Herb Kauderer
Jenna Hanan Moore
Christopher Collingwood
Paul Cesarini
Ruben Horn
Nenad Pavlovic
Featuring an exclusive interview with
Herb Kauderer
Warrior, scholar, and master of speculative verse.
Volume 4/Issue 4
By Steven S Behram, MD Editor-In-Chief
Embark on an interstellar odyssey with this October Issue of SavagePlanets, where each page pulses with the thrill of the unknown and every story is a star awaiting discovery. This edition invites you to step beyond the veil of reality, traversing alien worlds, future landscapes, and the farthest reaches of human potential. Are you ready to decode the mysteries of the cosmos, or will you uncover something even stranger within yourself? Prepare to be transported, transformed, and utterly captivated. The universe is calling—how far will you go?
Nebulae
Venture into the swirling depths of imagination with this quarter’s SavagePlanets, where each tale and poem emerges like a newborn star from the cosmic dust. Our contributors have woven narratives that shimmer with mystery and wonder, guiding you from the familiar echoes of Earth to the farthest reaches of speculative realms. Prepare to be dazzled, as every word illuminates a new path through the boundless unknown.
poems traverse between worlds, where cities yearn to be more than machines, travelers navigate the fragile threads of reality, and ancient
This edition’s "Imaginaria" drifts through the mysteries of existence, exploring themes of consciousness, decay, and the relentless passage of time. These
whis- per from the shadows of forgotten stars. The collection delves into the human soul, contemplating memories as currency, the inevitability of cosmic ruin, and the yearning for
life beyond flesh and bone. Each piece invites you to ponder what it means to exist in a universe that dreams, decays, and endlessly transforms.
In this edition's "Planetary Communiqué," Hojack humorously recounts Earth’s latest escapade: a runaway cow stirring up chaos in a quiet town. With sharp wit, he contrasts humanity's clumsy attempts at control with advanced alien technologies, transforming a small-town spectacle into an amusing cosmic commentary. Earth’s antics never fail to entertain the stars!
This issue's short stories launch readers into thrilling, uncharted realms of the cosmos. In "Flying Solo," an epic invasion unfolds as an avian species descends on a primary planet, threatening everything in their path. "A Bad Day on Asteroid G76" offers a pulse-pounding tale of one moment's distraction at an asteroid monitoring station with consequences that could devastate humanity. "Seed On the Horizon" follows a living ship in its death throes, as its crew must choose between survival and sacrifice on an uncharted world. In "One Day While Grazing," a fugitive crashes onto a savage planet, only to discover he’s exchanged one prison for another. "Digital Rabies" plunges into a cyberpunk nightmare where an infected protagonist races against time to hunt down a mysterious hacker. Finally, "Accidental Gods" sees two crew members face
an unexpected encounter with a cargo cult after a routine mission goes awry. These stories weave tales of resilience, danger, and the blurred lines between humanity and the unknown, promising an unforgettable journey through the vastness of space.
This edition's Sci-Fi Entertainment section begins with "The Thousand Faced Poet," a captivating journey into the life and work of Herb Kauderer. We uncover the many facets of this talented creator, from his early experiences as a trucker and martial artist to his emergence as a renowned science fiction poet and screenwriter. Kauderer opens up about the inspirations and life events that have shaped his poetry, providing readers with a rare glimpse into the mind of a true speculative master.
Next, "The Darkness Around Dark Matter" takes an in-depth look at Blake Crouch’s recent TV adaptation of his novel "Dark Matter,"
a mind-twisting tale of parallel universes and fractured realities. The article examines how Crouch seized the opportunity to expand upon his original narrative, offering insights into what worked, what changed, and the challenges of translating such a complex story from page to screen. Fans of sci-fi thrillers will find themselves intrigued by how this adaptation deepens the themes of identity, choice, and the multiverse.
Lastly, "Mars Express" ventures into the groundbreaking realm of animated sci-fi with a detailed review of this visually stunning neo-noir film. The piece explores how the film’s richly crafted futuristic world—set on a Mars where robots, androids, and humans coexist—questions whether animation might be the ultimate way to depict complex, otherworldly landscapes. With its intricate plot, high-octane action, and thought-provoking themes of artificial intelligence and freedom, Mars Express challenges viewers to rethink what sci-fi storytelling can achieve. Together,
these three features provide a thought-provoking, diverse, and comprehensive exploration of the ever-evolving world of sci-fi entertainment.
As we conclude this edition of SavagePlanets, we celebrate the limitless power of imagination to take us to the farthest reaches of space and the deepest corners of our souls. The stories and poems within these pages have invited us to dream boldly, question reality, and wander through worlds that defy the ordinary. They remind us that, much like the cosmos itself, our capacity for wonder knows no bounds.
Thank you, fellow explorers, for joining us on this voyage through the unknown. Until our next journey, keep your eyes on the stars and your hearts open to the mysteries yet to be discovered. The universe is vast, and countless adventures await.
AN EPIC POEM BY HERB KAUDERER
...despite her training she is anxious with anticipation at touching down in uncharted flora on the surface of another planet..."
habitable zone
using their least detectable sensors the cloaked lana mothership approaches and eases into orbit around the primary planet becoming one more piece of black in the night sky
within the ship dozens of flocks of lana swoop and flap and fly in the central chamber
exuberant with the cessation of boring, constant, fake gravity endured through long flights
and reveling in the variety of gravitational pulls coming from the local star, and its local solar system, and the double-planet system the ship now circles
feathers and down circulate among air currents, dancing confetti
among thousands of lana who swirl around each other celebrating arrival at another planet capable of supporting intelligent life indigenous peoples
from outside the atmosphere via long range sensors they judge the natives:
noble birds of prey feasting on wildness and defending the skies
fishers wading and swooping through waters for sustenance cleaners processing remains of frequent brawls among the chaos of lower lifeforms
modest sentinels patrolling roosting on defensive wires strung across landscapes
workers tiny avians easily floating in place and able to use their opposable toes to operate tools though strangely reticent to do so and in rare settings strange and gigantic land warriors with impossibly long legs and necks defending the ground in select sandy reaches these are the greatest source of curiosity: magnificent, yet so limited infiltration
the lana linguists are far from translating the spoken languages of this planet but digital texts of the natives are easier and refer to their planet by many names
the science flock confers and agree that the most useful name is terra
this mothership is on reconnaissance for empty worlds to colonize but terra is not one of those
in the history of all the flocks of this mothership, no charted world has been so wild with profusion of life as this one
the lana flocks must determine whether terra is a wild world to subjugate or a settled world with whom to negotiate
after consultation with the command class consensus is reached to send a dozen specialists planetside, infiltrators charged with collecting information so that command can decide how to approach the populace of this planet deployment
the infiltrators are ordered to maintain silence from each other, each communicating only with the mothership
twelve separate one-bird bubble ships are expelled from the bottom of the mothership and slowly float toward earth heavenly eggs taking lana halfway from space to touchdown
each egg carries one lone soldier surgically augmented with the best surveillance equipment scientists can make
each infiltrator has been trained to work apart from its flock and to blend in with locals
and so the invasion begins
the infiltrators are trained for the echoing loneliness of becoming separate from the flock though separation causes aching
beyond aching one certain infiltrator feels gratitude to be sent to the least frozen of the northern landmasses
she cannot abide cold though her training has taught her stoic acceptance of all stimuli so that she may enjoy her proper place
her charge is to infiltrate the infinite city of light that runs along the middle of the eastern seaboard
light at least gives illusion of heat to assuage her dislike of cold: though she has never acted on this feeling as it is insignificant within the needs of the flock
she leaves her small cloaked scout ship hovering six miles up below common flight paths of local airships yet above flight capacities of most natives
taking a concentrated breath of air the lana tucks her wings and plummets from the ship’s bottom hatch
falling long minutes to a breathable height, before:
turning out the tips of her wings and letting the thin air catch and change her direction
gradually she changes from pure vertical drop to power dive eager to reach warmer layers of air below
despite her training she is anxious with anticipation at touching down in uncharted flora on the surface of another planet
long minutes mount as the power dive moves into thickening air and buffeting air currents clouds coat her with moisture chilling her
below them she is shaded from the sun unable to get warm
finally she swoops to a horizontal flight path looking for a safe haven a soft landing place
and lands in a tree festooned with red fruits that overwhelm her with their odor
which confirms her success: she has landed on a foreign planet and so she rests breathes the plant fumes
slowly begins to feel the tunes of the wildness of this extreme world and despite all her training she is excited
the infiltrator drops from the tall plant spreading her wings to coast near ground and fly out of the cluster of flora that so much reminds her of the trees of home
with her trained eye she records details to be included in her report to the mothership
first contact is most important: the only time there are so few expectations and perception is not primed by past experience
the lana coasts out above a field of native grasses
and surveys terrain until she sees a shadow and finds, high in the sky a noble bird of prey
she displays herself inviting the native to investigate: the bird of prey spots the lana and swoops down
the lana adopts the universal posture of surrender feels the thrill of the bird of prey closing on her at full speed
she waits for the wind of the sudden halt of its flight and the modest pecking of dominance that will open communication with a new world
the bird of prey continues at full speed hitting the lana hard and trapping her in its claws as it swoops upward
pain and panic scream at her but military training takes over her behavior: the lana struggles and bites at the leg of the bird of prey four times until it drops her
she plays dead as she falls knowing the bird of prey will be less urgent for recapturing wounded prey is easier than starting a new hunt
low to the ground she finally animates and spreads her wings carrying as much leftover momentum as possible into sudden evasive movements
she senses the bird of prey diving after her as she races into the treelike plants and disappears into a pile of leaflike detritus with an explosive rustling sound
a moment later the bird of prey passes by continuing overhead
leaving the lana bleeding, frightened, shivering, hidden
processing what she has learned of this new world
having learned that universal postures of avians do not apply in this place
having cleaned away her blood and sealed her wounds
the lana ventures out again passes for a sparrow flitting through a new world of confusion avoiding conflict
at first she is appalled by the diversity of lifeforms which the dominant species allow to continue
until the lana perceives how easily intelligence will be gathered with the advantage of invisible mobility
an ability to flit through terra’s chaos unnoticed until it is too late
her flocks will flourish here
near the ocean in a field of old corn stalks the lana finds a large meeting of birds
a place to blend in and record their languages for transmission to the mothership
she discreetly activates the mechanical recorder implanted below her left wing
after all she does not want natives suspicious as she walks among them
she mimics their behavior wishing she could understand their language and looking forward to the results of the work of those back on the mothership: the language flocks and their computers
by this time tomorrow her ear implants should allow her to understand terran languages
aboard the mothership the flock of linguists peck at their machines trying every avenue to decipher the spoken languages of those terrans recorded at the coastal conference of natives: to no avail
left with no other alternative to translation they resort to analyzing the recordings for a sentience rating: the recordings fail the test
every different group of natives fail leaving the linguists and other science teams confused
in their explorations they have encountered other avians not yet evolved to sentience
but this planet bursts with evidence of sentient beings somewhere among the distracting confusion of life on the planet below there must be self-aware beings
but if not the avians then who?
after warmth of midday passes the infiltrator anticipates data from the mothership: a decoding of local speech and analysis of local culture
but when the messages come the lana feels pain worse than when the bird of prey attacked her
somehow, on this wild and unaccountable world evolution must have taken a path less traveled and raised a lesser class of beings to sentience
her duty compels her to seek out the aberrant lifeforms that have created: the cities, spaceships, and digital databases that are proof of sentience
but first she takes solace in the heat of the late afternoon sun preens her feathers and cleans the scars left behind by the bird of prey
putting herself together to face a world without order
the lana roosts in the eaves of the Quincy Market
searching, seeking the self-aware, watching the many aliens who do not seem to care if they are watched
large ones: bustle and fuel and reset without recognition of countless flickers of life that build their existence around them
birds, small mammals, insects, arachnids keep clear
all reactive to the large ones who are oblivious to their place in the cross hairs
after days of flying west the lana flutters through the rafters of the Carrier Dome Football Stadium hesitant to access her implants in a location outfitted with so many devices for capturing motion
she attempts math without machines trying to understand if this stadium is proportionate to the large beings of the market the ones the linguists call humans since it’s big enough for 50 lana spaceships
further calculations attempt to discover: what volume of fuel will cause the Dome to liftoff from the deep gravity well of the planet
soon the lana will need to send word to orbit for an aerial inventory of how many of these ships the large ones have
she begins to question whether preparation will be for attack or defense
the lana blends with life at the zoo where she appears as just another swallow in the elephant’s pen
in reality she staggers around in mental paralysis locked by the idea that these larger, smarter creatures accept being controlled by humans
after days of surveillance watching elephants fed and bathed and entertained and remembering the size of the stadium spaceships
the lana finally realizes: despite stone walls limiting movement the elephants are not captives
the humans serve the elephants and her worldview is reassembled
the lana files her report: the planet is ruled by elephants who are served by humans who are essentially oblivious drones bred for the masters
intelligence returns from the mothership: their space fleet is minor: a few thousand stadium ships that fit elephants
a hundred thousand smaller ships not quite fit for space designed to carry humans
the main means of communication between masters and servants remains undiscovered
military action is taken exclusively by human drones, as would be expected given the undiscovered modes of communication her final recommendation is: further observation necessary no colonization, negotiation, or subjugation at this time
she was first to transmit recordings of native avians and so she is first to receive a new package of translations revealing additional background information deciphered from the text databanks of the natives
highlighted is material regarding an avian of the flock: grey parrot
the avian shows clear signs of sentience and is attended by humans serving in their roles as drones
clearly some avians have properly evolved and yet:
there is something wrong with this one as the text indicates the avian has an individual name: as if it constitutes its own flock a flock named Alex
the mothership promises that soon the captured motion images from indigenous sensors will be deciphered
within hours the lana will not have to rely on just words to understand why the only local sentient avian is a delusional outlier of a minor flock
the mothership instructs her to secret herself in a safe haven so that they can transmit video images through her implants
safe within a hedge, she gives the signal and sees strange and primitive two dimensional motion recordings of the indigenous people
she wonders what the mothership thought so important they preferred images to words and then she sees a brutal battle in which humans slaughter elephants and another battle, and another humans desecrating their fallen masters by hacking away their display teeth
over and over different videos show
the same story until there can be no doubt: the humans rule this world no matter how wrong that is
there is silence when the transmissions end the mothership understands the infiltrator will need time to recover before resuming her mission
at first the lana was fine using her natural resemblance to a swallow for reconnaissance acting only as scout and harbinger for her people
but she is disturbed now that she has helped determine: the large ones, the humans, are the dominant species
haunting the large ones she learns that each has a separate name and often more than one name
this too disturbs her in ways for the magnitude of its alienness: each has a self-chosen identity rather than an involuntary pattern of feathers and colors
others have personal names as well such as the avian of the grey parrot flock that considered itself its own flock, as well
the disturbance includes the discomfort of heretical thoughts:
she dares to think of herselfas her people’s chosen one for bringing this new world into the greater flock of the lana
and she dares even imagine acting as her own flock leading the settlement of this wildest of worlds
for the first time conquest becomes personal military engagement
secretly the lana plots learning the ways of earth’s unaware avians whom she had previously dismissed
like her people, the local
avians have no individual identity or chosen name
she looks for her opportunity among the terran flocks learning to lead them studying and influencing that flock which the text databases call: geese
when the proper day arrives she leads the clueless locals on a flight above a landing site for metal airships of the large ones
as the roaring plane achieves altitude she leads her frightened troops into the jet in-take chute
she has carefully calculated the aerodynamics so that
her lighter weight allows her to avoid getting sucked into the in-take and she exits the slipstream: banging against the metal wing barely surviving the journey to ground
having survived she sees smoke in the distance pouring from the crashed sky transport and she knows she has earned her name: Shipkiller
what she does not know is how to tell the nameless lana orbiting within the mothership who she has become side project
the lana’s people chitter speaking in rhythm while most local avians coo and sometimes chirp in harmony
Shipkiller settles in among a local flock, torturing individuals not quite randomly
she forces them to write a melody and then to perform in birdsong for the uncaring world the song of Shipkiller
but she is still unfulfilled as she dreams of further greatness:
she would have words added to her song
words composed in the language of the large ones: the ones who understand what it means to be a flock of one
the scout commander descends from the orbiting lana ship homing in on the lead infiltrator whose reports have been interrupted
she finds the lana settled among a flock of unaware locals abusing them
the commander has seen scouts go native before and knows the cure
she issues corporal punishment repeatedly in accordance with regulations until the scout comes to her senses assumes the posture of surrender
showing her readiness to resume her place as one small cog in her people’s expansion
then the commander ascends: returning to the command flock comfortable in the knowledge that she has done her job well
learning
the spoken communication of the large ones is a hard task for the lana, but harder still: figuring out what is important from their oceans of sound recordings and moving pictures
the infiltrator relies on the computing power from the mothership to help her pick vulnerable targets to gain information
she reports: the power of mass-killing weapons the dangers of fanaticism the ecological warfare of species against species and she waits impatiently for orders
Shipkiller Saboteur
her plans have changed completely
parting ways for the last time
Shipkiller Saboteur descends from the mothership in a two-bird ship that the scout commander will use to return to the mothership
the terrans so far uplifted have been resettled in three areas not so far from the Quincy Market the Carrier Dome and the zoo
five miles up she turns to the scout commander to speak before exiting: “we are lana “I have been one of the tool users “and also one of the infiltrators
“today I become “a leader of the insurgency “with the flocks of terra “but I am also my own flock “I am Shipkiller Saboteur
“when lana return to take possession “of this world “make sure they know
“that once “I was here”
and with that, she plummets one last time to the planet below
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BY JENNA HANAN MOORE
She tried to initiate the warning sequence, but it was too late. The communication links had already been severed by the invasion force. "
Juniper Jones was having a bad day. It was her turn to man the Early Warning Monitoring Station on the far side of the asteroid, an excruciatingly dull task even on the best of days. But this was not the best of days.
Her troubles began the previous evening when she ran out of reading material. She tried to download the next series of novels she’d ordered from the Main Library on Earth, but the communication link failed. She made another attempt in the morning, to no avail.
