Hugh J. O'Donnell

He sat in the launch bay and waited for orders. His mech made its usual standby noises. The hisses and pings were almost comforting.
Out in the distance, he could see the raging battle. An occupied rebel asteroid was on an Act-of-God trajectory, and it was up to him and his comrades to stop it before impact became an inevitability.
His chronometer blipped out the time, setting the mission clock. LST was midnight, December 24th. He should be home, but once again he was stuck working over the holidays.
Why did they always have to pull these stunts on Christmas?

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Word came down that they were automating the factory, and the elves whispered nervously to each other in their ancient, magical tongue. The big man called a meeting to allay their fears.
“There will be no cuts,” he explained. “But we need to ramp up production to meet the demand. There are too many children in the world. We can’t do things by hand anymore. There will be a place for everyone here.”
At first, the elves were relieved. But when they saw the new toy designs, they realized they were made by AI. The ensuing strike nearly cancelled Christmas.

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When Henry enlisted, he through he would make any sacrifice to serve the Emperor. And he did, through endless space and surface battles.
Serving in the Imperial Guard was the highest honor he could have hoped for. But Henry hadn’t expected the surgery. His limbs were replaced with cybernetic enhancements, directly under the Emperor’s control.
His nerves shot endless lightning bolts of pain, vainly attempting to reconnect to missing flesh, while he stood at attention for a man who didn’t even see him.
Someday, Henry would get the codes to free himself, and show the Emperor what real sacrifice was.

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The wasteland Sun blazed overhead. She checked the gauge and sighed. Her truck still had half an hour left to charge.
On the horizon, a cloud of dust said that she was about to have company. She pulled out her scope and confirmed the worst: raiders, and they’d get to the station well before she was done. She reached into the truck’s bed and pulled out her shotgun. There was a trick to appearing to tough to be worth bothering with, but not so strong as to seem a threat.
She cursed herself for buying electric just before society collapsed.

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She felt the change come upon her and cocooned herself, hiding in a safe and hidden spot hanging from a hard to reach branch.
Once she was secure and the imperative could no longer be ignored, she let herself go.
She dreamed of what she might become. She didn’t know if she would be beautiful, or graceful, or terrible or powerful. She didn’t know if she would have jewel-scaled wings or poisonous dust. She didn’t know if she would have barbs or fangs or fuzzy antenna. She didn’t know what the change would be.
So she decided she’d take everything.

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