(Art by Kevin Pabst) With one look, I could tell the senator was dead. The knife sticking out of his chest was a pretty good indication. I turned to Theresa, his chief of staff, who had shown me into his private office.  “Can you do anything?” Theresa asked, tone clipped, her puffy eyes the only indication she was affected by her boss’s murder. “I know you usually deal with natural causes.” “Death is death. It’ll be messy, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I said confidently. (I answered phones as a congressional intern, so I’m pretty good at lying.) I walked over to the senator, st ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) My big brother Stu is holding a bag of popcorn to his chin, sticking his tongue into the open top and eating whatever sticks. He notices I’m staring. “What?” You look like a frog catching flies, I think. “Nothing.” We walk along the carnival’s main thoroughfare. Ahead, the House of Mirrors glimmers in the afternoon sun. Stu nods in its direction. “You finally going to do it this year?” “Do what?” I say, even though I know exactly what he’s asking. “The House of Mirrors.” Every year, when the carnival comes to town, I try to psych myself up to go through the House of Mirro ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) You come home and sit in my chair, fingers running over cracks in the leather. Tracing the doodley pen marks that swirl across the chair’s arms. Blemishes I refused to patch over with that silly color-matching kit you bought, because covering the damage doesn’t make it go away. That’s not how it works. You look strange in that funeral suit, your hair too slick, your tie too tight. My legs now a wisp of memory, I stand by while you stare at the empty room. I hope you let someone hug you at my wake. The phone buzzes again, but you leave it on the bedside table. The curtains ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) There is an Old Earth myth that says stars are the souls of unborn children.  As Lindi sits in front of the medical station’s viewing window, she wonders about those stars and the souls of those children. She can’t remember if someone told her the myth, if she had read it or heard it in passing, but it is there in her consciousness now, its sudden relevance begging for attention. Are the unborn children miscarriages, Lindi wonders. Stillborns? Those who died in childhood? Are stars what becomes of all souls when their mortal lives end? Lindi’s musings are interrupted ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) Go Fund Me Help Chi-Wong, neighborhood fairy, recovering from attack $3,550 raised of $10,000 goal 1.2K donations Shonda Elvin is organizing this fundraiser.  Our beloved neighbor fairy, Chi-Wong, suffered an insufferable attack at the Delizioza Gelato fairy door yesterday. Three toddler assailants were poking at the door and squealing for the fairy to come out. Chi-Wong was not even dressed yet as it was not quite two in the afternoon, which is normal waking time for fairies. Witnesses state the three juveniles took arms with plastic spoons, a pogo stick, and severa ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) Day 47: She came from TerraNova-6, got assigned to my line. She was quiet, uneasy. I was curious, patient. Day 53: Sensors indicated metals in the sludge. We reached in. Our fingers touched. No seranthium, but definitely a spark. Day 61: She shared Old Earth lore from her ancestors. We missed quota; I took the lashes. Day 74: Whispers down the line: a lottery to populate Myrna-7. We indulged dreams that tasted of freedom. Day 89: A furtive embrace. Witnessed, they dragged her away—ignored my pleading, her tears. Permanent reassignment. She’s been gone 57 days. I wait, and ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) This is the Uncommon Occurrence Addendum to the Station’s Operations Manual. If this is not an emergency or you found this book by accident, please return it to its proper location and wait for further instructions from ground control. Someone will be in contact with you shortly. Otherwise, turn to page 2. Page 2 Remain calm. Refer to this addendum only if communication with ground control is impossible. This supplement is designed to help you troubleshoot the most extreme circumstances that NASA engineers could foresee and contains scenarios you were not briefed or train ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) “Mom, can I have a beer?” The TV and phones had been off five minutes. Buddy was already bored. “A beer?”  I asked. “You’re fourteen.” We’d shut everything off to try not think about it. By midnight was the consensus. Out the window, trees swayed in the predawn light, temperatures in the low seventies. It could just be an especially windy, warm January morning. “It’s not like I’m going to make it to 21.” Buddy had never been a prosecutor-type arguer. He’d offer something and let it simmer until I saw the sense of it. He had patience for a kid. But with only today lef ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) The rainy season signals the return of the Daisies. A homecoming as deep-rooted and scarred as the colony itself. I help the other girls decorate. Dried flowers are tied to scraps of wire and hung on the walls of bunkers and dim, steel-built tunnels. The potpourri scents are ghosts of the blossoms they once were. Food is set out in rare abundance. There are berries with purple juice that stains the lips and fingers, many-eyed potatoes, sunchokes, leafy endive, and more. Most aren’t native varieties but were carried as seeds from beyond the stars. Our crops have limited yi ..read more

(Art by Kevin Pabst) You leave as soon as I show up. Of course, it looks like we leave at the same time to anyone other than me. You hand your notebook across the table to me and I open it to the last page, reminding myself for the millionth time to contact you to arrange this meeting. I don’t know what will happen if I don’t do that. It might be worth finding out, but then, how would I tell anyone about it? Would I even remember? Would I exist? I put pen to paper and began tracing the words. Writing out a lifetime of my own research, carefully committed to memory. It has to be in my head. My ..read more