“Humanity’s greatest adventure: a footprint on Mars. We had enough to survive, but not, it turns out, to live. The rot was in our souls, sick for home, for green. Darkness took them one by one. Only I remain, marooned, looking to the stars for a final glimpse of home.”
Bill is from Aberdeen, Scotland. He is the end product of a centuries long breeding programme designed to produce the perfect human being. It didn’t work.
“Happiness is seeing Mars in your rear-view mirror…” sang Lorg as the planet disappeared from view. “Good luck colonizing that mudball!”
He turned on the vessel’s kitchen feature. Reaching for the hyperspace button, he hesitated and turned around instead. “I’d colonize an asteroid with Liya if she wanted.”
He sighed.
Penny Jo McAllister writes fantasy and has never left Earth.
Out in Jupiter orbit, Langdon woke, his panicked breathing echoing through his space suit.
A nearby helium miner picked up his SOS. Their medic examined him; traumatic amnesia, she said. They began the journey back to Callisto base.
Inside his body the creature stirred, sensing the presence of new prey.
My owner greeted the receptionist behind the counter and set my kennel down on the waiting room floor.
I pressed my nose against the bars. This wasn’t the veterinary clinic. Where―
“Welcome to Sepsihso Minor,” a mechanical voice crackled on the loudspeaker. “Veloroqi Sector LNQ4. Human Adoption and Dropoff Shelter.”
Of unknown origin, the Strangers became our saviors. War, famine, plague—ended. Progress happened swiftly, and society flourished.
No one noticed the changes right away; they came slowly, like a creeping fog. Four hundred years made us complacent.
By the time we realized they were gone, it was too late.
Lydia dropped off Hannah at her dad’s place, a rocky walk from home. She enjoyed the trek. They both did. The bubble helmet radios picked up every single word. Every breath floated into mother’s and daughter’s ears.
It was intimate, unlike with her ex-husband, the only other human on Titan.
The saucers appeared at 12:15 pm on Feast Day, when we celebrate victory over body shaming and our collective morbid obesity.
The saucers searched for intelligent life, abundant natural resources or a population able to power their work force back home.
The saucers left at 12:16 pm on Feast Day.
The Robotic Revolution was celebrated by some.
I received six rejection notifications today. My feet pounded the pavement from door to door in search of work. The stipend I receive feeds my family, but not much else.
Everywhere I’m met with the same message. “Now Hiring: Humans Need Not Apply.”
Three new planets are identified orbiting a distant star. Humans take two generations to approach them, investigating for necessary colonisation.
The first planet is too hot.
The second is too cold.
The third looks just right.
Hugely excited they land to find
a lifeless wasteland
and seabeds awash with plastics.
Vivienne Burgess generally likes to write something vaguely humorous, but the news keeps getting in the way.
I have been reading all of those stories about some strange creatures invading the Earth from another planet. One politician even says that there is a space war starting.
Don’t believe any of those lies. We are only visiting. We are staying for a long time because we like you.