Free Web Fiction

Tyk’s parents, the elder stargazers, her entire hive, were certain that she would be born under Pyrrah, and grow to be a beautiful beacon of joy to bring happiness to her hive through the best and the worst times. Instead, as Tyk clawed her way blindly out of her egg, the first thing she ever saw would have been the bright glare of a wandering star making its way across the clear night sky.

There’s a problem with the Javelin Program. Well, there are probably numerous problems with the Javelin Program. I imagine that constructing several dozen interstellar spaceships, packing them with static humans and launching them in the direction of any remotely viable exoplanet within detection range comes with all kinds of physical, medical and engineering challenges.

Oyārun closed her eyes to concentrate on the video she was viewing through her neural interface. She wanted to finish her civics homework assignment fast. Just a few more hours, and then she would be done with everything that wasn’t on the preengineering track.

This went beyond usual abuwen, special interests like floater races, public transport, or space weather—no, it had to be a person, a living person, a public figure, and Aramīn at that. Oyārun knew some people had specific persons as their abuwen, and that this phenomenon was slightly more common among girls, but still she wished she could be somehow more ordinary. At least Aramīn did not displace her primary abuwen, paper folding. Yet.

Minotaur is my favourite city in all of colonised space. I know what you’re thinking. ‘Minotaur, Shana? Really? The City of Mediocrity? Too close to Earth to have any interesting frontier action, too far from Earth to be involved in any interesting Earth news; too old and fixed in its ways to have an interesting youth culture but too young and changeable to have an interesting historical culture; far enough away from everything else that the lag connecting to the Truesoul is frustrating, but not far enough to have connection dropouts and allow an interesting microculture to develop? The only interesting thing about Minotaur is how boring he is.’

I already know what my sentence will be, long before the judge begins to speak. In my unconquerable, relentless optimism, I imagine that there will be a miracle, that It will instead call for an immediate execution. I’m wrong, of course. There can only be one sentence for the slaughter of a god.

I race foragers to each mushroom with relish, changing from a tree to a bush to sometimes even the early autumn fog. After a decade, it’s easy to hold each shape; I don’t know if I can call this neuroplasticity any longer, in the absence of neurons.

Nerandi is a very unusual name, and a rather powerful one. It is an ocean name, which may influence my pensive nature, characteristic of water, and quickly changing moods, characteristic of the sea. Such influences are strong, although it is not the name that I was born with. I took it from a malevolent sea-fairy.

When I was setting up my equipment, turning off everything that had any kind of light, and puzzling over what exposure times I should use for my shot series (I’ve never been much for planning in advance), I still thought this was a great idea.

The settlement in Simrandu was called Nurathaipolis-in-Exile. It bore some physical resemblance.

She is upstairs, in the highest room of the tower. The cliff upon which the tower sits is too steep to scale; the only way up is through the dragon’s caverns.

We decided to take the draught. My parents didn’t like it. A lot of people didn’t. It was unnatural, people said. It wasn’t the real thing. It was empty. It was selfish. So we didn’t tell them.

I was twenty three when the angel bit me. Stupid, really; I should have seen the danger. A figure hunched in an alley, wearing a coat too large and a scarf too fluffy for the weather, eyes constantly tracking upward to the sky. But I just thought it was some poor homeless person who might need help.

Ze sang. Ze dived. Ze floated through the seas, all power and poise. Ze exulted in the spray of spume and the slap of waves. Time meant nothing.

When we pull into Venus port, I don’t head to the hauler bar, and the rest of the crew don’t ask me to. Where they turn left, I turn right, and head off among the locals.

We assumed that they were aliens. I mean, when something nonhuman approaches you from space and opens communication, it’s a freakin’ alien, right? Stands to reason.

Dear employees, Now that human personnel have been incorporated into our offices, several minor changes have been made to incorporate our newest sibling species. Employee Resources have released the following rules and guidelines for dealing with your new coworkers in the office environment.