Sci-Fi Saturday: High Fashion

"These coveralls we wear, they have no style!
No sex appeal, no shape, no cool details.
I hate them!" Tammy's grandmother's sad smile
In silence let the girl rage on. "It fails
On ev'ry level!" "Well, what shall you do
To fix things?" "I've been studying design,"
Quoth Tammy. "Y'all are sad. Not one of you
Has seen the opportunity!" "They’re fine,
And functional in zero gravity."
"Oh, there you go again. Who really cares
'Bout that? Most people've never felt it. We
Should make cool clothes that float like us, with flair!"
Months later, the first fashion show in space
Created a newshipboard marketplace!

Sci-Fi Saturday: The Hardest Sell

Subsidence made a sinkhole near the edge
Of this small town, just where folks go to see
Our  finest mountain vista. Now, I pledge,
What happened's no one's fault, and it's now free
Of all remains, but I'm afraid it's true:
The site was not updated, not online.
So tourists, on those smoggy days, those who
Had VR sets that always showed a fine,
Clear view, and used them... Yes, they fell
In frightening numbers, down the slope, and yes,
Some died. It took a while for us to tell
Where lay the problem, but I do not guess
You care 'bout that. Best buy my software patch.
I saw the problem, and fixed it from scratch.

Sci Fi Saturday: Beggars Can't be Choosers

"I can't afford that one," she said, and sighed.
"It's from our budget line; we haven't got
A lower price point." That shop girl, all pride
And condescension, obviously thought
Their interaction ended. Rosie, though,
Her stump still itching, wouldn't pass one day
Without an arm! "Come on. If you'd just go
Check out the stock room --" she began to say.
"I did already. All we have back there
Are custom jobs." "Did any get returned
Or not picked up?" The shop girl smirked. "You care
If it's got limitations? We got burned --"
"I'll take it. Graft it on this instant, please."
And that's why Maddy's hand can just slice cheese.

Sci Fi Saturday: The Secret Weapon

There's only ever one way to defeat
The Great Regression Field, that pulls us down
Below our sentience. We cannot cheat
Or trick a way on through. The Chosen, brown
Of hair and eye, was born for sacrifice.
From birth he was prepared for this one task,
Trained only to destroy the fell device.
No language did he learn, or skills. We asked
One thing alone of him, our brute, our dumb
But vital boy. He set off yesterday.
When all else hit the field, their minds go numb
And ne'er recover, witless beasts of clay.
Thus we are governed. But, should he succeed,
This planet can be ours again, indeed!

Satire Sunday: It's Always Midnight, Part II

Ms . Suki flew a cargo freighter on
A fixed, unchanging route. A run took weeks,
Much of that time spent waiting to be gone
While maint crews did their thing. When Suki speaks
Of downtime, she knows best of anyone
The boredom that entails. It's no surprise,
Then, that on Ceres she has lots of fun,
A swinging single, while elsewhere grey eyes
(Her wife's) light up when her route brings
Her "home". And inside yet another rock
Two husbands raise her children. How these things
Were all discovered ends with screams and shock.
Her wife and younger husband, there on tryst
Had just meet Suki's girlfriend in their midst.

Sci Fi Saturday: An Awkward Evening in Airy-0

The party was in full swing, canapés
In ev'ry hand, for ev'ry lip a drink.
The host looked on with satisfaction; days
Of preparation paid off. "Do you think
That Ross will be here? Carrie, too? I hope!"
He said to his young husband as the dome
Dimmed down to ev'ning mode. "Don't be a dope,
They're over there." He glided 'cross his home
And waited with politeness as his guests
Conversed. "Oh, so you guys are some of THOSE,"
Young Ross was saying. "Oh man, that's the best!
Hey Carrie, these folks think we all arose
On Earth! I bet they think that Mars is flat
As well!" Their host blushed. "Sorry about that..."

Sci Fi Saturday: The Artifact

The airlock wasn't broken; all was well
Except the man who'd passed through it, who'd fooled
Evaluations by the score. We fell
For all his lies - and yet he broke no rule
While breaking space-walk records. It was known
He was a little odd, but no one guessed
When he stayed late again and have a groan
Of happiness, that he had passed his test.
He'd outsmarted the safeguards back on Earth
But kept his secret until now, when he
Undid the locks and clasps and cables. Mirth
Soon froze upon his naked face as, free
Except from physics, he became space junk
Like any other. All your theory's bunk.

