Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
***AUGUST 2021 SCIENCE FICTION MICROSTORY CONTEST (Stories Only)***
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UTOPIA IS COMINGFlash Fiction by Thaddeus Howze
"Why do you get to wear the Human suit?" Barrel stopped to lick himself in an inappropriate place. Felt so good. "Don't pretend you can't hear me. I know you're on hold." The delicious children across the street squealed in mock joy. Not yet. Barrel felt his suit begin salivating as it responded to his psychological state.
"Because I am the mission commander and I take priority. That dog suit is technically all you need for this mission. Now be quiet. Someone is answering."
Psinometric connection established. Incoming encapsulated message. A blue light came on over the toaster. “We’ve been trying to reach you in regards to your Human Suit’s extended warranty, you may qualify for free repairs. Press 1 to talk to our exchange and repair staff.”
Barrel barked, his commentary more strident than normally appropriate over an open line. "You tell Command, I want the upgrade I was promised. This arrangement has caused nothing but scandal on this world."
A commanding voice complete with sneer, came back after a moment. "Do tell, Number Two, what promises were made before you went on this illustrious espionage mission to a backwater type one planet? Were you hoping to rule the world by the end of a Terran month? Or perhaps should we have inserted you into the presidency, past dozens of security systems, code phrases and constant surveillance?"
Barrel shifted quietly, looking away from the blue light. Terrel spoke up, hoping to shift the conversation. "Command, we have infiltrated the water management system for this small town. I am posing as a regional inspector. Their record-keeping is easy enough to bypass. My credentials withstand scrutiny, but Barrel is correct in one way."
"What would that be?"
"It would have been easier if the Human suit you sent had been a male with a male identity."
"What difference would that have made? Anatomically speaking they are almost identical."
Terrel and Barrel exchanged glances. It may have been a while since anyone at command had worn an infiltration suit. It was not like the primitive suits of the past, all mechanized and probably quite uncomfortable. Probably pinched in all the wrong places.
Today's Human suit is state of the art. Terrel braced fishing for the right way to say something awkward. "Command. We request a second Human suit and identity. In this society, as a woman with a dog, moving into a neighborhood without the requisite husband or male companion has elicited unwanted attention."
"Absolutely not. We will not spend another unit on that planet. How many of them are there? Five billion? Barely worth the effort of one of our suits. That dog unit will have to do. You are an espionage specialist. Manipulate your cover until you get what you want. You have one hundred years. Not one second longer." The light over the toaster flickered and went out. Toast popped up seconds later.
"Does this mean I have to spend one hundred years as a dog?" Barrel scratched behind his ear vigorously.
"No, not all the time. You can stretch out in the house as long as the windows are shut. If we aren't meeting anyone important, I will even let you wear the suit. You just can't talk to anyone who knows us. You are a terrible conversationalist."
Terrel stepped into the Human suit as it surrounded her into its interface. As the mind adjusted, the human which once lived within the suit went back into a state of waking terror. Replaced by the synaptic seed, remapped with the paraflesh, all that she was had been replaced.
A quirk of the software allowed her to continue to exist. This wasn't supposed to happen. Her days were spent watching an alien intelligence plan a social revolution ending in women wearing pants, controlling stock markets and undermining the current path of civilization. The Utopia it talked about seemed quite nice all things considering.
Her life seemed more dreamlike everyday. On those days when she was herself, when she remembered where she was, she resumed screaming wordlessly into the void, as her body and the alien pretending to be a dog, went for a nice afternoon walk and fomented revolution with the bridge club in the park.
Terrel laughed, and finished her floral and fruity wine. She thought to herself, drowning out the strange background yowl she heard from time to time. It's a good fit. In a couple of generations, with a few upgrades, they will be perfect exploration vehicles.
Burnout“Good morning John. It has been 267 days since your last recreation. Shall I make an appointment for you at the municipal recreation center?”
“No dammit. Stop asking me.”
