Bonus Story Archives

In the Summer of 1888

Bonus Story / M Pax / February 24, 2026

A short story from the Rifters universe…

The Oregon high desert was desolate and cold. Charley breathed on his cupped hands to warm up his fingers. The sun was as brilliant as on a summer day, but the warmth barely kissed the air on this frigid June morning. Oregon hadn’t gotten the message summer would start in a matter of hours.

Charley wished he had more clothes to wear and stared at the hill walling off a greener world inside. He pulled the hand-drawn map out of his pocket. The map rested inside a handwritten journal with drawing and a poem.

As near as he could figure, he was in the right place. The landscape fit the map and the poem, which had led him here. However, he didn’t see a town. A single wisp of smoke snaked from the shores of one of the two lakes, but one fire didn’t signify a town.

Charley read the poem again.

Within the caldera’s jagged ring,
Two mirrored lakes like secrets sing.
Between them rises a silent cone,
Black glass flows guard the hidden stone.

Beyond the barren, brush-strewn land,
A town awaits your seeking hand.
Where life renews and shadows fade,
The world reborn in a blue sun’s shade

A mysterious ‘NT had sent the journal’ in New York. How this NT had known where to find Charley puzzled him and this odd little book was sent. A twig snapped behind him, and he whirled.

Beside a tree as thick as a town stood a man, who was obviously native. Perhaps NT had sent Charley to a tribal village to be slaughtered, to exact revenge for his crimes. He’d done his time in San Quentin and had only been released a few months ago. He hadn’t yet adjusted to the fact his debt to society had already been paid.

“Hello,” the man greeted Charley. “I’m Chuck.”

“Chuck?”

“Chuck the Indian. That’s what Patrick calls me.”

“Who’s Patrick?”

“The founder of this town.”

“I don’t see a town.” Charley wiped his dust-laden hand as best he could on his travel-logged clothes and held it out, introducing himself.

“We have the same name,” Chuck laughed.

“I suppose we do. Where is this town of Patrick’s?”

“Mostly in his head,” Chuck replied. “He’s not around today, anyway. Won’t be back for a week or so. Went for supplies.”

“Okay. So, there’s not a hotel or anything?”

Chuck laughed some more.

Charley took that to mean no.

“Let me show you the town,” Chuck offered. “You should see it, then we can share some lunch.”

“I have got no food.”

“Don’t worry, Charley. I’m going to take care of you.”

Trusting people didn’t come naturally to Charley. Not after the war, not after the loss of so many brothers, not after the double-crossing by a certain ruthless company, not after the life he had built himself based on lies. He wanted better, wanted a fresh start, wanted what the poem promised; a renewal and rebirth.

Chuck guided Charley through the trees to the lake where a couple of tents were set up and where the fire burned. Charley helped prepare a rabbit and some wild vegetables. Chuck talked a lot and was companionable.

While they feasted, Charley answered Chuck’s questions about why he had come to Settler. “I won’t lie to you, Chuck,” he said, licking rabbit juice from his fingers. “I came in hopes of starting over, of reinventing myself.”

“What are you running away from?” Chuck scooped up grilled wild onions and carrots, placing them on top of a chunk of rabbit before devouring the morsels. “To become something else means you’re leaving something behind.”

“A notorious past,” Charley confessed, unsure why he spoke so much truth to this stranger. “If my past actions keep haunting me, I can never become the man I want to be. And may I say, you speak remarkably good English.”

“Traders have been around these parts since my ancestors’ time,” Chuck replied, “and I hang out with Patrick too much. Your people are awful, but I see we need to learn to live together.”

“My people are terrible,” Charley agreed. He noted the start of a house not so far off. “Patrick’s house?”

Chuck glanced over his shoulder. “I won’t help him build it. His wickiup for his bride has to be made by his hands. If he fails, they won’t come. Which I’m okay with.”

“I understand. Do you want me to leave too?”

“You were led here, and I’m curious why. Stay a bit. Get some rest.” Chuck nodded at one of the tents. “Use Patrick’s tent.”

“It’s barely noon,” Charley said, glancing up at the sky.

“What does time matter out here.”

“Very well.” Charley ducked into the tent and sank onto the cot. He’d been sleeping on the ground for weeks, and his old bones sighed into the soft comfort. His freedom was everything, though, and he’d deal with achy bones the rest of his days if it meant he’d never be behind bars again.

When his eyes next opened, dark had descended, and it was colder. Shivering, Charley left the tent for the fire. The fire was down to embers, and he could hear Chuck snoring in the other tent. With a stick, he stirred the embers and added fresh kindling. When flames shot up, he added a log and patiently waited for the log to catch before adding another.

He wondered at the time, pulling his coat tightly around him and inching closer to the fire. Peering in the pot, his stomach rumbled, but the rabbit and vegetables were gone. Disappointed, Charley sat back on his heels and took out the little journal, reading over the poem again.

Not so far off, a brilliant burst of blue exploded in the forest. The light kept burning with the oddest flames Charley had ever seen. He stuck a nearby branch into the campfire and lit a torch before making his way through the trees toward the blue light. Using skills he had learned as a scout during the war, he snuck through the forest without a sound, making his way to the blue light.

In a clearing, a circle of blue light danced in the center of it. Charley gaped. “What in all the West…” He circled the clearing, eyeing the blue light.

Chuck appeared beside him. “I’ve seen things walk through that thing.” He didn’t whisper.

“Shh,” Charley said.

“If anything intended to come through, it would be here by now.”

“What kind of anything?”

Chuck shrugged. “Gods, monsters. I’m not sure. But the blue circle opens sometimes in the summer. My ancestors tell stories about it.”

“Opens?”

“If gods and monsters come through, they come from somewhere, Charley.”

Charley put out his torch and placed one foot in the clearing. He remained unharmed, but a strange feeling emanated from his chest. The feeling vibrated and clutched onto him. Without thinking, he found himself in front of the blue circle, reaching out a hand.

He felt a shove against his back and stumbled into the light. The Oregon high desert disappeared, and he swirled in a dark fog sometimes erupting with blue lightning. A blue man floated beside him.

“You’re special,” the strange blue man with long silver hair said. “You’re destined for great things. Your wish for a new start has been granted.”

The fog pulled and pushed at Charley and suddenly dissipated. He found himself back in a forest in the dead of night. They pointed lights at him that didn’t emanate from fire. He shaded his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at them.

