Draconic Lifecycle

I know we've all considered the possibility that planets are dragon eggs waiting to hatch and wondered what will happen to us when the time comes, but have you considered that these eggs might not have been fertilized yet? What's that going to be like? That's why I support migration beyond the planet as soon as it can be effected.

Addendest

All this time, have angry ghosts been mad about inflation? Almost certainly.

Addender

Even worse, to ghosts, because they will have died long ago, $43,500 will be a lot of money, whereas that will be affordable if a significan expense for the contemporary traveler.

Addendum

Unfortunately for them, by then we'll have the technology to detect ghosts and subsequently demand fares.

Futurestition

When we go to space, will we have to wait for new ghosts to populate the haunted places, or will some grab rides alongside the living passengers? That's aside from the ghosts of long-dead species, whose menaces we will be incapable of comprehending or even noticing.

Neglected Repairs

It was a five-camera job: Two for dynamic footage of the howling protesters kept outside by barriers and bored security personnel, two on the site (ground-level and aerial), and the last for the interview itself.
"Surely we aren't to believe there isn't something disgraceful about having this place reduced to a single purchase?"
"I can't say what you are or aren't, but I think it's amazing that we've reached the point in human prosperity where someone like me can buy all of Great Britain. With all the space stations and the extraterrestrial colonies and the virtual realms, I don't think of this island as reduced at all. We've all gotten big because of technological progress, we're more prosperous than ever, and I'm going to fix this place up the way bureaucrats never got around to doing. Starting right here."
As he gestured, the segment producer switched to one of the site drones in case anyone missed the connection. Perhaps someone who started watching late.
"Yes, about that. What do you have to say to the people who insist, with tradition behind them I might add, to say nothing of sensibility and delicacy, that this place does not in fact need to be 'fixed?' That it is in further fact an outrage, what you're proposing to do here today?"
"I'm not proposing, I'm doing. That's number one. Number two is, look at it, of course it's broke. Ready over there? All right, start."
At the owner of Great Britain's command, great machines began to lay precision-cut stones so as to perfect the composition of Stonehenge, heedless of the protesters who managed against expected human capacity to shout even louder. When they finished, less than an hour later, thunder boomed on that cloudless day, and in the center of the great menhirs, a fog arose from the ground that reached to the sky. From it a man emerged, clad in robes and wisdom, who strode forward to deliver this address.
"Because of your actions flow again the powers of magic, charms, and sorcery long denied to man but never forgotten. Well done. Of my disciples in this generation, you shall be the first and greatest."
"Well I'm glad to hear it," Great Britain's owner said.
Finis

Addendum

Specifically, all intellectual property will be protected for twelve years except for Pac-Man, which is protected in perpuity and the penalty for infringement is exile from the solar system. Twelve years is a highly scientific number which reminds us of clocks, which are ticking as we wait for a space monster.

The Biggest Potential Disaster

What happens when most of us have moved to an array of space colonies spread throughout the solar system and then a big space monster comes through and chomps us all up like Pac-Man? The only solution I can see is to have Bandai Namco sue the menace, and for that to happen we might have to change our intellectual property laws.

Shaping Up

You've heard of round worlds and you've heard of flat worlds, but have you ever heard of ribbon-like worlds? Probably, followed by ". . . seemed like a neat idea but I couldn't think of anything that it would do for the story." That kind of thinking is why we haven't colonized the sun yet.

Addendum

Foot enthusiasts, on the other hand, wait for everyone else to have all the feet. They'll never prosper no matter how far technology advances.

Pioneering Space Habitation

The first true space colonies will essentially be enormous, full-sized model train tracks for train enthusiasts because those guys are willing to spend on their hobbies. I realize everybody knows this already, but I wanted to get it in writing.

Chilling Science Fiction Tales

In the distant future, people will think of coal as a rare and valuable present because only Earth has any. Boo!

The Sad, Inevitable Outcome of Space Colonization

We're going to get out there and discover all the good places have been taken by cool guys and gals already. What a drag.

The Biggest Obstacles to Space Colonies

The people who live there have to not care about the freshest internet memes, but everybody with the skills to make it work cares deeply.

En Route to Terror

"Captain, it's November Standard. Isn't it time to take that jack-o'-lantern out of the exercise room?"
"What jack-o'-lantern?"
"The one you bought at port, stored away all this time, and put there for Halloween. It was a nice gesture though."
The captain frowned. "I didn't buy anything of the sort."
A chill gripped the crew of the Calvary, three months out from Sofia on its five-month journey . . . through the depths of space!
Finis




Boo!
Actual Finis

The Future's Sole Preoccupation

There it was, the lamentable routine. The distant curve forbade anyone from forgetting he lived inside a space colony, the dream of generations, but closer up, everything was as it ever was. Roger marched toward his designated external trash receptacle, rake in hand, ready to repel the scavengers the engineers back on Earth insisted were necessary for sustainable life beyond the planet. "They spent trillions to make, get out of here, space rats and space raccoons! Get out of here! Get!"
It was the indignity he hated most, Roger thought during the indignity of leaning over to poke the trash cart with the rake at maximum distance. He hated whichever part of the routine he was in the most. Regardless, the raccoon made that weird hissing noise, jumped out, and skittered away. Roger sighed and began composing mentally another request to let colonists put lids on the carts.

That scene was captured by recording equipment miles away. The operative checked the setup, confirmed, and activated his communicator. "I have the combat data," he reported.
"Good. Return immediately to the secondary . . . what's that sound?"
Helicopters deactivated their optical camouflage, eight of them. Through a loudspeaker on the lead, someone demanded, "Leave the combat data there. This is your warning."
By the end of the warning, the operative was hanging from the building's side, about to crash through a top-floor window, when bullets going the other way shattered the glass. "That combat data is ours," the lead power armor declared.
The battle soon became general the way it did every day. As new as life in space was, the routine was already old.
Finis

Addendum

And if anyone tries to tell you the future will have nothing but techno, tell him not to be fooled by the name. Every space colony will have its own choir and they'll compete for cyber prizes. Rockabilly will be more popular than ever.

Addender

Every year, the space colonies have big debates about whether to alter the climate for Christmas. Boy, will those get nasty.

Terror in Space

"Administrator Hadley! Terrible news!"
The administrator eyed Secretary Anderson from behind a desk polished till it gleamed that then held the latest report on the space colony IX Tucker's outer shell integrity. "What's the matter, Anderson? Your transfer request was turned down?"
"Yes, but that's not it! There have been sightings in the Industrial District . . . of Ghost Tank!"
Donald Hadley shot out of his chair and slammed his hands on the desk. "Ghost Tank! Are you sure?"
"Can we afford to be sure?
"You're right. We have to act now. Seal off the entire sector and open the bulkheads. We'll shoot Ghost Tank," he said as he slammed his right fist into his open left hand, "straight into space."
"But Administrator, haven't you heard? Ghost Tank . . . RULES SPACE."
Hadley stumbled backward, fear written on his bloodless face. "Then we have no choice. We must evacuate." He opened a panel on his desk and pressed the button underneath. Alarms began to bleat throughout IX Tucker. "This station now belongs to Ghost Tank. Let's go, Anderson."
On their way to the hangar, the two men could speak of only one thing. "Your transfer request was turned down too, huh?"
"That's right, Anderson. That's right."
Finis

Some Good News

New Constantinople will hold out for some time more, though.