An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Empyreome, September 2017
Lee-a-lei’s wide wings fluttered, casting pools of colored light that chased each other across the walls of the robotics laboratory. The harsh fluorescents from the ceiling softened to warm reds, golds, and chips of blue or green as they passed through her translucent wings. Continue reading “One Alien’s Wings”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Theme of Absence, July 2017
The blue sun of Lottie IV glinted off the watery world’s ice rings. Rocky chunks of diamond gleamed with sapphire light, stretched in a crescent across the world’s pale sky. Its inhabitants — a long-spined, thick-furred, water-breathing, lutrinae species — had stared at that crescent of glittering ice from Lottie’s oceans for generations. Out of reach. Unconquerable. Continue reading “Sky River”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Fantasia Divinity Magazine, December 2017
Alarm bells rang out and lights flashed red from the corners of the buildings on either side of the street. A mechanical turret rising out of the middle of the mountaintop base swung around and cast invisible laser beams, searching for the intruder, but Rikkita threw herself to the ground and spread her wide, bushy tail over her back. The fur on her tail was ultra-dark black; it would confuse the algorithms processing the data from the lasers. As long as she held still, she was safe. Continue reading “Treasure Moon”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, February 2018
The heart of the gas giant was the key. Arellnor had traveled from one star system to another; at every stop, she’d traded her vehicle — first her trusty shuttle for a star-hopper, then that for a space mecha-suit and finally back to another shuttle. She’d altered her appearance, buying gene-therapy or cosmetic-sculpting every chance she got. She barely remembered what she’d been originally — some sort of space frog? Today, she was a burly antelope-like alien; her fingers were rough and hard, and antlers rose from her head like spires. None of it had been enough. They were still chasing her. Continue reading “Heart of the Gas Giant”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, January 2018
Evban flapped her mechanical wings joyously, dipping and swooping through New Jupiter’s soupy pink-and-gold clouds. Her whiskers tickled against the glassy bubble of her breathing-helmet, and her long tail streamed out behind her. She’d drifted away from the flock of avian aliens. Their organic wings were broader and stronger than her little mechanical ones, but she knew her friends would come back for her before the space shuttle returned for them all. Continue reading “Go High”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, January 2018
“You can’t come on the voyage,” the Ululu sneered, folding his wings in a very cross manner. “Winged folk only.”
Evben tried to object, but all the other avians lounging about the bar took up the Ululu’s catchy cry: “That’s right! Winged folk only!” The feathers around the Ululu’s eyes crinkled happily; if he hadn’t been a beaked species, he’d have been grinning. The Ululu had been looking for a way to exclude Evben from Avian Night at the All Alien Cafe since she’d first started coming, but the cafe owner stood up for the little mousey alien’s right to participate. Even if she wasn’t any sort of bird. Continue reading “Winged Folk Only”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published by Furvana, June 2019
Sandbeard the pirate otter, fiercest of the fierce, fuzziest of the fuzzy, and the best bewhiskered of all sea otters, steered her stolen space-trawler into the curving gravity well of a small oceanic moon. The lunar ocean was beautiful beneath her trawler — purple and choppy, swelling with swirling water, but toxic as a scorpionfish. Nice to look at; useless for swimming. But Sandbeard wasn’t here for a vacation; she was a pirate, and she was ready to pillage and plunder. Continue reading “Sandbeard the Pirate Otter”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Theme of Absence, November 2016
Chirri watched the robot lumber back and forth outside her bakery window for several minutes, seeming undecided, before it came in. Once inside, the metal creature with its dome-shaped head and boxy limbs perused the displays of sugary confections, fancy layered cakes, and simple cookies. Chirri’s tufted triangular ears splayed in confusion at the sight. There were lots of robots on Crossroads Station, but none of them had ever frequented her bakery before. Robots don’t have much need for cake. Continue reading “Of Cakes and Robots”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Galactic Goddesses, July 2019
Annie squeezed the mechanical hand of her robo-nanny. The hand was cool and silvery like metal, but the smooth surface had a soft give to it like real flesh. Annie felt safe when she held Rononia’s hand.
“I need to take you home,” Rononia said, her voice low and even, but not mechanical. For all of the metallic gears visibly built into her elbows, shoulders, and anywhere else that hinged, Rononia had been given a deeply feeling, emotion-laden voice. And she was programmed to love the child she cared for. “We can’t go looking for Sparky.” Continue reading “Sparky”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in All Worlds Wayfarer, Issue I: Summer Solstice 2019, June 2019
The red sun glowed like an evil eye on the forward viewscreen. It stared into Irudy’s soul. Once it had been the warmth on her fur and the shine in a smiling sky while she ran through fields, her paws bare against the wholesome dirt. Now it was death’s mocking wink, as the cold, stale air of her cargo ship recycled endlessly through algae filters and mechanical pipes. Continue reading “For the Sake of the Mushrooms”