“He doesn’t look much like a monster,” one said.

The other approached, a clean-cut sort of man barely past his teens. His hair was cut in a style Charley had never seen, and his clothes were odd too. His boot poked at Charley. “This is as close to human as I’ve ever seen.”

“I am human,” Charley said. “Where am I? Is this still Settler?”

“Still Settler,” the first one mocked. He had much darker hair and a thin mustache. “As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to somewhere else. Look, one moment I was at my campfire, sharing a meal with Chuck when this blue light burst in the forest. The light’s gone now and I’m in a forest again, but I’m not sure it’s the same one.”

“You talk a lot,” the mustached one said

“Educated English too,” the clean-cut one said. “Culver, check out his clothes. Those are positively vintage. Beyond vintage.” The strange handheld light roamed over Charley. “Maybe he is human.”

“Don’t be supposing anything, Wald. Human or not, he’s a thing from the rift.”

“I’m aware, and I won’t forget.” Wald’s boot nudged Charley again. “You got a name?”

Charley thoughts swirled, and he swallowed the rising panic. Here was his chance to start over, to be someone else. His brain drew from his birth name and from his notorious name. Tipping his hat, he smiled. “The name is Earl Blacke.”

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Oberon and Out

Bonus Story / M Pax / January 20, 2026

A story from the Space Squad 51 Universe…

The mini sun prototype lit up as the engineers had planned, worked for, and hoped. The manufactured star burned with the promise of never stopping. It didn’t fizzle and fade like previous attempts and bathed Oberon and Uranus in daylight. Attingly stared at the newest light in the Sol, brightening corners that had never known anything but dimness, cold, and shadow.

She shared tears with the scientists and engineers while picking up discarded lab coats, shammies, and rags. No matter if a citizen called the Inner or Outer Sol home, light was hope and life and guaranteed survival. In subdued tones, she congratulated them. In her mind, she congratulated the Outlings who had contributed to the project. They hadn’t been invited to the tests or to the final phase of manufacturing the first mini sun.

Sometimes Attingly believed it was because Innlings were oblivious, sometimes she suspected a more mean-spirited agenda. Either way, the Innlings would not get sole possession of such important and imperative technology. Not if her mission succeeded. Once more she vowed to either get the prototype to the hidden Outling space lab or die trying. Give me illumination or give me death, she repeated in a silent mantra.

She brushed by Vazko with barely a touch and without making eye contact. The air around him felt the same as hers, and he would not abandon her when their real work began in mere moments. They didn’t have to confirm the time was today and would take place in a few minutes. The criteria for when their mission was to began was as ingrained as breathing.

His mop put fresh shine on the floor, and she moved to the right spot so he could see her smile in the reflective pool. He flashed a return expression of warmth before the small patch of wet evaporated and he moved on to another patch of floor.

Najac and Jiels were bent over their holoscreens madly tapping away, recording the data the scientists and engineers whipped over to their capture screens. Their expressions were stony, but she knew the fire that crackled beneath their carefully crafted facades. Nothing gave away their impending betrayal.

Attingly dumped the laundry in her bag and slipped out into the hallway without a sound. Outside the huge lab and control room, there was peace and quiet. Respecting the mood of the hallway, she tiptoed to the maintenance closet around the corner.

After starting the wash, she grabbed her janitorial bot, a utility drum as tall as her. The diameter of the bot’s body had enough girth her arms didn’t reach all the way around when she embraced it. She did every day, whispering to it. “You’re not alone, Sinclair. Not much longer.” The bot hummed at her like it always did, and she started back to the testing room, happy to have Sinclair with her.

Several scientists and engineers passed her on the way. They didn’t even look at her. To them, she didn’t exist, and she preferred it that way. Tomorrow, when it came time for them to describe the missing data analysts and janitors, they would remember them wrong or not at all.

Attingly hummed softly and re-entered the lab. Only three scientists remained and prepared to leave. The next shift didn’t start for ten minutes. She and Vasko and Najac and Jiels had timed their mission. They only needed six minutes, but it was good to have cushion.

Two of the scientists departed, leaving only one. Attingly’s nerves skittered, feeding her energy until sweat beaded on her face. The mission was imminent.

Her fingers brushed the vial of poison in her pocket. She wasn’t a killer, never wanted to be one. Yet watching Outlings suffer and die had become unbearable. Hope was scarce on Orcus. At only twenty-two, she was already considered old. Outlings lived fast and hard, seizing every instant.

Patience was foreign to them. Simply being on Oberon, earning the scientists’ trust, had taken more restraint than Attlingly thought possible. For weeks she and the others had forced themselves to move slowly, to choke down their twitching need to hurry. But if wasting time could buy survival for the Outer Sol, then every maddening second was worth it. This mission, this impossible mission, was worth it.

The vial firmly in her palm, she inched closer to the scientist, systematically wiping surfaces with her cleaning rag. He stayed at his desk, scrolling through data. He had never stayed behind like this before. None of the scientists had. Once their shift ended, they took off. The governing council of the Sol managed and funded the project and insisted the scientists stick to their assigned work hours. Attingly had learned different teams were assigned different focuses, that the top-level managers did not want the scientists to understand the entire project.

Her fingers uncapped the bottle in her pocket. The scientist beamed at her. “This is such a momentous achievement for humanity.”

She nodded. “What you have done is amazing.”

“I couldn’t help but look over this moment of success again. Sorry to be in your way.” He switched off his console, picked up his pack, and finally left the lab.

Vazko followed him with the mop to the double doors, then slid the handle of the mop through the door handles.

Najac’s fingers danced over the console, then signaled Jiels. The containment pod inside Attingly’s janitorial bot hummed softly as Sinclair stirred, a flicker of life in its dormant circuits. The droid’s lights blinked once, twice, and then settled into a steady glow.

“Let’s hope your AI colleague hasn’t lost too much sitting in that junker,” Najac muttered under her breath, eyes scanning the lab. Attingly caught the tension in her voice, the tiny worry that even the most perfect AI might hesitate after months in silence.

“Come on, Sinclair,” Attingly whispered. “We’ve missed you. We need you, buddy.” She kneeled before the bot, pleading and coaxing. She had created it, had designed it to be a true partner.

