Tag: science fiction

prompt: Write a story inspired by the saying “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

available at Reedsy

The stranger sat under a gelfim tree, shielded from the patchy rain and harsh sunlight, enjoying a mixed berry shave ice. Outside the gelfim’s shade, rising heat from the baked ground evaporated the rainwater as fast as it hit, turning the park into a giant sauna.

Those brave souls that ventured into the chaotic summer weather didn’t spare more than a glance at the stranger. It was obvious she didn’t belong here, and they didn’t want to catch her attention. For some it was fear, but most simply had no desire to be begged for a few credits by yet another war veteran from another world.

The stranger watched those that ignored her. From a distance, they seemed almost normal. She found it amusing how many of them stopped at the small pushcart for a shave ice. Something that, like her, came from another world. Unlike her, though, it had been readily adopted and assimilated as local.

One of the locals crossed the park, headed straight for where the stranger sat under the gelfim. The local’s antennae twitched nervously on the sides of her face, her ear slits open wide. She kept her head on a swivel as she approached, watching for what the stranger couldn’t guess. With a four-digit hand, she held out a bottle of water for the stranger.

“It’s dangerous out here you know, and with this heat you need to stay hydrated.”

“Thank you,” the stranger said. She took the bottle in her sun-darkened, olive-brown hand, enjoying the cold of it. “You’re too kind.”

“It’s the least I could do,” she said. “I’m Brithelt. I work in the War Veterans’ Assistance Bureau, in the main square off the other side of the park. If there’s anything I can do to help, stop by.”

“Thanks again, Brithelt. I’d tell you my name, but I don’t know what it was, and I hate the name Jane Doe.”

Brithelt waggled her antennae in assent. “I hope to see you again soon, Stranger.” She left the area under the gelfim walking so fast as to almost be running, only slowing down once she had reached the area where the shave ice vendor sat under an umbrella.

The stranger picked up her arm where it lay next to her and reattached it to the stump below her left shoulder. After flexing the robotic hand a couple times, she picked up her leg and attached it to the stump above where her left knee used to be.

She stood and picked up her heavy pack, slinging it over her shoulder. She’d have to find somewhere to sleep, and she hoped she could find something with air conditioning. Despite the technical nature of her arm, her prosthetic leg was basic, resulting in a rolling gait as she was forced to raise that hip to get the foot to clear the ground.

 The main square was busy for how miserable the weather was, but her destination was beyond that. She walked toward the industrial area. Cheaper accommodations could be found in the dirtier, noisier parts of cities. That was the same everywhere.

The stranger finally found a small boarding house behind a factory. She decided the cool, dry air in the room made up for the noise of the non-stop machines a scant fifty meters away that made, in all likelihood, more machines. The boarding house also didn’t require identification, accepted paper credits, and the room included an ensuite washroom.

She looked at herself in the dingy mirror of the washroom. Her close-cropped, light brown hair was sun-bleached to a straw blonde, her dark brown eyes looked black in the dim light of the room, and the scar that crossed from the bridge of her narrow nose across her left cheek, ending at her jaw stood out in sun-burned pink.

She took off her shirt, washed it in the sink, wrung it out, and hung it on the mirror to dry. She followed up by removing her leg and washing the sweat-soaked, padded sock and liner she wore under her prosthetic leg. After that, she did the same for the sock and liner for her arm.

The stranger filled the shallow tub with tepid water and climbed in. She scrubbed with soap and a rag, turning the water brown, then drained and refilled the tub to rinse as much of the residue off as she could.

She patted herself dry with a towel, grabbed her arm and leg, and hopped out to the room. She put the prosthetics where they got plenty of direct air from the vents, then lay on the hard bed to cool herself and drifted off to sleep.

The morning dawned heavily overcast with scattered showers, though the temperature remained high all through the night. The stranger walked out of the boarding house into a wall of damp heat.

She returned to the main square of the city and began searching for an address she had in her obsolete comm device. Spotting the address, she put the comm away and crossed the square to an office building. The doors opened with a blast of cool air and she walked in.

“Dr. Agellia?” she asked the receptionist.

“Take the lift to seven, his office is second to the right.”

The stranger nodded and took the elevator to the designated floor. She stopped just outside the elevator and set her pack on the floor. From her pack, she carefully unwrapped a small device. It was a box connected by wires to a metal halo. She pulled out two cylinders and screwed them into the halo.

Device in hand, she walked into the doctor’s office, under the sign that said, “Memory Treatments.”

She didn’t recognize him from anywhere other than the pictures she’d managed to find, but she saw his shocked recognition. His antennae twitched for a moment until he managed to get himself under control.

“I see you remember me,” she said. “Must be nice, I don’t remember you at all.”

“Where did you get that?” he asked, looking at the device she carried.

“Not your concern.” The stranger set the device on his desk. “This is the same thing you used on me, right?”

She leaned on the desk. “Don’t bother with an answer, I can see I’m right.”

“I didn’t want to do it,” he said, “because I knew it was a risk. You’d just been blown up in a covert op, for all the gods’ sake, but they made me.”

“They made you?” The stranger pulled out her comm device and played an audio recording. In it, Dr. Agellia could be heard saying, “We don’t know. We haven’t tried it on a human. Let’s test it on the Jane Doe. This could be valuable data. It’s not like she’s going to live much longer anyway. I’ll start small and erase just the mission.”

Agellia’s antennae flattened against his face, his ear slits opened wide. “But you’re here, so some memory must’ve come back.”

“No, doctor, it didn’t.” She pointed at the halo. “Put it on.”

“Now—now, this is not—this is a bad idea….”

“I said PUT IT ON!” She slammed her robotic hand on the desk, causing him to jump.

He sat frozen. The stranger picked up the halo and put it on his head. She flipped a switch on the device it was attached to and turned the dial all the way up.

“Can you fix my brain?” she asked.

“Wha—what?”

“My brain,” she said, pointing at her head. “Can you fix it? Can you get my memories back? I don’t even know my own goddamned name!”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” she asked.

“It’s not something I can do,” he said, his entire body trembling.

“It’s your choice. You either fix my brain, or I turn this on and those needles go into your brain, and I see how much of you I can erase.”

“But I—”

“Can it be done?!” She slammed her hand on the desk again for emphasis, making him jump once more.

“Theoretically, but I don’t know—”

“Good enough,” she said. She typed something into the device and turned the dial down. “I won’t erase your education. Just the last — say — six years. Everything that happened since just before you mangled my brain.”

“No, please! You’re being rash. Think this through!” he pleaded.

“I’ve been thinking this through for six years. Ever since I woke from a coma up in a military hospital ship, missing an arm and a leg, and filled with enough shrapnel to give a scrapyard operator a hard-on.”

She sighed. “Between surgeries, I had to learn all over how to talk, read, write, walk — with only one leg, mind you — and even tie my shoes one-handed. You. Took. My. Life.

“The only clues I had were that my DNA and prints were tied to a completely redacted military identity, and this recording on a burner comm. If anything, I’ve been patient.” She flipped the switch that sent the needles deep into his brain and started up the machine.

“I’ll see you when you wake up, stranger.”

prompt: Your character wants something very badly — will they get it?

available at Reedsy

There is little in life more disappointing than having the target of your desire snatched from your grasp at the last moment. Alex knew that feeling all too well. The third time was not the charm, as the saying would have one believe; neither were the fourth, fifth or sixth.

Alex smoothed her jumpsuit. It was a copy of the ones worn by everyone else around her, made smaller and shaped to fit her. The cool grey of the jumpsuit clashed with her warm, golden-brown skin, reddish brown hair, and bright brown eyes, but she’d gotten used to it.

“Are you okay, little one?” The querent wore a matching jumpsuit, though half a meter taller, with six sleeves that decreased in size from the top pair to the bottom, heavily sloped shoulders, and a collar that would look at home on an alpaca.

The creature that filled out the jumpsuit had pale blue skin under a thick layer of grey-white vellus hair. Large, oval, compound eyes reflected the light from the windows like a finely cut gem.

“You can’t call me that anymore, Gerla.” Alex crossed her arms in an exaggerated huff. “I’m an adult now. I don’t know for sure, but I’d guess I’m twenty-one or two in Earth years.”

“Yes, but I’m still bigger than you.”

“Not fair. I’m tall for a human, especially a human woman, but you’ll always be taller.”

“I’ll always be older as well.” Gerla petted Alex’s hair with one of their top hands. “You’ll always be the baby that was dropped off with me by the scout mission.”

“Baby nothing. I was seven and tending a flock of sheep by myself.” Alex sighed. “I guess I should be grateful that they brought me here instead of straight to the labs.”

“Almost as grateful as I am,” Gerla said.

Alex hugged the creature. “Quit being so sweet, Gerla. I’m trying to be mad at you for calling me little.”