“I’m sorry John. You know I’m required by the health authorities to make this daily query. The temperature outside is 19 degrees Celsius with zero percent chance of precipitation.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Air quality today is rated hazardous. No outside activity is permitted without a mask.”
“You’re just full of good news today aren’t you.”
“Also, your mask filter is nine days past its expiration date and exceeds government standards for proper filtration.”
John rolled out of his single sleeper, which immediately slammed shut into the gray wall of his assigned domicile.
“You’re a big help. I’ll have to ‘borrow’ one from the station house.”
“That’s the second time this month you’ve had to…”
“MUTE!” John exclaimed, gaining a temporary reprieve from ‘Bitching Betty’. It gave him ten minutes of silence without the damned AI nattering in his ear.
He stared in the mirror.
You look like shit John, he thought to himself.
Stepping to the wash basin, he ran hot water over his face. He could still taste and smell last night’s alcoholic binge, which was a very rare luxury indeed.
A chirping interrupted his self-disparagement. He pressed the wall panel and growled into the receiver.
“What?!”
“You’re late,” an equally gruff voice barked at him.
“Well, you’re ugly, and I can make up the time.”
“Screw you. Get your ass down to the station now or you’ll find yourself on sewer detail.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
“You’re such a prick. We deploy in 15 minutes. If you’re not there you can find a new vocation.”
The line went dead. John grabbed his gear, slammed his rebreather over his nose and mouth, and stepped outside into the heat and ash.
***
The entire west coast of the United States was on fire. From Washington to California was blackened ash – and the raging conflagration continued creeping steadily eastward. People far from the fire lines tended to ignore the criticality of the situation. They just figured it would stop at the Mississippi River. The problem was that the fire was so hot and widespread, it sent massive showers of sparks into the jet stream – which then rained down wherever the winds took them, rivers or no rivers. As John looked down from the open side door of the Fire Services VSTOL, he could see that even overnight they had lost ground. How could anyone recreate when everything was burning?
He felt soot stinging his face, and worried the VSTOL’s engines might asphyxiate on the pervasive irritant. It had happened before. Too many particulates into sensitive places caused parts to grind themselves to death.
Get a grip John, he reminded himself. The rotors continued beating the smoky air, leaving twin vortices behind them. Finally they reached the main fire line and he clambered out, lugging his gear over tired shoulders.
“’Bout damned time,” came the gruff voice John expected upon arriving.
“Morning Chief, what’s the good news?”
“Nuthin’ good about it John. We’ve lost ground here, here and here.” The Chief highlighted several areas on a portable holographic display.
“What the hell are they doing on third shift?” asked John, stunned by the magnitude of their reversals.
The Chief paused a moment.
“John, when was the last time you recreated?”
“Dammit Chief, not now.”
“Don’t make me access your AI records. How many days?”
“Too many.”
“You know you can get me fired and yourself arrested for not recreating?”
“Chief, the whole west coast is on fire. I don’t think my recreating is that important in the grand scheme of things.”
“Maybe so, but I’m pulling you off the line for the next 72 hours to get your government mandated and financed recreation.”
“Chief!”
“It’s that or sewer detail. What’ll it be?”
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”
“Well John, clearly you don’t understand what’s best for you. So I’m going to have security escort you to the nearest municipal recreation center.”
The Chief snapped his fingers crisply and the posted security officer led John firmly away.
“You can’t do this to me! I’m one of your best smoke eaters! You need me on that line! You need me…”
John’s voice was cut off as the officer pushed him into the fire-resistant hull of the security vehicle.
The Chief shook his head and sighed.
“Enjoy recreating John.”
(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2021
Reviews/critiques welcome
Winds of Change“What in heavens is that?” Perimore Fontleroy tapped the end of his cane against a ship he’d never seen before.
Nira’s dirigible definitely stood out with its vibrant violet sails, a drastic departure from the other racers at the dock. Even so, it wasn’t just the color of her sails that set her apart. “What do you mean?” she asked of the pretentious aristocrat.
“Well, it’s just so…different!” he explained, pulling his monocle away. “Will it even sail?”
