Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Space Pulp: Artifacts


Orange and yellow clouds gathered, darkening in preparation of a Saturnian Summer storm. The birdman flew away from the pursuing tempest, grateful for the tailwind and the clouds that hid him. Lightning flashed between nearby clouds, causing the birdman's hair to stand on end. Then the rain came.

Streams of water flowed past his brow and into his beard. The tailwind became erratic, tossing him about like a child's doll. His wet, blue tunic clung to his thin body proving little protection from the fierce weather. He had to find shelter soon or he and his precious cargo would fall into the clouds below to be lost forever in Saturn's dense, lower atmosphere. He tightened his grasp on the leather satchel that slickened in the rain.

Skipping Stones

With sight that was not sight, an ancient being looked upon the third planet of a distant yellow sun. Its billions of inhabitants scurried through their day-to-day existence unaware of the drama unfolding heavenward. Tension gripped its populace as regional conflicts threatened to escalate into that planet's third world war.
Her thoughts shifted to the system's fourth planet. As if descending from orbit, she viewed the cold, red planet's surface and the remains of an unmanned vehicle sent from the third planet. The craft lay dormant covered in red dust. She marveled at the vast effort that delivered so little return. "Primitive," she said thinking of the beings who hurled the robot from the third planet. "But with a capacity to adapt."
The nearly airless planet was a venue of her creation. The actors approached. She watched the drama unfold.