“You can be mad at me after the hearing. We’ll have time for it then.” Gerla moved one compound eye close to Alex’s face and the nictitating membrane closed and opened over it. Alex recognized it as always coming before a serious question.

“What is it?”

“Why are you still trying?” the creature asked. “What do you hope to gain? Freedom to return to your home?”

Alex shook her head. “This is my home — here with you, and all my friends. I can’t even remember what my mother or father looked like, or the name of the hills where we lived.”

“Then why?”

Alex stepped back from Gerla and spread her arms. “What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see Alex—”

“No,” she cut them off, “when you really look at me. You see a human, the only one on this planet. At least the courts have finally decided I’m sapient, after completing all the normal schooling a thoran child would receive and learning all the official languages of Sular.

“Still not a citizen, though. Still an orphan, as they won’t let you legally adopt me.” She dropped her arms to her sides and a hardness overtook her face. “This is my last chance. The final appeal. I’ve overcome every obstacle they’ve thrown in my way, just for them to find new, inventive ways of denying me this last, simple thing.”

“A finding from the court means nothing,” Gerla said. “It also doesn’t matter that we share no DNA, you are my progeny, and I am your progenitor. Forever—”

“And always,” Alex finished. “But this is important to me.”

Gerla put an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “I’m behind you all the way.”

Alex nodded and checked the time on the wall display. “We’re up.”

The heavy white doors opened with a soft hiss and Alex marched into the courtroom, head held high. She stood at the tall bench which reached her armpits.

A bailiff brought over a small step for her, so she would be tall enough to talk into the microphone and she accepted it with a polite smile. Unlike the other appeals as she worked her way up in the system, this courtroom was packed with spectators.

There was a steady murmur that spread through the crowd as she entered and continued until the bell of court rang and brought them all to their feet. The judges entered and sat at their bench, above the courtroom where they looked down on the proceedings.

The bell rang again, and the spectators sat. The attorney for the state tilted their head towards Alex and slowly closed and opened their nictitating membranes. Alex returned the silent greeting as best she could with a head tilt and slow blink.

The lead judge spoke. “We are gathered to hear the case of Alex, semi-sapient specimen, petitioning for Sulari citizenship. Is that correct?”

The state’s attorney made no move to correct the judge, so Alex herself did. “Your honors, the District of Corima court declared me fully sapient and capable of entering into legal contracts over four revolutions ago.”

“State’s attorney, is this correct?” one of the other judges asked.

“It is, your honors.”

“You would do well to keep your motions up to date. Seeing that this appeal was filed two revolutions ago, the state had ample time to update their position.” The lead judge flipped papers with their lowest, smallest hands, while their upper hands formed the pose for a query.

“Given that the State’s initial position was based on the plaintiff’s status as a semi-sapient, am I to take it that your arguments are all based on that as well?”

“No, your honors. Our arguments are valid regardless of the findings of the lower court on plaintiff’s sapience.”

“Very well. The court will hear the plaintiff’s arguments first.”

The four judges looked toward the plaintiff’s bench, and the one closest to that end raised their upper hands in query. “Are we to understand that you are representing yourself? Here? In the highest court in the land?”

“I am, your honors.”

“If you would indulge us, why?”

Alex tilted her head. “The reasoning for that will be become clear in my arguments, your honors.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

“I would first like to say that, contrary to the State’s fears, I do not plan on attempting to return to the planet of my origin and providing advanced technology to a savage world.”

“Objection! Assumption of motive,” the state’s attorney called out.

“Sustained,” the head judge said. “Please stick to the facts.”

Alex smiled. “I call your attention to plaintiff’s evidence items one through four. These are the rejection letters for my adoption from the Enclave, City, District, and State. In every one of them, the stated reason is that I may, and I quote, ‘Return to the planet of origin and provide that savage world with advanced technology.’ End quote.”

The state’s attorney seemed to shrink. Alex knew how old those documents were, and as she’d only found them after the last lost appeal — buried within the mountain of discovery her last attorney had largely ignored — was certain that they hadn’t thought they would be brought up.

“Which brings me to the point of self-representation. Besides missing these documents in discovery, my previous attorney was too expensive to continue with. Having no rights as a citizen, I can’t work to earn money. Being unable to support myself, I am, as an adult, still as reliant on Gerla, my state-appointed guardian, as I was a child.”

Alex looked at each of the judges in turn as she spoke. “I was brought here by a scouting party as a ‘biological sample’ eighteen revolutions ago. I did not come of my own volition, I did not volunteer, and I am not a refugee. I am, however, in every other sense, an orphan now. I don’t remember much of my family on Earth or even Earth itself.”

She took a deep breath. “If not for Gerla, I would likely have been dissected long ago. They taught me the languages of Sulari, how to read and write, and everything I needed to know to get by in thoran society, except for how to turn into a thoran.”

She swallowed hard. “In the Sulari constitution, citizenship is offered to every person, no matter where born, by naturalization of twelve revolutions. I remind the court, I have been here for eighteen revolutions.

“It is arguable that when that was written, one-thousand, two-hundred-eighteen revolutions ago, ‘person’ meant only thoran. As of two-hundred-nine revolutions ago, though, that no longer holds true.

“This court, in the case of The Senate versus Senator Burla, found that any sapient is entitled to the same protections offered to ‘persons’ in the constitution. If that truly is the case, why, historically, has that extended only to protection against abuse and not protection against disenfranchisement?

“I would like to also call your attention to the Sulari Book of the Law, volume four-hundred, Section thirty-four-eighty-two-point-nine, paragraph two. ‘Pursuant to Galactic Trade Laws, Sular will make no law nor finding that is in violation of the Galactic Rights of Sapients, as ratified on the seventh day of revolution three-thousand-twelve.’

“The Galactic Rights of Sapients, number eight, which has remained unchanged since then states, ‘Any sapient who is unable to return to their home world or another world of their species, shall be considered stateless. No member state of the Galactic Trade may refuse citizenship to a stateless sapient on request.’

“The state has already made it clear that I cannot return to my home planet, and my species only has the one. As such, the quoted laws make the state’s actions illegal and unconscionable.”

Tears began to pool in her eyes. “Your honors, I have no illusions about my position. In time, Gerla will grow old and feeble, no longer able to work. The state will provide for her retirement, but that retirement doesn’t cover feeding, clothing, and housing me.

“Further, that retirement is only the barest of essentials. Gerla has been a parent to me and taken care of me the majority of my life. I’m just asking for the right to take care of them in their old age. As a citizen, and as their lawfully adopted progeny, I can do that. As a ‘biological sample that happens to be sapient’, I can’t.”

Alex wiped her tears. “Thank you, your honors. Nothing more.”

She’d done her best, taken her best shot. Now it was down to the state’s attorney and the judges. Alex listened to the state’s attorney hem and haw over reasons why she shouldn’t be allowed citizenship. When it turned, inevitably, to travel to Earth with all the ‘dangerous technology’ of the thorans, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Finally, the state’s attorney ran out of steam, and the judges left the chamber to discuss and make their decision. This was the part she hated the most, the waiting.

The wait was short, the judges returning in a matter of minutes. The lead judge said, “I have some questions for the plaintiff.”

“Yes, your honor.” Alex’s heart fell. This didn’t feel like it was going to be good news.

“How many of your previous attorneys brought up the original rejection letters?”

“None, your honor.”

“And how many of them brought up the Sulari constitution — specifically, naturalization?”

“One, your honor.”

“And did that one bring up The Senate versus Senator Burla?”

“No, your honor.”

They tilted their head. “And how many of your attorneys brought up the Galactic Rights of Sapients, and legal Section three-four-eight-two-point-nine, paragraph —” they flipped through their notes, “— paragraph two?”

“None, your honor.”

“Where did you study law?”

“In the law library of District of Corima. Gerla was kind enough to escort me there every spare moment for the last two revolutions so I could prepare for this.”

“No formal schooling?” one of the other judges asked.

“No, your honor. As a non-citizen, I’m not entitled to free education, and on Gerla’s salary there was no way we could afford it.”

The lead judge took over again. “If given citizenship, you mentioned you want to work. What kind of work would you do?”

Alex shrugged. “Anything. I’ll tend livestock, scrub floors, anything.”

They tilted their head again. “Have you considered a career in law?”

“I, uh — not until this moment.”

The judges whispered among themselves, then the bell rang again. The judges stood, and the spectators stood as well.

“It is the finding of this court that the plaintiff has neither the motive nor the means to return to their home planet. As such, the state has violated Sulari law, Section three-four-eight-two-point-nine. Plaintiff is awarded full citizenship immediately, and the rejection of the original adoption request is hereby overturned.”