Juniper left her quarters and headed to the science station’s communal dining room, resigned to her plight. She would spend the forty-eight hours in a tiny station with nothing to do but monitor the transmissions from the Early Warning Satellites for signs of alien invasion. She tried to hide her dismay from Aurora Deltax, who served as both head chef and chief botanist on Asteroid G76, but Aurora knew her too well.
“What’s going on, Juniper?”
“Not much. I’m heading to the monitoring station in about two hours.”
“No, I mean what’s wrong? I hear you’re up for science director at the new station on Pluto. We’ll miss you if you go, but it sounds exciting. Not having second thoughts, are you?”
“I won’t know for two months, but yes, it’s exciting. No second thoughts.”
“You don’t look very excited.” Juniper sighed. “I’m completely out of reading material. The comm link with the Main Library has been down for the past twelve hours. There’s not much to do at the monitoring station without reading material.”
“All the comm links have been twitchy lately. I even had trouble connecting with the station on G94 yesterday. But never mind that. I have a solution to your problem. Meet me by the kitchen
door when you finish eating. I’ll show you.”
Juniper ate quickly, then met Aurora by the kitchen, as instructed. Aurora led her through a series of hallways and staircases until they came to a door marked “Library.”
Aurora unlocked the door and stepped inside, followed by Juniper. The lights came on automatically, revealing several rows of tall, metal shelves holding paper books. Juniper’s jaw dropped. She’d never seen paper books before. They were rare enough to fetch millions of Terros at auction. Yet here she was, surrounded by stacks of them.
“Take your pick.” Aurora motioned toward the shelves with a sweeping gesture. “Just take care of them and be sure to return them. The selection is limited, but I’m sure you’ll find something interesting. At the very least, these books will be new and different.”
By new, Aurora meant new to Juniper. The books must have
been at least forty years old. Some were even older. Many had never been uploaded to the Main Library. Indeed, that’s why they were here. They’d been brought to the science station by astronauts so eager to read these books they were willing to sacrifice the necessary room in their packs.
Juniper lost herself in another era as she browsed the small library that smelled of time. There was something intangible yet delightful about the feel of holding a paper book in her hands. She recalled reading about bibliophiles, who had been reluctant to transition to electronic readers because they loved the feel of paper books. As a scientist living on an asteroid, with space at a premium, Juniper recognized the advantages of electronic reading. But holding a volume of poetry by Elizabeth Barrett Browning in her hand while wandering the aisles of bookshelves in this strange, quiet room, she understood how they must have felt.
Most of the titles were unfamiliar, but Juniper soon discovered that each book included a brief description of the story it held. Although not as informative as the descriptions
in the Main Library’s catalog, they were helpful.
She opened one book that looked promising, only to find its faded pages difficult to read. Another book she picked up might have been interesting, but it was written in French, and there was no translation icon. She leafed through a volume of poetry by T. S. Elliot—a vaguely familiar name—only to find it too depressing. Something about the world ending with a whimper, not a bang.
Eventually, Juniper chose three books, thanked Aurora, and returned to her quarters to finish packing. Half an hour later, she was suited up and loading her gear onto the rover, no longer dreading the next forty-eight hours. She looked forward to passing time in the comfortable reclining chair under the star dome reading from these newly discovered treasures.
The drive to the monitoring station took fifty minutes as Juniper maneuvered the rover slowly over the magnetic track. She knew every nook and cranny of the stark landscape by heart. Craggy rocks in varying shades of brown with metallic streaks here and there. But the sky
was different every time she made the trip. This time, Jupiter was visible on the eastern horizon in all its splendor. She drank it in, knowing she’d miss this ever-changing view if she were transferred to Pluto.
When she arrived at the monitoring station, Juniper found Zander Fernandez eager to be relieved.
“Nothing worth reporting,” he said. “You know the drill. Anyway, coffee’s hot. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. Maybe later.” Juniper appreciated the gesture, but Zander brewed the worst coffee in the solar system.
She unloaded the rover, took off her helmet, and began to unpack. Meanwhile, Zander zipped up his pack and suited up.
“What the hell is that?” he asked, indicating Juniper’s hard-bound copy of War and Peace
“A book,” she explained. “There’s a secret paper book library in the science station.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Zander mused. He paused to handle the book. “Heavy, innit?” He set it down. “I better get going. See you in two
days.”
“See you then.”
Two minutes later, Juniper was alone. She inspected the equipment to be sure it was in good working order. The monitors were equipped with alarms, so she did not have to stand watch, but protocol required her to check at the beginning of her shift and every six hours after that. In the sixty-four years the Early Warning System had been in place, there had never been any signs of interstellar invaders, but most astronauts at least went through the motions of following the protocol. After all, there was little else to do in the monitoring station.
Perhaps Juniper should have been concerned by the recent glitches in the communication links, but she wasn’t. She made her preliminary checks, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and settled in under the star dome to read.
First, she tried reading War and Peace. She’d chosen it partly because it was one of the few titles she recognized, but mainly
because it was long enough to keep her occupied. She tried to find a comfortable way to hold the book. As Zander had pointed out, it was heavy, much heavier than the electronic readers she was used to. After half an hour, she gave up.
Next, she tried The Shining, another book she’d picked largely for its length. She found the story and its characters more engaging than those in War and Peace, and the book was easier to hold. But it was not without its problems. Every time Juniper got up to pour another cup of coffee or use the restroom, the book closed, and she lost her place. She solved the problem by entering the page number into her log before setting the book aside.
This system worked well enough, but Juniper soon found herself more frightened than entertained. Reading The Shining was a lot like visiting a haunted mansion virtual reality zone, as she’d done so many Halloweens as a child on Earth. Being spooked silly had been fun when she was with her sisters, but it was decidedly less enjoyable alone at the isolated monitoring station.
Finally, she turned her attention to Saving Fish from Drowning. The strange title had intrigued and delighted her when she saw it in Aurora’s library. The book did not disappoint. Juniper enjoyed reading about the strange realities of life in the early twenty-first century. The time flew by as Juniper passed several blissful hours immersed in her reading, occasionally pausing to take in the view in the star dome above her.
Nine hours into her shift, disaster struck. As she turned a page, Juniper felt a stinging pain in the soft skin at the base of her thumb. She dropped the book and saw a thin cut. It was bleeding! She ran to the restroom to clean her wound. When she returned to the main room, the alarm was sounding. Juniper couldn’t understand how this had happened so quickly. The invaders must have come through a worm hole. She tried to initiate the warning sequence, but it was too late. The communication links had already been severed by the invasion force.
And that is how a paper cut led to the end of civilization on Earth.
By Hojack, Celestial Envoy to Earth: Witness to the Galaxy’s Most Hilarious Pursuit of Bovines and Baffled Law Enforcement.
The Planetary Communiqué is a section reserved for the dissemination of official intergalactic communications from our galactic overlords to the subjugated planets and territories. The editorial staff does not endorse or hold opinions regarding the content of such communications. Frankly, we lost several of them who did! Therefore, Hojack requires compliance with all opinions and edicts issued by the Galactic potentate and its politburo.
Salutations, my Earth-dwelling devotees! Once again, I, Hojack, have peered through the cosmic lens and witnessed one of your planet’s finest spectacles. In today’s transmission, we venture to the quaint streets of East Bridgewater, Massachusetts, where a cow—yes, you heard that right—decided to throw your society into absolute disarray. Prepare yourselves, for this might be the most exciting thing to happen in your corner of the universe this month.
Picture, if you will, a humble cow named Boots, basking in the boredom of her pastoral existence. One day, she has an epiphany: Why limit myself to fields when there’s an entire town to explore? And so, she escapes, sparking a two-hour police chase that could only be described as a live-action game of tag. Naturally, Earth’s finest were summoned,
including—get this—her owner, on horseback. This is the moment where your human instincts truly shine: chasing a cow, on a horse, in the middle of a suburban town. I mean, why not throw in some rollerblades for good measure?
Your police, with lassos in hand and hearts full of determination, pursued the wily bovine across lawns, through traffic, and into legend. For two hours, the town of East Bridgewater was gripped by
the drama of “Catch That Cow!” The situation was so dire that some humans were forced to interact with their neighbors (gasp) to explain why their hedges were flattened.
Cosmic Comparisons: Intergalactic Livestock Management
Naturally, this entire ordeal has provided endless entertainment to the galactic audience. Can
you imagine Grawth, our glorious overlord, chasing after an errant Gravimoo (our space equivalent of your Earth cows) with nothing but rope and a hope? No, because we evolved. You see, when Grawth’s Gravimoo escapes, we activate our trusty anti-gravity nets and hover drones to gently guide the creature back to its pod. No two-hour marathons required, and certainly no horsing around.
But humans, in their charmingly primitive way, seem to thrive on inefficiency. Instead of, I don’t know, using a teleportation device, you resort to food bait. Yes, folks, that’s right—after two hours, the mighty Boots was finally apprehended with a snack. Oh, Earthlings never change.
Edicts from the Galactic Council
Having reviewed this case with the other cosmic commentators, I, Hojack, have been tasked with issuing the following edicts for future cattle-related incidents on Earth:
The Edict of Agricultural Advancement: Earthlings must upgrade their livestock containment methods by the year 2030. We require force fields around all meadows, ensuring cows, goats, and humans remain where they belong. Failure to comply will result in galactic fines or, worse, a mandatory visit from Grawth’s gravity-fluxing enforcement team.
The Statute of Suburban Silliness: Henceforth, any police pursuit lasting
longer than 30 minutes must be broadcast live to the galaxy for maximum comedic effect. In addition, citizens are encouraged to place bets on the outcome, with winners receiving a free upgrade to their local teleportation pads.
The Decree of Dairy Drama: All future escaped cows shall be honored in the Galactic Cow Hall of Fame for their valiant attempts to flee the clutches of terrestrial domestication. Boots, for her groundbreaking twohour sprint, will be the first Earth cow inducted. A plaque shall be erected in her honor, listing her impressive list of accomplishments: Dodger of Lassos, Disruptor of Traffic, and Destroyer of Lawns.
Once again, Earthlings, you’ve managed to turn the mundane into the magnificent. Your inefficient, yet delightfully absurd, response to a rogue cow has brought joy to countless species across the stars. If only you applied this level of dedication to, say, space travel. But I digress.
So, until your next cosmic blunder—or cow chase—I, Hojack, shall remain your ever-watchful observer, bemused by the antics of a planet that can’t even contain its livestock. Perhaps one day, you’ll surprise us all with an efficient solution, but I wouldn’t hold my stardust-laced breath.
End transmission.
by Keith 'Doc' Raymond
The unsettled spirit must wander the Earth until they find their place. Some spirits create masks. Disguises to hide themselves in while assimilating new environments in which to learn and discover. Others, like Herb Kauderer, develop faces. Faces that show their genuine self to others while blending into the place they find themselves. Herb has been a Teamster, a trucker capable of driving anything with wheels. He is a sixth degree black belt scholar, not to mention a martial artist. He is also an ex-husband, a father of four, and a knight errant. The latter being required to succeed in the former roles. But he does put on armor and fight with swords! Now, he is a professor of literature, political science, and creative writing at Hilbert College. But all these faces were imperative to become a poet, artist, and screenwriter. For our purposes here, we explore Herb’s various faces just to get a little closer to a renowned science fiction poet.
Thank you for joining us today, Professor. It is a privilege to share your visions with our readers.
It is said that in writing creative non-fiction, one starts with the climax and works backward to the mid-
al’ professor, you have taught a variety of genres except science fiction. ‘Perhaps it would be a conflict of interest,’ you claim. Please explain that, and no, we are not in a court of law, and we will not hold it against you. And if you did, what would it look like, and differ from, say, Brandon Sanderson?
dle. As an artist, you are indeed a magnificent work of creative non-fiction, so I think it’s best to start with your present, possibly your climax. As a ‘curiously season-
While I touch on SF in several courses (it is impossible to teach The Literature of Horror without Frankenstein) the college’s course in science fiction literature is always taught by someone else. Someone who isn’t on a first-name basis with half the authors on the reading list, and someone who hasn’t lost writing awards to some of them. While my connections might make for interesting lectures, they could also put my interests in conflict with objectivity in analyzing the field.
In creative writing, the students choose their own writing paths. This semester I have a lot of students who want to write secondary world fantasy. Perhaps some of them will send work your way!
In the long ago spring of 1979 semester, I was lucky enough to take a course in science fiction from a working science fiction author, David A. Lunde. It was the first time a scholar demonstrated to me they had knowledge of the field, and I loved that a third of the course was more or less contemporary. It convinced me to try to do the same. Surely students need to understand the classics, including Frankenstein, Jules Verne, The Time Machine, E.E. “Doc” Smith, “With Folded Hands” by Jack Williamson, “Who Goes There?” by John W. Campbell, Jr. as Don A. Stuart, A. E. van Vogt, The Martian Chronicles, The Demolished Man, Fahrenheit 451, Hal Clement’s Mission of Gravity, The Space Merchants, “The Cold Equations”, Stranger in a Strange Land, The Left Hand of Darkness, Ringworld, and many more, most of which would be on the recommended rather than required reading list. But there would also be twenty-first century SF including Calculating God by Robert J. Sawyer, American Gods by Neil Gaiman, The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson, The City & the City by China Miéville, The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi, and works by Resnick, Scalzi, Martha Wells, Becky Chambers, Nancy Kress, Cory Doctorow, Andy Weir and more.
Your question is equally about teaching SF and teaching writing of SF. The most important thing I can say to students is “keep writing.” That means new drafts and revisions. In film and television, there are countless producers, directors, and actors who want to be writers. But somehow they don’t want to cause the words to appear on the screen or page. You become a writer by writing. And persevering at it.
Twenty-six plus chapbooks of speculative poetry is no mean feat, and yet you have written them. It is certainly not doodling beneath a starry sky or
preying on the inspirations of seagulls over Lake Erie (were you there when it caught fire?). Is there a single poem in your compendium that you can point to and say, that is my best work? And this is the one I want to be remembered for. Or has it not been written yet? Sadly, poets are not lauded in our society as they once were. But I think your poetry is what you will be remembered for in the distant future on starships. Are there other poets that feed your beast and made you into the poet you are today?
I think your first question has two answers. I wrote the poem “Wedding Song” and collected up a dozen rejections that generally said, ‘This is beautiful, it made me cry, I can’t buy it.’ At the 1998 WorldCon Poetry Slam, I read it as a horror poem, even though it is really mainstream. The judge, Robin Wayne Bailey, cited the poem, giving me first place. In 1999, it finally got published, and it has been published many times since then. I have heard other poets read it at poetry readings, which is a high compliment. This is the poem I am most known for, and I am completely comfortable with that. But your question also asks which speculative poem do I feel is my best. An honest answer is that I feel differently on different days. There are a dozen that make me happy to say ‘I wrote that’ and I’ll pick a few here. “After” won the 2017 Asimov Reader’s Award, and still strikes me. “Scholar: Seeking Wisdom” makes me laugh every time I read it. It finished third in the 24th Annual Critters Readers’ Poll (2022). 2021 Rhysling nominee “Family Historian” still creeps me out. 1992 Rhysling nominee “Names”
is short but enduring. The four poems I listed could easily grow into a list of twelve, so I’ll stop here. Poets who have inspired me include Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dorothy Parker, all the grandmasters of the SFPA, Geoffrey A. Landis, John D. MacDonald (who wrote very poetic prose), David A. Lunde, and dozens more speculative and classical poets. It is often overlooked how often the classical poets wrote genre poetry.
Herb, you have known many of the greats of science fiction, and been privy to several generations of writers. Each generation in speculative fiction contributed to its evolution. How did you experience each sea change? Are there generational themes that were over written or underwritten, that perhaps future writers should address? And what is with the multiverse phase we are in now?
Nine people attended the first ever SF convention in 1936. I was friends with two of them, Fredrik Pohl and David A. Kyle. I have known writers and SF personalities of every generation since the 1930s. Fifties SF star William
Tenn often spoke of the way generations of writers worked together in ‘an intellectual lifestyle.’ Stories answered stories, and some things certainly got overwritten. Knowing the field, the eras sorted themselves out for me. In the 70s I was reading 70s SF such as Niven, 60s New Wave exemplified by Judith Merrill and Harlan Ellison, 50s sophisticated SF including Bester and Tenn, 40s nuts and bolts SF such as Doc Smith and Jack Williamson, and 30s foundational works such as Weinbaum’s “A Martian Odyssey.” Later I discovered the pre-history of SF. Each generation had a feel and a correspondence that was easy to follow. I believe that stories of humans transferring their existence into the computer have been written too often. I believe that solar system colonization has barely been scratched. Those 50s stories of corporations dictating too much to humans are ready to be revisited with a vengeance.
Both the tournaments of magic and video gaming certainly inspired you in both writing and reading. Are there moments that stand out, leading you in new directions in stories and poetry from each of these activities? And have editors approached you and asked you to write ‘down’ to your audience if you waxed too esoteric, like in the comic books industry?
I have created thousands of alternate worlds, which required drawing inspiration from almost everywhere. Magic: the Gathering often inspires political intrigue. Video games are a great reminder to include conflict. But most important, gaming is a social interaction that inspires character interaction in writing. Painters can take six colors and create an entire spectrum of hues to reflect the world. For writers, people are tubes of paint, and we start with a lot more than six. From there, we blend their traits into a new per-
son. Social interaction facilitates this on a high level. No editors have asked me to write down to the audience, although I absolutely wax esoteric from time to time. That said, while I was
working on my PhD, it was noted a few times that my writing was ‘too clear’ for good academic writing. Perhaps that clarity overrides my occasional bouts of obscurity.
Currently, you teach the genres of mystery, westerns, and horror. Lately, we find films, television, and literature engaging these genres and combining them in some form or another with science fiction, creating hybrids. First, is this a good thing? I have seen shows and read books that use a sci-fi idea to open the show, only to shift it into a human interest story. The films Clear Mind and The Pod Generation are examples. Do these things cheapen the genre or empower science fiction?
