An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
Merry holiday season!
It’s been a long, hard year for a lot of us, so we’re sharing three stories today as a Christmas present for anyone who needs one. These three flash fiction stories fit together, following the voyages of a starship carrying scientists from world to world, making first contact with alien species, bringing small touches of hope and connection from the stars. Continue reading “A Small Present in Three Parts”
by Mary E. Lowd
A Deep Sky Anchor Original, December 2020
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”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Boldly Going Forward, March 2020
A’loo’loo swam eagerly back and forth, impatient for the spaceship above her, floating on the ocean’s surface, to open its hatchway. There had been so little warning — A’loo’loo had only discovered the burst of radio waves coming from her planet’s orbit three tides ago. Everything had changed since then. Continue reading “Somewhere Over the Ocean”
by Mary E. Lowd
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”
by Mary E. Lowd
“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” — Groucho Marx
“I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” — Groucho Marx
There’s a question that floats around the furry writing community occasionally: how do you define furry fiction? At first glance, this question seems similar to the age-old, what’s the difference between sci-fi and fantasy? A nit-picky question about the borders of a genre that can be endlessly debated. Hours can be lost to arguing over whether Star Wars is sci-fi because of spaceships, or fantasy because of the Force. I would expect arguments about furry fiction to fall along similar lines. For instance, does Robert T. Bakker’s Raptor Red anthropomorphize the raptors enough to count as furry? Or is it simply a piece of speculative naturalism? Continue reading “Am I Furry? — Fandom vs. Genre”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Theme of Absence, March 2017
Dear Patriarchal Genetic Progenitor,
In spite of my requests that you leave me alone, I find notifications and messages from you, little traces of your electronic existence, in every aspect of the virtual world whenever I dare to tread in it. Generally, I ignore your unwanted advances toward a relationship that I gave up long ago. But tonight, knowing that the Elasporians will descend to Earth tomorrow, I find that the idea of reaching out to you and your myriad tiny abuses is less painful and frightening than the reality that all flesh-bodied humans will face tomorrow. Continue reading “On the Eve of the Apocalypse”
by Mary E. Lowd
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”
by Mary E. Lowd
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”
by Mary E. Lowd
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”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in The Overcast, February 2020
Red light from the five suns streamed down through the church’s stained glass windows. The colored glass of the windows tried vainly to tint the light, to paint pictures with it on the packed pews below, but the redness was too powerful. The intricate, rainbow-filled depictions of many-winged angels and many-mouthed chimera bled together into indiscernible pools of red, orange, auburn, and sickly magenta. The distorted light colored the crowded interior of the church like a crime scene, covered in splattered, congealed blood. Continue reading “Grizzelka’s Bridegroom”