December 2022 -- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO MOSAIX!

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Sci-Fi Seanachaí
Aug 15, 2021

Write a story inspired by the chosen theme and genre in no more than 75 words, not including the title

ONE entry per person

NO links, commentary or extraneous material in the posts, please -- the stories must stand on their own


All stories Copyright 2022 by their respective authors
who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here

The complete rules can be found at

Contest ends at 11:59 pm GMT, 23 December 2022

Voting ends at 11:59 pm GMT, 28 December 2022

We ask all entrants to do their best to vote when the time comes
but you do not have to submit a story in order to vote
as we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing the winning entry

The Magnificent Prize:

The Dignified Congratulations/Grovelling Admiration of Your Peers
and the challenge of choosing next month's theme and genre


The option of having your story published on the Chrons Podcast next month!





Please keep all comments to the
Discussion thread

We invite (and indeed hope for) lively discussion and speculation about the stories as they are posted,
as long as it doesn't involve the author explaining the plot

** Please do not use the "Like" button in this thread! **
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“In this room, Steven, we can see the effects of whatever we send into the past. It’s like we’re drifting into a different timeline. For instance...” Professor Dugan throws seeds into the time machine’s swirling vortex. “These palm fruit seeds have mutative properties that should help dodos defend against all threats.”

Outside, a skyscraper-sized dodo breathes fire, melting the room’s windows.

Steven asks, “How do we retrieve those seeds?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”
Accidents Happen

The planet shrunk every time I saw it.

Stars, Mars, stars, Mars.

The first “deep space” orbital construction contract! See the stars! What an opportunity!

I had to admit they were beautiful.

Stars, Mars, stars, Mars.

The company that won the bid had a shoddy safety record, but the pay was too good. At least my family would be cared for.

The broken safety tether smacked my faceplate.

Stars, Mars, stars, Mars so small now . . .
Space Between

Thoughts drift to a time when I was . . . well, alive. Brilliant hues from a vast nebula radiate through the lifeless vacuum of the escape pod.

What’s it been now, a hundred years? Two hundred? Good thing it’s freezing in here. Preserves the flesh.

Quantum science can’t explain where I am. Hell, I can’t. But it doesn’t matter, when they find me I’ll finally be dead.

And it won’t be soon enough.
A Cloud on Mars

I drifted along the Martian sky, safe in my capsule tethered to the balloon above. The Martian air carries me along while computers handle altitude. I’m just along for the ride to experience the views.

Atmospheric winds decide my course. Syrtis Major, Aeolis, and Olympus Mons slowly pass below. Some days are clear, others bring sandstorms.

I have another 120 days aloft, but I’m fine going for 300. Because I’m the only cloud on Mars.

When what to my wondering eyes did appear​

Across the ark, lights dimmed in the packed biodomes.

Inside, thousands of souls waited, eyes glued to the void, faces full of awe and anticipation.

A sparkling glow heralded the arrival of comet DDPV-CCDB - known with love as Santa’s Sleigh - hove into view.

In silence, the comet shot past trailing a tail of pristine white across the ark’s orbit. To thunderous applause, the snow settled into lazy drifts over the hull.

The holidays had arrived.
The Better Angels of Our Nature

Lincoln looked up as she appeared beside his desk.
"Sir, I've come from the future–"
"–to save me. Susan, you've told me this many times today."
He smiled warmly.
"Your kindness in intervening sustains me.
"But I've considered your warnings, your stories – I believe my legacy serves America best, not my body.
"Now, the last visit here, your suspicions were you'd gone lost in time, but couldn't remember. You told me how to help you…"
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A Drift

Gina awoke to the comforting silence she had grown used to on this lonely lunar outpost. Much better than the howling winds of the night before. She‘d crawled the last 100 meters back to her solo-dome to keep from being blown down. Good that things were back to normal. Or mostly so. The solar cell was not charging. And the door was stuck. She pushed harder and let in a rush of fine sand.
Served Cold

My module is powered down, critical systems on battery, carried by momentum.

To those aboard the star yacht, this interstellar Sodom and Gomorrah, I’m just another piece of space junk, idling through the void; zero threat.

The Hellburner warhead I carry begs to differ.

I was nothing, nobody, a leaf on the wind of human happenstance.

Until I embraced Purification.

‘Vengeance is Mine’, sayeth the Lord.

But sometimes he contracts out.

Let there be light.

Drift. My cold, white, deadly world. The scientists no longer come - ‘too dangerous’ they say - yet I survive.