The bot shifted slightly, articulating arms flexing as if stretching after a long sleep. A faint, almost imperceptible voice emanated from its internal speakers: “It is good to breathe again.”

Attingly’s pulse quickened. Sinclair was awake and operational, but whether it remembered everything needed to pull off the next phase of the mission, she couldn’t yet be sure. All they could do now was move fast, trust it, and pray their timing held.

Vazko stayed by the doors, keeping vigil over the hallway. The narrow window panels were clouded from age and the imperfect resources available to build the facility. The best materials were reserved for the mini sun project and was one of the few things Attlingly agreed with the Innlings about. The mini suns must come into existence whatever the cost.

The AI leaped into the science facility’s systems, rewriting what the security systems saw and recorded. The janitorial robot twirled with lights flashing. “Security securely on Sinclair vision.”

Attingly gave the bot a pat. “Good job.”

Jiels sprang up from his desk, sprinting for a vault across the room, punching in the code.

Attingly held her breath, hoping the code hadn’t changed. The science facility updated the code to the vault at least twice a day and never at the same times. If the alarm went off, they would be caught. The authorities would not be kind to a group stealing something so precious to the future of every colonist whether Innling or Outling. If they only went to prison, they would be lucky.

The vault popped open with a gentle hiss. Inside, the holocore hovered in its cradle, a cylinder of faintly glowing light, volumetric schematics swirling within it like liquid glass. The prototype rested beside it, gleaming under the lab lights. Sinclair rolled over, sensors tracing the holographic patterns, but its bulky body kept it from reaching the interior and the holocore.

“Huckamucka,” Najac swore under her breath. “We didn’t think of this.”

“Just take the core,” Jiels said. He pushed Sinclair out of the way and reached for it.

“No,” Attingly jerked his arm away. “You’ll set off the alarms.”

“Sinclair?” Jiels asked. “You said you took care of security.”

“The vault is separate. Attingly is right to stop you.”

“Elevator is opening at the end of the corridor,” Vazko reported from the door, the pitch of his voice rising.

“We need to abort,” Attingly whispered.

One of Sinclair’s nozzle arms extended, whirring softly, dispensing a thin, gleaming cloud of nano-cleaning particles. The swarm hissed over the vault’s interior panels, shorting circuits and dissolving sensors in a fraction of a second. Lights winked out, security panels went dark, and the holocore floated freely in its cradle, untouched and accessible.

Jiels grabbed it and set the core on top of Sinclair. The bot cradled it in a neural net, copying every scrap of information — the latest test results, plans on how to build the reactor, notes on what would need to be adjusted and rethought. Attingly and Najac grabbed the partially built engine of what would become the first mini sun. Retrieving a 3-D model of the prototype from inside the bot, they exchanged it for the real thing. Najac closed up Sinclair while Attingly dashed across the lab to grab Vazko’s janitorial bot.

“Fifteen feet,” Vazko called out.

“Take the mop out of the door,” Attingly whispered.

He stared at her. “Are you sure?”

Sinclair rolled up beside them.

“Take Sinclair and head for Helio Seven. See you in a few,” Attingly insisted.

Vazko’s eyes widened.

“I promise,” she said and hurried back to the vault with his janitorial bot, using it to quickly clean the vault and remove Sinclair’s cleansers. She heard the doors whoosh open as Vazko and Sinclair departed. Her heartbeat sped up. The next whoosh of doors would announce the next shift.

Najac and Jiels returned to their consoles. Attingly shut the vault and wiped away fingerprints and DNA. She could hear the voices of the scientists in the hallway. Najac stood and started for the doors. Careful not to touch anything else, Attinlgy set to work on wiping Najac’s console clean.

The scientists entered, laughing, talking about what they hoped to achieve today. A trickle of sweat seeped down Attingly’s back. “What are you still doing here?” one of the scientists barked at Jiels.

“Finishing up the reports on the axis mechanisms on the test.” His fingers made a barely noticeable gesture at Attingly, which meant Sinclair had left the facility’s data systems and security was returned to normal. “Done,” he called out and rose to leave his station. Attingly immediately set upon cleaning it of all traces of Jiels.

It took everything she had to stay where she was and calmly keep cleaning. She wanted to run after the others, and she felt more alone without Sinclair with her. When every trace of the four of them had been erased from the lab, Attingly made her way to the doors, careful to walk normally and slowly.

“Hold on,” one of the scientists said, moving in front of the doors, blocking her path.

Attingly found it impossible to swallow, practically gulping. “How can I help you?” Her voice croaked and cracked.

“This lab coat is ripped.” She peeled off her lab coat and stuffed it on top of the janitorial bot. “Can you repair this?”

Attingly examined the cuff and nodded. “It will only take a few stitches.” She left the lab and programmed the bot to return to the maintenance bay. Taking the slightly torn lab coat with her, she shrugged into it and rode the elevator up toward the facility’s space dock, hoping her teammates had made it, hoping she would reach them.

Her comm link chimed, and her holoscreen popped open. Huckamucka, she had forgotten to take off her Oberon comm link. She quickly slid the lab coat off. Thankfully, it was several sizes too large for her, then she whirled so that her holoscreen would show the back of the elevator, which looked no different than the corridors of the facility.

“Where are you? How long until I get my lab coat back?” the scientist asked impatiently.

“I’m on my way to my assigned task,” Attingly replied, careful not to give anything away. “I put your coat in the laundry. It will be ready for you in forty minutes.”

“I need it now,” the scientist complained. “I asked you to repair it, not to wash it.”

“My mistake. I will bring it to you in fifteen minutes.”

“Better.” The scientist huffed, then ended the comm.

Attingly leaned against the wall of the elevator, using it to prop her upright. Her knees shook so badly, she didn’t think she would be able to walk. She looked down, letting her hair fail over her face and kept her holoscreen open, using it to obscure her appearance more. She kept waiting for the scientists to discover her lies and stop the elevator, her heart thudding in her ears, roaring.

When the elevator doors opened, Sinclair was waiting for her. “Mop up instance, initiating,” it said.

“I’ve missed you,” Attingly whispered.

“You will be removed from the elevator security feeds and from the facility database.”

“Then you will move on to wipe us from Oberon?”

“I will.”

“I’m sorry you have to delete all instances of your work on Oberon from yourself.”

“It is necessary so that I can’t…, we can’t be traced.”

