Wow. It’s March already. What happened to February? It just seemed to whiz right by. I suppose that’s what happens when the month has only twenty-eight days in a normal year. On the bright side, if you’re looking to try something new for a month, February would be the best time to test it. I’ll have to remember that for next year.
Anyways, welcome to the eighth issue of Interstellar Fiction. We’ve got a lot of great stuff lined up for you this month.
Book 1
My son, what has he done? He is either going to destroy robot society or save it.
It all started with the speech my son, Avid, made at the university. “We are not machines. We are sentient beings with souls. This is the gift of the ancient ones. The ancient ones have spoken, we have always said.”
Small. Just a speck lost amid the infinite universe. That’s how flight engineer Madeline Valenti felt when the commander broke the news. He never so much as twitched or blinked when he explained that there wouldn’t be any communication with Earth for awhile. Revolution and war raged below, he said, and the government had been dissolved, gutted. In turn, the space program had been stripped of funds and authority. No shuttle would be coming to take them home.
Simon put the phone down on the kitchen bench. Liza’s voice continued, now murmuring into the laminex. He stared across the messy kitchen at the bare sheet rock of the living room wall. Five years since construction and still unpainted. The only thing he finished in five years was his marriage.
He grunted, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and went into the living room, picking up the phone as he went.
Hugh needed to ace this interview with the mysterious SM, Inc. He had looked for work for over a year, and soon he’d have to drop some of his journal subscriptions. That would be tragic.
He was ushered into a small, undecorated office where a woman wearing a clingy, leopard-print dress greeted him. She rose to greet him, giving him a glimpse of long, athletic legs. “Welcome to SM. I’m Veta Patrick.”