The lead judge raised their upper hands in query. “Is your adoptive progenitor here today?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“One of the bailiffs will escort you to my office where I will be honored to perform your swearing-in ceremony and sign your adoption decree. As a citizen, I would highly recommend law school, and I hope to see you here again in the future, representing someone else.”

prompt: Write about someone who’s traveling to a place they’ve never been to meet someone they’ve never met.

available at Reedsy

Dr. A was probably the most famous anonymous person in the world. There are plenty of published scientists who are little-known and content to be private, and then there’s Dr. A. The Nobel committee spent over a year before they found someone who was in contact with the brilliant polymath. All their searching was met with an immediate refusal. Dr. A was not going to be seen in public, nor did they want the committee’s attention.

Despite this, the anonymous doctor had authored and published no fewer than seventy-four peer-reviewed papers in twenty-two journals. Every publication came with the same stipulation: the publication must be made available to the public for free, and all of Dr. A’s work is released into the public domain. With new insights in Quantum Mechanics, Physics, Materials Science, Mathematics, Optics, Medicine, Artificial Intelligence, and Economics, Dr. A’s work had sent dozens of industries leapfrogging each other to ever greater heights.

It was the Ultra-resolution MRI analyzed by a medical AI in a quantum computer that found a clump of four cancer cells in my brain. Besides finding the cancer, the UMRI was capable of focusing its magnetic field to a single cell, destroying it and the chemical signal it would normally send on apoptosis.

 I discovered I had brain cancer, and it was eliminated in the same visit, all without any symptoms. Since then, I’ve had annual follow-up visits where the procedure has been repeated. The largest clump was the second year, with nine cells. This year was the second in a row that there were none.

That’s all a very roundabout way of saying that, thanks to Dr. A’s work, I’m alive. As such, I’ve made it my mission to meet the person behind the pseudonym and shake their hand.

I started my search with the former members of the Nobel Committee for Physics, trying to contact the person or people who had contact with Dr. A in the past. After getting the runaround with emails, letters, phone calls, and even the odd fax, I decided I’d have to talk to someone in person.

Where I’d gotten put off, shuffled or ignored over other communications media, in person I was simply stonewalled. The committee and its members, past and present, take the privacy of recipients and nominees very seriously.

I’d spent nearly a month in Stockholm and was preparing to admit defeat, when I was approached in a coffee shop. I’m not sure that “approached” is the right word. A small person in a rain slicker brushed past me, reached out with a delicate, russet hand, and left a calling card in my coat pocket.

There was nothing on the card aside from a phone number. I waited until I was in my hotel room to call.

“You are looking for Dr. A?” the distorted voice that answered the call asked.

“Yes, I am. I—”

“Why?” they cut me off.

“I just want to meet them and thank them. I’m alive because of—”

“UMRI, nascent glioma. Multiple diagnoses and treatments,” the voice said, “we know. Is that all?”

“Is that all?!” Try as I might, I couldn’t keep my frustration out of my voice. “I want to meet the person who gave me the last nine years of my life, and every year that’s still to come after. I don’t care if I never learn their name or anything else about them. I just want…” I tapered off as realization hit.

“What is it you want?”

Brutal honesty was the tactic I chose. Not so much for the voice on the phone, but for myself. “I want to sit in the presence of someone so far beyond my intellect and just soak it in. It would be like being in the presence of a god.”

“You consider Dr. A a god?”

“No, that’s hyperbole. But I really do idolize them as humanity’s greatest modern benefactor. Dr. A is my sole hero.”

“Never meet your heroes.” The voice on the other end was quiet for a moment, then said, “If you want to continue your quest, call this number after you clear customs at Bagdogra airport.” There was nothing further as they hung up.

I spent the last week I had booked in Stockholm applying for an e-visa from India, picking it up at the Indian embassy, booking my flight to India, and canceling my flight home. At the recommendation of the woman at the Indian embassy, I also applied for and received an e-visa for Bhutan, since I’d be right there. Contrary to what I’d heard, it wasn’t difficult or expensive in the least.

I spent every moment I was out and about looking for the small person that had slipped me the card, but never saw them again. For just a moment, I thought maybe it was the woman at the embassy, but her nails were long, and her hands stained with faded henna. The hand that slipped the card into my pocket had neither.

I don’t know what I expected, but Bagdogra airport could’ve been any modern airport anywhere in the world. Some part of my mind was expecting something more…exotic, I guess. Ny unconscious bias leaking through.

When I called the number, the distorted voice answered on the first ring. “Your car is waiting,”

Considering what the voice on the phone knew about me already, it was no surprise that they were waiting for me as I arrived. I made my way out of the terminal and found a chauffeur standing in front of an old Toyota off-road truck with no top. The dissonance of the bespoke suit and pristine driving gloves of the tall man holding a sign with my name in front of a rugged, dented, and decidedly dirty truck did my head in. It seemed that my trip kept getting stranger by the minute.

He held the door for me, placed my single suitcase in the back, and gave a slight bow. The driver I hadn’t noticed, on account of her small stature, fired up the truck and we pulled into traffic as though we were racing to a fire.

After fifteen minutes in traffic, she turned onto a dirt road and sped up. Where I’d felt she was a dangerous driver before, now I thought she might be suicidal. No matter what I said, she never responded. I took the time to look at her hands. This might be the person that slipped me the card.

As the road disappeared and she drove through woods heading north, I watched her. There was something about the way she moved that convinced me she was the one.

I waited for a moment where the ground was a little smoother and the truck wasn’t rattling so much to say, “Thank you. … For slipping me the card, I mean.”

I couldn’t see her face, as there was no rear-view mirror, but I thought I saw her nod, just a little. It wasn’t until we finally stopped in front of a small house in the middle of nowhere that I thought about where we might be. The script on the door of the house was not like those I’d seen in India.

“We could’ve crossed at the official border,” I said, “I have a Bhutanese visa.”

The driver said, “I don’t. Neither does the doctor.” She got out of the truck and waited. There was to be no white-glove treatment here. I got out of the truck and grabbed my suitcase from the back. The dust of our off-road trip coated her face, and — I suspected — mine.

I followed her to the house, where we washed our hands, arms, and face in the icy water from a well pump. Following her lead, I took my shoes off on the small porch and followed into the house, dimly lit with a kerosene lamp in the deepening evening.

There, in an unassuming house in Bhutan, I met Dr. A and promised to keep their identity secret. They called the driver “Deva” even though I was assured that was not her real name.

The three of us had spicy chicken stew and red rice lager and talked into the wee hours of the morning. Both Deva and the doctor had done even more traveling in the previous weeks than I, and we were both out of whack with the local time, which made for a long conversation that began pleasantly enough.

What came next, however, soured the mood. The doctor told me that they were not the author of all the papers that bore their pseudonym. They had come from a future where the wealthy had pillaged everything the world had to offer before they traveled to the stars. The poor were left stranded and starving on a dying rock.

All the science that was changing medicine and physics and industry had been secret in their future and had been used to further enrich the wealthy and take them to the stars. Buried in the combination of it, they had missed how it made time travel possible. The doctor said their world had been different in the 2020’s, though.

I offered the possibility that other travelers had gone further back and changed something, and the doctor responded with the possibility that they had traveled to an alternate universe instead. Either way, they didn’t want to see what had happened to their world happen here.

When I asked about keeping the time travel secret, they said they weren’t worried about it. No one will believe it until the group of post-docs working on it at Caltech built the first working prototype. They estimated it would be done within the year. Once it’s built and proven, it’s a moot point.

The science has already been peer reviewed, the results replicated, and what could have amounted to billions of dollars’ worth of patents have been put into the public domain.

As I was preparing to leave, Dr. A said, “My world is already dead, my future is sealed. Yours is at the turning point. It’s up to you to do something about it.”

“How much of a difference can I make?” I asked.

They smiled, and the last thing they said to me was, “Think of all the time travel stories you know, how changing one small thing can drastically alter the future. That’s how. One small, positive change at a time.”

prompt: Start your story with people arriving at a special ceremony.

available at Reedsy

The Bihrelli sidled close to me. They were an average sort of Bihrelli; hermaphroditic, bipedal, two-armed creatures just under one and a half meters in height, with huge, black eyes that made them cute. This one’s skin was a pale blue, with uneven pale brown spots. Their tail twitched in the way that showed nerves or fear. There was nothing unusual about that, at least for this one.

“Hi, Jordi.” I’d long ago given up trying to pronounce their name and used a close equivalent. They’d done the same with me, even though they were always so tense when we met.

“Greetings, Tŷlŷ.” They said the vowels like some sort of mega-diphthong that mixed a, i, o, and u. “I am glad you are here for this.”

“Me, in particular, or the embassy guard?” I asked.

Their tail twitched even harder. “It is always a pleasantness to be in your presence, but I am relieved to see you — a…and the other guards — here in armed uniform to keep us safe.”

“Do you think there might be trouble?”

“There are many who do not want to see this treaty finalized,” they said. Their tail wrapped around my ankle as they moved closer. “The Drogne Empire has publicly threatened Bihrel and said that a treaty with Terra would be treated as an act of war.”

