Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, December 2016
It took a hundred years to design and build the first planet. Multi-dimensional bulldozers and hyper-spatial cranes arranged the mountains, the icy spires, the cozy sea-green valleys in-between. Everything was perfect; ready for a feathered avian species to take roost in the frozen castle-like heights or maybe a variety of vine-swinging primates to set up their homes in the valleys. But no one came. Continue reading “The Empty Empire”
The short, stout, furry alien stared out the starship’s curving bridge window at the star-studded black sky. His black fur blended into the sky like a shadow, but the blaze of white over his forehead stood out like a brand. His rounded ears splayed, and he curled his heavy claws into fists. “I don’t belong here,” he muttered, and the ship’s computer translated it. “None of my people do.” Continue reading “Treasure in the Sky”
Originally published in Typewriter Emergencies, June 2018
Rerin jostled the control panel while rubbing it down with a rag. The racoon-like alien didn’t know how the day-crew got the bridge controls so sticky. They were supposed to be searching the oceans on this world for signs of sentience — not snacking and boozing on Eridanii brandy. Rerin had expected janitorial detail on a starship full of human and s’rellick scientists to be an easy job. Instead, the naked-skinned primates partied all day, and the s’rellick shed scales everywhere — not to mention the extra work involved in tending to their live food. Ugh. Terrarium after terrarium filled with scuttling insects and rodents. Rerin would not be signing on with this ship again. Continue reading “The Night Janitor and Alien Oceans”
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, September 2014
Marla realized that she’d left the 3-D printer running. She’d been up late synthesizing a chef-bot she’d found the pattern for online. Sure, she could have just baked the damn cake for Leia’s tenth birthday party herself, but the chef-bot would do a better job. And it was programmed with the recipe for homemade hard candy — she could put that in the piñata she’d printed up. Continue reading “Pegacornus Rex”
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, April 2020
Catacomb laid her paw across the tiny heaving belly of the almost drowned mouse. The poor thing was frightened out of its mind; she could feel its fright through her paw, prickly and tingly. Mouse emotions were so funny.
“I saved you from the koi pond, Little One,” Catacomb purred. “Now your life is mine.” Never mind that the mouse would never have fallen in the koi pond if Catacomb hadn’t been chasing it. She could see herself through the mouse’s eyes: massive, terrifying, death-personified. The asymmetrical orange and black splotches that had inspired her human to name her Peaches (after a bowl of peach cobbler) looked like a devastating Halloween mask to the mouse. No sweetness. All murder. Continue reading “Catacomb’s Orchestra”
Originally published in Them of Absence, January 2020
Amalioona prances into the stables, her tufted hooves gleaming. They are the same sparkling shade of white as a hillside of snow in the sun. They are dainty, perfect unicorn hooves. How is it, then, that she always seems to clumsily knock over the slop bucket — no matter where I put it — and kick up the fresh hay into a veritable dust storm? Continue reading “The Unicorn Keeper”
Jade’s belly was full of food from a dozen star systems, but she felt hollow. It was her place, as Moryheim’s closest friend, to pour the glass of Khenani-catalyst wine that would begin her friend’s change. Having attended dozens of K’shellica chrysalis parties, Jade had thought this time would be no different. It was always hard to say goodbye to her K’shellican friends, but she now realized it was much harder to pour the wine herself.
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, September 2018
Am-lei had been growing stiffer by the day. Her long, green, tubular body was usually lithe and flexible. She could twist her way through the grav-bubble obstacle courses on the Crossroads Space Station playground better than any Heffen children in her class. Their canine bodies couldn’t bend in half, twist into a pretzel, or grab onto an extra jungle gym bar with a sixth pair of arms. Continue reading “Veins of Black, Dust of Gold”
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a cat in sight of an empty box, must sit in it.
However little known the feelings or views of such a cat may be on their first encountering an empty box, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of all good cat owners, that all empty boxes are considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their cats.
Originally published in Allasso, Volume 1: Shame, November 2011
The stars were thick, but the moons were thicker. Every year for the last decade, Earth’s sky had grown brighter with the reflected light of new lunar satellites. Generally a half a dozen small new moons per batch. Jordan had been working hard. He was a Labrador Retriever by heritage, and, back in human pre-history, those had been working dogs.
Ever since he was a pup who hadn’t yet grown into his giant feet and floppy ears, Jordan had known what he wanted to do with his life. He’d spent all of high school working hard at the car wash, saving his nickels and dimes, and staring up at the stars at night. Continue reading “Fetching Asteroids”