We saw them in a storm, sheltering in the valley as my brother and I climbed a rocky peak. Best risk death from exposure than descend and remove all doubt. They perished as the snow covered them, one hundred feet deep.

Foolish brother, you ran to help that day. Now, when the wind blows, I climb alone.
A Primer, A Caper

Deeply I was immersed in a primer, wading my feet gently in a reflecting pool.

The primer was called “Nine Leagues of Sin”, and my recollection was ashen… for within, I could recall the murmurs of incorporeal ghouls.

At my feet I plucked the bulb of a caper. I traced it’s indentations, and let it drop in the water. As it floated there, a locus for shallow depth; and I watched it sink.
Like Father, Like Daughter

Jimmy travelled from world to world. Lived a little, loved a little, sometimes sowed seeds but before he could truly settle, wanderlust always set in.

Then he met Norma and unknowingly sowed a different kind of seed.

By the time he’d found out, years later, his daughter had upped sticks and taken her own lonely path across the galaxy.

So Jimmy still travels from world to world but no longer drifting.

Now he is searching.
Fat Man
“NORAD1 do you copy? I have a visual on supersonic UFO aimed at the White House.”
“Copy EAGLE5, intercept ASAP.”
“NORAD1 Target does not respond to signals. From what I can see its a Fat Man. Permission to tango down?”
“Permission granted, stop it at all cost before it comes in range”
“NORAD1, the pilot is down, but the sleighs are still drifting towards the White House… And what should I do about the reindeers?”
Boats Against the Current

Those of us born in the late twenty-first century witnessed our grandchildren grow up with all their experiences, beginning at birth, recorded in full sensory detail. They are now able to replay these recordings as sophisticated virtual reality simulations. That is why so many of them fail to develop into fully functioning individuals. My own dear Sage, an intelligent woman of thirty, spends nearly all her hours reliving her joyful days in the cradle.
Faint Voices in the Dark

We are Drift.
We are Innumerable.
We were propelled by star death and pushed into the void.

Priority message excites us: Point towards this Star. Noisy third planet.
Adjust trajectory. We are slow but inevitable; eager for alien secrets.
Knowledge sated, we will feed. Deconstruct all. Birth more Drift.

Then set Star to die to return to void.

You have little time.
You cannot beat the innumerable.
You will become Drift.
Good Boy!

The bureaucracy was there for a reason. A Drift with someone outside the family put you in the asylum.
Or worse.
She’d explained genetic tolerance, but it was just words; his Drift partner would never send him mad!


‘Izzy, get your brother! I’m not calling him again for dinner!’
Moments later Izzy screamed.
Mum ran upstairs.
Kenny lay — white-eyed, incontinent, and lost — gibbering on his bedroom floor.
And next to him, twitching, his dog.
To See the Unknown

We lost main propulsion, too close. I hit full thrusters to buy time, and ran. The last lifeboat pushed off before I got there. Maybe fear? I don't blame them if so.

Their departure pushed the ship over the event horizon. I'm not scared. There's maybe sixty years to fall, forty before I feel anything, and I'm already fifty. Well, I'm definitely surveying new territory, and it's oddly beautiful.



Something's knocking on the hull.

Delight in Desolation

Galthezar emerged from its century-long stasis. System 3,465, Planet 1: a hot rock.

A beat of its wings and a long sleep later, it reached Planet two – a toxic, cloud-swathed oven world.

Planet three warranted extended telescopic study from orbit. Sun-scorched and desolate; a dead civilisation. Planet four was similar, albeit derelict colonies, not cities.

Planet six, moon two, Galthezar avoided. Its thrill was surveying worlds cured of life, not those presently infected.
The view between wake and sleep

  • Tim Peake was falling asleep.
  • Jessica was across in the observation module.

'Tim, you awake? can you get over here?'

'One second Jess.'

Tim floated over.

'Look out the nadir pane and tell me what you think.'

The view was spectacular.

'I think that spinning orb we call home is a desperate roar within an unfathomable ocean of silence.'

'That's nice Tim, but I was talking about the blown bolt above the solar shunt unit.'
Swimming with the fishes

We splashed down on a water world and set to drifting on the waves, exploring, and learning all we could.

When the first of us was taken.

Eaten alive.

Any slip or fumble near water and your dead.

Sharks, alien and powerful follow us, always circling and waiting to strike.

We were supposed to fish for food, but how can we when we’re the bait.

I’m starved… hungry… and I’m thinking about taking a swim.
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