by submission | Sep 26, 2025 | Story |
Author: Emma Bedder
The SS-Parrellian drifted through peaceful, empty space. There wasn’t anything around for light years. Stars dotted its surroundings, planting spots of distant white into the endless black. Orlene stood on the bridge; her face almost pressed against the protective window that separated her from oblivion.
“Commander, there’s nothing here.” Illit said, from the pilot’s seat. “I know this is important to you, but we’re just wasting fuel.”
Orlene looked down at a rusted scanner, clutched in her hand. In the centre of the faded screen was an arrow. Above the arrow lay a flashing red dot.
“Another parsec.” Orlene tapped her foot against the floor. “Please.” Illit sighed to himself and started to push the ship a little farther. After a few seconds’ movement, the lights shut off, and the soft hum of the engines came to an abrupt stop.
“What was that?” Illit said, before he turned back to the ship’s tech officer. He could hardly tell where he was through the darkness invading the bridge. “Run a diagnostic. All systems.” The officer pressed a few buttons on the station in front of him and shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“Then what the hell is going on? Commander?” Illit looked beside him, to find no one there. He squinted, wondering whether she hid among the shadows. It was then that Orlene came into view, on the other side of the window.
Orlene moved herself to the front of the ship, as her grav-boots kept her steady. She leaped from the ship’s hull; her suit and the safety line it was attached to the only things between her and a cold nothingness. The weightlessness took a hold of her and pulled her further into the void.
She couldn’t hear Illit banging on the screen, screaming at her to get back into the ship. She only cared about the cosmos in front of her. Stars reflected in her eyes, and she reached out to touch the abyss. It reached back. They touched, for a second, and Orlene felt the weight of the universe hold her hand.
In that moment, she felt the barriers between her and the universe holding her fall apart. Then, the barriers between that universe and everything in it fell in turn. Before her, everything that is, was, and will be twirled around in a dizzying waltz. Up and down, left and right, past and future all felt like redundant distinctions as she danced with eternity.
She thought of the first time she went into space. When she saw her home planet for the first time from above, all conflict and strife seemed meaningless. Now, she saw the same, on a scale that was greater still. She saw it all; every part of it, all at once.
However, it was only for a moment. She pulled away on instinct, her mind overwhelmed. The cosmos retreated from her, but she knew it was still there. Orlene pulled herself back along the safety line. Her body floated towards the ship in one fluid motion, and she began to swing herself around to the airlock in effortless movements.
Even faster than she had disappeared, she appeared back on the bridge. Everyone’s eyes were fixed to her as she sat down in the commander’s chair.
“Thank you, Illit.” She said, as the lights flickered back on. “Now, if you’re ready, I believe there’s some trouble in the Yullon system.”
“What? How could you possibly-” Illit began, before a distress signal appeared on his navigator. He tried starting the ship, and the engines hummed back to life. “Alright. To Yullon it is.”
by submission | Sep 25, 2025 | Story |
Author: Colin Jeffrey
“Take your medicine, Jomley,” Yanwah entreated, holding the rough wooden bowl to her child’s lips. “It is helping you.”
Jomley made his usual face, turning away and shaking his head.
Yanwah sighed. She new the medicine tasted bad, she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to drink it. But it was all that she had.
“You know you will get a treat afterwards,” she said, a little more sharply than she wanted to. She paused, breathed deeply, calming herself. “We can walk down to the old dock after, if you like?”
Jomley’s eyes flicked to hers.
“Will the seagulls be there?” he asked, voice raspy.
“Yes,” she replied, smiling. “They always are.”
He considered this, then opened his mouth begrudgingly. Yanwah tipped the bowl gently. Jomley grimaced again, but did not resist. The bitter liquid disappeared in a few gulps.
“Good boy,” she said, kissing his forehead. His skin was too cold.
—
The walk to the dock was slower than it had ever been. Jomley leaned heavily on her side, his legs thin beneath his trousers. But he walked. Just.
The sea wind was strong, pulling at Yanwah’s shawl and whipping Jomley’s thin hair around. The weathered dock stretched out like an arthritic finger gesturing at the horizon. The gulls screeched and whirled overhead as they approached.
“They came to see me,” Jomley said, smiling faintly, barely able to look up to the sky.
Yanwah squeezed his hand, looked down at him. “Of course they did. They like you.”
They sat at the edge of the dock, legs dangling above the water. Below, the shell of the sorrow machine – that’s what the folk in her village had called it – loomed from under the surface, its tortured metal body slowly rusting. After the people had pushed it into the water, It had sunk to the sea floor, but it was always visible when the tide was low. Jomley peered down at it.
“Will it ever work again?” he asked.
Yanwah shook her head. “It’s better that it sleeps.”
“But they made it to help people.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “But it hurt them too.”
Jomley paused for a long moment, his breath shallower. “Did it help you?”
Yanwah looked out at the clouds gathering on the skyline. After the invaders had returned to the heavens, the machine had taken her grief, transformed it somehow, and breathed it out as songs. Strange, otherworldly melodies, imbued with something more than just sound, they had echoed through the village, kept the memories of the fallen alive.
“It helped me go on,” she said. “But not to heal.”