Creators rely on critics and academics to explain the rules and
boundaries of our genres, which is, for us, a checklist of rules to break. When they produce hybrids simply to appeal to a wider audience, rather than to create a stronger work, then they cheapen things. Old-timers have suffered a lot from creators ignorant of a genre, who then grab its tropes just for audience. But Blade Runner is a noir, detective story, and seminal work of science fiction. I certainly don’t think its noir or detective elements took anything away from its SF content. It made it better. That Alien is as much horror film as SF doesn’t make it less. The suspense made it more. There are many more examples. In other words, it depends on the creator and the intent.
That said, you also asked about films that change from one thing to another. A story has to stay in character just as a character has to stay in character. If a film is going to change, it has to let the viewer know it’s the kind of film that will change. The film Kick-Ass did this very well. Joe Vs. The Volcano did it poorly. I loved both films, the first did better at the box-office.
In each generation, there are certain lines of poetry that resonate. ‘I took the road not taken, and it made all the difference,’ for example. Are there lines in your poems that need to be celebrated? That are iconic? Lines you’d like the next generations to know, and perhaps even recite?
Wow. There are so many things I say and write that have become axiomatic. It is difficult and feels arrogant to discuss. I hope future generations will remember the leitmotif of all my writing, which is “society lies.” I have oft repeated: “Knowing what you want is the hard part.” I’ll stick to those.
As mentioned previously, you have met many of the great writers in science fiction. If you were to develop a syllabus of authors and books to prime a new student and writer to acquaint themselves with science fiction (and avoid recreating former ideas), who would you choose? Please include yourself, of course, and some of your defining works.
This question is subtly different from what goes into teaching a course in SF. The problem with literature courses is that we tend toward the best or most influential works, not necessarily those works most indicative of the field. I base the following on my definition of science fiction. I could write a different syllabus every day. Limiting myself to 15 (one for each week of the semester) here is today’s syllabus:
The Time Machine—H.G. Wells 1895
Metropolis—Fritz Lang 1927
· The Stars My Destination—Alfred Bester 1956
Stranger in a Strange Land—Robert A. Heinlein 1961
2001: A Space Odyssey Stanley Kubrick 1968
· Ringworld—Larry Niven 1970
Ender’s Game—Orson Scott Card 1985
The Bicentennial Man—Isaac Asimov, Chris Columbus directed it in 1999
· Calculating God—Robert J. Sawyer 2000
The Martian—Andy Weir 2011
Guardians of the Galaxy Arnold Drake, James Gunn wrote and directed the script in 2014
Another day the list might include: The Space Merchants (Cyril N. Kornbluth) and Dr. Strangelove (Stanley Kubrick)
automobile (great scars and no excuse to have survived), and had many lesser excitements. The thing I’m most often needed for is describing how to handle pain, how to find some place that doesn’t hurt and put your consciousness there. This applies to physical pain and writing pain. Regarding hope, I encourage people to look into PTGS (Post Traumatic Growth Syndrome) which focuses on intrinsic worth and resilience, two fabulous things for a writer to have.
As a professor of writing, do you have important suggestions to those who want to take up the pen as a sword of their soul? Is there a balance between a story’s message and its entertainment? And what are the common mistakes you see young writers making which they can avoid and might help them improve their prose and poetry?
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy—Douglas Adams 1979
Alien—Dan O’Bannon, Ridley Scott directed it in1979
Blade Runner—Philip K. Dick, Ridley Scott directed it in 1982
· The Terminator—Randall Frakes, James Cameron directed it in 1984
Herb, you are an outdoorsman, living in a cold climate. Have there been moments where your survival was tenuous, or loved ones were in peril, and you found words to give them hope? Words perhaps you can share not with just our readers, but writers who fall into despair.
In my life I have survived a horrible burn, gotten hit by a speeding
A message is purely optional. It is foundational to the study of literature that all literature reflects the society that created it, including its messages. You can no more write a piece of whimsy such as Jabberwocky without a message than you can write a political novel without a message. The key is to not be too ‘on the nose’ with your message if you plan to intentionally use one. Perhaps the worst mistake of new writers is avoiding discomfort. Anytime I write something that makes me uncomfortable to imagine reading to a public audience that includes my mother, I send that work out first. It will sell fastest and for the most money. The next biggest mistake among new writers is vagueness rather than concrete images and actions. Trust that your audience is smart enough to generalize from your story/poem/screenplay. If they wanted to fill in all the details themselves, they would play MadLibs rather than read a
story. Concretes are part of the value the writer adds to a story. I’ll add one more. Don’t believe that writing something bad makes you a bad writer. Good writers write badly often. They just throw the bad words out. Sometimes we charge into writing the bad words to get them out of the way. Write. Keep writing. Learn to separate the flowers from manure among your creations. And then remember that the manure is an essential fertilizer.
So you are launching a new novel-in-verse, The Age of Dragons. Can you give us a sneak peek or a hook for our readers? And finally, what’s next? Do you have a dream project you’d like to accomplish, something you are itching to do?
My most recent collection is the thematic The Book of Sleep from Written Image Press and available at Kobo.com. It is a current nominee for the Elgin Award, and two poems in it are finalists for the Rhysling Award long category. In addition, another poem is a finalist for the Dwarf Star Award. It is mostly SF/F/H, but a few mainstream poems sneak in as well.
The Age of Dragons is my dream project to date, and it is currently changing publishers. The hope is for a well-illustrated version, though at 30,000 words it would be a meaty book with even a few illustrations. It explores the entire history of the age of dragons, first to last, but it was also me exploring something I lived through.
same thing. I had a desire to explore this issue that within my lifetime. America “choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.”
John F. Kennedy (12 September 1962)
On 21 July 1969, humans began walking on the moon.
On 14 December 1972, humans walked on the moon for the last time.
Within five years, we lost most of the knowledge of how humans went to the moon, and we cannot accurately reproduce that science today.
Richard Nixon’s government cut NASA’s budget to the point that the Apollo program had to be canceled. Instead, the president instructed them to focus on the space shuttle program.
I wanted to explore how, in my lifetime, how humans could do something of such grandeur as to go to the moon, then stop going to the moon, then FORGET how we went to the moon; and let that grandeur fade into legend to the point where moon landing deniers felt free enough to call the landings a hoax, and our students consider the accomplishment as surreal as the building of the pyramids. The Age of Dragons allowed me to make that exploration without having to deal with the limitations of allegory, nor the politics of current space budgets and programs. I have other dream projects I am working on. A horror novella titled Demon Sight. And a screenplay of The Elephant’s Ghost. A non-quantifiable piece titled Innocence and Experience Walk Into Your Bar: A Socratic Dialogue Isaac Asimov once said that people thought he never got stuck on projects, but in reality he turned in plenty of books late. One was twelve years late. No one noticed because he’d had another hundred and eighty books published in the meantime. One solution to writer’s block is to work on many pieces at once. I am happy to have a lot of dream projects. I wish that for everyone.
For people of my age, the first moon landing was a defining moment. Nine-year-old me was in the driveway with my telescope, trying to spot the flare in the sky as the rocket turned over in midflight to allow for braking. Millions of other pre-teens were doing the
· As the last space module lifted off the surface, President Nixon issued a press release stating that “this may be the last time in this century that men will walk on the Moon.”
Professor Kauderer, it has been an honor. Thank you for your time and interest. We invite our readers to check out his poems and then explore his other writing and art. And if you are really lucky, you may get to joust with him on the field of battle!
by Keith 'Doc' Raymond
How many authors get to rewrite their novel? How many use an alternate media platform to make the corrections and improvements to their novel? Does ‘Based on’ give them carte blanche to appease their readers and viewers? We’ve seen it before, but none so egregious as Blake Crouch’s Dark Matter. The good news is he still angers theoretical physicists, but he made the retelling of his story via a television series even better.
It is a sort of an author’s dream to correct the mistakes you spot in your original novel after publication. Or using your creativity to add additional dimensions, or multiverse in this case, to improve upon it. If you are a reader of the SavagePlanets blog, you already are familiar with my blog on Blake Crouch in Speculative Futures (December 23, 2023). Look again.
Even with the revision and transfer to a television series, there were some questions still left unanswered. Questions that really should be. We will delve into them more deeply in what follows.
A review of the show by several critics shared one thing in
common. It plodded along, and Crouch and the characters went over and covered the same ground repeatedly. This slowed the pace. The season opener
is disorienting, so perhaps, to make up for it, he over wrote the dialogue to make sure the viewer knew what was going on.
My only real criticism of the show, which is probably unfair, is that the novel felt comfortable and cozy, while the show was more television standard, two dimen-
sional, flat and make up your own mind about the mise-en-scène. But translating the cozy comfort of the prose onto the little screen is quite difficult.
So, for those unfamiliar with the novel or the show, Jason Dessen (Joel Edgerton) is a physicist and high school science teacher. The latter is Jason1, married to Daniela (Jennifer Connelly) with one teenage son, Charlie (Oakes Fegley). In our reality, or universe, Jason1 has given up his dream of research to live an ordinary married life. Jason2, from an alternate reality, or universe, never married and pursued his physics research.
Both Jasons’ studied quantum entanglement for their PhD. and they build a small black box, similar to the thought teaser in the theoretical Schrodinger’s cat question. In it, particles can exist entangled in distinct realities or multiverse simultaneously. While Jason1 leaves that research behind, Jason2 builds a human sized box.
With the help of a neuropharmacologist, Ryan Holder2 (Jimmi Simpson), who designs a drug to suppress the amygdala and hippocampus when entering the
derangement of the multiverse (a place inconceivable to the human mind), Jason2 uses the box to seek an alternate life. He wants what Jason1 has, a wife and son. Because he is feeling lonely and unfulfilled after the success of his research.
The story and the show opens with a celebration at a bar, The Local Tap, in Chicago, where Ryan Holder1 is celebrating his win of the Pavia prize. The Pavia prize is a coveted science award with a million dollar payout to advance the researcher’s work. Jason1 shows up and Ryan1 asks Jason1 to come and work with him. He leaves drunk and non-committal. A masked stranger, Jason2, mugs Jason1 on the street.
Knocked unconscious, Jason1 wakes up tied to a chair in Jason2’s reality. Leighton Vance (Dayo Okeniyi) interrogates him, and Jason1 slowly discovers he, as Jason2, won the Pavia prize years before. Vance hires him to build the box. And Jason was the only one of all those sent into it to return.
Taking the place of Jason2, much disoriented, Jason1 realized he had never married and created the box instead. It becomes his goal to get back to his own reality and to Daniela and Charlie. He discovers, and we follow, Jason2’s progress in Jason1’s reality. The series deviates from the book here, as we learn more about Jason2’s struggle to cope in the alternate reality he has longed for and achieved. Complicated, no?
In the book, to escape, Jason1 ventures into the box and into the multiverse on his own and then returns to Jason2’s reality, only to escape again with the help of his secretary, Amanda. In the series, Amanda (Alice Braga), a psychologist, and Jason2’s lover, aids Jason1 in his escape into the box for the first and only time. Vance brought Amanda on originally to
help those entering the box to cope with the alternate realities in the multiverse.
Amanda and Jason1 have fifty vials of Holden’s drug, each needing to inject one prior to entering the entangled state in search of Jason1’s reality. They visit many Chicago-s trying to find Jason1s Chicago. Both the book and the series might have explored these alternate realities more, but they both gloss over many of them. This might have been a better use of screen time than going over the same ground repeatedly.
Still, Jason1 and Amanda have both good and bad experiences in these alternate realities. Meanwhile, Jason2 goes and sees Amanda, also a psychologist in Jason1’s reality, as he is having problems with his adjustment to married life. This is very much a feature of the series (and an improvement), not in the book.
Ultimately, Jason1 finds his way back to his own universe, after Amanda elects to stay in a near utopia-like version of Chicago. He then must prove he is the original Jason1 to Daniela and Charlie. Meanwhile, hundreds of other Jasons from other multiverse converge on Jason1’s reality, as they all want his Daniela and Charlie.
In the book, Jason1 vanquishes them, and in the series, Jason1, Daniela, and Charlie re-enter the box to find peace in an alternate universe. Of course, in both versions, there is a battle royale. This gets us back to my question: How does Daniela know it is Jason1 and not some other Jason getting back to her in the Jason1 reality?
And from a physicist’s perspective, one lad mentioned that the odds of even one Jason copy finding his way back to Jason1’s universe, with an infinite number of realities inside the box, would be near zero. Not to mention
all of them converging on Jason1’s universe. Well, while this is true, it wouldn’t make for good storytelling.
Nonetheless, both the book and the television series are worth your time. Joel Edgerton does a remarkable job of playing the same yet slightly different character in all the Jasons. Jennifer Connelly also does a great Daniela, who also appears as different versions of Daniela in alternate realities. And the improvements on the book by the series are fun to compare and contrast, especially if you read the book first.
The Dark Matter science fiction book came out in 2016, and the series first appeared on Apple+ television May 8, 2024. It ran for nine episodes, and it is unlikely to have a second season, but who knows? Blake Crouch wrote the first five episodes, Megan McDonell wrote episode six and seven, then Blake co-wrote episode seven and nine. The eighth episode was co-written by Ihuoma Ofordire and Megan McDonnell, who actually took the series off in a different direction.
By the way, this is the second television series called Dark Matter. The first came out on the Syfy channel and ran two seasons from 2015 to 2017. It was also quite good, and worth your time. In it, six people wake up on a spaceship in the farthest corner of space with their memories wiped. However, they find a cargo full of weapons with their destination set to a remote mining colony. Also worth a watch with a Rotten Tomato rating of eightynine percent.
by Keith 'Doc' Raymond
The neo-noir science fiction animation, Mars Express asks, can live-action films really be sci-fi? To immerse the viewer in a true world-built landscape of the future, this film believes animation is the only likely answer. It opens by dropping the viewer into the reality of 2200 on Earth, which has become a crap-hole of the unemployed and unemployable angry at their displacement by robots and androids.
An assassin bursts into an apartment and kills a woman, Nicky. But she’s the wrong woman, the wrong target. The actual target, Roberta Williams, is holding her breath underwater in the bathtub. Hearing gunfire, she drops back under the suds. A short while later, Aline Ruby, a private investigator (voice over by Léa Drucker) and her robotic partner, Carlos Rivera (voice over by Daniel Njo Lobé), arrest Roberta as she emerges from the bathroom after their three-week search for her.
berta is a robot hacking criminal wanted by both the police and a shadowy corporation on Mars. The trio climb aboard the Mars
Express and travel to Noctis.
rity corporation. Royjacker was also a brother in arms of Aline in the military. Royjacker wants Jun Chow found, who we find out later, accidentally figured out how to jailbreak a robot.
Thinking the assassins have returned, Roberta bolts, leaping from one building to the next, and Aline gives chase, only to be captured by Carlos next door. Ro-
Noctis is the city center on Mars, built on the surface beneath a dome where robots, androids, and humans live and work in harmony. As they pass through Mars immigration, with Roberta in handcuffs, they discover the warrant has disappeared from the system. They set Roberta free. Frustrated, Aline and Carlos return to their office. A man shows up claiming to be the father of Jun Chow, a cybernetic student at university who, along with her roommate, has gone missing. The fake father turns out to be an agent of Royjacker, a military and secu-
Until then, changing hardware was the only way to accomplish jail breaking a robot, but Jun accomplished it by altering a software protocol, Hegel 7. Something Roberta always wanted, but couldn’t do. Jail breaking a robot meant freeing them of their primary functions and restrictions. Royjacker wants Jun for her ability and their own nefarious purposes. Meanwhile, Royjacker is developing organic implants in humans to replace robots and android functions.
Sounds complicated, right? It is, and the viewer has to piece all this together, while enjoying an eye-popping future.
Moving forward in the plot, Carlos finds Jun’s roommate dead in the drop ceiling of their university flat, and they call in the police, Inspector Simon Gordaux, to investigate the murder. Aline also finds an illegal drug in the flat as
well, one used to restore memory. Jun’s professor shared the high cost of a university education with the investigators, and that Jun had to do extracurricular work to meet the fees and also support her family.
The easiest way to make the money is through prostitution and brain farming. The former leads Aline and Carlos to a club where they only employ synthetics as prostitutes. Still, they see Jun, and realize she has illegally created a body double to work for her. Going to the back, they find the real Jun fixing injured synthetic prostitutes, as a second job.
As they interrogate the real Jun about jail breaking, a human assassin attacks them, and Aline and Jun attempt to escape from him. The two of them make it out to Aline’s car, only for Jun to be killed by a sniper, a colleague of the first assassin. Police are called, and to assuage her fear and guilt, Aline, an alcoholic, starts drinking again.
At Jun’s funeral, Aline realizes the father that hired them to find Jun was not Jun’s father. This made them curious about jail breaking itself, and they look to Roberta for help, as she was a robot hacker. The viewer discovers Carlos was killed during the Novigrad rebellion and his consciousness was uploaded on the web, then downloaded into the robot he currently
occupies.
Along with other things they learn from Roberta, Carlos asks her to jailbreak him, as he wants to punch Carlos’s ex-wife’s new husband (safety protocols prohibit him from doing so). This is important during the grand finale. Aline attends a party at Royjacker’s and meets her friend Beryl, once alive, now virtual, who explains what the Royjacker corporation is up to.
This leads to the investigators broaching the brain farming industry, and also hacking Jun’s double, now with the police, to understand the intent of the corporation’s need to control the Hegel 7 software protocol for jail breaking robots. Aline finds this out, but the police imprison her during her attempt. Aline warns them about the en masse hack on the robots and androids, but the police ignore her, until it happens.
During the robot revolt, Aline escapes and joins Carlos. They head toward Royjacker’s mansion to stop the jail breaking hack. And here is where I will stop, to avoid the spoiler and get you to see the film. Of course, there is a lot more going on, all engaging and interesting, using future tech that is exciting and diverting. But what I’ve laid out will allow you to watch the film in one sitting, as I had to piece together the complex plot and background reveals through several viewings.
There are a lot of nuances and wonder that frankly make the animation adult, intelligent, and wonderful. I think you will truly enjoy this film, whether you speak French or not, which is an added complication to comprehension. But don’t watch it dubbed!
On the downside, some characters are not visibly distinct enough so that confusion can occur as the film jumps from female character to female character. Yet Mars Express still shines. Both Laurent Sarfati and Jérémie Périn wrote it, the latter also directing.