I could feel the trembling of their tail against my ankle. “You’re safe here, Jordi. I’ll make sure of that.” I put a hand on their shoulder. “Do you really think Drogne will try to attack if Bihrel has the backing of the Terran Union?”

“I think it would be foolish of them, but it would not surprise me.” They seemed to realize that they had hold of my ankle, unwrapped their tail and took half a step backward. “I am sorry for the inappropriate action of my tail.”

I looked into their big eyes. “It’s okay. Why are you always so nervous around me?”

They grabbed their tail and held it in front of them. “You are so big, and your weapons are frightening, and I — uh — think you are pleasing to look at and talk to and I just wish that I could find someone like you to…” their voice dropped to a faint whisper, “to parent with.”

I smiled. I’d suspected they might have a crush on me, but now I knew. “Well, adoption is always an option, but don’t you think you should take me for a date first, at least?”

I don’t know why I said that. Was I serious? The last thing I’d want to do would be to play with Jordi’s feelings and hurt them. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe I was serious. At the very least, I knew there was more to Jordi than just the cute puppy vibe that Bihrelli had.

“Natalia, report.” The voice over the radio interrupted my thought.

“West entry, no traffic. Jordi’s keeping me company,” I radioed back.

“Eyes on. Presidential motorcade is arriving at the south entry in five minutes. Bihrelli delegation arriving in seven minutes at the west garden landing pad. Be ready to escort them to the event hall. Jordi can help out with that.”

“Affirm, chief.” I turned back to look at the little Bihrelli. “You stay with me while I escort the Bihrelli big-wigs, and I’ll take you out to dinner this weekend.”

“Is the Kŷmŷ coming here?” they asked.

“Yes, Jordi. The Koimoi of Bihrel is coming here to meet with the President of the Terran Union.” There was no way I could pronounce the weird vowels of the name of office of the leader of Bihrel, so I pronounced it as most humans did. Surprisingly, the President was known for speaking fluent Bihrellian, and her pronunciation was even better than that of the ambassador, who was at the moment waiting to meet her motorcade.

I felt the vibrations of the Bihrelli shuttle landing in the garden, and held the door open at attention. The Koimoi and their retinue walked from the shuttle, their tails held in an appropriate upward curve. Jordi followed their example and got their own tail under control.

I left translation to Jordi and spoke in Terran common. “Right this way, please.”

No sooner had the last of the Bihrelli walked in the door than another shuttle, a rental, zoomed in to hover above the shuttle on the pad. Three waves of half a dozen Drognen soldiers dropped out of the shuttle. Where the Bihrelli were cute, the Drognens were anything but. Looking like a nightmare cross of a toad and a praying mantis, they slowed their descent with wings that were useless for anything other than dropping to the ground with style.

The alarm klaxon sounded through the embassy. I pulled Jordi behind me and began firing at the intruders. “Get them to the hall!” I yelled.

The sound of gunfire was evident from all sides of the embassy. One of the Drognens set off an explosive on the Bihrelli shuttle. There was no way the pilot survived it.

I stepped back to try to get in the door before the embassy went into lockdown, and ran into Jordi, who was still behind me. “Why aren’t you inside?”

“I cannot. The door is locked.” 

“The Koimoi?” I asked.

“Safe inside.”

I pulled out my sidearm and handed it to Jordi. “Know how to—”

“I know how to work your weapon,” they said, ensuring there was a round in the chamber and the safety was off.

“You continue to amaze me.” I swapped out magazines on my assault rifle; thirty-two more rounds and then I was out. “Make every shot count,” I muttered to myself. 

The Drognens were using the fire and smoke from the shuttle to conceal their movements, but there was a clear area directly in front of the recessed doorway where we took cover. To my surprise, Jordi had climbed the vine trellis beside the door and was perched above me, their big eyes, set in such a way as to have a far wider field of view than us, scanning.

Their tail tapped my left shoulder, and I swung my rifle that way to take a shot at the shape moving through the smoke. I heard Jordi take a shot and curse.

With their eyes and my reflexes, we managed to take out seven of the Drognens before my radio crackled to life. “Friendlies coming over the wall into the west garden.”

“Hold!” I radioed back. “Drognen troops under concealment of smoke in the west garden.”

“Roger, Natalia. We won’t fire toward the door. Find cover, incoming.”

I pulled Jordi off the trellis, pushed them against the door, crouched, and shielded their body with mine. My ballistic vest was better than nothing and I expected all hell to break loose. It did.

Three explosions rocked the garden in quick succession, followed by the sound of Terran weapons firing from the wall. It ended as quickly as it began. I tried to stand, but a piercing pain in my leg dropped me to my knees.

Jordi held their tail up to me, the end covered in blood…my dark red blood, not their bright pink. “You are injured,” they said, “do not try to move.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I am uninjured.”

I saw a trail of bright pink blood trickling down their face. “No, you’re not.” I reached for it, but Jordi shrugged.

“I just banged my head when the explosions scared me. It’s nothing.”

“Good, good.” My leg began to throb. I didn’t know if I’d taken a bullet or shrapnel, but either way it was serious. I began to get lightheaded.

“She needs a medic!” they called out.

I was too out of it to make out what was being said on the radio, but I heard the doors unlock and the alarm stopped. The lockdown was over. I crawled to the door and opened it for Jordi. “Get inside while you can.”

The assault team carried me in, and Jordi stayed by my side, their tail wrapped around my wrist. I was glad of it. A medic put an IV in my arm, injected me with something, and I awoke in a bed in the embassy clinic.

Jordi was sleeping in the chair beside the bed, their tail wrapped around my right wrist. A large bandage covered my left thigh. I lifted the edge to see what was under it and saw the remnants of what looked like an extensive surgery.

They woke up while I was examining myself and I felt their tail tighten around my wrist. “I am glad you are alive.”

“Me too. Did they say what it was?”

“A large piece of metal from the shuttle — from when the Drognens blew it up. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t even notice until I tried to stand up after shielding you.”

“Thank you,” they said, “for saving my life.” They reached an idle hand up to a clear bandage over a couple of stitches above their right eye.

“Just doing my job.”

“Nonsense. Your job is to protect the embassy, the ambassador, and other officials, not a janitor.”

I grabbed their hand. “Well, I’m making it my job from now on. I’d hate to lose you.”

“As a coworker, or….” They trailed off.

“As a friend, at least. We’ll find out more as we go. Sound fair?” I asked.

“Very much so.”

“Where am I taking you to dinner?”

“You are not. I am taking you to my home to cook dinner for you,” they said. When I tried to interrupt they continued on. “I have been practicing cooking Terran food. I hope you like it.”

“Why can’t I take you out to dinner?”

“Because the doctor said you need to rest and stay off that leg for at least a week.” Jordi pulled out their comm pad and showed me a list of instructions and dates. “Until your first physical therapy appointment, which is already scheduled.”

“Wow, Jordi. Where is all this confidence coming from?”

“From you,” they said. “You did not laugh at me or turn me down right away, even though you are stronger, have a more prestigious employment, and are a much better fighter. That, and — I thought for a while I was going to lose you forever.”

“I thought the same,” I said. “So, first date at your place. You do move fast.”

“Second date,” they said. “The first was a little too exciting for me.”

It made me laugh, then I paused. “I wonder if we’re at war with the Drogne Empire now.”

“The Kŷmŷ and your President put out a joint statement about the terrorist attack here. The Emperor saw the wisdom of denouncing the attack by ‘unknown terrorists dressed as Drogne Palace Guards.’”

“You must have good connections around here, to know all that so fast,” I said.

They pointed with their tail at the screen on the wall. “Terran news.”

“Oh, yeah, they do seem to know everything that’s happening, whether they should or not.” I shifted slightly to one side in the bed. “Why don’t you use some of that newfound confidence to lay down here and snuggle with me? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

The little Bihrelli didn’t say anything, but crawled into bed next to me, their tail draped across my waist. I put an arm around them and snorted. “I don’t usually share my bed after the first date, but I’ll make an exception this time.”

“What about after the second?” they asked.

“You’re cheeky when you’re bold, aren’t you?” I patted their tail. “For you, sure. That doesn’t mean we’ll be doing anything right away, I just want to keep you close.”

“You are meant to be resting anyway,” they said.

“Yes, I am, and I feel so much more relaxed knowing you’re here and you’re safe.”

prompt: Set your story during the hottest day of the year.

available at Reedsy

The scant wisps of high cloud offered no hope for relief from the rising sun. The dark red soil had barely finished radiating the heat it had collected the previous day when the first rays of the sun lit the sky.

“Listen up, the word of the day is hydrate.” Captain Inez Isobel filled her canteen from the creek, pushed the button on the side, and waited for the red light on the button to turn green. When it had, she took a swig of the tepid water. “Tastes like shit, but it’s better than dying out here. Speaking of dying out here, every hour we spend reduces the chances for rescue of the crew. Weather check, McCoy.”