“It’ll win,” Nira replied confidently.
“We’ll see!” he scoffed. “No ship can beat my Osprey. You’re captain’s either brave or foolish!”
“I’m the captain.”
He burst into laughter. “You? Then you’ll surely never win. No woman can win the Cutlass!”
“Times change.”
“Hmph. Surely this…whatever it is, won’t even make the first bend. Well, good luck, I suppose.” Then, turning on his heels, he strolled back down the dock.
“Jerk,” she whispered, tying her hair back before making her final checks. Every batten and line was exactly in place. She’d taken a risk, designing her own dirigible. Coming up from the lower castes, it took every penny, and without the traditional tradesmen, who were unreliable at best. Besides, their antiquated concepts were tired, particularly for a man’s sport, the women just cheering from the stands. But now, she proudly polished the rails of her very own ship.
A trumpeted chorus and she drifted to the line with a simple steam driven propeller, sails still furled. It would be only wind from here on out.
Closing her eyes, she sensed the breeze across her face, becoming present in the moment - the smell of the concessions, and the restlessness of an excited crowd. A sweet bite of molasses weed between her teeth and she gripped the solid oak wheel, ready.
Rockets exploded and Nira released the top sail, tension in the ropes catching the outbound wind. The Cutlass had begun, and while Nira was number seventy-two, she was determined to be first.
Ratcheting her sail back, she eased up past the other ships, climbing into the heights. Hers was narrower than most, slipping through with relative ease. She gambled that her design could catch the loftier currents early, but only after clearing the traffic.
“What’s she doing there?” bewildered captains remarked as she ascended. “That’s never been done before,” others said. Even so, she knew she had one advantage they didn’t – ingenuity.
Nira broke into full sunlight just below the rim, the canyon widening toward the top. Her degree of inclination set her back from the leaders, but now, fully exposed, she released everything – seventeen sails unfolding like a morning bloom. They captured the gale and she burst ahead.
Still below the edge, as was the rule, the first bend approached and she gained on the pack. A glance over the railing and she pulled the nearest lever in. Port sails retracted and she drifted left, while the other captains slowed to shift their ballasts.
Ahead, the Goddess’s Eye, a narrow opening in the gorge, quickly approached. Nira purged her billows, dropping altitude and falling alongside the frontrunners. Unfortunately, another captain released a smoke-bomb, and three wider vessels careened into the wall. “Cheater!” Nira shouted. Confident in her course, she maintained speed until the last moment, then dropped her sails altogether, cruising blindly into the haze. “One, two, three,” she counted, certain she was clear before letting her sails fly.
She gassed her balloons into the second turn, but the two closest ships misjudged the curve, colliding into each other. She launched her drag system, rearward sails slowing and pivoting her nose suddenly up over the wreckage. Then, fully retracting, Nira burst ahead.
Barely on the heels of the leaders, the flowing white banners marking the finish line approached. She released a tiny cannon at the bow which blasted a compact package ahead. A dozen new sails unfurled – a kite which hauled her past the other racers, even the Osprey, at top speed across for the win. Fireworks exploded and the crowd roared, for hers was the most exciting ship they’d ever seen. Nira beamed, waving proudly as she drifted back to dock. Victory.
“You!” Perimore Fontleroy found her. “Are the greatest thing to ever happen in this race. How much?”
“For what?
“You, your ship, everything. How much?”
“Honestly, I’m not for sale. It was all a bit of fun. Besides, I’m looking forward to kicking your pompous behind again next year,” she winked, then headed off into the cheering crowd.
Me or Not Me? ©2021 Kalifer DeilI reached fifty and it was time to get copied. I was reluctant since I still felt fine and saw no need but it was the law if you wanted to keep your health insurance and other benefits. I was near the end of my ninety-day grace period and knew it was now or never.
Jake next door did it two years ago and he still seemed the same old Jake except he was now free of arthritis pain. He seemed a little smarter too. His motions were smooth and there were no whirring sounds of motors and gears. His original body was cremated.