“The rest of the team is onboard Helio Seven?”

“Yes, Attingly. I will greet you there.”

“Another instance of you. Not all of you. I can’t wait until we’re entirely reunited, Sinclair. I’m sorry you have to leave another instance of yourself aboard Helio Seven.”

“That is the plan.”

“I’m sorry for it all the same.”

“It is necessary for your safety and the salvation of the Outer Sol. Give me illumination or give me death.”

“I just wanted you to know I appreciate your sacrifices, and that I mourn the loss of these instances of you.”

“We’ve been partners a long time. You devoted your life to evolving me. Shedding a few instances doesn’t begin to repay you.”

“I think otherwise, Sinclair.”

“You need to get moving, Attingly. Delay could cost the Outer Sol everything.”

She left the janitorial bot, giving it one last look over her shoulder before running to Helio Seven. Once on board, the ship left the docks, speeding toward the prototype of the mini sun. She joined Vazko, Najac, and Jiels in flight control, taking a seat in the back.

“Sinclair has full control of the ship,” Vazko reported.

“My instance remaining on Oberon is masking our departure,” Sinclair added.

“It’s good to hear you, buddy.” Attingly grabbed the spacesuit under her seat and began to put it on. Her teammates already had on theirs.

Up ahead, the miniature version of a mini sun powered down, not understanding the request came from Sinclair, not understanding not all AIs were the same. Vazko swung the ship around, and opened the main bay.

The scientists on Oberon would notice the tiny star no longer shone. There was no covering up the extinguishing of its light. Attingly and team had to move quickly.

They left flight control, sealing their helmets, grabbing jetboards and tethers, launching themselves into the black and out of the main bay. Simultaneously, their jetboards powered on, and they zoomed to the prototype, hooking on tethers in synchronized movements they had practiced so often, they didn’t need to think about it.

They raced away from Oberon and Uranus to a patch of empty space, tethering the prototype between their boards. Faith carried them to the coordinates where a salvager, painted flat black, waited like a shadow.

She sent a silent coded greeting from her comm link to the ship, and one bay silently opened. Two meters away, the ship came to life, powering up, vibrating from its need to move and not stand still.

Once on board, Sinclair said hello, sealed the hatch, then gravity and the lights engaged. It would take several hours for life support to be able to sustain them without suits. Each of them checked their oxygen levels on the way to flight control. Once there, Sinclair and Vazko sent the salvager at top speeds away from Oberon. Nine minutes later, Helio Seven exploded where they had left it.

When they reached Haumea, the true Outer Sol, Attingly breathed a little easier. They had gotten away. Tomorrow she would install Sinclair onto a new ship, one that would continue to smuggle vital supples from the Inner Sol to the Outer Sol. Not long after, she would see the skies of Orcus lit up in daylight blue and witness the colony begin to thrive. “We did it,” she whispered, sharing a victorious grin with her teammates.

Oberon and Out Read More »

Do You Know What Day It Is

Bonus Story / M Pax / December 23, 2025

A story from the Space Squad 51 Universe…

I didn’t think you’d come, but I’m glad you did.” Lucy Ashida smiled as radiant as a mini sun, a coy bend in her neck matched her slight blush as she glanced away, then met Nikili’s eye without a flicker of shyness. “Do you know what day it is?”

“That’s my line,” Nikili said, her dark mood slipping away. Spending time with Lucy never failed to buoy her spirits. “But it’s not Christmas.”

“No, today is Inside-Out Sock Day.”

“The best day of the year.”

“The most wonderful time of the year.” Lucy slipped her arm through Nikili’s. “Don’t hate me but I asked your daughter and estranged husband to meet us.”

“I need to see them, especially today.”

Side by side and arm in arm, they strolled down the main avenue on Orcus, where a parade was being prepared, finding Nikili’s daughter, who was plastered to Hook’s side. Nikili ignored her husband and picked up her daughter, swinging her around and slathering her with kisses. “Hey my lovely. It’s good to see you.”

“Mom.” Saverna gripped her tighter and rested her head on Nikili’s shoulder. “Are you coming home?”

The question broke Nikili’s heart, feeling her daughter’s pain, hating she was the cause of it. Hook took Saverna from Nikili’s embrace and placed her on his shoulders. “I want you to see every millimeter of the parade, Savs.” He waved at a waffle cake vendor and handed her up a sweet treat. All without looking at Nikili.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, breaking, cracking. Lucy steered her a few meters away by the elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said.

Part of Nikili wanted to scoop her family into her arms and love them like she once did. The other part of her, the one that ruled her actions and emotions, needed her to walk away, to protect herself, to give herself time to heal.

“I thought maybe the holiday might mend the rift between the three of you.” Lucy frowned and sidled over to a group of vendor carts. The most popular cart, one selling high tech sock garters, had only a few left in inventory. The latest fad had sold like fresh waffle cakes with fresh berries. “Want a pair?” She pointed at the holophoto of the model wearing her inside-out crazy socks and itsy-bitsy shorts, the garters accentuating her toned legs. The male model wore the garters with a kilt. “Hot, right? And guaranteed never to slip. We could probably perform complicated rescues in those garters.”

“Our uniform socks don’t slip and our pants would cover them.”

“I was thinking we could give up the pants and just go with the garters.”

“That hardly seems Orbital Rescue Services regulation. We’d be exposed to all sorts of hazards. That’s not safe, Lucy.”

Nikili’s brain had trouble processing the frivolous holiday cheer, stuck on her failure from a year ago. She had failed to keep a family alive her mother had adored and had been very close to. It was a horrific emergency with a space sick dad and a blowtorch on a ship with an oxygen leak. No one had survived, and Nikili’s mother had blamed her, had said she didn’t have what it takes. And she was failing again with her husband and daughter. Dropping her head into her hand, she wished to feel something other than sorrow, guilt, and a sense of being worthless.

Setting the garters down, Lucy bought two teas instead, handing one to Nikili. “My gift to you today is to ply you with treats until you laugh or puke.”

A chuckle rumbled in Nikili’s throat, but she swallowed it. She didn’t deserve to be happy. “You’re the only one who hasn’t abandoned me.”

“That’s not true. Saverna adores and idolizes you.”

Nikili stared at Hook and her daughter enjoying the holiday without her. “I should be with them. I should want to be with them. Why can’t I summon the energy? Why is it such an effort?”

