Galactic Truth
The two sets of aliens had met on a third planet. The crews had been very surprised to discover the other. All thoughts of setting up a colony had been put aside, each trying to ask the other who’d got here first.
The two sets of aliens had met on a third planet. The crews had been very surprised to discover the other. All thoughts of setting up a colony had been put aside, each trying to ask the other who’d got here first.
Duos was on shore leave and ready for some action. The deep space engines on the cargo hauler he worked on had developed a problem and the journey had taken longer than usual. He knew exactly where to go, had money to spend and a whole week to enjoy it.
The story was inspired by a typical scene in a typical Hollywood film. A man and a woman are running away from a killer. The woman is wearing high heels, tripping over and falling. Instead of jumping up and running, she is reaching out her hand. The man is grabbing it, and she is suddenly able to get up and run again. I know several women personally and every one of them can get up and run unaided, particularly when being chased by a killer robot, a hungry dinosaur, or a psychotic assassin.
Moving as quietly as he could, Dessig approached the sound and soon found a deep pit that smelled like the worst midden he ever encountered. Something was moving down there.
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He sat down in his special chair, put on his headphones and picked up his controller. The large screen in front of him was already showing the interior of an armoured troop carrier, complete with troops. It was in motion, the view shaking and bouncing around.
“What is it made of?” Meesy asked.
“It’s got all modern materials throughout, all wattle and daub with quality, hand-mixed mud and manure, none of your cheap straw construction like some use.”
“And why is there a hole in the roof?”
Blue followed the arrows to the indicated booth and entered. A customs official stood within, a tall human female with a hand scanner. “If you could just stand still for me, this won’t take long.”
A whipping boy is a child who receives any punishments due to someone else, usually a young prince. Even though there is little historical evidence for the existence of such children, it gave me the idea for this story.
This quite short story was triggered by me seeing a sign on a door. It was only two words, but it immediately dropped my mind into the gutter, and I came up with this story. Telling you what the sign was will spoil the story, but I’m sure you can work it out once you’ve read it. If not, get in touch and I’ll tell you.
How is art judged? If a piece of art is created by a machine, is it still art? And if so, how much is it worth?