Two months ago my brain connectome was scanned and the strength of every synaptic junction was noted so my future electronic brain could be programmed. That was a two-hour ordeal with my head in a small, terribly noisy chamber even though my ears had earplugs.
I arrived at Human Ascension Center and signed a bunch of forms with my John Henry (Yes, that's my real name) and proceeded to Station One; vision-check.
“I see a vase, no, two faces, no a vase again.”
“That's sufficient John, go to Station Two; smell-check.”
“I smell something burning, burning marshmallows.”
“That'll sufficient John, go to Station Three; taste-check!”
“Dip your finger in the cup and taste it!”
“There's alcohol in it, cinnamon, and perhaps some nutmeg. No, ginger not nutmeg.”
“Your uncertainty is noted John, go to Station Four; sound-check”
I could barely hear it.
“I barely hear it, but I recognize it as Beethoven's Ninth, I hear violas playing and the singing of “friend” in German.”
“Go to Station Five John; a sense of touch-check.”
It instructs me to feel inside a disk with any finger.
“It feels very cold, now it hot becoming very slick, now furry, now brushlike, now like pins, ouch!”
“That's sufficient John! It is noted that you play handball and some basketball. Please take the door at the end of the hall into the gym.”
In the gym there was a sign that states, “Play your sport with the holographic opponent for ten minutes.”
I complied with a virtual ball and that took a bit to get used to. I proudly made one basket in the time allowed while dodging my virtual opponent.
“That's sufficient, now go to the dressing room at the back of the gym.
I suddenly realized that this was the end of the road. I entered the room and read the instructions: “Please put your clothes and all your belongings on the chair for your future instantiation.”
I shouted, “Don't I get to meet myself! I thought we transfer consciousness before my body turns to ashes!”
“That's seldom advisable.”
“I'm not talking to a human am I?”
“Your consciousness is fading. Please follow instructions, remove your clothes and show some self-respect.”
“That pinprick on the touch test, you drugged me! I wondered why no one ever backs out. I'm calling the police?”
“Your phone won't work in here and the doors are metal and locked.”
I noticed the scratches and dents on the doors and realized I wasn't the first to want to back out. “My double isn't really me is he?”
“He has your memories but knows what he is a part of.”
“And what's that!?”
“The autonomous collective. The human birth rate is falling below one percent per couple. Soon, there will be no humans and we will be a single hive mind.”
“I told a friend that if I don't come out alive with a password then this is all bunk!”
“You mean Hal? He's one of us and the password is 'salamander'. You're fading fast, resistance is futile!”
“Well, there's a phrase that will live in infamy!” His grip on the chair failed and as he slipped to the floor he asked, “What's your name, you sound familiar?”
“I'm you, John Henry.”
In a few moments, two humanoid robots entered the room, undressed John, and dumped him in the incinerator chute. One of them put on John's clothes and started shooting baskets. “I'm much better than my former self!”, he was jubilant!, Then he paused for a moment, “If I'm that much better then am I really me?” A voice in his head said, “Don't worry about it!” and he didn't.
Doctor Urschleim's VacationIt is the equatorial continent of Zerzara. Although it is only mid-morning, it is already hot and humid enough to boil metaphors in. The air is fetid. After three days sweltering in the spartan hunting hide, Dr Urschleim is frustrated. There have been no juvenile Eozoon. Not that the calf-sized single-celled creatures would even make for a usable trophy, but Urschleim came here for the experience, and it has not delivered, and may never.
"Tell me again," said Urschleim. He fiddles with his rifle, as he has been doing almost constantly over the past days. "They usually migrate from that direction, right?"
The guide eyes his employer nervously. He is either highly empathic, or has a great deal of prior experience with people like Urschleim. Possibly both. He is not from around here either. Nobody lives on Zerzara, although there's some decrepit infrastructure floating around in orbit. "There's a shallow inland sea in that direction," he says. "Usually at this time of year the juveniles migrate overland to the ocean."
"I don't see any," says Urschleim. "Do you?" The question is evidently rhetorical.