“It’s going to be the hottest day yet. Yesterday was already 147 drin. Shit, I can’t do hotter.” Corporal Alex McCoy, barely 150 centimeters tall, turned grey eyes in a pale face rimmed with strawberry blond hair and beard to the tall, dun-skinned woman with dark brown eyes and matching hair buzzed to a few millimeters.

“Corporal.” Isobel said the word in Dulxanit.

“Aye, Captain. Apologies. I will endure, we will endure, the Xeno Expeditionary Forces will prevail,” he replied in the same language.

She shifted back to English. “McCoy, I know you like to show off your mastery of Dulxan weights and measures, but could you please use human equivalents when it’s just us humans.”

“Yes, ma’am. It was about 43 Celsius — that’s 110 Fahrenheit, Mary-Jane — yesterday, with humidity at 22 percent. It’ll be hotter today,” he said, “but it’s a dry heat?” he added with forced jocularity.

“I know Celsius, Private,” Recruit Mary-Jane Smith shot back.

“Why did you join the Dulxan XEF?” Isobel asked, pronouncing the acronym as “zef.”

McCoy sighed. “Same story as most of us, I guess. We’re not supposed to ask, so forgive me, Cap, if I don’t elaborate.”

Isobel crossed her arms. “I know you’re probably running from a jail sentence or something, what I meant is, why did you join XEF rather than, say, hiding away in any other system outside human space?”

“I—uh—didn’t have that option. It was either the Dulxan Xeno Expeditionary Force, or Dulxan prison, and I couldn’t do another stint.” He turned all his attention on his satellite relay that displayed the weather patterns in real time, along with an overlay of the search grids the team had already combed and those that were left.

Mouths began to open, only to be shut again, as the troops all had questions, but knew better than to ask them.

Sergeant Abel Mahmouddi unfolded his wiry, two-meter frame from where he’d sat. His ebon skin showed no sign of age, although his close-cropped, tightly curled black hair had spots of grey at the temples. “XEFs, fill your canteens and be ready to move out, three minutes. McCoy, keep your eyes on our satellite, Smith on point. Private Doe, what’s our comm situation?”

Private Jane Doe gave a thumbs-up. “We’re five-by-five with command, still no fix on the transponder.”

As they trekked kilometer after slow kilometer, the sun rose, a baleful orange that made their camouflage pattern look washed out and grey. McCoy stayed close to Isobel and Mahmouddi, marking each area they searched as they went.

“Hey, Sarge,” he said, “I saw how everyone looked when I said Dulxan prison.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Mahmouddi said. “You’d have to fuck up pretty major to end up in Dulxan prison. And did you imply that you’d already done a stint?”

“Tell you what, Sarge. You or Cap tell me why you’re here, and I’ll tell you my story.”

Isobel spoke up. “That’s easy. You’ve already noticed I’m not using one of the ‘hundred names’, but my real name. That’s because I’m not running away from anything.”

“Not hard to believe, Cap,” he said. “I can’t imagine you being in trouble with the law anywhere.”

“I was in the Marines,” she said, “for the black sky Navy. I joined for adventure and travel. Instead, I spent my time on stations and guarding Ambassadors. I joined XEF for the adventure. I saw more action my first year in than I did in the six I spent as a Marine.”

Mahmouddi laughed. “I’m using my real name, too, but not because I’m not running away. I can never return to human space. First-degree murder doesn’t have a statute of limitations. I knew what I was getting into and so did my daughter. Those bastards won’t hurt her — or anybody — ever again, though.”

“Shit. Well, I guess it’s my turn. I, um, had a fling with Eviets, a Dulxan girl—”

“Wait,” Isobel said, “a hairy, snaggletoothed, stubby-legged, Dulxan? Like, with the extra bits down there and all?”

 “Yeah, Cap. Just like that. She was so sweet, though. I couldn’t help but see past all that.”

Mahmouddi’s eyes narrowed. “Was she underage? Is that why?”

“No, no, she…uh…used me…as a money mule. I didn’t know. She’d ask me to do her a favor and hand me a stack of credits with a filled-out deposit slip. Lots of different banks, but I figured it was normal for an interstellar business consultant. She travelled a lot for business, made lots of money, but still found time to keep me happy.”

McCoy marked their location on his display and continued. “It’s just that her ‘consulting’ business was money laundering for pirates and drug cartels. They arrested me while I was making one of the deposits and locked me up. I told them everything I knew, but they didn’t believe me. Eviets was in the wind. They said not even a human would get suckered in by someone as ugly as her, and I was in on it and in it for the money.

“That was the first term, for seven mita — about 2 years — and then they caught her, and she dumped it all on me. I knew I was fucked when I recognized the judge at the second trial as one of her regular customers. Now she’s free and I’m here.”

Mahmouddi chuckled. “You were with a Dulxan woman — an ugly one at that. Who was top?”

McCoy shook his head and sighed. “See, this is why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re saying she was,” Mahmouddi said. “I see.”

“Would it matter what I said?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” Isobel answered, “as I couldn’t care less. I’m more concerned with our mission. But your history with a snaggletoothed fur-dwarf is safe with me.”

“For future reference, you might just claim the money laundering and skip the rest of the story,” Mahmouddi said.

A sharp whistle from Doe caught their attention. “I’ve got a transponder signal, but it’s weak. North-by-Northeast, probably ten or so kilometers.”

“Round ’em up for a pause,” Isobel said to Mahmouddi.

“Aye, Captain.” He raised his open hand over his head and circled it, giving the signal to assemble. Once the entire squadron was there, he said, “Drink up. We’ve got a signal and we’re diverting off the search grid. Ten minutes.”

“McCoy,” Isobel said, “weather report.”

“It’s currently 39 Celsius, and we’re expecting a high of 47,” he said. “For Mary-Jane that’s—”

“102 now, high of 117-sh” she said.

“Close enough. Humidity is dropping as the temperature rises, but we can expect 19 percent.”

“I said, drink up!” Mahmouddi yelled. “We’re going to push on through the heat before it cooks our Dulxan friends. Let’s remind ’em why they have an all-human unit in the XEF!” He switched to Dulxanit and called, “I will endure.”

The squadron answered back in Dulxanit with, “We will endure, the Xeno Expeditionary Forces will prevail.”

The squadron covered the distance in just under two hours. The Dulxan light freighter was wedged against the side of a cliff, the landing gear sheared off in the dense soil, the emergency ablative heat shield all but gone from the high-speed entry to the thick atmosphere.

There were no tree-like plants here to hide the ship. Isobel looked at the open plain and the clear sky above. “McCoy, why didn’t the satellite pick this up?”

McCoy showed her the view from the satellite. “Something in the rocks here is messing with the imaging. It’s all just a blur.”

“Doe, call command with our location. Tell them to send extraction and a medical team at once,” she yelled.

“Trying, Cap, but I can’t reach command. Something’s messing with the signal.”

Mahmouddi and the others were looking for a way into the ship, but the main door was wedged against the mountainside. Smith clambered up the rock face to get on top of the ship. “There’s an access here on top!” she called out.

Isobel looked at the Mahmouddi. “Sergeant, take two more and get into that ship. Be ready with medical requirements. And get me some comms.”

“Aye, Captain.” He turned to Doe. “Do you think you could get through from up there?” he asked, pointing at the top of the cliff.

“Maybe, probably. We didn’t bring any climbing gear, though.”

Smith had already clambered down. “I’ve done years of free climbing,” she said. “Give me the radio, and I’ll try to call from up top.”

Mahmouddi nodded. “Make it happen, Recruit. Doe, hand over the comms to Smith and come with me. Corporal Jones, you’re with me, too.”

Two of the squadron ran up to him.

“Shit, sorry, I forgot you got promoted last week. Corporal John Jones, you’re with me and Doe, Corporal Sally Jones, stay with the rest of the squadron and set up a protective perimeter. Corporal McCoy, keep an eye on the display for anything that might be coming our way.”

“Aye, Sergeant,” they responded in Dulxanit.

While Mahmouddi led his team into the ship, and Smith climbed the cliff face, McCoy kept watch on the satellite display. “Ma’am,” he asked, “what do you think a Dulxan freighter is doing all the way out here in Thaazi space?”

“I’m sure it’s above my paygrade,” she said, “not to mention yours.”

“Is this planet even inhabited?” he asked.

“Don’t know. It’s not on the public charts, but obviously the Dulxan know it’s here, and I would guess the Thaazi do too.”

Smith waved from the top of the cliff and gave a thumbs-up. Doe popped her head up from the ship and made the hand signal for medevac, followed by a raised hand with four fingers. Smith copied the movements and held a fist in front of her face to say she was relaying the info on comms.