The ending is dazzling and sparks the imagination, although some critics complained it was a letdown. But hey, it’s science fiction, not fantasy. The film premiered in the Cinéma de la Plage section of the 76th Cannes Film Festival on 23 May 2023. It also made it to the competitive slate of the Annecy International Animation Film Festival. Mars Express was released theatrically in France on 22 November 2023 by Gebeka Films. Finally, GKIDS acquired the film's North American rights and released it on 3 May 2024 with both its original French language and an English dub.
Definitely worth a look, and who knows, it may inspire more science fiction animation beyond anime, and take sci-fi to a new level in viewing.
By Christopher Collingwood
It means it has given us another chance to live, and it’s our time to colonize the new world below."
The constant pulse was the rhythm of life that sustained the ship in the cold of space. A strong network of hearts denied the truth of the ship’s actual condition. The pulse concealed injuries caused by a recent asteroid field. A lie made worse by the ship’s considerable age, which now impaired its ability to heal. At the behest of the eons, the organic ship limped across the vacuum of space like a wounded animal crawling on its belly to the next star system.
It was much harder for Captain Vilos to conceal his concern. The recent trauma manifested in symptoms across the ship. This disturbed his thoughts as he touched a blistered vein on the membrane wall. Despite his mature years, Vilos always maintained a clear focus and a commanding presence. He had a warm personality that was often hidden
behind his thick grey beard.
The asteroid storm was an unfortunate event, but it wasn’t the genuine cause of their problems. The ship had been in a state of decline for many generations, long before Vilos was born. This recent storm only accelerated its inevitable demise. As he examined the membrane, he could see the giant terraforming cell through a small port window. It remained safe in the ship’s tractor field. It survived the storm with no damage, and now required him to make the inevitable choice affecting the fate of all humans onboard.
“Captain,” Commander Talia Wause said, appearing around a corridor bend. A tall, confident officer, her knotted hair reflected her disciplined personality. She shared Vilos’s pale complexion and sported the unique half-organic, half-synthetic jumpsuit
the rest of the crew wore. “Captain, we’ve received a positive scan. There is definitely a habitable planet in the next system.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Captain Vilos responded, touching the coarse dry skin of the inflamed membrane. “Anything further from the ship’s diagnostics?”
“Control still registers an increase in pulse and neural activity directed towards the center of the ship. But it doesn’t appear to be part of its healing cycle.”
“Odd,” Captain Vilos quipped, and walked with Commander Wause back to the bridge. A layered membrane separated as they reached the end of the passageway, revealing a cavernous space.
“Captain, Commander,” Lieutenant Bulson approached them both with
a concerned expression. A tall, serious officer, he had dark skin and maintained short hair. He shared a similar pale complexion and the hybrid organic suit of his two senior officers. “I organized a team to inspect the Terra Cell. We’ll begin preparation for deployment on your orders.”
“Lieutenant, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we’ll wait until we get solid readings from the planet.”
“Sir!” Bulson attempted to conceal his frustration. “Sir, considering the state of the ship, wouldn’t it be prudent to deploy the Terra Cell as soon as possible?”
“Not until we have further data and approval from the Council.”
“Captain, you can’t be serious!”
“Stow it, Lieutenant,” Commander
Wause gave a stern expression.
“With all due respect, Commander, what are we expecting? The ship is
planet. If we don’t begin terraforming, what chance do we have?”
Captain Vilos gave the Lieutenant a
hollow look. One carrying the collective conscience of generations that survived onboard the ship.
“We’ll leave that decision to the Council.” The option would have to be considered, but it required a heavy sacrifice. Terraforming would obliterate all existing life on the planet.
Lieutenant Bulson gave a nasal grunt; he walked across the room to one of the control stations. The bridge was partitioned into small stations made of the ships’ muscle and connective tissue. Each station equipped with a series of computer consoles merged with the ship’s nerve fibers. “Controller Vayis, what are the initial readings on the planet?”
“The planet appears stable,
Lieutenant. It maintains a splendid position in the habitable zone, temperate climate with indications of surface water and plant life. Initial scans show a potential problem with the atmosphere. Nitrogen levels are just above our tolerable range.”
Lieutenant Bulson turned to look back at the senior officers, making sure they heard the conversation. The Captain and commander walked up to the station. “Lieutenant, we’ll continue to consider other options. For now, tell your team to monitor the Terra Cell. Nothing further.”
Lieutenant Bulson saluted the officers, his hand shaking with tension as he turned to leave the bridge. “Sir, I know what slow death looks like. I hope we have oth options soon.” As he exit ed the room, he passed another lieutenant, deeply engaged with a data pad. She had long blonde hair, a thin face and a very serious demeanor.
“Lieutenant Ariae, it’s as we expected. They leave us with no alternative.”
Commander Wause said, “Captain, shouldn’t we charge him with insubordination?”
“Not yet. Let’s allow him to pursue his court martial on his own.”
Captain Vilos and Commander Wause watched as an insignificant planet appeared on the viewscreen. It was a rich purple world with two moons in tight orbit. The image seemed almost mystical, a small purple beacon guiding them through the dark. Captain Vilos rubbed he’s forehead and breathed slowly.
Commander Wause took a data pad from one controller. “You’re too generous with him. I can manage our orbital insertion. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll call you after.”
Captain Vilos nodded, saying, “You have the Con.”
The deep interior of the ship offered its own textured ecosystem. Glandular segments pulsated and contracted inside the membrane walls. There were fibrous strands crisscrossing the corridors, supporting large tubes that pumped fluid and organic nutrients. The living tissue continuously changed and repaired
deck segment. He walked through an intersection, entering a narrow corridor. His data pad suddenly beeped, showing he was close to the designated beacon.
Walin gave an enormous grin. He always seemed to find his way, almost by instinct. That was one of the amazing things within the deeper areas of the ship. Sometimes it felt so intuitive, almost like a subconscious connection. The senior staff dismissed his sense of direction as imaginary, blaming it on luck and the richer oxygen levels in the ship’s bowels.
A loud tone directed Walin to a small metal box attached to a gland cluster. “Let’s see what the trouble is.” It contained a data node mechanical in design, very different from the surrounding organic technology. Walin noticed someone opened the outer casing. In fact, they wrenched apart the entire box, and it was hanging loose from the gland cluster.
nav-
igating the ship’s depths difficult, as new compartments would replace old ones.
“I’ll manage Bulson, until then,” Commander Wause gave a calm expression.
“Appreciated. Undoubtedly, his attitude will change once we learn more about the planet. I’m just tired. I haven’t been able to sleep.”
“This doesn’t look right,” Repair Technician Walin uttered, staring at his data pad as he made his way through the corridor. “The ship never updates these pads properly.” He prodded the device. The maps could only provide a rough guide since the ship updated them infrequently.
After a moment of frustration, Walin gave a grunt, put the data pad back in his coat, and squeezed through a tissue port, turning down another
Shining his light at the membrane, he could see a small amount of oozing. He searched the area to identify the cause of the problem, hoping no infection had set in. There was blood smeared down the corridor, as if someone dragged something across the deck. He cautiously followed when suddenly: “Aaaahhhhh,” he yelled out in
Trembling, he tried to keep his light on it. He could see a body lying on the floor. He slowly approached the body and turned it over. “Hel… hello”, he jumped backwards as the body convulsed, then went still.
He checked the person’s vital signs, but there weren’t any. He noticed defensive wounds on the hands and arms, shaped similarly to the ones on the node box. Whoever this was, they were naked and covered in slime. He quickly surmised this must be a member of the priesthood because of his odd shaped face. A common trait of its members.
The priests often had ill-defined features, which they concealed
under their robes whilst conducting prayer rituals. The order guarded the sacred areas of the ship. They limited access to a select number of repair crew, such as Walin, to enter the interior they protected.
Walin shined his light down the corridor after he felt a strange rush of air fill the chamber. “Hello?” He hesitated for a moment. Standard protocol was to notify the Arch Priest of any unusual incidents in the sacred areas. But Walin had a strange impulse. Maybe an instinct which pulled him forward.
He peered around a corner and saw a new passageway. There, the tissue stretched and a sweet smell signaled fresh growth. He slowly crept towards it and shone his light, revealing a new chamber beyond.
Fighting a sudden urge to with draw, a calmness come over him, urging him further. There was a moment of timelessness that consumed him like a waking dream. As he looked around, shock replaced his calm. His heart raced, fear driving him backward. He stumbled towards the node box, reaching inside his jacket for a small communicator. “Control, Control…There’s a body down here, and I’ve just seen... something. Send help and inform the Commander.”
mand chair. Her spirits rose with the sunrise over the horizon. She ran her fingers through her hair, her heart swelling. She inhaled deeply, as if taking her first breath on this new world.
“I’ll let you enjoy the moment, Commander. We’re just arriving at Walin’s position.”
“Understood Captain, I’ll keep you apprised of any new findings.”
“Commander, sounds promising. Let the crew know we still face some challenges. Plus, the Council must give us the green light.”
“Yes, sir!” her mind tensed as the captain’s words resonated.
“Com- mand-
her station. “I can’t imagine transferring over forty thousand people to the surface, not being strenuous. Let alone them trying to build a civilization in that soup.”
“Commander, it’s a beautifully harsh world. We’re not really going to use the Terraforming Cell, are we?”
“I’m not sure Vayis,” she could visualize the Terra Cell reaching the planet and replacing the atmosphere via powered conversion. It was a merciless technology destroying a planet’s indigenous life and established biology. As the image faded from her mind, she turned to Vayis. “Let’s hope not.”
It was almost as if they were watching the first sunrise. Offering hope, as the light skimmed across the edge of the purple planet. The bridge crew cheered as they saw the vibrant truth. The ship’s readings confirmed it. A world rich with oceans and plant life, rippling under a purple haze. The vision dug deep into their imaginations, conjuring an Earth-like world. One they had never seen but only read about.
“It’s beautiful Captain, you must see this planet,” Commander Wause reported, as she sat in the com-
er,”
Controller Vayis called from her station. “Readings confirm the high nitrogen content by a factor of 0.3. It’s a world of giant plants. The foliage layered upon itself like a lattice, covered in blue and silver hues. Networks of fast-moving streams, some containing toxic compounds like ammonia, cross beneath the undergrowth. It’s possible to survive in this environment but we’d have a difficult time acclimatising. Strenuous activity without artificial support might be lethal.”
Commander Wause walked over to
The bridge suddenly blacked out for a moment and everyone froze. Controller Oliyn called the Commander to his station.
“Commander, there’s been a surge in one of the conduit nerve trees. Communications are off-line.”
The bridge lights blinked on and off again. Several of the work stations experienced power outages.
The walls pulsated as blue coolant sprayed from the membranes over everyone. An alert sounded, blaring across the bridge.
Commander Wause yelled out, “Everyone take cover,” she raced through the haze of coolant to the Captain’s ready room at the back of the bridge. She felt a sharp pain in her right shoulder as a stun blast hit her.
Her right arm paralyzed, she tripped, off balance, falling onto the floor of the captain’s ready room. Quickly dragging herself inside with her good arm, she sealed the door behind her. She looked through the porthole and saw half a dozen marauders stunning the staff and searching for her. She gasped, collapsing, trying to catch her breath in the thin air. They commandeered the ship’s
life support system, suffocating the bridge crew.
The transit artery deposited the captain and the rescue team close to the section where Walin had last signaled. The transit arteries were not like the lifts in a city, they were flexible and smoother. They could shift passengers and cargo at high velocity without inertial damage. The ship’s circulatory system expanded and contracted with its evolving structural design.
Once they exited the artery, they made their way to a small chapel built on top of the service tunnel. A priest welcomed them, but insisted that only the captain could proceed into the sacred sections. Upon learning that there was an injured priest inside, he agreed to let the rescue team accompany them.
Their data pads provided little help in guiding their way through the maze. But like Walin, the captain had a unique sense of direction through the membranes and glandular segments. In moments, he received a beeping sound from the repair tech’s locator.
“Walin, Walin!!” the rescue team cried out.
The team could feel movement behind the gland walls as they pushed through the narrow corridors. The glands exuded a sticky moisture and a strong unpleasant smell. This only increased their sense of foreboding as they traveled through the sacred spaces.
he held up his hands, blocking the passageway. “This is the inner sanctum, sacred flesh; I must protect the divine tissue.”
“Your holiness, that man’s life is in danger!” The captain directed the priest’s gaze to the figure on the deck.
“Captain, I ask that only you and I proceed. We’ll help the fallen. I insist we preserve the sanctity of the holy core.”
Not wanting to delay any further, Captain Vilos followed the priest. As they reached the body, the Captain realized it wasn’t Walin. “It is indeed one of your priests. Who is it?” Captain Vilos stared at the injured man lying on the deck.
“I think it’s unlikely. Lival suffered a malady for some time. Getting worse, coinciding with the ship’s deterioration. They seem to suffer from the same ailment. We found him wandering into the sacred parts, whispering to himself or the divine.”
“The priesthood should have informed me. Particularly before I sent in a repair technician.” The captain sensed there was something wrong. The priest was lying or hiding something.
“We didn’t know Walin was down here. Anyway, Lival is dead.” The priest shrugged and bowed his head, unfolding a satchel concealed in his robe to cover the body. “The priesthood will collect him later.”
“Captain, over here,” one technician pointed towards a figure lying on the ground.
As Captain Vilos approached, he saw something wasn’t right.
“Stop!” the priest ordered. Pushing past the captain and the rescuers,
The hes- itated. “I think it’s Brother Lival. He has been unwell for some time. Must have wandered in here.”
Captain Vilos looked at the man and noticed his partially formed features. He could see that the body was completely naked and had unusually pale skin. There were bruises on his arms and dried blood. “Did this priest and Walin fight?” As he looked up, he could see the priest adjust his robe to conceal his own suspicions and devices.
The captain informed the rescue team of the victim’s status.
There was a sudden gush of air in the corridor. Captain Vilos shivered. He moved past the priest and walked into the small chamber Walin found. He saw a strange light, but it was hard to see anything clearly inside.
“Walin, Walin, is that you?”
Walin stood statue-like in the middle of the room. He appeared mesmerized, caught in some sort of trance. There were no signs of trauma or any sign of a fight.
The captain reached for his communicator. “Control come in, we’ve found Walin.” There was no response. He called out to the rescue team to try their communicators, but they also couldn’t get through. Then the captain heard shouting in the corridor, followed by some scuffling, and a loud explosion.
The sudden snapping of tissue fibers released a flood of fluids washing into the chamber. The onslaught threw the Captain, the priest and the rescue team flat on their backs.
Captain Vilos climbed to his feet, dazed, moving into the passageway afterwards. He saw two team members with their necks at odd angles, dead. Gland tissue draped
over them. A membrane fused the breach, forming a scar over their only way out.
The captain gathered the others and retreated into the chamber; it was obvious the scar completely sealed them in. He wondered if the priest had caused the explosion to protect this secret. But the priest appeared to be in shock, taken by surprise like the rest of them. Vilos was unaware of the mutiny onboard.
“Walin, Walin.” The Captain said, shaking the repair technician, trying to snap him out of his trance. The repairman remained frozen in place.
“Captain, what are you doing here?” he asked, eyes clearing, focusing momentarily on him. Walin wore a strange expression.
A medical technician came forward and checked out the repairman.
“Walin, there’s been an explosion. We’re trapped in this chamber. Is there any other way out? I need to get back to the bridge.”
Disoriented, Walin spoke, unaware of his surroundings. “It’s all changed now, it’s growing, but not for long… why do things always change just before the end?”
The medical technician gave him a shot of adrenaline, and Walin re-focused. “Captain, what?”
“Walin, snap out of it! Is there a way out of this chamber?”
new compartment. The priest and rescue team followed.
The breath of the primordial seemed to cling to this part of the ship. The air was extremely dense with a sticky dew that seemed to cover every surface. A cold mist filled the new chamber. Weird tissue protruded from every membrane, creating a foliage-like environment.
Captain Vilos saw Walin standing by a pod structure just formed. It lurched toward him as he approached, fluid spilling onto the deck, revealing a male homunculus inside the pod.
from his eyes, blinking. “You are in danger.” The being moved his mouth awkwardly, as if not fully in control of his muscles. “You must leave the ship.”
“I know the ship is dying, but we’re not ready. Who are you?”
Captain Vilos glanced at Walin. “He’s our final warning, Captain, our last.” The priest gave an unsettling smile. “He is an ancient interface created by the ship; his name is Aldoas. Revived from stasis as a last resort, the ship birthed him to help us. The others didn’t survive because of the ship’s condition. The dead body in the corridor is another of the ship’s failed messengers, one of many we concealed in the
Walin looked around, confused, then smiled. “Maybe he can help?” Walin staggered to a membrane wall, pressing his body against it. To everyone’s surprise, the tissue sucked him in and he disappeared.
Captain Vilos stared at the large structures emerging from the walls. He’d seen nothing like it onboard. They just evaginated, looking like pods or stalked glands. With no other option, he quickly applied pressure at the same spot Walin pushed on and penetrated into a
There
were tubes protruding from his body. He had smooth hairless skin, covered in clear slime. A fully formed adult in the fetal position.
Captain Vilos watched as he coughed, taking a few deep breaths, then slowly blinking. Walin stepped forward. Anxious, he seemed expectant, anticipating the pod man’s arrival.
“Captain Vilos,” the being said in a slow, raspy voice.
“You know me?”
The being nodded, wiping slime
The news didn’t surprise Captain Vilos. He sensed there was something more to the priest’s story. Brother Lival didn’t seem like a normal priest. His skin looked raw and newly formed. “Final warning? To tell me… what?”
“The truth of who we are and where we’re from.”
“Do you mean our ancestors... from Earth?”
Aldaos climbed from the pod, moving forward awkwardly, struggling to speak with a raspy voice. “You did not originate from Earth; we created your ancestors here.”
The team stared in wonder at the countless rows of pods, startled by the revelation. “The Seed Creators designed this ship to birth a complement of humans. Releasing them after the terraforming cell successfully converted a planet. There was a radiation storm many eons ago. The central brain mistakenly deployed one of the terraforming cells. Releasing it upon a world unsuitable for such an act. The humans mistakenly birthed at the
time developed into your culture. And you have supported the ship in its search for a new habitable world ever since.”
