Counting Game

One, two, buckle my shoe.

The suit seals itself. I feel the pricks of dozens of needles as it merges with my circulatory system, prepared to fill me with whatever cocktail of chemicals will keep me on my feet and fighting.

Three, four, shut the door.

The airlock hisses shut. On the other side of the bulkhead, an alien planet looms like a harvest moon in the dark.

Five, six, pick up sticks.

Multi-phasic high-intensity plasma-throwers. Seven million dollars apiece, adjusted, not including R&D.

Seven, eight, lay them straight.

Rifles shouldered. Ready for freefall.

Nine, ten, do it all again...

A Traveller From a Distant Land

"Stupid alien! Stupid ugly alien!" Tommy was flailing his bat – the good wooden one he'd begged and begged for last Christmas – and hitting something on the ground. Darlene sighed.

"Tommy! Stop that; you'll ruin your toys. And come in. It's almost dark. Time to wash up and set the table."

"But Mommm! I'm killing aliens!"

"You can do that later. Dinner is in ten minutes. March, mister."

Tommy groaned and trudged inside, dragging his bat on the ground. Behind him, the crumpled helmet gleamed metallically as one of three slender limbs reached quiveringly upwards, then fell again, still and silent.