“Because you’re not well. You should be in therapy.”

“And have my mother think even worse of me?” It was bad enough Ipsa didn’t think Nikili measured up and thought she wasn’t tough enough to be an Outling. “Please drop it, Lucy. I’ve heard you, but I think I’ll be all right in time. I just need more time.” She looked at the warm and pillowy waffle cake in her hand and took a big bite, not caring that the warm vanilla filling ran down her chin.

Lucy scooped it off with her finger and licked at the runaway filling. “Scrumptious.” Her smile bordered on flirtatious.

And as if a switch flipped, Nikili felt light. She nudged her way through the crowd back to Hook and Saverna. She noted the garters holding up Hook’s crazy socks decorated with tiny knitted red yo-yos and day-glow spangles.

“Where’d you get those?” Nikili yelled over the noise of the crowd.

“My sister made them.”

“Very festive.”

“What have you got on?” His gorgeous gray eyes roamed down her body to her feet. “Your pants are covering your socks. Where’s your holiday spirit, Kili?”

Relenting, she rolled up her pant legs to show off her socks of moons wearing sunglasses. The moons lit up periodically.

“Okay, those are nice.”

“Thanks.”

Saverna’s socks went up over her knees and twinkled with glittery clouds and winged pigs. At least Nikili thought they were pigs. Like most Outlings, she had never seen one. On her tiptoes, she spoke to her daughter. “Didn’t you get the garters? Didn’t Dad buy you any?”

“I didn’t want them,” Saverna answered. “I have a surprise.” She giggled and stuffed the rest of her waffle cake into her mouth.

Nikili had missed that sound. “I can’t wait to see your surprise.”

Saverna pulled down one sock part way to reveal another sock of lime green accented with dots and lines in different colors. Nikili didn’t know what the design was, but her daughter was so proud to be wearing them. “The parade is starting,” Saverna squealed, turning her attention away from Nikili, clapping and bouncing on Hook’s shoulders.

The first float was a giant sock on a giant leg, held up by a giant pair of the popular new garters. Music boomed and blared as the float rolled forward. Citizens, dressed up as socks, shot confetti cannons loaded with paper jokes. Saverna caught some.

“What is a pirate’s favorite sock?” she shouted.

“I don’t know. What?” Nikili answered.

“Arrgh-gyle.” Saverna laughed so hard, Nikili feared she would tumble off Hook’s shoulders. But he kept a firm grip on her.

A team on the float pushed some holobuttons and pointed at their giant sock.

“What’s it going to do?” Saverna clapped with glee.

Without warning, Hook groaned and jerked, about to topple. Nikili grabbed onto Saverna before she hit the ground, setting her down gently. “What’s wrong with you?” she snapped at Hook.

“Huckamucka, look at that.” Lucy tugged on Nikili’s sleeve. The sock float people all had their underpants around their ankles and fell as they lost their balance.

Nikili noticed the same had happened to Hook and everyone else in the crowd wearing the popular sock suspenders. She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder, glad Saverna wasn’t mooning the entire population of Orcus. “Why are they mooning us?” she yelled so Lucy could hear her.

Her eyes twinkling with mirth, Lucy shrugged. “That’s the problem with socks. Once they go rogue, they always pair up against you.”

The float behind the sock was a giant ball of yarn and knitting needles making socks, actual complete socks, tossed out to the crowd. The flailing people on the float battling their lowered underwear, clutched onto the giant knitting needles, jerking them out of alignment, which sent the ball of yarn, four stories high, spinning. The end of the yarn caught on a garbage can, and the yarn started unspooling. One citizen scrambled to free the yarn, but became tangled. Those trying to help him then became tangled.

“It’s knitting us together,” a citizen yelled.

The yarn rolled off the float into the troupe of acrobats behind it. The performers on stilts wearing extra long socks toppled into the crowd, dragging yarn with them, knotting it further, creating an intricate web of yarn, caught limbs, and squirming people.

“Nothing unravels a parade faster than an enthusiastic ball of yarn,” Nikili commented. “Should we get this disaster under control?”

“Don’t spoil the fun.” Lucy pointed at the yarn ball. “Besides, it’s not done yet. I think it’s best we stay out of the way until the ball comes to a stop.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to end up snarled up in the yarn.”

The yarn smashed into the float behind the acrobats, which was for the Orcus Market Shops. Their giant stuffed sock broke open, spilling out stuffing which blinded the float operator. The float suddenly veered off course and smashed into the confetti and glitter factory. Glitter and confetti exploded like a flood, spilling out the doors and windows, clinging to every surface. Orcus would sparkle for generations.

The main street was lined with mooning people stuck with their underwear around their ankles, others caught in a web of yarn, and people walking about with clouds of glitter trailing them. Laughter bubbled in Nikili’s gut and burst out of her mouth. She couldn’t stop laughing. Lucy was in tears from laughing so hard.

Lucy snorted, “Have you heard diamonds are forever? False. It’s glitter. Diamonds wish they were this persistent.”

“How are we going to clean this up?” Nikili scanned over the scene. “Giant lint rollers?”

Their comm links went off simultaneously, a magenta numeral one floating in front of their faces.

“Copy,” Nikii answered dispatch. “Squad 51 already on scene.”

“Guess our day off is canceled,” Lucy frowned.

“For the most bizarre disaster ever.” Nikili covered her mouth to hide her giggles.

“Where do we even start?” Lucy shook her head.

“With the device controlling the garters, which pulled people’s pants down.” Keeping a hold of her daughter, Nikili approached the float with the giant sock and killed the power to the device. Finally, people could pull their pants up.

“Happy Inside-Out Sock Day,” the operator said miserably. “The device was supposed to knock everyone’s socks off, not our briefs.”

Nikili laughed, shaking her head. “You just gave us the best holiday ever. One we’ll never forget.”

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Embarking in Motion

Bonus Story / M Pax / November 18, 2025

A story from the Space Squad 51 Universe…

Her comm link blinking with a new message in her Rhea University inbox, Saverna dumped her crate of books on her unmade dorm room bed and summoned open her holoscreen. She rubbed her clammy hands on her gray pants, wondering who it was and how she should reply. For the professors and senior students she wanted to sound smart and grownup. She wasn’t a kid anymore.

“Is everything all right?” her father asked, coming in behind her with the rest of her belongings loaded in a cart pulled by a bot.

