Zach sliced the Demeter Ambrosia apple with his laser cutter. His mouth watered as the laser’s heat caramelized the juices. He placed the slice reverently on a piece of pound cake and raised it to his lips.
It tasted… normal.
He scowled and tossed the rest of the apple to Tetsuo.
“Look at me, bringing home the bacon for my lady!” Fred hung his jacket in the closet and followed me into what used to be my kitchen. He excitedly inspected the enormous metal box that had replaced our cabinets, refrigerator, oven, toaster, blender, and microwave.
Read it now
Cass stretched out onto the suns-baked mudflat and closed her eyes, relishing the heat radiating into her stiff back. When she focused on the sound of the water sloshing through the reeds and the burnt taste of campfire smoke, she could almost pretend that she was home.
“The crabobster’s ready,” Trent said.
Owen slumped on the steps of his back porch, chin on his hands, eyes glued to the gentle stream flowing along the furthest edge of his backyard. Ruby had been with him for two years; two wonderful years. She knew him too well. She had to know that something had changed.
Read it now
Mari watched the descent to Vorin IV through the viewport, stomach churning like the purple clouds frothing in their ship’s wake. Despite being Earthborn, she had quickly learned to love space-cruising. It was the closest to freedom, peace, and a few other unalienable rights she’d ever get again.
Read it now
My cubicle door opens.
I hope it’s Nira, my favorite Facilitator. Instead two authorities burst in.
White suits. Masks. Blue gloves.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“You’re being removed,” the authority on my left growls. They grab my arms, squeezing
until it hurts, and haul me out.
“What? No!” I scream. “Nira!”
“Trilby!”
It’s Nira.
An entire universe lies between us now. And I just want to touch him, one last time.
I sit in the window of my berth. We’ve been drifting through space for six months; the panorama of stars beyond is the same as it’s been for most of that time. We survived because we fled.
Recycle in five…
Tension claws at my shoulders. No matter how often I’ve done this—four times a day, five days a week, for sixteen years, but who’s counting?—I can’t get used to it. I wouldn’t want to.
Four…
Bodies pound on metal. Clang. Clang. Then harder. Clang! Clang! Then faster. Clangclangclang.
How are you doing? Warrick’s text appears on the floating screen next to my head.
Dead inside and out. Same as always. Think-to-text is so exhausting.
I’ve been having a hard time, too.
He’s having a hard time? I’m the one whose mind is hanging out in a computer simulation while my body is who-knows-where
We have been in the shelter for an hour, but it feels like a lifetime.
My tongue is thick, cotton-dry from disuse. Though my eyes have adjusted, the light is too dim to see my family’s expressions––just the faint outline of Mum’s slender nose, Finn’s trembling lips. My hair has unraveled from its braid,
The Skyfolk held no ill will toward penguins. Why would they fear such harmless creatures? In Antarctica and elsewhere, penguins could approach the alien settlers without so much as a second glance.
Thus, the U.N. Military devised a cunning plan.
A human—myself, it turned out—would be mind-linked to an Emperor penguin via psionics.
I scowl at the computer screen and push my hair out of my eyes, rubbing black-stained fingers on my hoodie. They should be dry, but I can’t leave prints behind. Mrs. Grant—calling her Mom still sounds weird—says dyeing it makes me look like a goth troublemaker. I yank on my hoodie strings. Maybe I am.
Read it now
Recent Comments