Strange. Surreal. Shocking. Beautiful.

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Issue 126
October 2021

Indigenous Futurists

EDITORIAL

Indigenous Futurists: Editorial
by Allison Mills

ORIGINAL FICTION

Security Breach at Sugar Pine Suites
by Pamela Rentz
Happy Trails
by Theodore C. Van Alst, Jr.
Marked by Bears
by Jessie Loyer
Spirits of the Broken Lands
by Kevin Wabaunsee
When Evening Arrives
by Tiffany Morris
An Incident at Hellpoint Prime
by Norris Black

CLASSIC FICTION

A Brief Lesson in Native American Astronomy
by Rebecca Roanhorse

INTERVIEWS

Interview with Author Pamela Rentz 
by Rebecca C. Treasure
Interview with Author Kevin Wabaunsee
by Marissa van Uden
Interview with Artist Megan Feheley (available 10/28)
by Jason Sizemore 

NONFICTION

The Nature of a Natural Future
by Sloane Leong

REVIEWS

Words for Thought: Short Fiction Reviews
by A. C. Wise

Cover art by Megan Feheley.

From the Blog

The Apex 500 – Week 1 of 52

The Apex 500 – Week 1 of 52

Greetings denizens! We picked up the equivalent of six subscribers in the past week. So our meter number is 6/500. That's 1.2% of what we need in 51 weeks so we get to fill our alien head meter a little bit! 1.2% toward our goal We use our alien head as a measure of...

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SHORT FICTION

A Brief Lesson in Native American Astronomy

A Brief Lesson in Native American Astronomy

We were gonna be stars. That’s what you got to understand. Big fucking stars. Like Jack and Rose or Mr. and Mrs. Carter, like our faces on every screen, dominating every media feed. Everyone already loved us, wanted to be us, wanted to fuck us. And people like that, people like us? Young, rich, famous? We don’t just get sick and die. They’ve got med docs and implants and LongLife™ tech that keeps people alive for 150 years now if you can afford it, and we could afford it. So how could they let her die? How could I lose my perfect girl? How could they do that to me?

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An Incident at Hellpoint Prime

An Incident at Hellpoint Prime

Images pried their way into fuzzy thoughts. Red flesh coated with a rime of frost. Screaming, toothless faces. Vahla shook the thoughts free and continued forward in his newborn deer stride. It wasn’t a skin-thieving alien horror. It was just rats. He repeated this litany to himself over and over as he picked up speed, finally breaking into a mad run as he rounded the corner into the hallway leading to his bunk. The last thing the lawman expected was for a person to be standing dead in his path.

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A HISTORY OF GENRE FICTION

ISSUES

STORIES

WORDS