That being said, here’s the story.
Explorer’s Log, Planet 7-3-3
(Planetary Date 4 days)
We landed harder than planned but not quite a crash, after an EMP on the way in — or something similar enough that the effects appear identical — fried every piece of electronics not in deep storage. Landed hard but not a crash-landing; the shuttle is intact, if unflyable, and so’s the team.
The ship will be back around in five years for us, but I’m assuming that we are stranded here. The anomalies around this planet make a lot more sense when you consider the EMP-like pulse, and I fear the ship may never find us. Continue reading
The sky was black and red, and in the distance an unearthly howl echoed through the city. But the squash would not forgive her skipping their bug treatment and the weeds in the pepper garden were unseemly.
Damkina muttered wards against bugs as she slammed her hoe into the ground with more force than was strictly necessary. They had been here, the week before last, asking her to fight. She had pointed at the ruins of Chicago, smoking on the television. “That is what happens when you fight. Like every other time. When you have remembered how to banish them, come find me.”
They had called her last week, asking her to fight. She had pointed to the mess they had just made of Minneapolis. “You’re doing more harm than good. That was no returned god that shattered their downtown, that was your warriors. I am a gardener. I have always been a gardener. Leave me to my garden.” Continue reading
“I know,” Jake admitted, “a cemetery isn’t really the ordinary sort of place to take a girl on a date. But I figured, you’re not an ordinary sort of girl, and, really, I’m not really all that normal myself, so why would we go on an ordinary date? Besides,” he added, with amused candor, “there’s nothing good at the movie theatre, my friends can be a pain and they tend to eat at the diner nights like this, and if I’m going to go for moonlight and stars, the park’s more likely to have kids smoking weed and the cops like to check out the playground.”
Beryl grinned at him and made sure he saw it. “That sounds like very good logic. What would you have done, though, if I was the sort to get creeped out by cemeteries?”
“Apologize profusely for misjudging you and take you out for ice cream? And then maybe down to the creek. It’s pretty this time of year, too.” Continue reading
The cherry trees needed extra buds plucked and the wisteria needed trimming; the dwarf willow in the tiny garden needed to be convinced back from the bench and the tomatoes in the vegetable patch needed weeding.
Damkina was humming. If the rain held off until past noon, it would be a good day.
Gardens, like people, came and went, Damkina had long since learned, albeit in a slower, more vegetal manner. This one was young, not even a century old yet, and the people who believed they were employing her to maintain it had no idea who she really was.
That was fine with her. She preferred anonymity to notoriety.