An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, June 2017
Chorif’s round feathered face stared down at the contents of the cryo-pod, and her wide copper eyes narrowed. She had been expecting to find valuable cargo for salvage; instead, all she saw was a squirmy green-fleshed larva, about the length of Chorif’s upper wing.
“Anything in there?” Amy called out. She was another space-wreck scavenger. Continue reading “One Alien’s Wreckage”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, July 2019
Engleine paced nervously, her hooved hind feet echoing on the metal floor. Usually, the sound soothed her — it made her feel light and cosmic, reminding her that she lived on Crossroads Station and no longer a backwards dirtball of a world. There were stars beneath the metal under her hooves. And there were stars above the metal over her pointed ears. There were stars all around, and when she danced here, she was dancing in the cosmos.
Continue reading “Clever Hansel 2000”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Typewriter Emergencies: A Journal of Furry Lit, May 2017
Argelnox hunched her shoulders inside her mechanical shell. The metal casing chafed against her soft, wrinkly green skin. She’d been traveling for months, solo-zipping from one planet to the next, skimming only deep enough into each planet’s atmosphere to replenish her oxygen and basic nutrients, soaking them into her suit’s mechanical gills before sling-shotting towards the next.
Continue reading “True Feast”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in The Lorelei Signal, January 2021
The binary black hole sucked all the glittering starlight around into its twin maws. It stared at the viewscreen like two dark eyes, windows into the void.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Clarity said, twisting her dyed-green hair nervously around her fingers. “We can’t fly between those things.”
The pilot of the small starhopper, a red-furred canid, stared right back at the pair of black holes, orbiting each other in a mad, spiraling dance that would end in eventual merging. Centuries from now. “Dead serious,” he said, triangular ears laying back flat against his head. Continue reading “Between the Black Holes”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, August 2019
Reeree3 had been blessed with a shining red carapace by her creator, but it was blotched with rough orange patches of rust now. She’d been taken on a joyride through Crossroads Station’s plumbing system, like a common toy being raced for fun, and she hadn’t been given a chance to properly dry out. So, she was hiding under one of the food carts in the Merchant Quarter, watching the crowds of organic creatures of all species pass by. Continue reading “Shiny Red Chassis”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, July 2019
Sebas7 opened her mechanical eyes to see limpid human eyes staring at her. She recognized them as human eyes from using a pattern matching algorithm on her massive internal database of labelled images.
“Hello, friend. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe.” Continue reading “The Fisherman’s Robot”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, July 2019
“My brain isn’t working right.” Roia378 — gleaming and silver, everything a robot should be, strong, aesthetically pleasing, a sculpted work of art that could build a stone castle with her bare metal hands — clutched her head, as if it ached, but she was not designed for pain or headaches. Pain of any sort was useless; a mere note in her electro-net brain logs mentioning that a part of her mechanical body wasn’t in proper working order served the same purpose and easily sufficed. No need for anything as dramatic as pain. Continue reading “Salvador Dalí Smile”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, May 2021
Maradia’s fingers flew over her keyboard as she uploaded the reservoir of files that collectively were Wisper, an AI program she’d been writing over the last several months, to Prototype Body 1. She ran a quick check to make sure the files had uploaded properly, and then she pushed her rolling chair away from her desk with a grin on her face. She spun around, kicking her feet out, and feeling like the kid she’d once been who’d dreamed of becoming a roboticist some day. And here she was. Ready to turn on her first fully automated robot, controlled entirely by a quasi-sentient AI. Continue reading “Prototype Dino 1”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, May 2021
“Where did your plush exterior go?”
“I stripped it off.” Anxlo7’s shiny metal interior gleamed, skeletal and mechanical, without the cinnamon brown teddy bear fur that usually covered her.
“But now you look… scary,” Maradia said to the robot she’d designed for Crossroads Station’s upcoming children’s carnival. “You’ll scare the kids.” Continue reading “Too Cuddly”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, December 2021; recipient of the Ursa Major Award for Best Short Fiction
Does it matter what your last thoughts are when you die? If you could choose them — they would be hope, wouldn’t they? A bright future. Waiting. Ready. And you’re going to miss it, but wouldn’t you rather die looking out on a shining expanse of golden sunlight, reflecting off ocean waves and filtering through leafy forests? Cities full of smiling people, whiskers turned up in happiness. Bare paws dancing on the concrete streets, and long tails tied together, turned like skipping ropes as adults, filled with laughter, act like mere kits. Continue reading “Where Have All the Mousies Gone”