Residential Aliens will return with new stories June 2012.
In the mean time, we have plenty here to peruse. Thanks for reading!
The Body Shop
by Tom Howard
I’d failed miserably. It was as obvious and unwelcome as the bright light pouring through my dorm window. I pulled the covers over my head in disgust and pretended not to hear the last group of my fellow students as they noisily left the hall for the final time. I should be preparing for my own departure from the little cubicle that had been my home for so many years, but I was stuck waiting for the grade on my final project that would determine whether I graduated or not.
I wallowed in self-pity and tried not to think of the graduating students who had already received their final grades and gone on to lucrative positions. Intruding on my depression, a young student knocked on my door and nervously told me I had an urgent summons from the head of the department.
To Sing the Songs of Trees
by Stephanie Kraner
I hear music in the sunset. Sad, contemplative music, saying farewell to the day. The flute begins the opus as it plays the wind across the sky. The rivers and brooks keep the pace, and then the trees add their low, reedy voices to the melody. The sun listens to the music, silent as it drifts steadily below the horizon. Is it mourning as well?
I am older even than the stately oaks that tickle the clouds, and that kind of age emphasizes the routine in everything. Morning, afternoon, night. High tide, low tide. From the new moon to the full moon – it’s all the same. Every day, every year. How many years has it been this way? Why count when I know there’s no end?
Heaven
by Dan Hart
Most of Earth’s seventeen billion inhabitants had already chosen Heaven, transcending physical manifestation and transferring their consciousness to the machine hive paradise.
Not Jack. He couldn’t afford it. Years of dirt packed under his fingernails – he couldn’t remember his last shower.
He limped down the cracked San Francisco sidewalk, jaw clenched to ignore the pain in his left knee. Red, white, and blue neon signs buzzed overhead, advertising Heaven’s exquisite bliss. Half the tubes had burnt out; the rest flickered and zapped. Below, grass tore through concrete cracks.
Code Seven
by Karina and Robert Fabian
“Paul, I’m cut off from Life Support. Comms is our only chance. We’ve got about six hours of life support left—that gives you four hours to fix the console and contact help. It’s up to you, kid, but don’t worry. I’ll talk you through.”
When Val had said that two hours ago, Paul had actually been excited about saving the station. Then he lost contact with Val.
“Don’t worry.” Right. Paul’s laugh sounded slightly hysterical. Let the preacher’s kid fix comms. Great plan, Val.
Mount of Olives
by Nathan Weisberg
Smoke rose in twisted pillars that reached well into the inky blackness of a moonless night. It seemed to Captain Noam Harel of the Israel Defence Forces that the stars shone a bit less brightly tonight, but that could have been his imagination or just the smoke of the fires that burned almost unchecked.
“You know Hamad,” he said to the man next to him “if you want to take off what’s left of that uniform and try to slip away I won’t stop you.”
The Druze Second Lieutenant shook his head and grinned fatalistically. “Not a chance Serem. The company isn’t half as good down there.”