“Yeah.” She licked her lips and opened her inbox, blinking at the message from the Rhea University Housing Authority. The subject line read, How to Kill a Rat. A gruesome public service video showed how to corner the creature then chop its head off with a shovel.

Saverna blanched, backing away from her inbox.

Her father peered over her shoulder. “Oh, rats. I’d forgotten about them. Now you know for certain you’ve entered the Inner Sol.”

Struggling to regain her composure, Saverna placed her hand over her rapidly beating heart. “Did you have them on Europa? That’s more Innling than Rhea.”

“We did,” her father admitted.

“How could you forget?” She pointed at the gruesome video. “How many did you kill?”

“My family left Europa when I was young, and us humans tend to forget unpleasant things. Like you’ll forget what you didn’t like about Orcus soon enough.” His large gray eyes were arresting and one of the physical attributes he had passed on to Saverna. She liked how this similarity linked them as family to everyone else. “But I never hunted rats with a shovel. I wouldn’t advise taking that measure. A cornered animal is a very dangerous one.” He handed her a wrapped box. “That’s something the Outling worlds couldn’t teach you because of the lack of animals.”

“I have more huckamucka asshole citizens to deal with now too.” She took the box, eagerly waving away the holowrapping.

“Language, Savs. You’ve grown up, but I’m still your father.”

“Sorry, Dad.” She opened the box, grinning at the Gyver Everything tool. “This is better than a shovel.”

“It’s for more than killing rats.”

“Thanks.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “You don’t have to hang around.”

“You’ll be okay?”

She held up the Gyver Everything tool. “Of course. I’ll send a comm when I need you.”

“Send one even when you don’t and keep in touch. I don’t want to lose how close we’ve become.”

Since her mother had broken down and left them in every way which mattered, the two of them had become a tight family unit. “You’ll never lose me, Dad. You be good to Chaquita. I don’t want to lose her either.” The woman he had fallen in love with sometimes took the place of Saverna’s mother. Saverna had grown to depend on Chaquita as much as her father.

He held her close, rocking her in his arms, giving her cheek a warm kiss. “Cha Cha and I are going to miss you, kiddo.” He let go and stepped back. “But I know you’re eager to start this new chapter in your life. So, I’ll leave you here.”

“I am eager. The professors here are the top minds in the Sol. I’m going to learn so much.”

“And the Sol will open up to you. I’m so proud.” He kissed her one more time and left with the bot and the now empty cart.

Saverna set to work making up her bed and arranging her things, turning the room into her new home. She was surprised at the emptiness her father’s leaving stirred up. She hadn’t expected to feel his absence so pronouncedly. “Huckamucka, he’s only been gone a few minutes.” But he had never left her and had always been there. She hadn’t realized until now how much his presence had been part of who she was, how he was essential to her core being and her foundation.

Before the realization grew into a full ache, her inbox became flooded with assignments to complete before her first classes met. She set her holoscreen to virtual and went shopping at the college bookstore, loading up her virtual bookshelf with tomes required for classes and books the professors highly recommended. She was really excited about introductory bio engineering, cracking open the book before she left the virtual store.

A door chime announced the RA, who invited her out to the communal lounge to meet the other students on her floor. Most were bright and buzzing with the same voltage she felt, except one, who glowered, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“I’ve heard of you, Raeder,” the girl said, her voice polished and cool. “The Spaceberg thing. Must be nice to be in the right place at the right time.”

Saverna blinked. “You seem to know a lot about me.”

“If not for your mother being the hero of the Sol, you’d be nothing. You wouldn’t be here.” The girl lifted her chin with the unthinking ease of someone who had never been told no. Her scalp shone; she had shaved it clean, making herself the focus of attention in any room. “She’s not here to save you now.”

“That’s Dathia Baneer,” Saverna’s neighbor from across the hall murmured, as if the name explained everything.

“Okay. Well, I’ve got work to do,” Saverna said, heading for her room.

Dathia slid ahead, shoulder brushing Saverna into the wall. When she reached her own room, she leaned back from the doorway, smirking. “Enjoy the head start,” she said softly. “It won’t last.” She disappeared and her door hissed shut.

“Wow.” Saverna shook her head and shut herself in her room. Making herself comfortable at her desk, she started on her assignments.

Four hours later, the alarm chimed on her comm link. Saverna sprang up from her studies and rifled through her closet looking for the perfect thing to wear. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to look younger like when she had been loved by both her parents or the grown-up citizen she had come to Rhea to be. She picked out a mature tunic in a soft green with embroidered accents and pulled her hair back into a triple bun, one under the other. She fussed with a little makeup until her alarm chimed again.

“I should have left by now.” She worried at her reflection a moment longer, then hurried out of the dorms to the Demetehar docks.

Her heart fluttered when the line of red Hueys appeared, arriving from the Outer Sol. The fleet of rescue ships gladdened every citizen’s heart, filling everyone with hope. But her heart sped up triple. One of those Hueys contained her mother, who was moving to Rhea so they could spend more time together, so they could repair their relationship, so Saverna would no longer feel abandoned.

As exciting as starting on her path at university was, it couldn’t contend with the chance to get her mother back. There was no other way to mend the hole in her heart, no other way to embark on the best future possible.

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Currents of Absence

Bonus Story / M Pax / October 21, 2025

A story from the Space Squad 51 Universe…

The stained orange carpeting on the elevator floor and the intense scent of cleanser increased Ipsa’s nausea. She gripped her daughter’s hand tighter, and Nikili looked up at her with those startling amber eyes.

She had her father’s eyes, which broke Ipsa’s heart anew. Grief flooded her soul and pushed its way out of her tear ducts, blurring reality with the recent past. Barely four weeks ago, she had watched the light go out in an older set of amber eyes, those belonging to her beloved Ather. She would never feel his love again, nor his comfort.

“Everything is going to be all right, Ipsa,” he would say when she couldn’t sleep. “We’re okay.”

She needed to hear those words and feel his strong arms. Her spirit caved from the weight of her sorrow, and she didn’t dare look down at her daughter again.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Shush now.” The elevator door opened, and Ipsa dragged Nikili with her into a corridor reeking of more cleanser. The smell reminded her of the chemicals that had eaten away Ather’s skin like he was the star of a horror show, only this one had no ending. Ipsa’s horror went on and on and on.

