Hugh J. O'Donnell

The four technicians took their places and checked the fittings on their gloves. Above them, the solar model glowed orange even through their tinted masks.
Millions of miles away, their movements would be precisely mirrored by the massive drones deployed to catch the runaway debris.
They were only going to get one chance. Even a single spent fuel rod or chunk of hull reaching the Sun’s core would create a chain reaction that would doom the solar system. They got to work.
When it was over, and they’d saved the world, they celebrated with the most epic high-five ever recorded.

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Mission control was filled with tension as the space probe launched. All systems showed green. There was an air of heady anticipation as the instruments powered up and began to gather data.
They had spent years of work and vast sums to get the probe into space, but the data it would provide would revolutionize astrophysics. Readings started coming in, and the scientists’ faces fell. They made no sense. The probe, they concluded, must be faulty.
Elsewhere, far beyond human perception, dwelt the Cosmic Giants.
“Hey, want to see me juggle?” One asked, and scooped up a trio of galaxies.

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They painted miniatures, specializing in beautiful, stunningly detailed artwork in tiny spaces. They created mosaics in the bottoms of coffee cups and painted intricate, evocative landscapes on the keys of keyboards.
They were reclusive and posted their work mostly online, handling commissions and requests by mail.
When their art went viral, a whirlwind of speculation arose over who they were and their chosen medium. The resolution of their tiny artwork was unparalleled, and more than a few critics claimed that it was impossible.
The uplifted ant colony ignored the hype. They just put brushes to mandibles and kept on working.

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The commander looked down on the planet from the ship. She sipped tea from its zero-gravity bag and watched the progress far below her.
She wondered when the point outside her viewport went from ‘out’ to ‘down.’ It was just one of the many things that changed when she had made her decision.
The frame was coming together nicely, and the asteroids and cloud objects they needed were arriving on schedule. She was pleased. After years of searching, humanity had found a good, Sun-like star. But no planet in the system could support life.
So they decided to build one.

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He hears the chirp coming from somewhere above him and sighs.
He’s got Centaurian Rabbits in his vents again.
He doesn’t think they look much like the Earth rodents, but they’re cute in their own right, and mostly harmless. They just have the unfortunate tendency to nest in spacecraft air systems.
They are named not for their appearance, but for the danger they pose. It’s a warning about what happens when animals are introduced into unsuitable habitats. But the rabbits don’t know that.
He brings up the controls to flush the vents into space, hating himself for the cold equations.

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The robots roll out of the factory and onto the waiting ships. The assembled troops salute each passing unit. The grunts have never seen them unfinished or met one of the legendary elite pilots inside, but they’ve all heard the stories. They’ve seen what the Walkers can do. They will bring honor and glory to Luna.
Inside the unit, the child beats its hands against the metal walls. They try and pull out the tubes and wires that connect them to the machine. They scream the ancient words until they are hoarse.
“Alexa, stop!” But the units keep on rolling.

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