Sci Fi Saturday: A Better Warning Would Have Helped

The message we'd received felt like a dare:
The godlike things that left it for us had
Been cryptic. They bade "try no landings there"
Without an explanation. Things got bad
Once Secretary Dickinson, sworn in
And raring thus to make his special mark
On history, declared that what had been
A someday goal, as we explored the dark,
Was now our greatest, first priority.
And so upon Europa we did land,
And so released such horrors as would be
Near indescribable. No ice nor sand,
But toxic, trans-dimensional, foul trash
Burst out into our system, once we'd crashed.

Satire Sunday: Space Oddities

Space tourists, quite predictably, began
The trend before real space trips were a thing.
As soon as micro-gravity hit, man
Or woman, sweet sixteen bash, they would sing
That David Bowie tune and try to do
Cool tricks in mid-air. As homage might go
It wasn't bad. But rebels, rebels true,
Grow tired of imitations, so, you know,
'Twas no surprise that on that pleasure cruise
Among the moons of Jupiter, one sage
Flight of the Conchords' one song chose to choose,
And soon nipple antennae were the rage.
Attendants on commercial trips now scream
At any strumming sound. It's kind of mean.

Sci-Fi Saturday: The Lowest Bidder

A brand-new suit of power armor should
Be something to enjoy, to go test out
What's possible when wearing it. A good
Corpsman would be already sure about
Its strengths and weaknesses, or so she told
Herself as she stared blankly at the thing
To which she'd trust her life out in the cold
Of space or heat of battle. Then a spring
Popped out of its left shoulder joint. "Oh, crap,"
Said Carol. And then she said more as it
Began to shuffle toward her and a strap
Fell off the helmet. "What a piece of spit!"
She checked the paperwork again and saw
'Twas made on Earth. And then it broke her jaw.

Sci-Fi Saturday: Labor Issues

He'd built his doppelganger on his own
In time that one could not denote as free
(Let's say he liberated it.) - unknown
To supervisors, clerks or those who see
That resources are used to benefit
The company providing them - he made
A robot in his perfect license. It
Soon learned his job, and thus his trick was played.
The 'bot worked all his shifts; he stayed behind
At home, collecting paychecks, and he took
Stealth orders from his friends who, of like mind,
Besought such leisure. But now, take a look:
His 'bot has called a strike. It's staying put
Until its maker caves and pays its cut!

Weird Wednesday: The Color out of Sea

The diving team had found a kind of eel
That did not shock, but had its own attack
(The crew did not at first think this was real
For reasons that we'll soon explore). Way back
Had tales been told of serpents that beguiled
Both predators and prey with a display,
But seeing such a thing out in the wild?
Exciting! Soon the color made its way
(Through synthesized protein) into the realm
Of fashion, ere the scientists could halt
Development. It soon did overwhelm
World culture. In a short time this gestalt
Was fatal to the future of our race
As madness stared now from each human face.

Sci-Fi Saturday: The Courtside Chiller, Part V

Resolve, it sometimes falters, as does will,
And as the minutes passed, that eerie cry
Unsettled those who heard it. Soon its chill
Was too much even for the strong Coach Bly.
His incantation trailed off to a sob
Of guilt and failure. It seemed victory
Was going to the evil presence. Rob
A father of his pow'r to guard, to be
Protector, and he's easy to defeat.
But lo! From out the home team's locker room
Came figures, four, with gadgetry so neat
And knowledge so profound as would spell doom
For any haunting. Beams of searing light
That stank of ozone soon lit up the night!

Sci-Fi Saturday: Just Super

The message from his father never reached
Young Clark and so in Smallville did he stay.
And when his pa did die his ma beseeched
Him: keep the farm alive! There was no way
That he could tell her no. Within a year.
He had a son, but Lana did not live
For reasons we might guess, but not, I fear,
Our hero, who gave all he had to give
To let his child live normally -- but when
A green-hued stone fell straight down from the sky
And cratered in his cornfield, once again
Intelligence had failed to reach him. By
The time he'd moved the kryptonite, too late!
All hail Lord Luthor, as was e'er our fate.

Caveat Susceptor

A sleepless night again, but on this day
She had to be alert, give that report
On morning network news! There was a way,
But dare she once again dare to resort
To Smarty Mist(tm)? Its synapse aid
Was of the highest quality, but she
Had used it often this year, and she'd made
The observation that there seemed to be
Diminishing returns. But on the line
Was nothing less than everything. One puff!
Ah yes! But soon the nanites in her mind --
Alas for hacked inhalers! -- made her huff
Some more, and then, instead of global peace
Had her extolling time shares now for lease.