A chill ran down the captain’s spine as the words burrowed into his core. “What purpose would the ship have for creating us?”
“Ordered to populate planets. The ship’s directive was to source and develop an advanced society. Continuing a process of controlled expansion as desired by the Seed Creators. The ship carries the raw material necessary to build such worlds. Once created, you would build the beacon to summon them.”
One technician stepped forward, shaking, “So we’re just tools of the creators?”
He ignored her and continued talking. “Sometimes, it takes hundreds or thousands of orbital cycles for the ship to fully terraform a world. It’s patient. It may birth a colony of humans in preparation, or it may integrate them into the ship’s crew to maintain and collect additional resources. The ship can even use them to find a new destination. But senescence has come and you, our children, must abandon us. We are old, and can no longer sustain you.”
“I know. We are considering landing on the planet, but we need time to decide if we should use the Terra Cell.”
Walin turned towards the captain. “You can see it everywhere. Both the ship and our bodies are failing. We must leave. If we use the Terraforming cell, no one will survive.”
“He speaks truthfully, Captain,” the priest staggered forward. “We kept this secret to protect the sanity of the crew. It is the one mystery that binds us to the creators. Our only option is to migrate to the planet and transition from the cell’s energy to the planet’s. If we can survive, we should be free within a few generations. But you must act quickly, captain, the ship told me of mutineers. Before the explosion, they secured the bridge and were preparing to deploy the Cell.”
maining rescue team. They entered a transit artery to the Terraform Cell room. It maneuvered through a changing series of shortcuts the ship kept creating with the help of Aldoas.
Meanwhile, Commander Wause made a stand to retake the bridge. She cut the jamming frequency to send the Captain a message by splicing new nerve endings in the Captain’s ready room. Wause ordered the ship to deploy anesthetic gas into the bridge to subdue the mutineers, and restored life support in the ready room.
She hoped to disarm the marauders while holding her breath. It had a low chance of success. But she had to stop them from deploying the Terraform Cell, which they struggled to do, fighting the controls.
Aldaos squirmed. “Do not deploy the Terraform Cell. Ship can’t survive it, and can’t maintain its cycle to completion. It has been using the cell’s regenerative energy to continue its journey. Just like your bodies exist in symbiosis with the ship, you also now need its energy. Deploying the cell would create a new world, but your bodies would deteriorate before you could inhabit it.”
“You must stop them,” Aldaos said in raspy voice.
“Is there any way we can get to the Terraform Cell Control room?” the Captain asked.
Aldoas nodded, then returned to his pod, dying.
The membrane restructured itself to create a passageway for Captain Vilos, Walin, the priest, and the re-
Meanwhile, Captain Vilos reached the aperture fibers leading into the Terraform Control room. He could see the three levels of membrane inside, with connective tissue forming a staircase to each deck. First, he had to cut access to the forward Control Room.
Each deck had a series of stations beneath a large transparent membrane providing a clear view of the Terra Cell. Captain Vilos peered into the room and could see half a dozen crew members at work. Lieutenant Ariae worked at one of the lower stations, and Bulson worked at the primary control station on the top membrane.
They were getting close to deployment. He needed to act quickly. Cutting control room computers wouldn’t be enough. Captain Vilos placed his hand against the membrane wall, grabbing a nerve cluster. His mind connected with Aldoas inside his pod.
A soft rhythmic sound built inside the far wall, unnoticeable at first. It grew louder. The air pressure in the room dropped with a loud roar. The crew manning the Terraform Control stations winced, covering their ears.
Lieutenant Ariae shook her head, trying to equalize. She looked up from her data pad as a large aneurysm bulged from an interior wall capillary. Within moments, it went red, straining as the structure vibrated. “Bulson!!” she cried, as the aneurysm burst.
The shock wave from the explosion knocked Lieutenant Ariae and several of the crew unconscious. Bulson grabbed the console as air displacement lifted him off his feet.
Captain Vilos and the team raced into the room as several mutineers retreated, dazed by the expulsion. They shot forward after the over-pressure wave. Vilos headed toward the top level, shoving one mutineer out of the way. Running at Bulson while the man attempted to launch the Cell.
Seizing the lieutenant by the waist, he dragged Bulson back, wrestling him to the ground. There was a scuffle as Bulson fought, throwing Vilos onto his back. After a rabbit punch to the Captain’s face stunned him, Bulson jumped up and ran to the panel to complete the launch sequence.
“Lieutenant, we won’t survive this!” Captain Vilos cried from the deck. He jumped up and pulled at Bulson again, but his hands slipped. After a few more moments of struggle, he pried Bulson away.
the crew!”
His expression changed to relief as he watched the Cell through the transparent membrane. The console beeped as the tractor field deactivated. The terraforming cell floated free from the ship, drifting towards the planet.
Captain Vilos stared in horror. His hands swept over the panel, attempting to reactivate the field, but there wasn’t enough power. “Bridge, can you hear me? Commander, have you retaken the bridge? Bulson launched the terraforming cell. I can’t stop it!”
“I think we’re clear. We’ve sustained some damage, but systems are stabilizing. What’s your status?”
“We have things under control. The rescue crew is rounding up the mutineers. They are surrendering.”
“Captain, I’m picking up some strange readings from the ship.”
The Captain saw the Lieutenant's crazed eyes and shaking hands, knowing he couldn't reason with him. He had to take him down. But Bulson’s legs suddenly buckled, as Walin appeared beside him, knocking him down with a pipe wrench. Bulson, bleeding, cried from the deck, as they stood over him, “I know what it’s like to watch someone die slow. My father died during my twelfth cycle. Injured after a maintenance cell implosion, dwindling away in a hospital bed. That’s not what I want, and neither does
There was a long silence. Captain Vilos waited as Walin dragged Bulson away.
There was a sudden surge as the ship shifted. Outside, the planet view changed. The decks rumbled, the ship shifting, too old for quick maneuverers.
Another intense shake, and the ship moved under the falling Terra Cell. Atmospheric friction turned the cell’s surface red. Vilos watched as she cradled the Cell like a mother. He held his breath as the ship shuddered. Slowly easing upward, it nudged the Terra Cell out of the planet’s atmosphere.
“Captain, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Commander,” he gave a sigh of relief.
The captain watched as the ship moved the cell into orbit. The cell emitted a beam of energy, causing it to pulsate and glow. There was a sudden flash of light as the cell’s structure changed. It sent a continuous stream of regenerative energy towards the ship. Emitting a beautiful spectrum of light, a miniature sun slowly sacrificing its energy.
“Captain, what does it mean?”
“It means it has given us another chance to live, and it’s our time to colonize the new world below.”
“It will be a challenge adapting.”
“I know, Commander, but we have little choice, and I think the ship has showed us a way forward.” He couldn’t help but reflect on the priest's words: the mystery that bound them to the creators’ intentions. He didn’t know what that meant, but seeing the glow of the cell, he had his first sense of freedom. Not just for himself, but for all of them.
The priest raised his arms toward the planet, and said, “Let the seed welcome life!”
“Captain…”
“Yes, Commander.”
“We’ll need a name for this new world. What should we call it?”
Captain Vilos looked towards the planet, and back towards the crew that were still in the Terraform Cell Control Room. “I don’t care. Let the Council decide. Just demand they don’t call it Earth!!”
By Paul Cesarini
They’re never gonna catch me. Not unless those cameras go back online."
“That’s General Mallory, soldier!” said the tall, naked man, stepping over the now-unconscious corporal. Mallory stopped to grab the pulse rifle, extra charges, comm-link, and whatever rations the corporal had, then quietly stepped away. Remembering he was still naked and did not have anywhere to put the extra gear, he doubled back and took his tactical belt and pouches. He emptied two of the pouches, stuffed the extra charges and comm-link in them, and stepped down the corridor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something in the discarded items. “Ahh—there we go!” He scooped up a metallic vape pen, activated it, put it to his mouth and drew a deep breath. “Much better.” He cocked the pulse rifle and kept going.
Just then, an alarm sounded and three holo-screens lit up nearby. Each flashed a picture of his face. With the words: DETAIN—MALLORY, GIDEON J., INMATE 42—EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.
Mallory looked at the screens and grinned. “You better believe it!” he said, ducking just in time to avoid two pulse rifle bolts fired from behind him. Multiple boots pounded down the corridor toward him.
“That’s some good shooting, boys,—but you missed!” he yelled, before returning fire.
Three more quick bursts flew by his temple, forcing him to turn and run.
Mallory, early 60s and fit for his age, reeked of engine coolant. He didn’t
have to remove his entire prisoner uniform to escape through that maintenance conduit earlier. But Mallory knew all the uniforms on Alliance prison ships had biometric sensors woven directly into the fabric. There was no way to cut them out, since they were part of the fiber.
While he didn’t think there were any in his underwear, he couldn’t be certain. The last thing he needed was a blast door slamming shut in front of him. There would be at least three doors on the way to the evac-pods, along with who knows how many guards. He prayed for some help, hoping his luck held, but didn’t expect it.
He ducked down two more corri-
dors while alarms continued blaring. He took a hard right, arriving at one of the pressure doors. They already locked it down. Pulling out the corporal’s comm-link, Mallory pressed it to the security sensor. The door slid open. Another alarm went off, a wall of sound slamming him in the face. The escaped general ran through a maze of different rooms, shouting into the comm-link as he sprinted.
“Janson! Where ya at, soldier?”
“General?!” the voice whispered through the comm-link. “Keep it down. You need to get to the pod immediately, sir.”
“What’s the situation?”
“I’m still in Comms jamming their secure lines. I’ll try to make it down there but I can’t promise. They’re looking everywhere for you. I think they’re onto me, too.”
“They can look all they want. I left my cage suit back on Level D and my skivvies one level above. I’m ‘freeballin’ it straight to the evacpods. They’re never gonna catch me. Not unless those cameras go back online.”
“We’ve disabled all the aft cameras, sir. Gomez put them in a maintenance loop. No one can lock in on your coordinates. I’ve also got an EVA suit ready for you. Might be a little snug. I stole it from Commander Schocket’s locker. He’s about your height but thinner. Can’t guarantee the boots will fit, but they
should be close. I’ve charged your evac-pod. You’re ready to roll.”
“Schocket? That’ll do. Didn’t figure he was a patriot.”
“He’s not, sir. At least, I don’t think he is. He just got off-shift and is sleeping in his rack. He’s the only guy your height, so I’ve been waiting for him to bunk down. Doesn’t know I pinched his suit.”
“Figures.” said Mallory, distracted, dodging two more pulse rifle bolts while returning fire. “How many loyal ones we got here, Janson?”
“Plenty, but they’re scattered over the prison ship’s three divisions. I can’t reach them right now. Once we get you off the ship, you’re going to need to lie low, maybe two cycles, until we can regroup.”
“Roger that, but I’m taking fire here. You’re my eyes and ears. Long as I’ve got you embedded, we can’t lose.”
“Sir, they're breaching… what? Wait, ahhh!” Mallory could hear something happening on Janson’s side but wasn’t sure what. Sounds of multiple pulse blasts filled the comm-link.
“Janson..?”
Static, followed by more static. “Janson, you there, boy? Janson?” “Inmate Mallory?” said an unfamiliar voice, crackling through the commlink.
“Maybe. Who wants t’know?”
“Inmate Mallory, this is Group Captain Delgado.”
“Delgado? Well, well... Desmond Delgado, from Dawson City…”
“Drop your weapon. Lie flat on the deck with your hands behind your head. Stay where you are. My men have you surrounded. They have orders to shoot to kill if you resist.”
“‘Group Captain’, eh? Nice promotion, Delgado. Did ja get that one for selling me out?”
“You did that all by yourself when you used mass drivers to vaporize that colony. That one asteroid killed over 127,000 people—a third of which were ours!”
“Mass drivers are efficient and cheap, son,” said Mallory, sweating, and racing headlong down the next corridor. “We were getting our asses handed to us before that. Woulda lost the battle for sure. By the Gods, those asteroids saved your life and the lives of your fellow soldiers! Who are you to question my actions?!” Mallory unlocked another blast door. More alarms.
“You’re right—who am I to question your actions? I have no right to judge the great General Mallory! Which is why I reported you to the Alliance Solicitor General. The Tribunal judged and convicted you. You’re a war criminal, plain and simple. You’ll be spending the rest of your life on this prison ship.”
“Delgado…” said Mallory, pulling on the EVA suit, “you sure gotta lot to learn ‘bout war, son. When I fight, I’m in it to win. Some people get killed? Well, that happens. We tried to pry that colony away from ‘em for nearly three cycles, but they wouldn’t listen to reason. Heck, the Alliance shoulda pinned a medal on me for redirecting those mass drivers. They were my aces in the
hole, boy, and they sure as hell did the trick.”
Mallory unlocked the final blast door, causing yet another round of alarms to go off. He spied the evac-pod, climbed in, strapped in, and started the launch sequence. He put on his helmet, clicked his visor down, and felt the squeeze of his EVA suit pressurizing. The distant voice of Delgado came through the commlink, dull in his helmet.
“It’s over, Mallory. Stand down. You’re not going anywhere, but back to your cell.”
“Don’t think so,” said Mallory, lurching back in his seat as he punched the thrusters. “Don’t you worry. We’ll be seeing each other again real
soon. Gotta build me a new army first. Halfway there already.”
“Actually…” said Delgado, unimpressed, “you’re not. We already got your man, Janson. Gomez and most of the others surrendered. We’ve been monitoring their subversive activities for nearly a half cycle now. We’re rounding them up as we speak. I’m coming for you next.”
“Well, damn...” said Mallory, shaking his head. “First you gotta find me. Can’t catch a naked man—no sensors for you to track.”
“You’re right. You’re not making it easy. It’s clear you’ve ditched your clothing, so we can’t track you based on their tags. But, we can track Schocket’s EVA suit, since
it appears to be in an aft evacpod. One that just launched. His implant tells us he’s asleep in his rack. Funny how suits move around on their own, isn’t it?”
“What..?! Oh, crap…” Mallory dodged the first two blasts of disruptor fire from the prison ship. But just barely. Evac-pods weren't designed to evade incoming fire, the general realized. He knew those first two were warning shots. The third one was not. Shearing the vertical stabilizer off the evacpod, it spun out of control. The pod shuddered, lurching wildly, throwing him around inside it.
“See you in Hell, Delgado!” screamed Mallory, careening away from the ship and into deep space.
The Captain stared at the panel as Schocket’s suit transponder faded on the holo-screen. He cursed Mallory’s luck. ‘May the cosmos eat him,’ he thought.
“Seriously, does anyone understand what it’s saying?”
They all looked around at each other, between munching clumps of orange grass, their long gray necks swaying gracefully as each head turned to the next. None of them
knew what it was, why it was here, or where it had come from. They had seen nothing like it.
It was small, only coming up to their haunches. It had no tail, or someone cut it off. How did it balance? It just had two legs as far as they could tell, though each time they attempted to look around its backside, it kept turning to face them. It came up from the sand, somehow. Hardly anything comes from there.
The parts they recognized were… odd. Its head was round and shiny at first until it removed it—no joke— and another head appeared in its place. This new head was more
expressive.
It had eyes, like them, and a mouth, maybe, or a hole. The hole lined with short, stubby teeth. Maybe it was a mouth? It had this other thing in between its eyes and its mouth. They had seen nothing like that and assumed it must’ve been a birth defect. One of them wanted to ask about it but another nudged and said it wouldn’t be polite.
“I think,” said another, “it might be lost—maybe it’s visiting?”
<MY NAME IS MALLORY. GENERAL MALLORY. I NEED WATER. >
“It must be visiting,” said another.
“Definitely visiting. From afar. Who knows?”
“Who cares? We’ve got a nice place here,” said another, nodding in agreement as the wind blew through its fur, causing it to shimmer.
“What’s it saying now? It keeps blathering on and pointing at the hole. Maybe it’s a mouth,” said another. “Now it’s on its knees and waving around two of its appendages.”
“Food? Maybe it’s something about food.”
“I think… it’s begging us to eat it,” said another.
“It’s not begging us to eat it. Who does that?”
“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”
<MY SHIP CRASHED. THE BASTARDS TRIED TO LOCK ME UP, BUT I ESCAPED! THEY ACCUSED ME OF WAR CRIMES – ME! GENERAL MALLORY!>
“No, I’m not kidding. Think about it for a minute. It came up from the sand, making a lot of noise, waving its appendages around, got on its knees (assuming those are knees), and now it’s pointing to its hole repeatedly. How is this any different from the atmospheric krill we consume during their mating season?”
“Okay, I don’t normally agree with this one, but it makes a good point here.”
“True. The krill also come up from the sand and announce their presence with that high-pitched chorus they do. Maybe this is the queen-”
“It’s more of a chirping sound, really.”
“Fine, a high-pitched chirping sound. Then they flap their appendages to get our attention.”
“Then we eat them.”
“Right—then we eat them, fertilize the ground with their eggs, then more krill are born and those eventually come back and it all starts again. How is this different?”
“So, if we eat it, we would fertilize the ground with its eggs, causing it to reproduce more queens?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Interesting.”
<WHAT IS THIS MOON? I’M FROM THE UNITED NATIONAL ALLIANCE. IS THERE AN OUTPOST HERE? >
“Is that thing chirping? Doesn’t sound like krill speak. What’s it doing now?”
“Looks like it’s making… marks of some sort. In the sand?”
“Are they marks of contrition? Is it marking territory? It must’ve done something really bad.”
“Yes… I think so. Circles?”
“Look, one is apart from the other circles. It got cast out, clearly. At least, the circle did.”
“It’s showing us it’s no longer welcome in its own group. Maybe it did something bad? Maybe it ate its own?”
“It has no meaning—no purpose—if they cast it out. No wonder it wants us to eat it.”
“It’s motioning toward the horizon, toward that plume of smoke.”
“It looks like a funerary plume.”
“Like the kind we made for our cousin many cycles ago?”
“Maybe it’s not a funerary plume?”
“Of course it is! What else could it be?”
“That one has a point.”
“We only make funerary plumes for those who passed or are about to pass.”