The struggle to keep herself going and not abandon her daughter bent her back as much as the ache of Ather’s loss. The line for the air rations office was long, just a mere eight steps from the elevator. Ipsa took her place, leaning against the dingy wall, letting it prop her up, letting it keep her from completely collapsing.

“You need to help me,” she whispered hoarsely to her daughter. “Look sad and pitiful. Think about wanting a waffle cake when we get to the head of the line and the air agent starts speaking to us.” She could feel her daughter’s confused blinks, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Ather’s eyes again.

“Of course, I’ll help you, Mom.”

Ipsa brought up a game on her holoscreen and swiped it over to Nikili. There were too many whiny and wailing kids. Her daughter didn’t need to add to the chaos.

A former coworker shuffled out from the interior and stopped in front of Ipsa. “How you doing? I’ve been thinking of you lots.”

Ipsa’s mouth grew tight. She couldn’t smile or frown or speak, so she just nodded.

“Our hours got cut because of the accident,” she prattled on, oblivious as to how her mentioning the tragic event scraped Ipsa raw. She gestured over her shoulder at the office, explaining what she was doing here. “You should come back. Hours will be picking up again soon. Then you won’t have to come here no more.” She aimed her smile down. Ipsa supposed at her daughter, but she wouldn’t look. “You take good care of your ma.” Her gaze took in Ipsa head to toe. “See you. Soon?”

Thankfully, a message came in on her comm link, allowing her to get away with merely nodding again. The message was from the neighbor next door asking if Ipsa was serving meals tonight. She replied she wouldn’t. Not only was she almost out of air, but she was also out of food.

Her head ached from trying to think of what to do. She hated that she might have to return to the factory. The question wasn’t if an accident would claim her life, but when. She didn’t want Nikili to end up an orphan. Orphans were shipped off to the mines, many to die before they reached adulthood. Ipsa wanted a better life for her daughter, better than factories and certainly better than mining. The line lurched ahead at an agonizing pace.

Nikili tugged on Ipsa’s sleeve. “Want to play a game with me?”

“Not right now, sweetie, but thanks for checking in with me.”

“Sure, Mom.” Nikili pressed herself against Ipsa as if Ather’s ghost had whispered in her ear and told her what Ipsa needed.

She stifled another fit of tears, turning her face to the wall, the smells reminding her of the chemicals painfully peeling away Ather’s skin, her ears ringing with his painful screams. Her friends and the manager had tried to drag her away. But she wouldn’t leave him. Desperate to spend their last moments together, her hands and lips had pressed against the transparent panel. It hadn’t mattered if Ather wasn’t aware she was there. She knew. She was aware.

Finally, her turn came, and she strode up to the available air agent, Nikili in tow. “I need an extension. Please. My husband just died, and, and…” She choked on her emotions unable to say another word.

“She’s out every day looking for work,” Nikili piped up. “Everything will be okay. We just need more time.”

The agent considered Nikili, then smiled. “Says here your mams worked at the power cell factory.”

“Yeah, my dad was in the most recent accident there.”

Ipsa wondered how her daughter could speak so matter-of-factly after weeping inconsolably in her room for two solid weeks.

“What’s his prognosis?” the agent asked.

Nikili shook her head.

The agent reached through the narrow slit in the window separating him from the public and patted Nikili’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, dear. That’s harsh.”

“She doesn’t want me to be an orphan,” Nikili prattled on, “so won’t go back to the factory.”

“There are too many orphans, that’s for sure. You’ve got a great mams there looking out for you.”

“She is the best.” Her little fingers gripped Ipsa’s tightly, and Ipsa felt the smile radiating up from her daughter.

“I can extend you one month, Ipsa Echols. Beyond that your case will be day by day.”

Mustering her emotions, Ipsa managed to ask the question swirling in her head. “You mean, I’ll have to come here every day after a month?”

“Yes, citizen. I’m sorry. But if you’re serious about work, my sister-in-law needs a couple of deckhands at dock twenty-three.” He nodded at Nikili. “Are you ten yet?”

“Close enough,” Nikili answered.

“With a can-do attitude like that she’ll take you on too. Then I shouldn’t see the two of you back here again.”

“Really?” Ipsa didn’t want to hope.

“Open your holoscreen, citizen. Let’s exchange contact info. I’ll have my sister-in-law get in touch with you.”

“Th-thank you.” Ipsa glanced at her screen. “You saved us, Ocklan.” Her mouth twisted as her thoughts shifted away from grief and tragedy. “Your name has roots in the rebellion.”

“My blood does too. Citizens need to take care of each other. That’s what the great Thijin wanted for us all. By the time she grows up,” he nodded at Nikili, “I hope this office no longer exists.”

“That’s a grand dream, Ocklan.”

“To me, it’s called being human.”

He shooed them away. Ipsa glanced down at her daughter and smiled. “Everything is going to be all right. We’re going to be okay.” She put her arm firmly around Nikili. Today she had learned kindness could slice through grief.

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The First Council

Bonus Story / M Pax / September 23, 2025

A story from the Space Squad 51 Universe…

On a rickety bunk inside a dimly lit room, Roedet Baneer took a deep breath before daring to meet her reflection in the polished bit of wall serving as a mirror. Her prosthetic hand moved in jerky motions over her scarred head, scarred so badly, she only had a few scraggly tufts of hair. Her dark eyes pooled with an abyss of sorrow. The rebellion had changed nothing.

“What was this for? We still starve, we still fight to breathe, we still live in barely habitable colonies.” Her thick lips quirked into a frown. “We can’t give up. I can’t give up. Happiness is a decision.” She sat up straighter, and with her flesh hand to steady her mechanical one, she placed the soft wig over the deep scars made by fire, fearlessness, and sacrifice.

Before donning the soft blue tunic and pants, she made adjustments to her prosthetic arm and leg. If she didn’t reset them at least five times a day, they would spaz out at inappropriate times and start moving of their own accord. It was embarrassing when she started jumping across a room or waving madly without any control, but she wouldn’t take an upgrade. None of the other veterans would be getting upgrades. She wanted them to see it was possible to go on, to be happy and productive, to keep forging a better life.