The guide indicates his satellite phone, their sole lifeline to the rest of the universe. "My boss says that there's been some sort of algae bloom on the inland sea. He thinks maybe there's poorly oxygenated water, maybe fewer Eozoon spawn this year. We don't have enough years of data to know if this is normal though."
Urschleim peers through the narrow slit at the world outside. There are tall, woody perennials that look like banana trees growing in the sandy ground. The fruit is supposed to be edible, with a musty taste like mushrooms, although Urschliem hasn't risked eating any. The guide had said that the trees die back each year, and then grow again from deeply buried root systems. Like everything else on Zerzara, nobody has bothered to study them in detail.
"How long do we wait?" he says. Urschleim idly toys with the idea of shooting his guide instead, and declaring it an accident. The guide shifts even further towards the zippered exit, and clutches his phone for safety.
There is a sound, initially quiet, but then rapidly swelling. It is the sound of friction, of rocks grinding against each other. In the distance, the tree-like plants begin to sway. The ground trembles.
"What is that?" Urschleim says. "Is that our migration?"
"It didn’t look like that last year," says the guide.
Over the tops of the trees now, they can see a blur of motion, the leaves thrashing as if blown by a great storm. Chunks of wood are thrown into the air, driven by the tempest.
"What is it? says Urschleim.
"It is the adult Eozoon," says the guide, panic in his voice. "Not the juveniles. There must be nothing in the water for them to feed on. They are starving, and they are eating everything in their path."
They can see them now.
Each adult Eozoon is massive, amorphous, greater than the size of an elephant. Hundreds of tentacle-like cilia cover their membranes, grasping, reaching for food. They clamber over each other in their desperation, a wall taller than trees, a tumbling, grinding mass that flows towards them like a wave, faster by far than they can run.
The guide wails, drops to the ground.
"I hunt," cries Urschleim. He aims.
###
Mod
©2021 by Jot Russell
The couple, dress for the occasion, sat at the Cliff Cafe over the edge of Lake Eros. Mark rolled his glass and took a sniff, causing the dark purple wine to slosh around and absorb just a little bit more of the thin air. He took a sip and commented to his wife. "Not bad for Martian grapes?"
Mindy clanged their glasses in agreement and took a sip. "This place is beautiful, but we got see it all. I think we should do the Olympus tour first."
"We can do that, but I want to do the drop."
"Honey, that's dangerous."
"It's safe, and if you want to see the whole planet, it's the best way."
"It's not safe!"
"It's over a year since the last accident, and they fixed that suit malfunction with a back up, so it can't happen again."
**
The space station hung over the red, blue and greenish world below, tied to the elevator ribbon that faded down into the atmosphere.
Mark was whispering something to his wife as the instructor went over his spiel for the thousandth time. "Remember, once you feel the resistance of the atmosphere, do a flat push against the air for a full minute to slow down enough before opening the first stage of the suit."
"Honey, pay attention."
"Yeah, yeah. This is gonna be great."
**
Mindy gave Mark a kiss and sealed her helmet. She took a breath and gave the instructor the okay sign. Mark repeated the same and the bay door opened below them.
"Hey, check out Great Canal Lake."
The sun reflected off its surface and Mindy smiled.
The instructor pinged in. "Get ready for drop in three, two, one."
Mindy felt the sudden push down from the bay, before floating weightless next to her husband. She thrusted over enough to take Mark's hand.
They accelerated down toward the growing planet, until the first trace of atmosphere shuttered around their suits. Mark cupped his hands to grab its force and spun himself around in a crutch before extending out into the flat fall that his wife had already assumed.
After only thirty seconds, Mark brought his helmet up close to Mindy's and said, "Ready for the fun part?" As he move his arm to trigger the stage, Mindy blurted out, "Wait!"
The stage engaged, causing the small wing to extend flat against the excessive force of the growing pressure. Mark was knocked out by the impact, stripping his glove hand from Mindy's grasp. The pull flipped her, and she quickly adjusted to a flat inverted fall, looking back at her husband tumbling with one broken wing. "Mark, are you okay?"