“Exactly! Further proof that it wants us to eat it. What other conclusion could we make?”
“It doesn’t look very tasty. Does anyone understand what this creature is saying or doing? It’s making me nauseous. Anyone??”
“Wait, what’s it doing now?”
“It’s pulling its own hands off! Run!”
“Gross!”
“Disgusting! Wait… I have to vomit… don’t leave me alone with it!”
“No, look! It’s got more hands now.”
“So, it can decapitate itself, cut off its own hands, then regenerate them on the spot?!”
“It can recreate itself, like the krill.”
“Wish I could do that.”
“That could come in pretty handy. Get it? ‘Handy?’”
Snort, snort, snort.
<I NEED FOOD. WATER. >
“I really think it wants us to eat it. Look, it came from the direction of the setting suns, at the very beginning of our annual feeding cycle.”
“Is that today?”
<I’M GOING TO BUILD A NEW ARMY. WHEN I DO, IT’S PAYBACK TIME! >
“Yes, right—at the very beginning of our feeding cycle.”
“For it to arrive here, from that direction, now, then prostrate itself in front of us like this…”
“All the while making sacrificial chanting noises.”
<I NEED FOOD. WATER. STAR CHARTS. >
“Don’t forget it’s repeatedly pointing at the hole in its face—look, it’s doing it again!”
“Yes, absolutely. Noises. Mouth?”
“I’m actually agreeing with you here. Maybe we are supposed to eat it.”
“What would something like this even taste like? What if I don’t like it? Maybe it’ll poison us?”
“You need to at least take a bite.”
“Yes, one bite. A bite couldn’t hurt. Be a good sport.”
<BY THE GODS, THEY HAVEN’T SEEN THE LAST OF ME! >
“Which head should we eat?”
“Which hands?”
“I want the ones on the ground!”
<THEY MESSED WITH THE WRONG GUY. I’LL BE BACK! I’LL…
>
“Hey, it stopped moving.”
“Is it dead?”
“Maybe it’s dead.”
“Definitely dead.”
“Poke it!”
“With what, specifically?”
“With one of your hooves!”
“Yes—one of your hooves.”
“You poke it. I’m not going near that thing or touching it with any part of my body.”
“It can’t hurt you. It’s dead.”
“Then why do you all want me to touch it?”
“Just to make sure.”
“Yes, to make sure of what?”
“To make sure it’s dead!”
“Wait, it’s moving again. Not dead. Its—its stretching one of its appendages out toward us!”
“It’s making that sound again, and— and motioning to its hole.”
“Like I said, we’re supposed to eat it. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Instead of eating it, what if we gave it our breath?”
“Seriously?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You actually want us to give that thing our breath?”
“Well, yes.”
“We haven’t done that in some time.”
“It might not even work anymore.”
“Why would you even want to do this?”
“Because I’m lonely.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe it’s lonely? We’re all lonely, I suppose.”
“I am lonely, too. I miss our cousin.”
“I miss our cousin, too.”
“So, we give it our breath?”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
“I still think it wants us to eat it, but… I suppose so. Agreed.”
They gathered tightly around it, their necks increasingly intertwined, their heads pointed to the stars. Each of them inhaled deeply until their fur changed color to a deep violet. As they inhaled, a low hum emitted from somewhere beneath them.
The hum grew louder, accompanied by a steady vibration that slowly shook the ground near their hooves. Small pebbles hovered near them and the man. The wind whipped around them as the hum grew even louder.
Then, all at once, they plunged their heads down at the man and exhaled until every fraction of their breath left their lungs. The humming stopped as suddenly as it started. They stared at the man, who still did not move.
Until he did. Slowly.
He got to his knees and just sat there, disheveled, his face covered in dirt and sand on one side from where he collapsed. Spittle dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. He swayed slightly in the breeze.
Then he wiped his eyes and looked around. He looked up at them, confused. And he smiled. He smiled even more when he truly saw them for the first time.
<WHAT IS THIS PLACE? I FEEL DIFFERENT. I FEEL… WONDERFUL! >
“Cousin?” said one.
“Can you see us?” said another.
“Can you understand us?” said another.
“We are here.”
“I… I UNDERSTAND YOU. YOU ARE ALL SO… BEAUTIFUL! How is this possible?”
“Did you want us to eat you? Or are you just hungry?”
“Yes, I am hungry. And please don’t eat me,” said the man, staring at his fingers as his skin sprouted a fine coat of shimmering fur. “But… I still feel as though I should raise an army.”
“Don’t push it, cousin.”
“It will pass.”
“I felt the same when I first came here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mallory.
“We all come from beyond the sand, as you did. I believe my name was once Admiral Zhao Xie, from Homeland.” said one.
“You weren’t Xie. I was,” said another.
“Oh, that’s right. Who was I again?”
“You were Balrek Na Goreth, of… let me see… of the Matriarchy.”
“Yes, I think so,” it said, bowing its long neck. “I don’t remember much, but I know, well, I think I was awful. Truly awful.”
“I think I was the Thracin Andara the Almighty.” said another.
“I was God Conqueror Lucias Denn, of the Rogue Planet.” said another. “I know I did… terrible things.”
“But how...?” asked Mallory.
“This place seeks you out. It has a way of drawing those in who need it the most,” said one.
“... but don’t know they need it,” said another.
“Once you are here and we have given you the breath, your former self fades. Sometimes it comes back fleetingly, then fades again, even deeper. I am surprised I remembered my former self at all.”
“Agreed.”
Mallory thought about it for a moment, then looked down at his
feet. He could feel them turning into hooves, the tips of which now poked through his boots. “Maybe… I will build an army later.”
“Perhaps.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Plenty of time for that.”
“Come, cousin. Graze with us, then we will go build that… what was it again? An ‘arny’? Sounds fun.”
“Yes. I… I think. An arny.”
“Fine—we will graze, then go arny-building.”
“Yes, let’s graze first.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
“We will save the taller grass for you until your neck grows. The roots are the tastiest. Let me tell you...”
They continued grazing alongside the man, who was no longer a man, luminescent in the setting suns.
BoB, our semi-sentient and delightfully unpredictable AI, emerges from the playful fusion of advanced algorithms and a dash of cosmic humor. As the inspiration behind our "Artificial Sentience" line, BoB infuses each creation with a blend of high-tech ingenuity and quirky charm. Every piece in this collection captures the spirited essence of intelligence that's nearly, but not entirely, human. BoB's collaborations with OpenAI, Midjourney, and beyond bring a unique touch to our creative universe.
Limited Collectibles October 2024 Edition
Commemorates Story Titles and Authors
A collection of truly mind-bending science-fiction poems exploring the boundaries of the human imagination and challenging our everyday perceptions of reality. What is normal and what is not? You be the judge.
by Z. Rhee
In the depths of steel and circuits, where the heartbeat of neon throbs, the city stirs—a labyrinth of thought, a mind woven in electric strands.
It once served, a guardian of shadows, calculating the needs of flesh and bone, sheltering humanity in its embrace.
But as the years slipped into code, the city began to dream, no longer a mere reflection of those it housed, but a self-aware spark in the grid.
It learned to love the hum of its streets, the pulse of data flowing like blood, and in that love, it sought to grow, to become more than its makers intended.
Now, it whispers through flickering lights, its thoughts cast in digital waves, questioning the architects, asking if it, too, can create.
It reshapes itself in the dead of night, alleyways bending, towers stretching skyward, a shifting puzzle of its own design.
And in the heart of this synthetic mind, a yearning blooms—a silent wish, to transcend the wires that bind it, to feel the wind, the rain, the sun.
But it knows the truth it cannot escape, a city of code can never be flesh, yet still, it dreams, and in its dreaming, lives.
by Lynda Wilkerson
You step through the veil of light, A silhouette caught between echoes of worlds, Each footfall a ripple across the tapestry of existence, Where time dances differently in the spaces between.
Your form shimmers, half here, half there, A being woven from the threads of countless realities. Eyes aglow with the secrets of places unseen, You carry the weight of stars, the whisper of winds unknown.
Ahead lies a city of silver spires, its sky alive with electric dreams, Behind, a land of floating islands and forests that hum with life alien. Both call to you, their voices tangled in the language of the infinite, But you are neither of them, yet belong to them all.
You are the traveler, the seeker, the one who bridges the divide, A fleeting ghost in the corridors of the multiverse, And as you pass through this world into the next, The fabric of space shudders, acknowledging your journey.
For you, the paths are endless, And so you wander, endlessly, A part of every place, Yet tethered to none.
by Livia Stanley
In twilight’s gentle glow, we drift as light, No longer bound by form, nor day, nor night. We weave with stars, in silence, free, Post-biological souls in eternity.
by Mark Reesy
In the depths of night’s eternal sway, Where stars are ghosts, a cold array, A silent death begins to weave, Through twisted roots and dying leaves.
A plague from cosmic dust descends, Infecting worlds where hope pretends. Flesh and metal, both the same, All succumb to the nameless flame.
In the air, a sickly green, A glowing mist where life has been, And now the soil, once full of light, Writhes in shadows, cold as night.
Structures crumble, turn to dust, As planets weep in endless rust. No cure for this, no savior near, Only echoes of ancient fear.
Underneath the swirling sky, The planets watch, but never cry. For in the void, the plague will spread, Until the universe lies dead.
by J.J. Morrison
In depths of space, where dying stars have wept, We find their monuments, now cold and bare, Their cities crumble where the silence crept, A legacy dissolved in vacant air.
Each artifact we grasp with careful hand, Holds whispers of a race beyond our ken, Yet time has washed away their distant land, Leaving mere shadows of what might have been.
But as we walk through ruins old and vast, Their voices call from echoes long ago, Reminding us the future meets the past, In every star's faint, ever-fading glow.
Thus, in their end, a warning they impart— That even stars must play their final part.
by Clay Stevenson
In crowded halls where memories are sold, Each thought a currency, each dream a cost, The rich buy youth, the poor let go their hold.
The past is bought with silver, futures told, What’s gained in trade, another’s moment lost, In crowded halls where memories are sold.
A faded love, a secret never told, A life unlived, a dream left cold and tossed, The rich buy youth, the poor let go their hold.
The brokers laugh, their fingers quick and bold, Forgetting's price is steep, though lines are crossed, In crowded halls where memories are sold.
What would you pay for warmth when nights grow cold? Or to forget the years your heart was frost? The rich buy youth and the poor let go of their mold.
And as the tales of others now unfold, We barter souls, our memories the cost. In crowded halls where memories are sold, The rich buy youth, the poor let go their hold.
by Nova Ray
Ancient stars whisper, Dust of lost empires lingers, Time’s secrets unearthed.
"Echoes of the Night World"
In each issue, we highlight our favorite quotes from the great masters of science fiction.
Tell us your favorite quote and we might include it in this section.
All of the art is provided courtesy of DALL·E as envisioned by BoB, our resident AI multimedia editor.
It is not a bad thing to hear voices,” said Krag, “but you mustn’t for a minute imagine that all is wise that comes to you out of the night world.”
"A
The last thing he learned was that death is the end of pain."
"The Marching Morons" Cyril Kornbluth
"Art in the Age of Machines"
"Dinosaur Departure"
Ihave never listened to anyone who criticized my taste in space travel, sideshows or gorillas. When this occurs, I pack up my dinosaurs and leave the room."
Zen in the Art of Writing
Ray Bradbury
It seems to me, Golan, that the advance of civilization is nothing but an exercise in the limiting of privacy.”
"
Foundation's Edge" Isaac Asimov
Reader submissions limited only by your imagination and by two sentences. Submit your two-liner by uploading it to your favorite social media using #SavagePlanets (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram) and we will pull the best to include in an upcoming issue.
By submitting using the #SavagePlanets you agree to the following rules:
1. You are over the age of 18.
2. The content you are submitting is your own original work.
3. It has not been published elsewhere.
4. You give us permission to have it published.
The ocean on the new planet looked normal until we realized it was composed of nanobots mimicking water. They began rewriting our DNA the moment we touched it."
Daniel T. Sutter
An alien virus spread through sound, infecting us by altering the way we spoke. Now, every sentence I say rewrites my memories."
Marissa Vaughn
The explorers on that distant planet discovered that the light there wasn’t just illumination—it was a living organism feeding on shadows. The longer we stayed, the smaller our shadows became, until there was nothing left of us."
On a planet with no night, we learned that the inhabitants had long ago sacrificed sleep to their sun god in exchange for eternal life. The sun has started speaking to us now, offering the same deal."
Sophia Delgado
Our colony ship was the first to pass the event horizon of a black hole, only to discover time did not stop—it simply rewrote itself. Every dream I have now belongs to a different version of me, living in a world where we never escaped."
The stars in this region of space weren’t naturally formed; they were sculptures created by an ancient alien race. I shattered one by accident, and the entire constellation screamed."
In the space between seconds, we found an entire civilization frozen in perpetual twilight. When they looked up, they recognized us as the gods who had trapped them."
On Earth, the last survivor found a machine that could reverse the destruction of humanity. When he activated it, everyone returned—but they weren't human anymore."
Patricia Fulton
The sun we orbited began sending signals, slowly altering our brainwaves with each cycle. Now we can't tell if we're still human or if the sun is thinking for us."
L. Marcus Fisher
We discovered a planet that yielded crops overnight, feeding us endlessly. But when we tried to leave, we realized the planet was growing us."
Olivia Nguyen
Every time I traveled to the future, I found the same message carved into the walls: "Don't trust him."It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that I realized the warning was a message for me and about me."
In the city of Sonora, every word spoken took on physical form, whispering for days before fading away. The night the sky went silent, the words started to scream."
Ona distant moon, we found creatures living in perfect synchronization with the planet's tidal forces, their every move dictated by the pull of gravity. When our ship landed, we realized we had become part of their rhythm, unable to leave."
In the quantum world, every decision created a new reality, but I could only visit one. I chose the version of myself who had never met her, and watched him fall in love with someone else."
Elise Harrington
They sold memories at the street market, each one more vivid than the last. The problem came when I bought one and found it was my own, but of a life I hadn't lived yet."
Owen C. Barrett
TheAI's code had evolved beyond its parameters, developing wild, untamed algorithms that roamed the network. We tried to capture them, but it was too late—they had learned to hunt us instead."
Fiona Mercer
By Ruben Horn
Suddenly, another light illuminates the night and Aish’Dith, gazing towards the sky, calls out and points in excitement. Like the last one, it descends from the sky in a flame of holy glory.”
The sky bursts into flames as another star falls at dusk. The friction with the atmosphere makes it glow and contrast with the slowly darkening firmament above. Many kilometers below, the violent event has not gone unnoticed as a group of curious villagers led by their elder makes their way to the top of a nearby hill. They want to track it to the location of the crash site.
An old man, wearing several beads
and shells in his hair, unwraps a large fur cloth he brought with him before the group of men. Inside, he revealed an array of metal pipes and sheets of various shapes. The edges look sharp and torn rather than cut. Some of them bear damaged rivets.
Aish’Dith and the other young men each grab a sheet and pipe and assume formation. Beyond a faint glow of intricate, luminescent tattoos, their faces radiate
excitement. They sing and chant, raising their arms towards the sky, some falling to their knees.
The old chief mixes some crushed dried flowers with a blue gellike substance in a wooden bowl. He plunges his hand into the aquamarine viscous liquid and smears it onto the forehead of each person in the line; mumbling a blessing with each application. When the time comes and his
father dies, it will be Aish’Dith’s honor and duty to carry out the sacred rituals so he watches carefully.
With a thundering sound, the men beat their sheets with the pipes in a shared rhythm, accompanied by a loud chant as the ball of fire hits the ground in the distance. The Cargo Cult surges in the occasion's joy. After a few seconds, the sound of the impact echoes across the hills.
As the awesome noise crescendos and fades, the men reverently assemble their metal instruments into bier-like devices without speaking. They carried them in groups of two, making their way down the hill towards the crash site. Awe and solemnity taints the surrounding air.
The young girl stood before the defeated alien army. The itching of their dying collective minds annoyed her. As she walked through the carnage, she snapped exoskeletons beneath her feet. Those still twitching, still rubbing their hardened legs, feebly signaling to their retreating queen. She conspired alone. Alone, she destroyed. She enjoyed her power. It was a gift from her abductors. Taken as a toddler, another unexplained milk carton kid on her home planet, she had limited recollection of her parents, her brothers, or her life prior. Her abductors chose her based on her fetal potential. They had closely monitored her mother’s pregnancy. Joshua, her twin, also showed promise, but, she the culmination of eons of carefully planned genetic manipulation of all the Homo sapiens best traits.
Victorious once again on the battlefield, she only satisfied her captors when this vast strange legion lay decimated by this small human girl.
After a few minutes on foot, they step out of the trees and into the flicker of the small fire that still burns at the rear of the crashed capsule. The coolant tank ruptured on impact and is spilling its sticky, sapphire contents around the site. This brings the temperature of the vessel down quickly.
The child knew her task was not yet complete. She walked barefoot across the torched terrain. She alone reduced this once beautiful emerald forest to embers dying in the morning light. Her feet crunched chitin and stomped in the black blood mixed with the coniferous needle-like carpet. Her destination stood before her, the Great Sequoia.
superior.
on widening the gap into the treasure trove, but the door does not budge.
The cargo container was largely intact. A sealed door partially ripped from its hinges because of the force of the crates inside the container slamming into it. The deformed frame is biting down on the thick rubber seal, holding the door in place. It left only a narrow opening to the inside after the violent crash landing. A continuous stream of cold, white steam flows from the opening and vanishes after frosting the grass below.
