Transient

Leaving is always hard, especially when you think you’ve finally found a place to settle. Among the things I’ll miss about this world and its nascent civilisation are the secret songs hummed by pylons, and the brooding silences of daytime streetlights. Perhaps its denizens will evolve someday to not need that artificial interconnectedness that’s so important to them, but I won’t be around to find out. My time, like theirs, has expired: the Vsanic are here, camouflaged, probing, scouting the planet, and I, a fugitive from their cold, imperial justice, must leave before they find me. Time to run, again.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Among The 1%

Alice had always known she was special. That knowledge had kept her strong before she could leave her toxic family, and supported her through subsequent poor relationship choices and lousy jobs.

She was seventy when the aliens arrived, bringing with them the secrets of a rejuvenation process that they promised would work for the great majority of Earthlings. She, however, was one of the unlucky few, doomed to a remaining lifetime of being condescended to by those who looked younger every day because they actually were. Being special, she belatedly realised, wasn’t always all it was cracked up to be.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Symbiotes

When she saved me from the Caligulan Brain Fever outbreak, I stopped seeing my NUR-5E unit as just a fussy nuisance. Fascinated, I threw myself into learning coding and robotics, and now she’ll never be touched by anyone else.

We look after each other, you see: she keeps me alive, and with my skills I upgrade her, and deal with any viruses or mechanical issues. I’ve outlived all the ‘friends’ who called me mad, and she is decades past her notional service life. We’ll never stop.

“I love you,” I say. “I will always care for you,” she replies. “Forever.”

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training and a translator by trade. His published flash fiction (and social links) can be found here.

Loss Of Self

I shouldn’t have fallen for the marketing (“You’re never alone with a clone!”), but I did. I saved up, sent my DNA sample to PeopleMakers, and a week later there was a knock on the door. He was perfect: sympathetic, interested in all my hobbies, and with all my tastes in clothes and women and jokes.

When I couldn’t afford to renew the subscription, though, he walked out of my life just as easily and quietly as he’d arrived, leaving me alone and even more achingly aware of what I didn’t have. Where am I now when I need me?

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His published flash and micro fiction can be found here and he lurks on Twitter @skriptorium.

Journey's End

My duty to the Dispossessed is finally done.

I carried and cared for the few thousand survivors in their cryotubes, as we fled the 200 light years from Earth. Their life signs, my only companions, became dear to me. Now, after T-centuries of terraforming, K2-72e is habitable. I call it Hope.

But responsibility remains. If Hope falls to hubris, or misjudgement, or pollution, then the work will have been for nothing; my friends and their children will die.

The risk is too great. I will let them sleep safely on, watching over them, and keeping this garden in their memory.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His published flash and micro fiction can be found at https://linktr.ee//alastairmillar and he lurks on Twitter @skriptorium.

Changing

"You've changed," she said, as I held her in my arms. She had no idea how much, how often! But I wasn't the man she'd known before, and I could see she'd leave me soon.

There was no time for whining, I needed to act. I spent days shaping the perfect moment to make my move: the roses were divine, the wine an excellent vintage, and moonlight glinted on brass candlesticks. She didn't see it coming.

Afterwards, I crunched down on her bones, and cleaned my muzzle in the bowl by the door. Then I ran to rejoin my pack.From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His published flash and micro fiction can be found here.

Ties That Bind

Sam always used rubber bands to hold up her ponytail; I'm still finding them around the apartment, lost during sex, or when she shook out her hair after a long day at work, or in any of a dozen different ways. The trust between us proved less elastic, and snapped.

Everything came undone when she found that bobby pin in the bathroom. I told her that Jodie had just needed to wash bird crap out of her hair when she dropped by, but clearly I wasn't believed. Now, in every sense, there's no way left to hold things in place.From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His work can be found at https://linktr.ee/alastairmillar and he lurks on Twitter @skriptorium.