Short SciFi Stories on the go

In the center of the chamber, the device's crystalline heart pulsed rhythmically, evaluating each cadets potential with a precision developed over countless millennia. Commander Zix, a tall vorac with four sharp horns and four eyes that could see far beyond normal spectrums, stood to the side, watching the process with the kind of patience that only came with centuries of service. Every record, every classification, every destiny had been noted down by the Academy's scanner. Though his sharp eyes revealed he was paying close attention, beside him was Mahin Akbar, adjusting her hijab nervously as her brown eyes darted between the towering scanner and her companion. Deep purples that seemed to fold space itself, brilliant gold so intense they made several cadets cover their eyes, and finally a searing white light that forced everyone in the chamber to shield their vision.

The seats of the human delegation were empty, not left in protest, not vacated in anger, simply empty, as if no one had ever sat there. By the time Calvesh finally finished his sentence, every human ship within ruler-controlled space had already jumped to hyperspace. All personnel accounted for, Admiral, her tactical officer replied, zero casualties, zero assets left behind, were ghosts, good, Sarah opened the strategic display, while the so-called rulers had wasted months debating humanity's fate. New colonies and unclaimed territories hidden shipyards inside uncharted nebulae and trade packs with independent species who had no loyalty to the ruler's empire. Within five years, the question was no longer whether humans would be allowed back into civilized space, but whether the rulers would be invited into humanity's new galactic order.

For most travelers, it was nothing more than a reminder that they were safely on their way through hyperspace. Unlike Reza, Anna wasn't used to seeing hyperspace from here. Reza countered with her own experiences, describing how she had jury rigged impossible repairs, often with nothing more than scraps and whatever she could scavenge. A crackle broke across the ship's intercom and the calm voice of Captain Vexudor came through. If it wasn't fixed quickly, the entire ship could tear itself apart in hyperspace.

For most travelers, it was nothing more than a reminder that they were safely on their way through hyperspace. Unlike Reza, Anna wasn't used to seeing hyperspace from here. Reza countered with her own experiences, describing how she had jury rigged impossible repairs, often with nothing more than scraps and whatever she could scavenge. A crackle broke across the ship's intercom and the calm voice of Captain Vexudor came through. If it wasn't fixed quickly, the entire ship could tear itself apart in hyperspace.

Glorben Ta, a senior analyst for the Galactic Security Council, was having one of the worst days of his entire 600-cycle career. Their most advanced propulsion system barely takes them to their own moon unless they pack 17 backup plans, and most of their computing power goes into making little cartoon animals dance on screens. One day, Glorben was reviewing sensor logs from the Orion arm, when his assistant Trill barged into his office without knocking a serious breach of protocol. Unless the Torins have developed a taste for council members, it can wait until after my meal break, Glorben said, still focused on his snack. Let's not jump to conclusions, Glorben said, though his confidence wavered.

Glorben Ta, a senior analyst for the Galactic Security Council, was having one of the worst days of his entire 600-cycle career. Their most advanced propulsion system barely takes them to their own moon unless they pack 17 backup plans, and most of their computing power goes into making little cartoon animals dance on screens. One day, Glorben was reviewing sensor logs from the Orion arm, when his assistant Trill barged into his office without knocking a serious breach of protocol. Unless the Torins have developed a taste for council members, it can wait until after my meal break, Glorben said, still focused on his snack. Let's not jump to conclusions, Glorben said, though his confidence wavered.

Glorben Ta, a senior analyst for the Galactic Security Council, was having one of the worst days of his entire 600-cycle career. Their most advanced propulsion system barely takes them to their own moon unless they pack 17 backup plans, and most of their computing power goes into making little cartoon animals dance on screens. One day, Glorben was reviewing sensor logs from the Orion arm, when his assistant Trill barged into his office without knocking a serious breach of protocol. Unless the Torins have developed a taste for council members, it can wait until after my meal break, Glorben said, still focused on his snack. Let's not jump to conclusions, Glorben said, though his confidence wavered.

Glorben Ta, a senior analyst for the Galactic Security Council, was having one of the worst days of his entire 600-cycle career. Their most advanced propulsion system barely takes them to their own moon unless they pack 17 backup plans, and most of their computing power goes into making little cartoon animals dance on screens. One day, Glorben was reviewing sensor logs from the Orion arm, when his assistant Trill barged into his office without knocking a serious breach of protocol. Unless the Torins have developed a taste for council members, it can wait until after my meal break, Glorben said, still focused on his snack. Let's not jump to conclusions, Glorben said, though his confidence wavered.

Glorben Ta, a senior analyst for the Galactic Security Council, was having one of the worst days of his entire 600-cycle career. Their most advanced propulsion system barely takes them to their own moon unless they pack 17 backup plans, and most of their computing power goes into making little cartoon animals dance on screens. One day, Glorben was reviewing sensor logs from the Orion arm, when his assistant Trill barged into his office without knocking a serious breach of protocol. Unless the Torins have developed a taste for council members, it can wait until after my meal break, Glorben said, still focused on his snack. Let's not jump to conclusions, Glorben said, though his confidence wavered.

Not the synthetic protein that most space station served, the meat was cooked perfectly on the outside and red and warm on the inside, just like her grandmother used to prepare back in Buenos Aires. Its seven-foot frame blocked the harsh overhead lights and biomechanical enhancements along its exoskeleton glinted in the Docking Bay illumination. Other beings in the Docking Bay quickly moved out of the way, knowing that a cath far hunting response was about to begin. Her heart rate was slightly elevated, but within normal limits for her species, yet the smell of blood remained strong, triggering its hunting instincts. The cat far had encountered many species, but most had moved away from eating raw meat.