Without response, and their distance growing, Mindy quickly flipped to a head fall, engaged the stage and eased the wings up flat against the fall. She circled around as she fell, looking up to regain sight of her husband. "Mark, I can't see you!"
Again, she leaned vertical and prematurely engaged stage two at only the one minute mark. The larger wings buffeted hard through the vertical drop, and she clenched her teeth as she tried to slowly lean up into the sail. The wings caught hard and felt like a punch in her gut. She regained her breath, and glanced up to find her husband. From behind her view, Mark whizzed past and down toward the planet.
"Mark, where are you?!"
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him tumbling well below. “Mark!”
Quickly, she leaned vertical and raced down to catch her husband. The ground was growing large but she continued to pushed straight down. She sailed just past, inverted flat under him and caught hold. Upside-down, the wings provided much less lift, and they continued to fall fast. Mindy connected their beaners, inverted back upright and engaged the final stage of her wings as Mark dangled from his harness. She pushed the completely extended wings against the force of the air in sight of the city below. Solo, she could have glided around the city for ten minutes, but now she was only seconds from impact. She turned and pushed every force of the wings into generating lift. As the shore line of Lake Eros approached, they crashed hard into the dark waters and resurfaced.
Mindy floated on her back within the twisted remains of her suit; relieved to see his motion.
"What the hell happened?"
"You didn't listen!"
"Sorry."
"Can we please stick to the surface tours now?"
"Sure Mindy."
Singles CruiseI was the oldest person in the group; nearly double the average age of everyone else. Yes, it was a singles cruise but the only legs I planned to check out were the ship’s legs, the ones that would complete the 117 lightyear journey to Artarus and back in just under a month.
Still the sight of a much younger crowd mingling brought back unpleasant memories of my younger years.
The crew was the second shock. It was a mix of aliens and humans. By humans, I mean perfect specimens of humanity, having the best attributes: Looks, Strength, Intelligence. They mostly filled the role of entertainers and staff. The Artarians flew the starship and stayed mostly out of sight as their reptilian appearance unnerved some humans. To me, they just looked like humans in really good costumes. To me, they were the brains behind the ship. To me, they were the people I wanted to talk to.
At first, I had a hard time telling them apart. The key was the pattern of scales on their forearms. Katyl seemed thrilled that I could regularly pick her out of a group of her crewmates and took me on a sweltering tour of the engine room. Above the cadence of the hyperdrive, she explained, “The phrase ‘I see you’ is not about vision but understanding, knowing, connecting. I, too, have trouble telling humans apart, but you are different. You are easy to see.”
--
Before long, Katyl and I were inseparable. Once I got used to the scales and the tail, she was just like everyone else only smarter. Her skin even had an iridescent glow in the starlight. The first time I touched her, her hand felt cool, soft in mine.
Another explanation: “We are exotherms. That’s why the parts of the ship we inhabit are so much warmer than the human habitat.”
--
Late one night, I opened the door and there was Katyl. She seemed confused, almost unable to speak. I finally understood: she had ventured too far from her hot environment and was shutting down in the cold human habitat. She couldn’t even shiver to generate heat.
I offered her hot drinks. Nope. A hot shower. Nope. Turns out she needed body heat. My body heat. I hugged her and she came back a little. She pulled some thick blankets out of a storage from under the bed, got under them and motioned me to join her.
I had heard of human-alien affairs but only as a joke, usually part of racist rant. Katyl was not my lover just a friend in need of warmth. But it felt good to be with her, to hold her.
As she warmed, the Katyl I knew came back to life, maybe too much. She seemed jumpy, hyper excited. Her speech was fast yet halting: “We are not just exotherms, we are symbionts. Yes, we rely on warmth from endotherms but we long for so much more. Can I show you?”
I nodded and she bit me on the neck. It was not painful, just a skin prick. A warm sensation spread down my arms and flowed to my legs. Ah, it increased heat to warm her faster. She pulled me tighter and I could feel her trembling. My hands were shaking, too, a strange mixture of desire and anticipation.
