I’m a sucker for a sob story and a fuzzy face. These stinking adorable Pandeera pups blinking their big eyes at me are going to get my tail in the fire, I just know it.
Over the chatter of the pub, they tell me their hovership’s chargelink got sheared off while navigating through a
Phezz retrieved the last vial of poison from his belt. His mother had ceremoniously extracted the venomous substance from the tusks of his family’s herd of hairy and tortoise-like Jamjins for hunting. It seemed like a lifetime ago. During the peaceful times—before the Last Battle—before his brother activated the planet’s core defense
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If newspaper headlines could scream, this screech would be heard on my home planet.
Cash Reward for Bronx Kids Who Attempted to Kill Squirrel.
What monsters would reward someone for attacking helpless creatures? Earth-Humans, apparently. No surprise. Their cruelty is known throughout the universe.
I was here to stop it. I had to act
“I’ve always wanted to chase down a beautiful space princess!” Zaivar Witz remarked hopefully when the reward for the missing Princess Mira came through on the Interstellar Broadcast Bands.
Two days later, the hope solidified as his chances of nabbing the princess improved. He’d learned what he could about her, which wasn’t much:
I thumb my radio’s call switch with trembling fingers. “Instructor Enza? This is Amy Macpherson.”
There’s a buzz and pop of static. “Yes?”
“There’s a-a small issue with the trans-universal stabilizer, sir.”
“What?”
“A, ah, gorg rat was chewing on the cables, sir. I chased it off, but the wiring sparked and there was
Elianna released two bursts from her jet pack and realigned with Polaris.
The jarring incineration alarm blared on her exosuit, triggering her heart to beat a staccato. She suppressed a squeal. I’m actually saving the North Star!
Geysers popped and spewed gas on the yellow giant’s surface, hundreds of miles away, but she could
By Alicia Peterson When my grandkids ask about the Halloween Blizzard Invasion of ’91, I do what everyone my age does. I lie through my teeth. “Did Great-Grandpa Dave really let you run the flamethrower?” Six-year-old Nora asks the same question every time. I can practically see fire reflected in her hungry eyes as she
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October 29. National Cat Day. Once a holiday for sharing feline photos on social media but now a day of remembrance. The day I singlehandedly averted an interplanetary crisis and the world changed forever.
It started out as a normal, autumn morning. Felix and I had just finished breakfast on the patio.
“Rope secure?”
“Check.”
“Snacks on hand?”
“Check.”
I passed a bag of freeze-dried oranges to the shadow shaped like my roommate and watched him fumble to open it in the dark.
“Ugh. Connor. This is the best you have?”
“We’re in space, Barrett. Not many options.”
He sighed and shifted on the lumpy mattress.
“Once upon a time” is how the inhabitants of Earth begin their tales. But we are not Earthlings, and this is not a story of fiction. Gather ‘round as I recount how Moonfolk first encountered these aliens and how cunning and wit kept our world safe.
It was an ordinary day. Children were at school in the lunar craters.
Pastor Shantel peered through the little window of the flying saucer purring at three hundred miles per hour. Tsulee, the leader of the blue alien children, sat beside her, watching the screen track their progress to Area 51.
The craft flew high enough to be a speck from the ground but low enough…
The summer I first traveled to America, my father wore a red shirt so I could spot him in the crowds. Let’s just say that system doesn’t work if other people are wearing red shirts and you’re a five-year-old who can’t see above anyone’s butt.
As soon as we joined the mob in front of JFK to catch a cab, I got separated from Dad.
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