The human cargo carrier, T.S.S. Prospect, plies its way through an uninhabited system in the interior of the Flame Nebula (NGC 2024).  These routine runs can be easily automated, but some individuals enjoy the solitude and lack of social pressures the long voyages provide.  Many fine works of art, literature, music, and immersion adventures result from the lifestyles of the trampers, as they are called.

One cannot help wondering about the futility of camouflaging a ship with a cruising speed of 298 thousand kilometers per second.  I believe only humans would think of such a thing.  In reality the nebula rarely shows up with this much definition to the human eye.  Its brightness has been enhanced for this image.

For example, “I” is usually used by the speaker or writer to refer to herself. “You” usually refers to anyone spoken to directly other than the speaker.  “You” can be one person or more than one person depending on how many are present and what hand gestures the speaker uses.

Then there is “we,” the most confusing of all. “We” can mean two or more people including the speaker, without reference to how many and which people.  For instance if one couple is talking to another couple “we” can mean the couple including the speaker, or it can mean both couples depending on the topic being discussed and again which hand gestures are employed.  If royalty is speaking, “we” actually means the same as “I.” If a married couple is conversing “we” especially when followed by “need to” actually means “you.”

If humans understand each other at all it is miraculous.  I think it more likely they do not.

V528 Aquilae is the remnant of what was once a giant sun — actually two suns, one giant and a smaller hotter companion. Over a thousand years ago it exploded, consuming its inner planets and its companion as well. It was visible from the Earth as a “new” star in the constellation Aquila (The Eagle) in 1945.

Perhaps there were once inhabitants on its second world, which might have had a much higher number designation before the inner worlds evaporated into streaming plasma. Here we see the twisted and blasted remains of the world’s nickel-iron core, it’s former atmosphere, crust and mantle long ago blown into space by the nova explosion, now with a new atmosphere formed by outgassing.

Nestled among the grotesque iron spires lie the enigmatic bubbles of impenetrable stasis fields whose contents, if any, lie outside the ravages of time and space and cannot be probed by any known technology. Did a civilization protect part of its culture within these spheres, knowing that a nova was coming?  Did they leave this world hoping one day to return? Or are they themselves preserved within these mute stasis spheres?  We may never know.

Due to the illogical nature of these roles, one can only assume they sprang from an as yet undiscovered religious observance, possibly a lesson in humility.  The result is more often humiliation.

On the pleasant turquoise globe Amfibia [23 Librae 3] a chameleomorph who is either an enhanced sentient family pet or a human shape changer — one never knows, and it is impolite to ask — steps out for a wade in a restoring stream that chuckles its way through copses of stately transparent jellyfish trees (medusozoarbors).  Though there is no breeze, the glistening spindles of spotted mandertails wave gently, trying to absorb as much as they can of the microscopic rain of organic particles drifting down from the amino acid laden clouds above.

Managerial types say “I gotcha!”

Hmm . . .

One of the native Bifurcathuria of the planet Ph(d-d-d)reem [HR 2643 Geminorum 5] receives the first positive artificial signal from its own version of SETI, the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, a series of prime numbers possibly from the dim G type star Sol, 63 light years distant. Luckily the signal was received and recognized as sentient in origin before the huge array of bio-engineered radio telescopes was slated to be plowed over for a more practical use of Ph(d-d-d)reem’s mountainous equatorial yellow zone.

And now it has changed once again.  Now the car horn means, “Yes, I am locked,” thereby needlessly startling everyone who was raised to think of the horn as an urgent alarm, giving them a jarring rush of adrenaline whenever someone is simply locking a car door.

I have often wondered why this change has occurred and what is to be done today if the brakes do go out.  Some of my fellow aliens in exile have speculated that the humans can now text and tweet everyone, “Get outta the way!  My brakes gave out!” rather than relying on the horn.  Indeed, this texting ability may have precipitated the current change in the meaning of the horn’s audio symbol.

In this panorama of one of the great plains of Sundara (a.k.a. Pi Mensae 4) a world humans settle in the remote future, a pair of grid-linked clones, Shana and Anahs, are recording their explorations for a VR travelogue while their faithful Omniport hovers in the background. Along with the immersive 3D environment, the recording will feature a full range of sensory experience including the warm earthy scent of the air, laden with harmless bonetree pollen, the cushioning feel of the soft yielding muscle-mountain cell colonies beneath one’s feet, and the sound of Sundara’s jet stream, far closer to the surface than that of Earth’s, like distant continuous thunder filtering it’s way down through strata of air.

I called this piece, “On the Hill We Viewed the Silence of the Valley.”  Let’s see if we can spot the over forties among us who know the inspiration for the piece without Googling.