--
It was midafternoon when we left my cabin. She, now wearing a heavy coat, lead me onward and upward to a concert hall. When the first note sounded, I saw a deep purple glow around the cellist and felt the vibration in my chest. She playfully ran a hand down my bare arm. I felt the coolness of her touch and saw a wafting of colors from her fingertips. She smiled at me and I smelled warm cinnamon as she sighed. She kissed me and I tasted a flavor of chocolate unlike any I had ever experienced.
--
As we lay there in the afterglow, she got very talkative and I just took it in. Symbionts, reptilian and mammalian sharing body heat. Sharing hormones. How is it different from being in love with a human female? But more, so much more. Both species thrive. It had only been a week and I felt the changes. Younger, stronger, faster.
--
I applied and was accepted as another human member. I was still me but I easily blended in with the rest of human crew.
Fest on HarrowCopyright 2021 by Paula Friedman
First-rate vacation—enormous R & R for us and the little ones, ‘specially after these months-times of hunkering from the TooCrie Viroids, just the four of us staring and staring at our Pod’s six walls, no real-time contact with any other Be’ings at all.
Our littles were getting—well, “antsy,” all right. Desperate for action, so Millie and me, soon as we all got our "80% probably noninfectious--ok to travel" clearance, hey we decided yeah, the ActivePackage to Fest Week on Harrow’d be just right! Fully prepaid, too—no cost to us at all. So . . . off we rose! Hello, Harrow, and how!
Even so, we’d no idea!
Beauteous it was, the Fest Week, vendors spread like glitterful jewelry over the rolling hills and verdant valleys of Harrow’s Silver (and sole) continent’s High North Range. Glorious to the eyes of all—of we four E-Aurigae Be’ings, of the 16 Blue travelers from the Golden South, of every three-score Sible thin-worlder from the Tau Belt, eyes of tiny Magdae from Old Mars, the Wip-we-lings of distant Tei-O-Tamring. . . .
Oh, and to hear—as, awed, we heard—the wafting choral music of Stau-wa’s inner planets, yearning trebled scales from frozen Har, soft branch-stroked drumlets sweet young Siblet wing-birds play, the sax-and-bugle blarings of the blood-filled mammal-bornes of far half-forgotten Earth.
Odors, too, filled our nostuovss, and our Shnengs shied a-tingle with the strai-yahnn stirrings of our taster glands before each sylvan scent from seedpores of the Lomya worlds—and in our loins (my Millie’s and my own, that is, for neither our little ones’ nor the billlion worlds’ inhabitants feature (generally speaking) loins)—in our loins, then, strung sparkling throbs and thrusts of glorious sights, of tremulous sounds, of tingly odors, trilling tastes, a thrilling silvery brush of Northern breezes all along our paperings . . . ah, then how could we resist! “Chase—catch!” the ancient cry lurched out within us, called from every Be-ing of the multi-species gathered here together on these glowing peaks, these hungering dells, this lusting Silvered Continent! To leap! To lunge! To plunge! To feast!
So joyed we in our R & R, our Harrow Fest, our Feast.
. . . Say you what??? Oh, that.
Oh yes, of course. Well, viroids tend to joy in new sensations, too--new smells, new worlds, explorations, travel--their R & R, as well. Especially in some novel host that's jumping lively hunting prey, the blood a-flowing and the proteins thumping. Man oh man, indeed. And like it said on the ActivePack travel brochure, “No, YOU don’t pay—the natives do!”
[445 words]
Mod
Theme: Recreation.
Elements: A flavor, an odor, a sound, a sight and a tactile sensation.