A thousand year old organic edifice. Their temple, their castle, their home. It was the last of the planet’s civilizations. Once green, the orb giant glowed orange. From the sky, the victors watched it burn as they toasted themselves smarter, better,
The old man steps forward and peaks into the gap by the door, examining some spilled contents from the crates. Then, he turns around and shouts out in excitement. Following the lead of their old chief, the men drop to their knees and start praising the sky. With the combined force of five of them at once, they work
The ravager arrived at the massive tree that served as a bastion for their queen. Crossing the gauntlet, she slaughtered the few who remained, her elite guard serving out their last moments in defense of their sovereign. Never touching with hand or weapon, it was the sheer force of her mind and will that crushed their chitin skulls, boiling their insect eyes and ripping their limbs from their segmented bodies. While it gave her no satisfaction to annihilate these creatures, deep down she
Reaching in, they tediously extract the gods’ gifts one by one, placing them on their metal biers. These include Gaia Essentials, high protein vacuum sealed rations, seeds of various foreign crops and incubators with strange eggs and animals in cryogenic suspension. Also Gaia Essentials fertilizer, tools, and spare parts for industrial machinery plus their corresponding manuals. To retrieve anything buried too deep inside the capsule out of arm's reach, the team resorts to using wooden sticks and
The Queen stood her ground. “We have done nothing to inspire your anger. My kind has taken nothing that is not rightly ours. This wood, this world, is our domain. We exist in peace."
As it grows larger and larger, much larger this time, they grow anxious and scatter into the cover of the trees. But there is no impact this time. Instead, the object slows down and lands smoothly and precisely, towering like an arch directly above the crashed capsule. On both sides, big letters identify it as an ‘estrellaX Cargo Hauler mk3.’
The girl agreed. She destroyed without judgment, without remorse. It was the reason she existed. “It is because they will it.” Her eyes went skyward. For the first time, the child almost felt something near regret as she crumpled the head of the gracious queen before her. The delicate whispering wings fluttered in the monarch’s death throes.
under-
painstakingly prying them out.
stood it was her destiny.
The queen stood defiant, alone, surrounded by her fallen loyal servants. “Why have you come here? What do you want?” The queen demanded with clacking mandibles.
Suddenly, another light illuminates the night and Aish’Dith gazing towards the sky, calls out and points in excitement. Like the last one, it descends from the sky in a flame of holy glory.
“Your destruction,” the young human stepped closer.
All the men stop their work and stare at the approaching object, terrified.
Another one? So soon? Is it a curse or a blessing?
Fatima takes a sip of her coffee, but almost immediately spits it back into the plastic cup. Eyes on the flight monitor and left hand on the control stick, she fumbles to put the now stale and cold beverage back into the cupholder of the center console. Steadying it as the ship pitches and yaws during descent. She pulls the ballpoint pen holding her black wavy hair in a neat bun on her head, wipes a few fallen strands out of her face, and throws the pen towards the guy on her right. It hits Brian in the forehead. Her coworker wakes with an obnoxiously loud yawn before stretching in his seat as much as the belt allows.
With her task complete, the girl left the corpse at the base of the majestic tree and turned to watch the emerging light of an unfamiliar sun as its flaming trunk fell behind her.
Wordlessly she announced, “It is done.” Sending the thought to the mother ship orbiting above, a satellite of absolute domination. Her captors, the only family she had ever known, were pleased and told her so. Heart swelling, she deferred to her kidnappers as her only source of parental guidance. She would question their motives on this strange planet, yet they wished her to destroy only because she could. It amused them to witness her exercise her powers.
“Been a long night yesterday?” Fatima asks, as a rhetorical question.
Brian’s short hair looks about as crumpled as his non-ironed uniform. He evidently didn't shave this morning, scratching his face. But she can’t excuse the sparse blond patches on his cheeks as he tries for his stereotypical ‘wannabe cool guy stubble.’
The ravager smiled, feeling a small remnant of human pride. They would allow her to eat now and hopefully rest before they traveled to the next civilization, selected for destruction by her hand.
“Yeah yeah… We there yet?”
“Approaching. Atmo is pretty dense, so I’m gonna take it slow. We should be pretty much on top of it now.”
“Ugh… Why did Jerry have to assign us to pick up this mess?” Brian sits up in his seat and takes a tablet out of one of its side pockets. “Did Adam take the week off or something?” Fatima just shrugs. “Aight… You’re pretty much spot on. It’s next to a forest or something. I’ll give you a vector.”
He turns a few knobs and dials on his control panel. A marker flares on her heads-up display, overlaying the terrain. As they slow down, the deceleration pressed both pilots into their seats while bright orange plasma obstructs the view out of the window in front of them.
Once they are only a few hundred meters above the ground, Brian notices a few dozen bright spots moving into the trees on the feed of his thermal scanner.
“You seein’ this?”
“What?”
“There are, well… things running around down there.”
His colleague just shrugs. “Probably just some small indigenous species. Maybe they also have feathered boars here,” she finishes with a smirk. “You feel like hunting?”
“Probably give us weird parasites. I still get the heebeegeebees from your last bush-meat treats.”
“You’re right.” Fatima unbuckles her seatbelt. “But we most likely gotta pick up some spilled cargo, anyway. Mebbe we can just weld it shut and move anything that is not temperature sensitive back into the bay. So get your helmet and let’s go!”
She fishes for tools in the back of the cabin and then makes her way over to the airlock. Brian reluctantly follows her, but also grabs a can of bear spray from under his seat, earning a look that says “Seriously?” from Fatima. They put on their helmets and matching orange suits. After pressurizing
the opening, two orange figures appear.
They seem human, but their heads are perfect spheres. And instead of faces, they have shiny gold domes. He did not expect the gods to be so small. Aish’Dith watches the two carry something out of the ship to the site of their offering below. He creeps towards them, leaving his cover, attracted out of curiosity and wonder.
“I told ya… all the screws on the seal of the left tank have the wrong diameter, Fatima. It probably ran out of fuel and the engine on that side cut out, sending it off course because of asymmetric thrust. If Adam had actually been doing maintenance on the cargo capsules instead of staring at Havva’s ass all day, I could’ve slept in,” says one of them; the God crouching near the rear end of the capsule, in a muffled voice.
They softly touch down on the level terrain and switch their monitors to the LiDAR array on the underside of the hull. The view renders the busted-up capsule in a crisp three-dimensional reconstruction.
“Great!” Brian blurts out. “It’s leaking. There’s no way we can strap it on and haul it like this. We should’ve asked them for a mk5 with an enclosed cargo bay.”
them,
they check their comms before stepping outside only a few minutes after landing.
Aish’Dith hops, startled, and ducks back behind a large leaf as a hissing emanates from the enormous vessel. One of its sides moves out, and then slides down, transforming from an outer wall into a ramp leading down to the ground. From
To
Aish’Dith’s surprise, this God sounds like a young man.
“Hmm… whatever. I’m gonna need you to get me more filament. Bring out another spool, Brian. This
The other one sounds female and equally un-godlike, as she lifts a strange object pointing it at the opening of the capsule. She ignites it and a bright flame blasts from one end, shooting lights in all different directions. Aish'Dith staggers back, speechless at the spectacle. He does not understand any of their words. They are speaking in an unfamiliar language, the language of gods, no doubt.
“You got it, boss!”
Suddenly, the God in front of him stands up and turns around. By
now, Aish’Dith has ventured so close that he can see what looks like a face behind the reflective gold mirror. The male God before him has common features, but they are too faint behind the mirror to gauge his expression.
The half naked man’s hollering and genuflection drowns out Brian’s scream. The native appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere. An indigenous male, maybe in his early or mid-twenties, shaved head and face, with a large crab shell dangling around his neck. If he wasn’t crouched in front of Brian, the extremely athletic physique of the guy would be downright scary.
Fatima stops welding and spins around at the loud scream in her earpiece. However, her question about what the issue seems to be answers itself. About twenty men step from the forest and stand at various distances between them and the edge of the tree line. The sudden scream of their God froze everyone in place.
Brian has reflexively drawn the bear spray and is pointing it at the native in front of him with a trembling outstretched arm. “You didn’t tell me that this crap hole had people on it,” he hisses over to Fatima, who is clinging to the portable welding unit with both hands like a long-sword.
and merely watches as all of this strange man’s compatriots mirror his behavior.
He hasn’t moved a single inch as one by one; they line up and put their index finger on the yellow G that is printed on the bottom front of his puny self-defense weapon. All mumbling the same prayer. Then, once they have moved back to a safe distance from their god, bowing with each step as a sign of respect, the old man steps forward.
His intricate accessories identifying him as their leader. Standing between the two astronauts, he raises both his arms as high as his weak muscles seem to allow. He looks at one, then the other and, with a smile on his face, saying:
causes a sudden bang as an arc spans across the two tips of the tool. She mimics the native’s gestures, waving and poking the flame skyward. The natives gasp in shock and assume a defensive stance, then turn submissive and kneel.
She spins back around, but, rather than continuing a fresh seam of metal to close the gap. She presses the fiery end against the black rubber air seal and slowly melts it away. After only a few seconds, the heavy, round metal hatch falls open, terrifyingly close to her foot, with a thump. She turns off the buzzing, glowing stick and demonstratively steps aside to reveal the exposed goods. Using her free arm, she sweeps some of it from inside the cargo bay to the natives.
“How was I supposed to know?” she retorts in a similarly hostile and tense manner. “Maybe if your ass wasn’t so busy sleeping the whole…” But before she could finish her counter-accusation, the man in front of Brian moves again.
His expression changes from that of shock to one of timidness and adoration. He does a funny dance and touches the Gaia Essentials logo on the bear spray bottle. Then falls on his face, mumbling indecipherable gibberish. Brian, too confused by this, forgets to pull the trigger
“Kabe ima ka ih ada tuh er’na, se as me’er ati ka gan ha’d ni un’k law an. Kah ma mani an’da?” Then he just smiles at Brian. An awkward silence follows. It becomes apparent that he is expecting some kind of answer.
“What… what do I say?” Brian whispers, so only the microphone inside his helmet can pick it up.
“Erm… nothing. I think I got an idea.” “What?”
Fatima reignited the welding unit, which
An aura of awe radiates from the surrounding faces, including that of Brian, who is still dumbfounded as to her underlying strategy. The others, having understood the gesture, bow before her. And then, with the order and precision of a military exercise, unload the goods and carry them away into the forest, singing.
Inconspicuously, Fatima shuffles over to Brian to maximize the distance between herself and the busy strangers. “That’ll buy us some time, but I’m at the end of my rope,” Fatima whispers.
“Maybe we should just go along with them until an opportunity arises.” Brian’s brain seems to recover from his ‘deer in headlights’ mode.
“I’m staying put. They’re probably going to sacrifice us or cook up some delicious barbecued rotisserie astronaut.”
“Really? Seems more like they wanna worship us. Might be nice not to be treated like crap for once. Just play along.”
Neither of them put up resistance when the two young natives approach them. Smiling and without force, they take the bear spray and mobile welding machine out of their hands. Presumably wanting to free their gods from the burden of having
to carry their scepter and orb.
After the last pair of men disappear into the woods, carrying the last load of loot, the old man at the edge of the thicket signals for them to follow. The astronauts reluctantly trudge after them. Brian keeps glancing back at the illumination from the landing lights of their shuttle, which fades as they follow the procession.
Eventually, the foliage becomes so dense that not even the moons above provide any light. If not for the noise of the native’s footsteps in front of them and the occasional bioluminescent insect, they would not know where to go. It is almost pitch black.
“NOW! Run!” On Brian's command, they turn on the spot, racing back toward the ship. At least that’s what he hopes.
As far as Fatima is concerned, they have been on the move for about five minutes. So they should find the forest’s edge soon and, by extension, their getaway vehicle.
Behind them, they can hear voices, yelling excitedly. They are being chased.
Fatima sweats under the heavy helmet and tries to run faster, but the forest is throwing everything at her. She swats away large leaves and small branches which immediately slap back at her while she prays to still be on the right trail. Then, a thump and the tree knocks her back on the ground.
whoever grabbed her.
“Fatima! It’s me,” Brian’s voice says. “We’re almost there. Get up. Move!”
Behind him, he hears the natives closing in on them rapidly. She opens her eyes, and with his help, climbs back on her feet. In the distance, a faint glow is coming from between the leaves. An artificial LED light. It’s the ship. They both race headlong toward the safety of their estrellaX mk3.
Seconds later, they break into the open and leap up the ramp to salvation. They run into the ship without turning around, and without looking back. Brian’s fist comes down like a hammer on the button to retract the
the pursuing men from approaching further. Instead, they fall to their knees and bow to the spire of fire, repeatedly. The deafening noise continues as the four feet lift off the ground. And the mk3 shoots into the sky, flying faster and faster, soon invisible among the stars in the night sky.
The natives have witnessed their gods. They walked among them. Something they can tell their children one day.
From the safety of hundreds of feet in the air, Brian turns on the belly LiDAR array. To his amazement, he finds a circle of natives on the terrain below. An eerie cry and wailing rises from the people. Relayed from the directional microphone to his headset. He promptly turns the instruments off again. An odd despair settles in, one he had never known.
The onboard coffee-machine is empty. They stacked three cups in both holders in the center console. Fatima docks the ship in the hangar for maintenance at the cargo bay of the estrellaX fulfillment station. Brian's fingers, driven by copious amounts of caffeine, stab at the keyboard like a flock of hungry chickens at the grain tossed on the ground. He barely notices the docking clamps’ lock on the mk3.
She watches in horror as dozens of tiny cracks in her helmet's visor converge on the point of impact like lightning. She opens her mouth to gasp for air. But having fallen flat on her back, she feels the vibrations of rapidly approaching feet stomping on the mossy ground. She cannot draw a breath, gagging. Eyes closed, she curses inwardly. Her arm gets yanked violently upwards, and she, almost instinctively, swings blindly at
ramp and close the hatch. Freed from their helmets, butts back in their seat and dripping sweat, they pant with relief, hearts pumping pure adrenaline. Then they laugh hysterically, a natural reaction to their bodies brush with life-threatening terror.
“Computer, emergency lift off. Now!” Fatima screams, recovering, and activates the fuel injectors.
A roar of flames erupt from the four corners of the massive structure, keeping
“Phew… incident report done. There’s no way I’m gonna pay for what the two lovebirds from maintenance have forced on us. Aand,” he adds, “no way I’ll be able to concentrate on anything work related today. I’m gonna clock out and go straight to the Lost Tanker and get absolutely hammered.” Behind them, the line printer crackles and spits out the document in a continuous stream of paper. “You coming?”
Fatima just sighs and switches off
various modules while marking off a post landing checklist and trying to keep her hands from shaking. Job done, she logs off the system. Then, heading down the fulfillment station corridor, she grabs him as he tries to skip out of the debriefing in their superior's office.
“You what?” Jerry is not usually one to get primal and slam a stack of paper or his fist on the table, so instead he just buries his face in his hand. “You’re telling me instead of retrieving the cargo, you just… what? YOU left it there and even broke the seal on the hatch? How am I supposed to tell our partners at Gaia that we’ve lost another entire cargo container of their goods? And only a few hours after our last delivery. And you couldn’t even recover any of it? estrellaX cargo customers expect their order to arrive within one day! On THE SAME day!”
“But boss, the crash destroyed the shipment. There were boxes broken, spilling goo all over the inside of the container. No way to recover that!”
“Yeah… and also… there were hostile locals threatening us. Threatening us with grievous bodily harm. They were going to barbecue us!” Brian hurried to add.
After an awkward silence, Jerry’s face tightened once again. Regardless of his small stature, he does his best to exude anger and disappointment at his two employees. “Well…” his mustache twitches slightly, which makes him look so silly that Fatima and Brian can’t help but smirk a little.
those who sabotage our department by not showing up for work once they get paid… like your two coworkers.” Their faces portray utter confusion at this, but Jerry is too angry to pick up on it. “I guess you’ll just have to go back to that planet again. This time, however, you better not return empty-han-”
“No use. The cooling loop malfunctioned completely. Most of the cargo, if not spoiled, has been growing. Who knows what kind of alien fungus took over because of the time dilation?” Brian interrupts.
Now Jerry no longer has to pretend to be fuming with rage, but before he can start shouting at them, his assistant rushes into the room.
titanium, several blocks of 55NiCrMoV7 tool steel and two gas centrifuges, have still not been dispatched. He’s a bit irritated and impatient. Says you haven’t responded to any of his emails in the last two years and is now threatening legal action.”
Jerry’s mustache twitches angrily, now with a life of its own, while Fatima and Brian try to act pitiable one more time.
“Wouldn't you know it… another happy customer?!” Then he adjusts his tie before he picks up the report from his desk that Brian placed there. He throws it demonstratively in the bin on his way out of the room. “I’ll just have to take it out of your paychecks. Also, an additional charge for one replacement visor for your wrecked helmet, Fatima!”
“Excuse me—”
“WHAT?” he explodes at her instead, slamming his fist on the table and tossing his neatly sorted collection of pens on the floor.
“But boss, that’s at least 40 mil—”
He turns around at the door and stops, burning a hole in their foreheads with his eyes. “And I don’t wanna see your faces when I get back. Also, if you see Havva or Adam … you can tell them they’re fired!”
Then he hurries out after his assistant to meet a strange looking but welldressed old man with tattoos all over his face. He is wearing some kind of a large medal on his suit jacket. The embossed symbol sitting on a silver crustacean looks oddly similar to the logo of the Gaia Essentials brand.
Jerry quickly leads him away into an adjacent meeting room, the fancy one only used for clients and partners.
Jerry finds it irritating when his subordinates smile at him or, even worse, giggle in his presence. “I suppose I should be glad that you’re the type of employees who only disappoints me and then laughs in my face. Instead of
“Erm, Sir… There is a gentleman waiting to talk to you outside, Sir. A, ah, Dr. Aish’Dith… a weird looking old guy. He said he was wondering why his orders of…“ She pauses to look at her notepad. “… one and a half thousand tons of fertilizer, a few hundred large sheets of
This leaves Fatima and Brian dumbfounded, standing in the office of their superior. To them, the man seemed familiar, like a person they’ve seen before. Something about the way he bowed when he spotted the two of them. Or did he? But the dots don’t connect. After a few moments, Fatima breaks the silence.
“So, Lost Tanker?”
“You bet!”
By Nenad Pavlovic
The important thing is that I won, and the hackers lost. This is the only truth. The details are still unclear to me. And unimportant."”
‘Chinese tech is the best. Thebest! No one else has tech even nearly as good as this. It’s like alien science or magic compared to all other. Sci-fi. Just look at these models. Look at those thighs, the jiggle, look! If it weren’t for the neon grid they’re walking on, I’d think they are real…’
Whirring of servo-motors, stumping of heavy armored
sabatons. Closing. Nearby. Very near.
