Tyranny of distance

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FictionNow Pidgin didn’t say much to nobody, but he was different around his feathered friends, and also with me, coming to overlook my human bits. Plus I never poked fun at him the way others did, about the slowness, the bung eyes or walking like a string was tied from his ankle to the back of his nog – you know, pidgin-like – or being good with nothing else but bird things, which never holds much bargain for others, and they’ll want to tease and knuckle what they don’t get. Truth is I was in love with Pidgin, not that he knew – though it could have been mooch, since he was always calling me up.

The night sky from the surface of Mars

PoetryWell, first off, it’s not home. Your sharp intake of breath tells you that, as you clock the horizon-to-horizon stars from the Mars robot’s black-bubble swivelling eye all...

Welcome

FictionFROM THE TIME Kurt Talker disappeared, presumed drowned, people began to claim him. They named his parents, his extended family, even whose Old People’s...