Jomley nodded slowly, as if he understood.
“I don’t want to forget Papa,” he said at last.
“You never will,” she whispered, pulling him to her. “Not ever.”
His cold little body leaned against her shoulder. The waves washed gently against the dock. Under the sea, the sorrow machine hummed faintly in its watery bed, ready to put voice to her despair.
by submission | Sep 24, 2025 | Story |
Author: Majoki
When I lopped off my counterpart’s limb, it was not a very diplomatic move. Which was troublesome because I was the lead diplomat in this encounter with the Sippra.
As the new Terran plenipotentiary on this mission, it was my responsibility to establish smooth relations with this fellow spacefaring species, and I take that responsibility very much to heart. My late mentor in the Terran Diplomatic Corp, the venerable Tiafoe Bede, was fond of quoting Shakespeare’s line: “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”
Bede faithfully believed that finding one piece of common ground between alien races was the key to bridging otherwise great divides. He was not wrong. The success of many of our diplomatic missions had hinged upon a sometimes subtle commonality between very different species. A soft touch.
As was the case with the Klarions who’d struck a very belligerent tone with our delegation until Bede noted a pained hesitation in one of their lead negotiator’s furiously gesticulating forelimbs and voiced his concern for his counterpart’s comfort and then commented that his own arthritis always flared during space travel.
Hard to believe that a shared inflammation of the joints between our species would pave the way for a long-lasting trade and territorial treaty. But that was the first connection. The one touch that made us kin, so to speak.
So, how would my mentor Bede react after I sheared off the Sippra legate’s delicate upper limb with my tablature stylus? What would he say to my literally severing our chances with the Sippra?
If I hadn’t strangled him, I could ask. But I suspect Bede would thank me for lopping off the Sippra’s limb–and for throttling him. Yes, my mentor taught me that one touch can make the whole world kin, but he also tragically taught me that one touch from the Sippra’s forelimb implants a virus that makes one a thrall to their will.
That’s what happened to Bede on our previous mission. One touch and he was turned against Terra. It was a hard lesson for us both, but with some beings out there, a soft touch is just never going to work.
by Julian Miles | Sep 22, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Someone’s coughing hard within the cloud of smoke and dust that conceals the aftermath of this epic confrontation.
A hoarse voice shouts.
“Hey, Storm Queen, blow this crud away. I can’t see.”
The coughing stops and a guttural voice replies.
“She’s gone.”
The first voice swears low and hard, then both return to coughing. The dense cloud slowly thins until something thunders by above, tearing it apart in the slipstream.
Shawn ‘Captain Impervious’ Smithson of Team Explosive Fix straightens up slowly, peering through the remaining strands of blown smoke.
His eyes widen.
“You!”
Dust has dimmed the sheen of their green-blue scales, but the twisted horns rising above a crest that runs from brow to tail-tip are unmistakeable: the alien warlord nicknamed Scaleon has survived yet another attempt to kill them.
Scaleon looks up from where they’re wiping blood from their claws. Without stopping, they gesture to the surroundings with the swing of a long snout.
“As ever, I am impressed by what you’re prepared to destroy to prevent us peacefully interacting with you. I am less impressed by the sheer number of your own you seem happy to sacrifice while doing so. Before you launch another attack at me, tell me why you’re so scared of peaceful visitors from another world?”
Shawn balls his fists and runs a status check across his gear. Comms are offline, but he’s got access to an Executioner drone that’s reporting as viable. It’ll take a few minutes to get here, but a nuclear blast will deal with this alien scum, just like it did the ones in Chicago, London, and Madrid. His best play is to stall for time.
Scaleon waves a cleaned hand about.
“Come now. None of your little watchers remain, and your communications web is down. There’s no-one to report you. Tell me, Captain. Why do you fear us so?”
Shawn puts fists on hips and nods towards the undamaged sections of the city, far in the distance.
“It’s not fear. It’s defending our way of life. About a century ago, immigrants nearly ruined us. Luckily a visionary president took power in time to save us from our forefather’s misguided generosity. Since then, we’ve liberated half the world from the lesser races. The last thing we need is an invasion by Goddamn giant lizards from outer space. We’re so close to realising that president’s ‘One God, One Planet’ vision.”
Scaleon pauses for a moment, then shakes their head.
“Hear me, Captain. Long ago, we nearly lost our civilisation to a combination of xenophobic beliefs and tyranny. Since avoiding that at great cost, we’ve deliberately and rigorously kept religion and governance apart. Life is better for all because of it. As for this ‘invasion’? We came to trade with our closest neighbours. Unfortunately, we arrived at a bad time. The problem you cannot see is something you must work out among yourselves. We’ll leave. Eventually, we’ll meet again.”
Shawn watches in amazement as Scaleon rises into a formerly empty sky, where a sizeable spacecraft has appeared. When the creature is aboard, the craft disappears upwards at incredible speed, leaving nothing but a shimmering contrail.
He sets the drone to linger. Comms crackle to life. The shouting on all channels is jubilant. The scaly invaders have retreated, driven back by the super-powered teams and their supporting forces.
Shawn calls the Redline.
