Photo by Kasey McCoy on Unsplash
This is yet another prompt from the lovely Space Wrecks bot on Twitter. Its an automated bot that generates a short blurb inspired by Stewart Cowley’s Terran Trade Authority book, “Spacewreck: Ghostships & Derelicts of Space”.
ARCH/UB1.3: The Europan pod skimmed through the splintered crags, anchoring just beyond the Brigador V. The enormous ship was pitted by debris from the planet’s fractured moon. There, they buried the dead, beneath the sweeping banks of clouds.
First Mate Hox’inclin glanced up towards the dreary sky, feeling in their stomachs that this was to be it – the final thing that would set them free.
“Hox.” A voice, like mercury poured over grass, whispered in their ear. “You’ve brought us home.”
Continue reading “One Last Journey”
Photo by John Fowler on Unsplash
The first paragraph of this story was generated by Space Wrecks. Its an automated bot that generates snippets inspired by Stewart Cowley’s Terran Trade Authority book, “Spacewreck: Ghostships & Derelicts of Space”. I adore the aforementioned book and highly recommend it to anyone who loves short stories about derelict ships and what might have happened to them.
The characters in this story use neopronouns, which are sometimes used by transgender, non-binary and gender-nonconforming people.
ARCH/WF6.5: The soldiers bounced over the drone-dotted scrub, stopping within the confines of the Pithia. The colossal wreck was festooned with alien automata. There, they waited for sundown, beneath the ancient binary stars.
“Doesn’t feel safe, Matriarch…” Ol chittered through the comms. “I can sense their gaze even through the ship.”
Continue reading “The Pithian Gamble”
Photo by Luuk Wouters on Unsplash
Dirty walls. Filthy lights. A frozen void spun carelessly through twenty centimetres of pressed silica.
The band was busy setting up while the crowd murmured their assent. They were all here for the same reason. Not just music; that was implied by the posters, the homemade shirts, the thin station hallway packed full of stitched-together styles and clashing hairdos. Most of these people were miners, haulers, maintenance workers – the ones that did the work so others could live. Even with the small boosts to pay last quarter, these were thankless tasks, and the crowd was clearly a sea of comrades in arms, all frustrated beyond a doubt and looking for an out.
Continue reading “Herxes Station”
Photo by Erika Garcia on Unsplash
Continue reading “Out in the Field”
The silence hung in the dense air, cloistered in the darkness like a waiting beast.
“You are describing an insect, c-cccccorrect?” Came a jagged reply from the deep void in front of them; the speaker – an old-world machine they had barely gotten working – spat and fizzed when it spoke, if it did at all.