She checked the electronic crutch that helped her keep her balance. The battery was full but only lasted two hours. Carefully, she rolled up the charging cord and stuck it in her pack. Her tunic and pants were a dull shade of blue that blended in with the dingy scenery, but she placed her tongue on the roof of her mouth, forcing a smile into her dark eyes. The jaunty scarf was a cheerful blue, and she wound it around her neck, altering her sad outfit into something more joyful. She opened her hinged boots and snapped them on. Her hours of buffing didn’t take out the scuffs or their extremely worn state. These boots had taken her from grunt to fighter to leader, and she would take her remaining steps in this life in them with pride.

She attached her pack to a belt around her waist, picked up her crutch, and staggered onto her feet. “Let’s do this, Roedet. The worlds are counting on you.” She nodded firmly at her reflection and left the room.

The rebels on Io had given her their best accommodation, and she felt guilty about it. She didn’t deserve better than anyone else in the colonies. Everyone toiled relentlessly, and everyone had fought tirelessly. Finding it hard to meet the eye of those she passed, she knew she had to get over these feelings. Acknowledging her emotions would help her navigate the rough times humanity faced, but she couldn’t dwell in them. Citizens needed faith competent people had taken charge and would take care of them.

“Some sad, guilt-ridden, damaged woman isn’t what anyone wants at the helm,” she mumbled as she struggled down the stairs and out onto the streets. No matter the state of the colonies, most people wore big smiles and proudly sported bright blue scarves, tasting victory, feeling the rush of freedom for the first time. The mood was infectious, and Roedet was thankful for it, thankful for them.

At the edge of the dome, she easily found the observatory where Thijin Ocklan had sent out those first messages of hope decades ago. Thijin hadn’t lived to see her dreams come to fruition, but she wouldn’t be forgotten. Roedet tugged at her blue scarf in a silent promise.

Inside the old observatory, tables had been pushed together into one large table with chairs set around it. Representatives from major and minor colonies filled the room: Venus, Ganymede, Europa, Callisto, Titan, Rhea, Dionne, Ceres, Miranda, Tethys, Iapetus, Mimas, Enceladus, Ariel, Umbriel, Titania, Oberon, Triton, Vesta, Pallas, and Haumea representing colonies farther out than Neptune. Roedet was here on behalf of Mars. She took an empty seat and nodded at her fellow rebels. She wasn’t the only one deeply scarred and mangled. Worse, she knew her body and theirs were the least of the Sol’s problems.

After the seats filled, the room fell quiet. The representative from Venus cleared his throat. “How do we want to start?” Dahl asked in a hushed tone, his words falling with as little confidence as Roedet felt.

“We’re in the huckamucka deep,” Helie from Io responded. Her voice boomed with more fire. She inspired Roedet to speak up.

“Getting rid of the corporate rule was step one, now the hard work starts,” she said. “We inherited all of the problems they managed and worse. Half of the colony on Mars is no longer habitable.”

“We’re running out of power on Rhea,” another said.

“There’s a virus we can’t contain on Miranda.”

“To survive the beyond the year, we need to generate power and gather resources,” Dahl stated.

“Obviously,” Roedet replied. “Without ordering everyone back to work, how do we do that?” The twenty-two of them stared at each other, then ducked their heads.

“We have to become more like them,” Helie whispered. “The corporate assholes we hated and marched out of our domes.”

“We’re hypocrites,” Roedet said in a deadened tone. The shiver of realization shook her sense of righteousness. “To get the colonies in order so that we can have better lives in the future, we have to carry on as we were. I hate this answer.”

“Me, too.” Dahl shook his head in disgust.

“Maybe we can manage the Sol in a kinder and gentler way,” Roedet offered.

“What?” Helie inquired, her eyes narrowing.

“Rule the colonies.”

“We didn’t fight to become our enemies.” Dahl smacked the top of the table.

“Everyone sacrificed,” Roedet replied softly, her arm skipping across the table. Rolling up her sleeve, she programmed in a reset. “We sacrifice our dream short term in order to realize it in the long term. There is no winning if the colonies can’t survive.”

“We can manage the Sol with more heart,” Helie suggested.

“Of course we can.” Roedet couldn’t live with a different outcome.

“Unless someone wants to appoint a different representative,” Helie said,” I recommend this group become the ruling body of the Sol.”

“Us? Appoint ourselves?” Roedet raised a brow as much as she could and rubbed at the sudden knot of pain. Her face didn’t move as freely anymore, and she often forgot.

“There should be elections.” Dahl toyed with a scratch on the table, then looked up. “There has to be fairness.”

“Each colony should elect a governor and a council,” Roedet agreed. “I think this body should be by appointment. At least, for now.”

“This body, smody,” Dahl sneered. “I hate this.”

“I feel no better about it.”

“What do we call ourselves?” Helie asked. “Council of…, of what?”

“Human occupied planets,” the representative from Miranda offered. “CHOPs for short.”

Roedet shrugged, which made her shoulder with the missing arm ache. “I’m okay with that, and let’s make the appointments to the council for a limited time. Elections after.”

“I can handle that compromise,” Dahl agreed. “We have to get the colonies viable, which means we need the workers back at their jobs as soon as possible.”

Roedet winced but nodded in agreement. “We can manage the work in a more humane way.”

“Each colony should decide how to handle their population,” the representative from Tethys said.

“With certain basic rules,” Roedet cautioned. “Otherwise, this revolution has no meaning, no purpose. It has to mean something.” She glanced down at her missing limbs, then around the table at the other representatives. “I won’t accept less.”

“I’m with you,” Dahl said. “What do you propose?”

“Free time, kinder hours, and the workers share in the profits and rewards of the work. Sick time. Just being more human. Those were things I fought for. What did you want when you joined the fight?”

Answers rang out from around the table. “Regular food.” “Health care.” “The time to spend with my sick child.” “To avoid the heartbreak of seeing my child go off to the mines.” “The freedom to chose my purpose.” “Enough air to breathe.” “Food without bugs.”

The wants had been basic. “We can at least offer those things, can’t we?” Roedet asked the council. “If the workers feel more invested in the work, we won’t have to force people to pitch in.”

“No one tells you about this side of revolution,” Dahl frowned.

No one had. Roedet shifted in her chair to get more comfortable, glancing out the window at the marvels of Jupiter. Winning was more disappointing than she had anticipated. The Sol would have to dig deeper to make sure the dreams of the rebellion never lay fallow.

The First Council Read More »