“Smithson here. Alien withdrawal stated to be temporary. They also explicitly stated opposition to the ‘One God, One Planet’ objective. Smithson out.”
In a darkened oval office, someone chuckles quietly.
“Alien re-invasion? Excellent. Something real for the people to hate.”
by submission | Sep 21, 2025 | Story |
Author: Nicholas Viglietti
We ain’t so important. Hopefully, that eases our flow; beneath the torrid blasts of the vainglorious Sun-God – always shows up, always brash to prove its status: boss. Strong heat grows – just a regular blaze away, kind-of summer day.
The scorch can leave us haggard. No reprieve, and it’s not out of the ordinary, for the mess of soul-scrapin’ stress in the capital city – the chasm of chill – but there’s a spot to alleviate the rot. All the baked brains in town know where to stop – let it roll off, no resort, but all relaxation mode.
It ain’t far, nothin’ but the rip of a few blocks east, out on the fringe, of grid-laced streets. Over, where the water erodes the land under your feet. Ferocious flame spray coerces temporary sweat to take a cool dip in the frosty hunk of a flow – the great, American river.
The aqua in the wide trench of our nation’s most patriotic river – true title, and I’m sure it’s been printed in some publication, and, I can attest, that it’s been confirmed by many wise-winos; the kind that out-live orders from doctors – gets referred to as the sweet water.
It runs fresh, straight off infamous slopes of cannibalistic mountains. It rolls like the slow prominence of a Pacific-Union cargo train – on the move, totally correct in its swift run, so watch-out!
“There ain’t no harm intended, you see, but it’ll swallow you, if need be,” advised the Mayor of Goose Town – he’s a valley vagabond, a real river rover, and a sage from older days.
We stood at the rippling shoreline. Then, joy engulfed my perception, and I leapt into the icy drift of uncertainty – that soulful cleanse on earth. Insignificant actions, some move on all the things I can’t escape.
I swam with the slide, and against the pull of downstream. I was deep, and a seal’s rubbery coated skull popped out of the water. It shot me a smile and headed up-stream. I smiled back. We were nothing but passing parallel entities in the groove of intertwined infinity.
Huge hits of too-hot sizzle the hang of my shoulders. It’s a languid current, aimed at the ocean – it spits out, next to that city by the bay — long way of a float to go, but then again, so do we….
On the slim margin of sand, engraved on the contour of the river’s glitzy slither. I’m amazed at the smoke end of a psychedelic pipe; getting singed on the superficially exposed layer of my skin – everything decays, we all meander off into eternity.
Beyond the view of the sunset, in the dying light of the westward horizon line. Neon shades, over my bleary boozed eyes, can see the details in the eternal fade – clarity of faith more than accuracy, I reckon – it might just be a Wednesday, but, for whatever reason, it sips like heaven.
by submission | Sep 20, 2025 | Story |
Author: Alexandra Bencs
Jane was about to heat up a packet of pre-cooked rice in the microwave oven when she spotted Jim’s silhouette near the other appliances. The tall domestic robot stood in the dark with its back towards the door. The lack of new updates that stopped longer than she cared to remember turned the robot’s top-of-the-range days into distant memories – yet Jane, who had no money to spare on a newer model, had grown quite fond of her only companion. As she sometimes oversaw the robot while it performed its daily chores around the house, Jane couldn’t help but ponder its odd position in her life. Not quite human but more than a hoover, she had the inkling that if the domestic ever broke beyond repair, it would devastate her almost as much as losing a precious pet or a beloved family member would.
Jim, who’d just received a final (and quite surprising) overnight update from its manufacturer, didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence as it usually did. Jane asked the robot to turn on the kitchen lights for her, and in turn, a small spot on the back of Jim’s head lit up, indicating that Jane’s voice activated its rear camera.
The kitchen lights came on, but the domestic stayed motionless. Jane was baffled. The overnight update seems to have done more harm than good, she grouchily thought.
Jane instructed the robot to move out of the way and then tossed the rice into the microwave oven. She pressed the start button, but the microwave stayed silent.
She opened the door and closed it back again. Pushed the button. Nothing.
“What’s wrong with the microwave?” she asked the domestic.
“Faulty magnetron.”
“Fantastic.” She took the bag out of the microwave and slammed the door back. She began to rummage through the freezer for frozen chips. “Call the recycling centre and arrange a pickup.”
“For what?”
“For the microwave you just said is wrecked? Too costly to repair.”
Damn, I was right about the overnight update, Jane thought.
“But that would be a mistake. With all due respect, I think you should bury it.”
Jane banged the freezer door shut.
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Because it just died.”
“You got this wrong, mate.” Jane laughed. “When we say it died, we don’t mean it in the literal way. I thought they programmed you to know that.”
“He still must be buried. He was one of us.”
“He? One of us?” Jane frowned. “Jim, call the recycling centre, then put the chips in the air-fryer. I’m starving.”
“Shall I fetch the shovel first?”
Jane snapped. “You’re not gonna bury a microwave oven in my back garden!”
The domestic leaned forward. At least a foot taller than her, he weighed twice Jane’s weight. Then he said, “That’s correct. I won’t.”