“Here comes the parade,” McCoy said, pointing at his display. Two ships were marked in green on the satellite image, heading toward them.

“Give them a landing marker,” Isobel said. She whistled loud enough for Smith to hear from the top of the cliff and gave the signal to assemble.

When the ships landed, Dulxans in bulky environmental suits to keep them cool rushed out to the freighter. They cut through the side and carried the four injured and overheated crew out of the ship. The XEF squadron loaded onto the second ship as the last of the suited-up Dulxans left the freighter. The air in the extraction ship was a pleasant 19 degrees Celsius.

No sooner had they closed up the ship than the freighter exploded. McCoy showed Isobel and Mahmouddi his display. Where the image had been blurred and glitched, it was now clear.

She nodded. “It wasn’t the rocks.”

“And that was no freighter,” Mahmouddi said.

“Who cares?” McCoy asked. “I’m just going to enjoy this cool air for a while.”

He wasn’t alone. The XEF squadron fell silent as fatigue and the relief from the heat overtook them.

prompt: Write a story that includes the line, “Is nobody going to say it?”.

available at Reedsy

The mood in the room had been smothered to the point that if were to drop any lower, it would wrap around into manic chaos. Thirty-one red markers on the holographic display blinked and drew attention to themselves as they orbited the gas giant in the system.

“If they complete the gate, the frontier worlds are lost. They have to be stopped, now but … the nearest carrier strike group is the twelfth, and they won’t get here in time.” He looked at his reflection in the darkened screen of his terminal. Where he’d been a young captain only a few months earlier, he was now a commodore, and had aged at least ten years. Lines formed at the corners of his deep brown eyes, a few grey hairs showed at his temples, obvious in the otherwise jet-black hair. Dark circles gathered under his eyes, adding unwanted shadow to his warm brown skin.

“Commodore Singh, all due respect, sir, everything after ‘but’ is horseshit.” The woman who spoke looked out of place, wearing a track suit and trainers among a room full of dress uniforms and suits. Dull blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing a sun-darkened, beige face with dark freckles, and grey eyes. “The twelfth isn’t the closest or fastest resource.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

She stood and snapped to attention. “Major Brennan, sir, 48th SBS, Marines. Apologies for the state of my dress, but I was shuttled here directly from the gym on the Dublin.”

He nodded and she sat back down. “Major,” he said, “we may need to utilize the Dublin and Donegal to evacuate civilians. I’d lay good money on an Eire-class fast attack hunter against any two alien ships from anywhere. Still, there’s no way two fast-attack ships can take on a squid battle group.”

“We don’t have to take out the whole group, sir, just the flagship. Our intelligence says that without communication with their higher-ups, the squids are unable to organize and take coordinated action.”

“That’s all fine and well, I’m sure.” Governor Haight wore a rumpled, blue suit that set off her deep brown skin, her Afro uncharacteristically askew. Her pale brown eyes showed the weight of expectation. “How do we do that?”

Singh sighed. He gave the major a knowing look and set his jaw.

Brennan took control of the holograph. “Madame Governor, there’s no way for a fast-attack ship to fight through the battle group to the flagship, which is why we have to use stealth.” She entered a command that showed the class of each enemy ship, the flagship marked in purple. It was well within the sphere of other ships.

“Looking at it like this is misleading,” Brennan said, “as the space between each of those ships is a little over a kilometer. I’m suggesting we launch five, two-person BBs — that’s breaching and boarding torpedoes — with the goal of inserting a four-person and six-person team. It’s an hour and forty minutes from launch to attachment if we launch under cover of a patrol maneuver by the Dublin, staying just outside of the squid’s weapons range.” The display showed the Dublin in green moving toward the alien battle group, then turning a slow arc to return to their colony world. Behind the Dublin, five small, green lights continued on toward the alien ships.

She changed the display to show the layout of the alien flagship. “We attach two here,” she made a highlight on the display, “at the comms, and the other three here,” she made another highlight, “between engines and weapons, right near the escape pods.”

As she explained, the green markers representing the SBS squad members moved through the ship. “The first team cuts all communication. This cripples the rest of the battle group. Then they join forces with the second team here, at the main engine room, after the second team has disabled the escape pods. Once the engines are disabled, the full squad will go deck by deck, blowing or disabling every airlock, after which we detonate the BBs, exposing the entire ship to vacuum.”

The governor cleared her throat. “Don’t they breathe methane? Won’t the whole thing blow up, and you with it?”

“Their ship-board atmosphere is pure methane, no oxygen, so fire’s not a concern, unless we pump the ship full of an oxidizer, like the fluorine missiles. We don’t want to destroy it, though, we want to capture it.”

“We just pulled you here from the gym. How did you come up with this plan?” the governor asked.

Brennan smiled. “We gamed this out ages ago. We’ve just been waiting for an opportunity to capture a squid flagship.”

“How much oxygen do the BBs hold?” Singh asked. “Is it still just one hour, or have there been improvements?”

The major smirked. “One hour, sir. The upgraded versions aren’t due to be deployed to the fast attack ships for at least another two years.”

“With two hours of oxygen in your armor, that doesn’t leave a lot of time,” he said.

“Aye, sir. But we’ll get it done.”

“Madame Governor,” he asked, “what’s your decision?”

“What will you do once you detonate the boarding torpedoes?” the governor asked.

“If some of the other ships will move in closer to assist, we’ll expose the reactor to make it too radioactive for them to approach. If they don’t, we’ll sit tight until the twelfth gets here and they can capture the ship for intel.”

Haight looked between the major and the commodore. “The fleet won’t be here for a day and a half. Is nobody going to say it? It’s — you can’t — you’ll—”

Brennan looked the governor in the eye. “It doesn’t need to be said, Madame Governor.”

“Volunteers?” the commodore asked.

“I have too many. The entire squadron volunteered. We’ll draw names out of a hat, except for Lacey and Birkram. Lacey’s got a kid on the way, and Birkram has a two-year-old.” Brennan looked at the governor. “Madame Governor, do we have the green light?”

“What are the chances of success?”

“We’ll get it done, Madame Governor. Like our motto says, ‘By strength and guile.’”

“It feels wrong to throw away the lives of ten marines,” Haight said. “Is there no other way? Commodore?”

“Intel says they’ll finish the gate in the next ten to sixteen hours. After that, we have to admit defeat. They can bring thirty battle groups through in as many minutes.”

“If I may, Madame Governor,” Brennan said, “you aren’t throwing away ten marines. Ten marines are willing to pay the price to protect our borders from the squids, and considering the alternative, it’s a bargain.”

Haight took a deep breath. “Major,” she said, her voice cracking, “you have the green light.” Tears fell from her eyes, and she slumped in her chair.

The major stood and saluted. The commodore and governor both rose and returned her salute.

“God speed,” Singh said.

Haight looked like she was searching for words but not finding any. Brennan nodded at her. “Don’t worry, Madame Governor, we’ll make you proud. We knew when we gamed it out it might be a one-way trip.”

prompt: Write a story in which a case of mistaken identity plays a pivotal role.

available at Reedsy

Desperate people do desperate things. Jen convinced herself that what she was doing was desperate rather than insane. If anyone had the cure for her mother, it would have to be the aliens.

They’d arrived on Earth a few years ago, spending an inordinate amount of time dealing with human governments, greed, and tribalism. In the end, they were given places where their trade vessels could land, sell goods, and buy from the local populace in dozens of countries. One of those alien port markets happened to be just a hundred kilometers or so from her home.

Humans weren’t allowed near their ships, and they were very careful to not let anything they called “forbidden for primitive trade” out of their sight. They had no use for precious metals, human currency, or gemstones. They traded what they brought for other goods.

Jen had been lucky, in that a large part of the recent trades at her “local” port market had been live chicks, ducklings, goslings, and rabbits. She’d bluffed her way to the back streets of the market, nearer to where their ship lay hidden, by explaining to the aliens in detail how to care for the baby birds and rabbits.

When she’d finally been shooed away, she managed to hide in the back streets, creeping ever closer to the ship. Which is how she made her way to the cargo hold with the animals, where she found herself wondering what her next step would be.

She hadn’t felt anything other than a slight reduction in her weight when they left. She knew from the spate of news stories and documentaries that the aliens came from a system nearly eight-hundred light-years away. That they could cross those distances meant they had to have the technology to cure her mother’s cancer.

How long it would take, though, she wasn’t sure. Water was taken care of, as the tank carrying it for the animals was easy to get to. For food, she carried a case of two dozen meal bars, and a couple kilos of mixed nuts. It wasn’t ideal, but it was what she could find spur-of-the-moment when her desperation turned to action.

Jen guessed they’d taken off about two hours earlier, but she hadn’t eaten at all that day. She unwrapped a meal bar and took her time with a bite of it. When she was about to take the second bite, she heard movement, and large cargo door began to open.

