Fiction: work. life. space cows.

Hari wasn’t so much clever, as he was wiley. To me, it’s that being clever implies a sort of chaotic neutrality into a situation involving pranks, antics or gags pulled on a target. At the heart of it there is nothing malicious, not really, besides a joke at someone’s expense. That’s something I could abide

Change, some say, can come in many forms. Sometimes change is slow and methodical, passing over us like a shift in the season, a bit cooler each day until short pants weather turns to long pants weather, and you need to replace your brimmed sun hat for a wool toque. Aboard a space freighter there

That day had not seemed in any way unusual as it began. Those kinds of days never do. You get up, wash your face, brush your teeth, scarf down some rations for breakfast, and get to work. If anything ever seemed unusual at that point, then go back to bed. Those kinds of days sneak

If I could have told you anything about the economics of spaceflight before I got aboard a refuge class heavy cruiser full of cows I would not have been the one shovelling the cow shit. Folks with that kind of brains were more useful in the front of the ship than in the cargo holds.

Have I mentioned the cows? There were thousands of them on this ship alone. Part of your brain must be churning away on this idea right now, pondering why unlike any good science fiction story humanity loaded up thousands of cows onto a half dozen space freighters and shipped them off into the waiting universe