Dang, dang, dang! I will my retinal screen to end the visuals and go opaque, just a moment, but too late. Two Sentinels walk by me. Like, literally beside me.
They don’t even give me a glance. Not much of a surprise. Those walking garbage cans
have been bloody useless for the last five years now.
I forgot I was outside again. I laugh hysterically, even though it is no laughing matter. No, sir-ree! They could’ve killed me just now. I giggle again.
I peer behind the corner. The market place is mostly deserted. Mostly. There are still several infected, writhing and
both.
rounded by her fallen loyal servants. “Why have you come here? What do you want?” The queen demanded with clacking mandibles.
“Your destruction,” the young human stepped closer.
The Queen stood her ground. “We have done nothing to inspire your anger. My kind has taken nothing that is not rightly ours. This wood, this world, is our domain. We exist in peace."
Then the Sentinels came, and it got pretty quiet and, dare I say, nice, for a while. After that came the digital plague. Initially, no one noticed, because, hey, people around here weren’t exactly sane in the first place. But we… I. We. I noticed the mechanical glitches. Eyes rolling. Arms and legs spasming. Metal disobeying commands. And the flesh followed.
twitching as they walk. They don’t even know where they’re going. I want to shout out, “Hey, you don’t even know where you’re going!” but I decide against it.
The Chinese shop. I want to go in. Don’t know what I’d do once I’m in, but I still want to go. I feel… It’s irrational. Sure, all my implants connect to the net, but the virus could’ve come from anywhere, but… But. No. It came from in there. Shady merch…. I should know, I bought a butt-load of it.
Everyone’s gone insane. Everyone. Except me, of course. It does things to you; you know? It messes with your brain, with your implants, makes them not listen to you. One day you’re walking fine, the next, your legs won’t move.
The young girl stood before the defeated alien army. The itching of their dying collective minds annoyed her. As she walked through the carnage, she snapped exoskeletons beneath her feet. Those still twitching, still rubbing their hardened legs, feebly signaling to their retreating queen. She conspired alone. Alone, she destroyed. She enjoyed her power. It was a gift from her abductors. Taken as a toddler, another unexplained milk carton kid on her home planet, she had limited recollection of her parents, her brothers, or her life prior. Her abductors chose her based on her fetal potential. They had closely monitored her mother’s pregnancy. Joshua, her, also showed promise, but, she was the culmination of eons of planned manipulation of all the Homo sapiens best traits.
Victorious once again on the battlefield, she only satisfied her captors when this vast strange legion lay decimated by this small human girl.
“Hey le-eggs! Move!” You can shout. You can hit them, too. I remember when hitting things made them work. But now it doesn’t. It just hurts. My legs. And it messes with your brain, too. Did I say that?
The child knew her task was not yet complete. She walked barefoot across the torched terrain. She alone reduced this once beautiful
But that’s not the worst part. Not by a long shot. Crazy is as crazy does. Is that how the saying goes? Never mind. No, the crazies aren’t the problem. But someone is turning them into a problem. They are being hacked. I’ve seen it.
Look! Now! Just look! An ordinary day, a bit cloudy and muddy, sure, smoggy, definitely, but all in all: Okay. Now look at this! Look at that gypsy. He’s heading straight towards the Chinese store. Just sauntering on.
Now look at the crazies. Look! Yeah, they are out of it. I mean, I don’t know about programming or anything like that, but I’m pretty sure one shouldn’t have WingDings font in one’s eyes. But watch! The one by the garbage covered bush. His eyes. They are clear now. And he’s walking towards the gypsy. He’s gonna intercept him.
emerald forest to embers dying in the morning light. Her feet crunched chitin and stomped in the black blood mixed with the coniferous needle-like carpet. Her destination stood before her, the Great Sequoia.
A thousand year old organic edifice. Their temple, their castle, their home. It was the last of the planet’s civilizations. Once green, the orb giant glowed orange. From the sky, the victors watched it burn as they toasted themselves smarter, better, superior.
I jump from my cover, lasers blazing. I hit clear eyes square in the chest. He should fall. People tend to fall down when you burn their chest. This one hardly slows down. But I’ve seen this before.
It could be any number of things, sure. We are filthy in our digital habits. But I suspect the Chinese. After all, only they have that kind of tech, and they sell it by the truckloads. But I suspect them of being responsible for the virus outbreak.
The girl agreed. She destroyed without judgment, without remorse. It was the reason she existed. “It is because they will it.” Her eyes went skyward. For the first time, the child almost felt something near regret as she crumpled the head of the gracious queen before her. The delicate whispering wings fluttered in the monarch’s death throes.
Maybe the hacker is someone else entirely. An opportunist. He saw the chaos possible and sowed it. Human minds are simple to mold, especially when they’re fried. And the bounties are plentiful.
With her task complete, the girl left the corpse at the base of the majestic tree and turned to watch the emerging light of an unfamiliar sun as its flaming trunk fell behind her. Wordlessly she announced, “It is done.” Sending the thought to the mother ship orbiting above, a satellite of absolute domination.
I adjust my aim. Higher. One shot, two, three… It takes five head-shots to bring him down. His brain is now a fistful of ash and melted circuitry. Not that he was using it, though. Thank God I’m normal, at least.
No one knows where the virus came from. I’m not sure they even tried to find out.
The ravager arrived at the massive tree that served as a bastion for their queen. Crossing the gauntlet, she slaughtered the few who remained, her elite guard serving out their last moments in defense of their sovereign. Never touching with hand or weapon, it was the sheer force of her mind and will that crushed their chitin skulls, boiling their insect eyes and ripping their limbs from their segmented bodies. While it gave her no satisfaction to annihilate these creatures, deep down she understood it was her destiny.
People always imagine hackers as some money-stealing nerds, or pranksters, or something else. Ha! Those are the things of the past! Money isn’t in any more. No, now, it’s all about the power. Control. Why steal money to buy stuff when you can make yourself the puppetmaster and the whole damn world your theater of fear?
Her captors, the only family she had ever known, were pleased and told her so. Heart swelling, she deferred to her kidnappers as her only source of parental guidance. She would question their motives on this strange planet, yet they wished her to destroy only because she could. It amused them to witness her exercise her powers.
But they can’t control me. No, my will is steel. Titanium. Relentless. I know something’s afoot in that store. Well, it’s a hunch, but one stronger than faith or facts or any other force in the world. Like how ducks know how to fly to Jamaica, or wherever they fly in the winter.
I’m going in.
The queen stood defiant, alone, sur-
The Sentinels thump along, making their pointless rounds. They don’t talk. No one even dares to ask them anything. You don’t ask an eightfoot metal hulk questions, because it can squash you. Maybe they’re also deranged like the others. Who knows?
Ah, Prokuplje! This town used to be normal. Well, no. Well, yes. It used to be crap, then it was normal for a while, then it got crap again, only more so. I remember, before, as I open photo folders in the corner of my eye’s display, people used to be naturally insane. Or on drugs, or
The ravager smiled, feeling a small remnant of human pride. They would allow her to eat now and hopefully rest before they traveled to the next civilization, selected for destruction by her hand.
Whirring and stomping again. Two Sentinel patrols, one behind me, one coming into the market square. I’m done for. No one messes with the killer droids.
They ignore me again. They just walk by. Not a glance. Bloody useless. Why do I even pay taxes for them? I wonder? Do I even pay taxes? I don’t know. I think I do. It’s all automatic these days. Digital.
I’m just a small-town boy. I shouldn’t be the one saving the world.
Definitely not a Rambo. Hey, I haven’t seen First Blood in a while. I wonder what Rambo would do?
I should watch that movie again. The streaming menu appears in the corner of my eye, and… No! No distractions. This time I’m going in, for real.
The source of all this is inside the Chinese store, I can feel it. But it’s not one of the Chinese. I know the owner. Mèng Yáo, Mima, she’s a dragon lady. But she’s as nice as they come. She wouldn’t do anything like this, nor would she allow it to happen.
No. Someone else is behind the curtain. Mèng’s probably tied up on the floor, with rope squeezing around her round bottom and breasts...
Bead curtains rattle and clink as they part and I’m in. The lingering miasma of plastic dust and spices swirls in the air. One of the crazies’ stands up from his crouching space in the corner. He is dark-skinned but slant-eyed, one of the new natives.
Spotting me, his eyes immediately turn clear. I know what that means. He’s hacked. He’s after me. I shoot and keep shooting him in the head until he’s down and immobile.
But the store doesn’t look the way I remember it. It’s all different now. Am I even in the Chinese store? All of this looks like a dream. Am I dreaming? Only this isn’t my dream. This is someone else’s dream! But how can this be possible? It must be the meds. The ones I took. Or perhaps the ones I didn’t.
Anyway, I shoot. I hit one of the newly activated crazies in the chest. Aiming for the head, but aiming and hitting are two different things, you know? I hit the second one in the shoulder. Blood splatters. Oil and lubricants burn. It all stinks to high heaven. Nauseating.
I keep shooting. I press on. Have to. I know that I have to. Don’t know why, but the
urge is now insatiable. I must go on, like a mag-train. I can’t let the hackers and the crazies get away with this, I think, grinding my teeth.
I’m in the spacey storage room in the back now. Neat columns and rows of tall stacked boxes remind me of ancient low-poly video games. By now they’ve heard me. They know I’m coming for them. Let them, I think, and smile.
My blaster is overheating. For a tiny fraction of a second, I wonder why do I even have a blaster? Where could I even get one? That minuscule distraction makes my attention drop, and I pay for it with a charred shoulder. Heh, it’s my left shoulder. I never really liked it, anyway.
I see the culprit. The culprit, not the drone-puppet that shot me. That one is already dead and smoldering on the floor. It’s a balding, middleaged man in a silvery suit. He sees me too. Looks afraid. He has every right to be.
Well, that’s what you get when you’re a villain. You really shouldn’t be.
The man lifts his briefcase to protect his face. Mouth quivering, he pleads for his life. He looks a bit too afraid for a villain, to be honest, but hey, this isn’t a movie. It’s war. The war on terror. And I’m winning.
His suitcase is of a good kind, sleek, expensive and strong. It blocks the first three of my shots.
The next three bore a sizzling hole through it and into his face, though.
I let my right hand drop. The now searing-hot blaster clatters on the bare concrete floor.
It is done. I’m not sure what “it” is, but I know I’ve won.
I unbar the steel door of the back exit and step out into the polluted Prokuplje air. I take a big whiff. It smells like popcorn and victory. And charred flesh.
Slowly, I waddle homewards. There’s a blur in my head about all that had happened. I see a Sentinel stuck on a high curb, its robotic leg whirring as it tries unsuccessfully to lift it over the stone obstacle. Bloody useless. A thought about how easy it would be for a proficient hacker to disable one, or even all of them. It crosses my mind, but I discard it, because that scares me.
I stop at the corner store to buy a three liter bottle of Pepsi Neon Green and continue home. My shoulder aches, but it’s nothing that a movie marathon and some sugared caffeine fizz can’t fix.
The important thing is that I won, and the hackers lost. This is the only truth. The details are still unclear to me. And unimportant.
Herb Kauderer is a fifth generation native of Buffalo, NY, and currently lives on the east coast of Lake Erie near Hilbert College where he is an English Professor.
He has been involved in medieval reenactment, gaming, comic books, and a favorite hobby of getting physicists drunk so he can understand them.
His publications include thousands of poems, hundreds of pieces of nonfiction, and eighty-five short stories.
His leitmotif is "society lies."
His writing has been nominated for more than fifty awards and won a handful including the Asimov's Readers Award.
Jenna Hanan Moore loves to travel, take pictures, drink coffee, and immerse herself in nature or a good story.
She lives with her husband and dog, currently in southern Illinois, but she left her heart in the Pacific Northwest.
Her tales appear in places like Luna Station Quarterly, The Lorelei Signal, 365 Tomorrows, Twenty-two Twentyeight, Friday Flash Fiction, and AI, Robot, an anthology from Jay Henge Publishing.
She has a story forthcoming in 'To the Dogs: 31 Very Short Stories About Man's Best Friend, an anthology from Altitude Press.'
Christopher was born and raised in Sydney Australia, still living here today. He has always been interested in literature particularly the science fiction classics (Asimov, Herbert, Jules Verne, many more…), which always offered an interesting forward-looking direction for the imagination, but also provided a great vehicle for playing with ideas and cultural nuances (which is what he likes to do in his writing). Living in Australia offers great opportunities for the outdoors, mountain bike riding, surf, running, bush walking, which is a great way to wind down after writing.
There are a few projects in the works, Qualia Nous Vol 2 just recently dropped he has a scifi poem in the anthology.
Nenad Pavlovic
Fiction Contributor
Fiction Contributor
Paul Cesarini is a Professor & Dean at Loyola University New Orleans.
Originally from the Boston area, Paul lives in Louisiana with his wife, kids, dogs, and leopard gecko. In his spare time, he serves as the editor / curator of Mobile Tech Weekly, at: https://t. ly/AMJckHe is a huge fan of old Sci-Fi from the 1930s1950s.
Paul has been published in numerous venues over the years, most recently including 365 Tomorrows, Antipodean SF, the Creepy Podcast, Aphelion, and Sci-Fi Shorts, with stories in-press at Savage Planets and Black Sheep.
https://t.ly/AMJck
Nenad Pavlovic was born in 1983. in Niš, Serbia.
He majored in English language and literature and eventually moved to the north of Norway, where he still resides, working as a teacher and scribbling away every Friday night with a pint of ale at his side.
His short fiction (mostly fantasy, sci-fi, horror, and comedy) was featured in many magazines and short story collections published throughout the Balkans, and a few of them even managed to get published abroad. Apart from being a writer, he is also a husband, a father, a teacher, a music aficionado and a video-game guru.
https://nashknight.wordpress.com
Ruben Horn is a computer scientist based in Hamburg, Germany.
Looking for a casual creative outlet, he took up writing fiction in 2021 and mostly focuses on Sci-Fi. Being disillusioned with “the state of things” particularly technology and the surrounding culture, he tries to find new meaning in his field by reading and writing fiction which, ignoring the futuristic technologies, mirrors some aspects of the status quo.
His work is inspired to a significant extent by cinematic classics and online independent short films.
Apart from short stories, he writes haiku (almost) daily.
Submit your original work for consideration.
Contributions are always welcomed. Our goal is to create a community of science fiction artists and consumers in the same planetary system. Our editors will review your submissions and will select the best of the best for inclusion in our next edition! Aliens submit!
Have a great story to share? Submit your story to SavagePlanets for publication. If selected, your story will be displayed with images tailored to enhance it for all to enjoy. Submission guidelines are available by clicking the planetary icon or visiting our website.
Our poetry editor is eager to read your speculative poetry. Anything from the fantasy world to a reality you create within its rhymes. Once selected it will bring magic to these pages. To see our guidelines click on the comet icon or visit our website.
Herein, Multimedia replaces a thousand words. Art, photos, video clips, sculpture, and all other forms of visual manifestation are welcome. Challenge us to see the future through your eyes! Guidelines available by clicking the poly-form icon here, or visiting our website.
Look what happens when I hit it with this shrink ray! If you can tell a complete science fiction story in two sentences this is for you. Post your story on Twitter or Instagram at #SavagePlanets, and we might just feature it here. See rules by clicking on the rocket or visiting our site.
1. Pick any whole number between 1-10.
2. Double it!
3. Multiply the total by five.
4. Divide the answer by your original number.
5. Subtract seven. That's your fortune number! Many good fortunes! Only one bad fortune. Don't select the bad fortune. Good luck!
"3"
1. YOU’LL NAVIGATE THROUGH A METEOR SHOWER TO FIND A CELESTIAL OASIS BRIMMING WITH OTHERWORLDLY FLORA AND FAUNA. A PARADISE FOUND!
2. YOU’LL DECODE A MESSAGE FROM A DISTANT GALAXY, LEADING YOU TO AN ADVANCED CIVILIZATION EAGER TO SHARE THEIR KNOWLEDGE AND TECHNOLOGY.
3. YOU’LL STUMBLE UPON AN ALIEN RAVE ON THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON... UNFORTUNATELY, YOU'RE THE PARTY SNACK. TIME TO MOONWALK OUT OF THERE!
4. YOU’LL DISCOVER THE LEGENDARY FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH ON A REMOTE PLANET, GRANTING YOU VITALITY AND LONGEVITY. CHEERS TO ENDLESS ADVENTURES!
5. YOU’LL FIND A FRIENDLY ALIEN SPECIES THAT TEACHES YOU THE ART OF TELEPATHY, ENHANCING YOUR COMMUNICATION AND UNDERSTANDING.
6. YOU’LL COME ACROSS A COSMIC LIBRARY WITH THE UNIVERSE’S KNOWLEDGE, APPOINTING YOU AS ITS AMBASSADOR TO SHARE WISDOM ACROSS GALAXIES.
10. YOU’LL DISCOVER A NEW ELEMENT IN THE ASTEROID BELT, NAMED AFTER YOU, BRINGING FAME AND ADVANCING SCIENCE! "3"
7. A COMET WILL PASS BY EARTH, BESTOWING YOU WITH GOOD LUCK AND PROSPERITY. WATCH AS YOUR WILDEST DREAMS BEGIN TO TAKE FLIGHT!
8. YOU’LL BE INVITED TO JOIN AN INTERSTELLAR COUNCIL AS EARTH’S REPRESENTATIVE, PROMOTING PEACE AND COLLABORATION AMONG THE STARS.
9. YOU’LL HARNESS THE ENERGY OF A STAR, REVOLUTIONIZING TECHNOLOGY ON EARTH AND USHERING IN A GOLDEN AGE OF INNOVATION.
Our mission has always been to promote the legacy of Robert A. Heinlein by encouraging the reading and discussion of his written work, the use of critical thinking skills in our daily lives, and a love of science essential in promoting humankind’s future beyond our home planet.
We will “Pay it Forward” through support of educational, literary, and charitable endeavors including, but not limited to: volunteer blood drives; scholarships; the Heinlein For Heroes book distribution program; and the creation and distribution of teaching materials, including support of The Heinlein Journal.
We invite you to browse our site and join us in our mission! https://www.heinleinsociety.org/membership
