PLANET MAGAZINE

Illustration: “Mind Cow” © 2005 by Andy McCann

The Centrac minerals representative was undoubtedly the strangest-looking being that Janson had ever seen. He, or was it she — there was no way of telling — was only a metre tall with a skin colour of pink, not pink in any way resembling a human skin but vivid, iridescent pink. She (Janson finally settled on it being female because of her squeaky feminine voice) walked on all fours most of the time, but during negotiations she elected to sit with her front paws above the see-through table. He knew she was one of the Bovines from the Cancer cluster. He’d heard that besides being unsavoury they did have some specialised herd instinct that made them even more unusual. For the life of him, Janson could not remember what that was. Not that it mattered now.

Janson sat opposite her in the conference facilities of the Five Citizens’ Suite. He noticed a sweet, cloying smell that apparently emanated from the alien. He pretended not to notice and tried to act as if it were not a problem.

The creature introduced herself.

“I am Hexor.” She spoke excellent Standard English albeit with a strange lisp. “I am the Company’s Senior Procurement Executive for this sector. You may find my appearance strange, perhaps even a little off-putting….”

“Of course not,” he said with a smile, at the same time thinking: You are repulsive.

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Dear Editor: My first book, “Humanity’s Edge”, will be available through amazon.com this December. The book is a collection of 13 classic science fiction short stories with a libertarian worldview. If your readers liked my other stories in Planet, I think they’ll like this book too.

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Illustration: “1937 Lucky Shot” © 2005 by Romeo Esparrago

Travis was lounging on the couch, gnawing on a carrot for breakfast, and watching the President smash all the chandeliers in the White House with a sledgehammer. By the angle of the sun pouring in the window, he knew it had to be nine-thirty already, but he didn’t feel like getting up. Besides, there wasn’t going to be anyone else at the lab to fuss at him for being late. So he kicked back and watched the Prez move from the Oval Office to the Blue Room to the Lincoln bedroom, smashing 200-year old crystal to flinders, ripping electrical sockets out of walls.

Then he got up and put his own sledge through the TV screen.

The TV had been one of the few things left in the house Travis hadn’t smashed. He’d always had a weakness for ESPN. That network had signed off the air three days before with a broadcast of the demolition of Yankee Stadium. Babe Ruth’s great-great-great-granddaughter had done the honors, pushing the button that brought down the house that her famous ancestor had, at least metaphorically, built.

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Illustration: “Space Artsyfact” © 2005 by Romeo Esparrago

I clunked down steps in an eerie alien-twilight world.
Deadly mist licked tenuously at my suit,

Long fingers, searching fingers,
An old world beckons. I stepped down into its arms.

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