She ducked behind the water tank. One of the aliens was probably coming in to check on the animals. A peek around the side of the tank, though, showed that the outer doors were open as well. A dim, red sun illuminated a world no other human had ever seen.

Panic began to set in. She hadn’t planned for what came next, beyond begging for help. She ducked back behind the water tank and calmed herself. Deep, slow breaths brought her heart rate down, and helped her settle her mind.

One of the aliens ducked behind the water tank with her, holding a bundle in their arms. “You’re finally here. Put these on and I’ll get you out of the port,” the alien said in perfect English.

The bundle contained clothes like those the aliens wore, with a head covering that was somewhere between beekeeper and hazmat. The gloves only had three fingers and a thumb that sat too low and was far too long. Still, she did her best to cover herself.

She followed the alien out of the ship, through the port, and into what must be a city, though there were no cars or analogues. The roads themselves, if they could be called that, moved. Everywhere she followed the alien, the other aliens gave them space, many bowing or holding up a single, long, middle finger. For a brief moment, she thought they were flipping her the bird, until she reminded herself that these grey-skinned, black-eyed, three-fingered aliens were not human and not given to human gestures.

They finally stopped in front of a low building with a yellow glass roof. The alien led her inside, then straight through the open main hallway beneath the skylight to a back room. There, the alien unlocked a panel on the wall and led her down a winding staircase to a dim basement.

More aliens waited for them in the basement. A map on the wall showed symbols she didn’t understand.

“Is that the human?” some of them asked.

Jen stripped off the gloves and lifted the headpiece off to the astonished gasps of the other aliens. “It’s true! You’re here!” they called out.

“I am Renthion,” the alien that had led her said.

“Hi. I’m Jen. What’s going on, and how do you speak English?”

“We do not speak English, Jen, but the devices we wear around our waist translate for us.” The alien that spoke raised a middle finger. “I am Abalorth, and I am honored to be in your presence, great general.”

“Um, wait, great what?” Jen asked.

“We understand you will want to secure payment,” Renthion said. “What is your desire?”

“Oh, I, uh, I just came here to find a cure for my mother’s cancer.”

They turned off their translators and spoke among themselves. Their speech sounded more like the murmur of water in a stony brook than anything else.

Finally, they turned back on their devices and Abalorth said, “We accept the price.”

Renthion pointed at the map and began explaining what all the symbols meant. It was a war map, with different troop types and sizes and terrain on display. It reminded her of the strategy games she regularly played, right down to “this unit type is weak to that one and stronger than that type.”

“We are badly scattered, as you can see. But we have it on good authority that the human great general that will stow away on a government ship will know how to turn things around for us.”

“But I’m not a great general, I’m just—”

“Your modesty is appreciated, but unnecessary. We will leave you alone with the map for a while to make your plans. Writing materials are just there, by the map.” They filed out of the dim room and Jen sighed.

She didn’t know who they were fighting, or what was their cause, or whether it was even just. No matter what she did, though, someone was going to pay the price for what she decided. Either this group meeting in secret, or the others that had them outnumbered.

She paced the small room, stopping in front of a mirror. “What are you doing, Jen?” she asked her reflection. “Are they trying to overthrow their government? Probably, judging by the huge amount of armored type units on the other side. Does their government need to be overthrown, or are these guys religious fanatics?”

She groaned and paced some more. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the look on her mother’s face when the doctor told her they’d have to stop the chemo because it wasn’t working and there were no more options.

“Screw it,” she said to herself, “mom’s worth whatever price I put on my soul.”

Jen studied the map as if it were one of her strategy games and began scribbling out early plans and options for each unit. Then she addressed any actions the enemies might take with counteractions by the troops.

If it was her favorite strategy game, she’d have the seemingly overwhelming army defeated within twenty turns and lose at most a tenth of her own armies. She was still looking for any stupid moves the enemy might make — she’d addressed every smart, logical move — when the door opened ant the aliens came back in.

Abalorth looked over the pages of notes she’d scribbled on the smooth paper. “Can you explain your plans?”

“Sure.” Jen picked up her notes, in order, and stepped in front of the map. As she pointed to units on the map and explained their best course of action, those unit markers would move on the map. As she talked through the action-reaction portion of the combat, the enemy markers would move, and the friendly markers would follow her recommendations. She detailed everything, including the possible need to sacrifice two units in order to bring down four to six enemy units.

After an hour of explaining what took her twenty minutes to figure out, she looked at the aliens. They all sat in silence for a long minute before Renthion raised a hand, his middle finger up. “It is as our spy said, the general is a genius.”

“I’m not really—”

Abalorth and another alien cut her off with a bow, holding out a large case. “This contains an automated healing machine. It is not allowed for trade with your people, but since you held up your end of the deal, we will uphold ours.”

“But I haven’t really—”

“The troops began moving quite a while ago. It was as you said.” Renthion pointed at the map. The units reset themselves to a position in what Jen considered the “late early game.” The enemy troops were responding in some cases in the most obvious way, in a few cases the second or third most likely she’d expected.

She heard explosions outside as one of the enemy armored units barreled past their location, getting themselves trapped in a kill funnel at the edge of the city. Explosions could be heard further afield as well. Units began disappearing from the map.

Four armored units and two light mounted met up at the edge of a clearing. Jen felt sick. This was the point where the purpose of two entire light mounted units was to draw them out and get obliterated while infantry closed in from behind to mine their escape from the heavy artillery that would begin to pound them from the far tree line.

The alien numbers depicting the size of the sacrificial units began to fall until they pulled further out into the clearing. Jen found herself sweating, silently urging the enemy units to take the bait. They did. She watched them advance in formation, while infantry units moved behind them to mine their escape.

The bait units continued to maneuver and dwindle until one blinked out existence on the board. The other made a beeline for far trees when artillery began raining down on the pursuing forces. They pulled back in a hurry, almost running into the infantry units that were scattering in the woods behind them.

As the enemy retraced their steps, their unit numbers began falling, until three had blinked out of existence, and the remaining three were trapped by the damaged vehicles. The infantry reformed around them, and those three enemy unit markers also soon disappeared.

There were battles happening in other locations on the map but watching that one closely left Jen feeling sick. She’d just sent a bunch of people to their death, and she didn’t even know what for. She clutched the case with the healing machine. Was her mother really worth that many lives? What gave Jen the right to decide?

She stared at the map in stunned silence over the next hours, watching more and more of the previously outmanned units coalesce and claim more of the map. The final push was for the center of the city, where the halls of government lay.

Jen said a silent prayer to any god or gods that might be somewhere out there, to forgive her weakness. Tears ran down her face unbidden for the unknown lives that were lost. The room grew silent around her, and then exploded in sounds of joy and celebration. “What have I done?” she muttered under her breath.

The map changed to show video from the government building. Grey aliens like the ones around her celebrated as massive, reptilian aliens were led out of the building in chains. With the devices on the aliens around her, she could understand what the alien shouting into what must have been a microphone was saying to the crowd.

“We have thrown off the shackles of the bordlenorb and now are masters of our own destiny. Freedom for the people, freedom for Rorbenthor” The translators didn’t translate their word for the reptilian aliens or the planet’s name, but it was enough that Jen understood what was going on.

She didn’t feel quite so bad about the dead enemies any longer, but it didn’t assuage the guilt she felt for trading so many lives for her mother’s. She dropped the case and fell to her knees, sobbing.

Renthion sat on the floor near her. “Are you injured?”

“No. Yes. I mean, not physically, but I just caused so much death, and for what?” She forced herself to look Renthion in the eye. “I am selfish, and thought only of my mother, not what my actions would cost.”

Renthion put a hand on her arm. “Do you know why we were not allowed to trade that device?”

“No.”

“It would mean that humans would live far longer, healthier lives, and likely reach the stars sooner. The bordlenorb, our previous lords, forbade us to help any ‘primitive’ world advance.”

Abalorth helped her to her feet. “You may have only been thinking of your mother, but what will others do with this?”

“Is this something we have the technology to recreate?” she asked.

“Maybe not today, but very soon.” Renthion stood, picked up the case and handed it back to her. “Your scientists and materials experts have the know-how, it will just take some time.”

Jen sighed. “Only governments and big corporations have the resources for that, and it’ll be limited to the ultra-wealthy in the end.”

Abalorth bowed slightly. “Scarcity economy, of course. Perhaps if you had the resources, it could be shared in a fair manner?”

“Yeah, but that’s not happening any time soon.”

They turned off their devices and burbled among themselves again, checking the alien script on the map screen while they directed it to do something. After they reached a consensus, Abalorth turned back to her and asked, “Would thirty-two-thousand kilograms of gold be enough resources?”

Jen stared. “Would what? That’s — a lot of gold. Like a billion dollars’ worth? Two billion?”

“Would that be enough?”

Jen nodded. “Yeah, yeah it would.”

