“It’s quite an honor,” Captain Ashwood Gaines says via the face-to-face video screen as he settles into the thin-cushioned chair behind the desk in his quarters aboard the SS Jemisin, a glass of iced tea waiting atop the desk as he offers a taut smile to Earth President Luis Santiago. “Your vote of confidence, I suspect, made it happen. I won’t soon forget that, sir.”
“The Jemisin is a fine ship,” Santiago replies, returning the smile. “Normally, yes, this posting would go to an Earthforce commander. But you’ve proven yourself a capable leader as a member of the intelligence community….
The result of my fifth #bookstorewindow fiction writing exercise, inspired by the late Harlan Ellison, based on writing prompts supplied by Colchek, Enigmatic, Lamia, and Azureus. Wrote it live on our Slack site in about an hour and a half:
“Breadsticks?” the harpy asked, sliding the wicker basket across the table toward the dumbstruck treant, who stared in horror at the basket.
“Cannibalism,” he rasped.
“I ordered the chicken,” the winged woman with the beak-like nose snarled. “Do you see me whining?”
They sat in a dimly lit corner booth in Remembrigans, which most people agreed was nothing more than a front for…
It was the dawn of the Third Age of Mankind, ten years after the Earth-Minbari War.
The captain and crew of the SS Jemisin count themselves among the inhabitants of an ambitious port of call that’s home to diplomats, hustlers, entrepreneurs, and wanderers.
Humans and aliens wrapped in two million, five-hundred thousand tons of spinning metal, all alone in the night.
This sometimes dangerous place, our last best hope for peace, serves as a touchstone for the daring explorers and scientists aboard the Jemisin.
The year is 2258.
The name of the place: Babylon 5.
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The result of my fourth #bookstorewindow fiction writing exercise, inspired by the late Harlan Ellison, based on writing prompts supplied by Craig Pittman, Colchek, and Gareth Harmer. Wrote it live on our Slack site in about an hour and a half:
The Herbert drifted above the dark forest of thick green grass stalks, a fat red ocarina of metal and ceramic bristling with guns under a cloud-scudded blue sky.
But the only music this vessel played was a fusillade of death and destruction, raking the Weedlands below. One volley exploded scant yards away from Rachard, his face scarred years ago by…