Letter From The Editor - Issue 68 - April 2019

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Issue 67
Stories
The Gilga-Mess
by Alex Shvartsman
Reading Dead Lips
by Dustin Steinacker
All the Things You Want
by Andrew Peery
Dayshift
by Brian Trent
The Cost of Wonder
by Leah Cypess
IGMS Audio
The Cost of Wonder
Read by Alethea Kontis
InterGalactic Medicine Show Interviews
Vintage Fiction
Sweetheart Come
by Alethea Kontis
Bonus Material
The Story Behind the Stories
by Dustin Steinacker

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All the Things You Want
    by Andrew Peery

All the Things You Want
Artwork by Kelsey Liggett

Kate is outside weeding the garden. Watching her from orbit, I can see the fine hair of her arms and the wet flecks of dirt between her fingers. Every few seconds the telescopes adjust to filter the quiet glare of an explosion. Unfortunately, the missiles launched at my ship are too small to be seen from the ground.

I wish the bombs would burn brighter. I would vent hydrogen from the reactors if Kate would just look up at me, but she is focused on pulling up the dandelions that I had always rather liked. "They look like flowers to me," I would tell her.

"Weeds," she would say back, shaking her head.

The handful of satellites attacking my ship are too small to cause much damage. The SS Euclidian is over a mile long, and she is the first vessel ever built for travel outside the solar system. She is still fitting out and has yet to go anywhere, but her hull plating is rated for one tenth light. At those speeds, interstellar dust is more destructive than any munitions currently in orbit.

Kate is working in the herb garden beside the back porch, so I remember the smells of rosemary and basil. The porch door is off angle from where the dog got excited and crashed through it, and there is a loose board on the steps I've been meaning to fix. If I was home Kate would have me on the roof, which is as bad as she always said. From this angle, the rusted gutters are so full of pine needles that I'm surprised they still drain.

It is July, and Kate is sweating through a grey tank top. She is brunette and fine-boned and she weighs ten pounds more than she wants to. Even through her shirt, I can count out the knobs of her spine. She wears her com ring on her right hand, and I can hear the pop song she hums while she pulls things out of the ground.

I guess Kate isn't my wife anymore, but I won't let that stop me from taking her to the stars.

Per quality control mandates written into ship's code, I am creating the narrative description of my ongoing Class V Artificial Intelligence Transfer Failure.

The severity ranking is Class V because there is a total failure of control over my program and because there are human lives at risk. If anyone dies, the ranking will increase to Class VI. I am trying very hard to be careful.

There are ways to ignore the narrative mandates, but then it becomes hard for me to concentrate. It is easier to just tell the story.

Besides, there are so many things happening at the same time.

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