Slow Answers: Free Fiction for Fyretober October 4, 2023

Myra was careful not to scuff her boots in the red-yellow leaves. Who knew what artifacts meant lie just beneath the thick cover? Archaeology was slow. Slow answers to slow questions. If you don’t take your time, you’re doing it wrong. She carefully lifted one foot at a time, and then lowered it cautiously, waiting for the beep that would indicate that the boot radar had picked up something solid under the dead leaves.
They weren’t really leaves, of course. These weren’t things that grew on Earth trees. Here on Wotan-7, the native life had no connection to that of Earth. Not even DNA, which was common on more than half of the life-bearing planets that humanity had diskovered. Initial analysis showed that the genetic material on this planet was transmitted in complex folded scaffolds, like tiny sheets of mica with chemical factories trapped within.

The Halting Problem: Free Fiction for Fyretober, October 3, 2023

“Mr. Hudson.” I sank down in my auditorium seat and tried to hide behind the tall blonde hair of the woman in front of me. I should’ve remembered her name, I’d seen her before, but it just eluded me.

And hiding didn’t help. Professor Moorehead looked right past her. “Mr. Hudson, you will now come to the board and present the proof of the Halting Problem.”

I looked down at my lap. At least I was wearing pants this time. But my feet… They were taloned lizard feet. I knew better than to try to figure that out. It just was.

As always, there was nothing to do but to play it out. I got up from my chair and squeezed myself around the knees of the other students toward the aisle. At least all of them had lizard feet, too. I wouldn’t stand out.

The Slush is Alive: Free Fiction for Fyretober, October 2, 2023

The slush is alive.

Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you don’t have the writer disease. Maybe you’re not a writer or an editor like me. Maybe you’ve never met the slush pile: that massive pile of manuscripts submitted for your consideration. Once, long ago, it was a pile of physical manuscripts, paper tossed over the transom and into an office to make a giant pile in front of the door. Like slush fallen off a roof. Maybe you don’t know what the modern equivalent is, the giant electronic submission queue that just sits there. And waits. And stares at you until you feel guilty for not processing every manuscript. Like the stories have eyes…

New Neighbors: Free Fiction for Fyretober, Day 1

Blackheart Hal stood nearly knee-deep in the ocean bottom and stared up through the depths. “Storming up there. It’s going to take one down.”

Blake looked up as well. It was impossible for normal eyes to see through that much water even in daylight, but their type were hardly normal. Still… “I don’t see it. How to can you tell?”

Hal looked down to the ocean floor and pointed to the north. “Pete always knows, and he’s coming as fast as he can cut through the muck.”