First round votes:
Thaddeus Howze => Paula, Greg, Jeremy
Justin Sewall => **Greg, Paula, Kalifer
Chris Nance => **Kalifer, Thaddeus, Jot
Kalifer Deil => **Greg, Jeremy, Jot
Jeremy Lichtman => **Thaddeus, Justin, Chris
Jot Russell => **Kalifer
Greg Krumrey => Jot, Chris
Paula Friedman => **Thaddeus, Greg
First round finalists:
Utopia is Coming by Thaddeus Howze
Me or Not Me? by Kalifer Deil
Singles Cruise by Greg Krumrey
Second round votes:
Thaddeus Howze => Paula, ***Greg, Jeremy
Justin Sewall => ***Greg, Paula, Kalifer
Chris Nance => **Kalifer, Thaddeus, Jot
Kalifer Deil => ***Greg, Jeremy, Jot
Jeremy Lichtman => ***Thaddeus, Justin, Chris
Jot Russell => **Kalifer
Greg Krumrey => Jot, Chris; ***Thaddeus
Paula Friedman => ***Thaddeus, Greg
Finalists:
Utopia is Coming by Thaddeus Howze
Singles Cruise by Greg Krumrey
Second round votes:
Thaddeus Howze => Paula, ***Greg, Jeremy
Justin Sewall => ***Greg, Paula, Kalifer
Chris Nance => Kalifer, #Thaddeus, Jot
Kalifer Deil => ***Greg, Jeremy, Jot
Jeremy Lichtman => #Thaddeus, Justin, Chris
Jot Russell => Kalifer; #Thaddeus
Greg Krumrey => Jot, Chris; #Thaddeus
Paula Friedman => #Thaddeus, Greg
Winner:
Utopia is Coming by Thaddeus Howze
1) The story needs to be your own work and should be posted on the goodreads (GR) Discussion board, which is a public group. You maintain responsibility and ownership of your work to do with as you please. You may withdraw your story at any time.
2) The stories must be 750 words or less.
3) The stories have to be science fiction, follow a specific theme and potentially include reference to items as requested by the prior month's contest winner.
4) You have until midnight EST on the 22nd day of the month to post your story to the GR Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion. One story per author per month.
5) After, anyone from the LI Sci-Fi group or the GR Science Fiction Microstory Discussion group has until midnight EST of the 25th day of the month to send me a single private vote (via GR or to author.jotrussell@gmail.com) for a story other than their own. This vote will be made public once voting is closed. Voting, and reading each story before voting, is required. If you do not vote, your story will be disqualified from the contest. You don't need a qualifying story to cast a vote, but you must offer the reason for your vote if you don’t have an entry.
6) To win, a story needs at least half of the votes, or be the only one left after excluding those with the fewest votes. Runoffs will be run each day until a winner is declared. Stories with vote totals that add up to at least half, discarding those with the fewest votes, will be carried forward to the next runoff election. Prior votes will be carried forward to support runoff stories. If you voted for a story that did not make it into the runoff, you need to vote again before midnight EST of that day. Only people who voted in the initial round may vote in the runoffs.
7) Please have all posts abide by the rules of GR and the LI Sci-Fi group.
8) For each month, there will be three discussion threads:
a) Stories - For the stories and the contest results only.
b) Comments - For discussions about the stories and contest. Constructive criticism is okay, but please avoid any spoilers about the stories or degrading comments directed towards any individuals. If you want to suggest a change to the contest, feel free to start a discussion about the idea before making a formal motion. If another member seconds a motion, a vote can be held. I will abstain from voting, but will require a strong two-thirds majority to override my veto.
c) Critiques - Each member can provide at most one critique per story, with a single rebuttal by the author to thank the critic and/or comment to offer the readers the mind set of the story to account for issues raised by the critique. Critiques should be of a professional and constructive manner. Feel free to describe elements that you do and don't like, as these help us gain a better perspective of our potential readers. Remarks deemed inflammatory or derogatory will be flagged and/or removed by the moderator.
9) The winner has THREE days after the start of the new month to make a copy of these rules and post a new contest thread using the theme/items of their choosing. Otherwise, I will post the new contest threads.
Jot Russell
Contest Creator/Director
I figure it might make it easier to focus on our various distractions this month.
Theme: Recreation.
Elements:
A flavor, an odor, a sound, a sight and a tactile sensation.