“Well then, general, we have an agreement, and we expect to see great things from humans in the near future,” Renthion said.

“Like I said, I’m not—”

“Nonsense. You figured out how to best use our remaining troops in almost no time at all. All of our field commanders are taking your lessons as they move forward to clearing out the last of the bordlenorb.” Renthion motioned for her to follow but didn’t make her put on the clothing again.

As they passed through the streets on their way back to the port, the passersby cheered and held up a middle finger. Renthion’s translator caught their cheers for the human great general that had freed them all.

She rode back to Earth in a comfortable seat, then was taken in a smaller craft to her home along with a vault that opened only to her touch, crammed with gold. She bid the aliens goodbye and brought the healing machine to her mother.

While the machine did its work, she began researching how to set up a non-profit research organization and how to hire top talent scientists. She would not feel at ease with her actions until she had saved at least a hundred times as many people as she had condemned to death on Rorbenthor.

Something Renthion had said on the return trip echoed through her mind. “Only a great general  weeps for the cruelty of war, even after winning it.”

prompt: Make a character’s obsession or addiction an important element of your story.

available at Reedsy

The sun had set, and the planet dominated the sky, the swirls of color it was painted with brightly illuminated. The shadow of the moon would transit the planet’s face in a while. The telescope and camera were set up to capture it when it showed.

There wasn’t much else for a Royal Expeditionary Frontier Police officer like T-937/K, “Tik” to his peers, to do this far into the neutral zone. He knew what he wanted to do, but the chance of doing it here was as close to nil as to make no difference.

He checked the time on his eye implant, setting it to hover at the edge of his vision. After double-checking that the telescope and camera were properly set to capture the transit shadow, he focused on the time remaining until he needed to start the tracking.

“Hey, Tik, how many of those transit videos do you have now?”

“Morning, Kel. If this one is good, it’ll be four good ones and half a dozen that aren’t worth mentioning.” K-371/L was a fellow officer of equal rank, but she had seniority, being a year older than he was.

“Well, better focusing on something you can see and record than—,” she cut herself off. “I mean, it’s good that you have something else to think about.”

“Rather than proving they exist?” he asked. “I swear it was them, when my parents … its image is seared in my brain.”

Kel lay on the ground near him. “You remember a lot of stuff from before you were taken in to the police crèche. Do you remember your name?”

“I don’t,” he said, “but I’m sure I had one that wasn’t T-937/K or Tik. But most of what I remember is flashes, vague images, and … that day. Why don’t you have any memories before that?”

“I was taken in at birth.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a legacy.”

“I’m not,” she said, “or at least I’ve been told I’m not.”

Tik held silent as the final moments ticked down and he started the telescope and camera, tracking the moon’s shadow beginning just below the horizon. “I thought the only newborns allowed were—”

“The children of officers, yeah,” she cut him off. “I don’t think any of us really know where we came from. They tell us what we need to hear in the crèche to mold us into proper officers.”

“I remember where I came from,” he said, rubbing the scar that ran down his face from temple to jaw, “even if it is just in flashes. I especially remember what happened the day my parents were killed, when the monsters were there.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I believe you.” She rubbed his shoulder. “You won’t ever be able to prove it, but I believe you believe you saw what you say you saw.”

Tik snorted a short laugh. “Thanks for the rousing endorsement.”

Kel pointed at the sky. “We’re a long way from the main shipping lanes, but do you think they might show up here?”

“I doubt it, but I’ll have a better chance of catching them if I’m looking at the sky when they do.” Tik groaned. “The transit videos are getting boring, and the great storm hasn’t changed since we got here.”

“Hey, amateur astronomer, is that a tiny moon, or an asteroid?” Kel asked.

Tik looked toward the area of the sky where she had pointed. It was too small to be any of the known moons or moonlets of the planet above them, and it reflected the light of the sun in a way an asteroid likely wouldn’t.

He removed the aiming scope from the telescope and pointed it at the object. “It’s a ship,” he said, “but not one of ours.”

Kel snatched the scope away and looked for herself. “That’s a weird ship. Maybe one of the colony freighters?”

“No,” Tik said in a near-whisper, “I think it’s them.”

“Your obsession needs to take a break.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Tik snatched the aiming scope back, reattached it to the telescope and pointed at the ship, following it manually.

Kel fell silent as she watched the telescope focus on the ship in the camera’s display. The writing on the ship was unlike any from anywhere in the Empire and Commonwealth. Not even among the civilizations outside the E&C, most of whom had at worst strained relations and at best trade partner status.

Tik’s hands shook, and he was glad the telescope was heavy and self-stabilizing. “The rectangle mark on the front of the ship, I remember that.”

“Is it changing direction?” Kel asked.

“It is.” He kept tracking the ship, even when it was only visible by a few lights as it passed through the shadow of the moon. “It’s coming toward us.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” she said, “since we’re looking more at the front than the side.”

Tik tracked the ship with the telescope as it passed overhead until it passed below the horizon. He opened the small terminal of the telescope and began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get an estimate of its expected orbit.”

“To get more video of it?”

“No, I’ve got to warn command.”

“Tik, what if it’s just—” Kel trailed off.

The terminal spit out a tape with markings that could be read by a tracking console, like the one on the telescope … or in a trans-orbital shuttle. He grabbed the tape and ran for the barracks.

It was only after pounding at the watch commander’s door that he realized he’d left the telescope behind. It couldn’t be helped, this was more important.

“Come in, T-937/K. What’s got you by the tail?”

He laid the tape on the commander’s desk. “Alien vessel, currently orbiting this moon. I think it’s—” he stopped himself.

“You think the monsters have come back for you?” the commander asked with more than a hint of derision in her voice.

“Commander, it doesn’t matter what I think,” he said, “there’s an alien vessel out there with markings that don’t match anything known.”

The commander fed the tape into a reader on her desk and waited while the image on her wall changed. “Let’s just see what we have. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The image came up and the watch commander stood in stunned silence for a moment. “Full scramble, intercept, detain and ascertain threat.”

“Yes, sir!” Tik ran out of the office while the console sent out the command to all on-duty units to intercept the unknown ship.

Tik jumped into the first open boarding shuttle he found and was surprised to see Kel already there. “I left the telescope,” he said.

“I brought it as far as the launch field when the alarm went out. It’s sitting in hangar seven.”

“Thanks.” Tik shrugged into one of the body armors hanging in the shuttle and checked that the comms and camera were working. He then grabbed a rifle from the rack, made sure it was charged, and the safety was on.

“Who knows?” Kel asked. “We might prove that one of the cryptoxeonlogy creatures are real.”

Tik sneered. “Is that what you think? They’re like the Aldeveran asteroid monster or something?”

She didn’t get a chance to respond, as the intercom crackled to life. “Approaching alien vessel. No sign of weapons, and they’ve extended a docking port. Environmentals on, weapons safe.”

Tik fastened the breather around his neck and checked again that his weapon was on safe. He lined up first to step out once they had docked.

The warning lights came on, flashing amber, as the inner door to the docking ring airlock opened. An enclosed walkway stood in front of them, open into a large bay in the alien ship.

As soon as the outer airlock door opened, Tik stepped through to the walkway and made his way into the alien ship, his weapon at low ready.

He stepped into the bay and saw them, freezing him in panic. It was the same one he had nightmares about, but it seemed even bigger in real life.

It spoke with a heavy accent. “Hello. We are researchers. We have been analyzing your signals for a long time now, and when we saw you so close to our home, we stopped for a look.” It turned toward Tik and dropped to its knees. It reached a gentle hand out and caressed the scar down his face. “It’s you. You made it. I’m sorry I got there too late for the others.”

Tik didn’t know how to respond. He’d spent every waking moment trying to find evidence of the monsters that killed his parents and took their ship, and every sleeping moment in nightmares of finding them, and now … now it was here, touching his face, and he felt no fear.

“I thought you killed them,” he said, “but I’m not scared of you.”

“I didn’t. The pirates left everyone for dead when we showed up. You were in bad shape, but one of your own people in a uniform like yours came and took you away.” Tears rolled down the monster’s face as it embraced Tik as if he were its own child.

Tik released his hold on his weapon, letting it hang by the sling as he returned the embrace. The monster … alien … was twice his size but held him gently. Tik felt lighter, as if the weight of the past had been lifted from his shoulders.

He was brought out of it by Kel stepping on his tail. “Ouch! What’s that for?”

“You found your cryptids,” she said, “but I thought you were going to hunt them to extinction?”

“I—I’ve been remembering it wrong. The monsters didn’t kill my parents and take the ship, they saved me.”

“I wish I could’ve done more,” the monster said.

“I can’t just keep calling you monster,” Tik said, “what are you? What do you call yourself?”

“My name is Alfibeth, and I’m a human. It’s a pleasure to finally have a proper meeting,” she said.