankets, hoping their dad won’t come home tonight.
You have no right to those kids. By human law, they belong to Earth. So says the human government.
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