Welcome to Ed Asteroid’s Flabbergasting SF! — First Annual Issue
April 1, 2022 – I am Daniel Manly, your intrepid, square-jawed, and very handsome guest editor. When I agreed to do this, I didn’t realize that April 1 comes every year. Who knew? So, we might do this again. Or we might not. I am a very busy, busy man. I have Hollywood on speed dial.
In this issue, we have eight stories and two poems. They are written by people who either volunteer or have volunteered for James Gunn’s Ad Astra. They seem to think it’s a conflict of interest to publish in their own magazine. Geez, people! Asimov published in his own magazine. That’s kinda the point!
But I digress.
These folk are shy and have used pseudonyms. However, they aren’t all that bright either – they hired me as their guest editor – and if you read their bios, they mostly give away who they are. Take this as a hint. If you want to sell to Ad Astra, lookie at what the people who make the decisions write themselves.
Tell’em Daniel sent you!
–Daniel Manly, the guy who gets published a third of the time more often for 28% more money!
Begin Your Journey
Some things should happen only in the dark, when the world still sleeps and dreams innocent dreams. It has always been this way and always will be—and you would have it no other way, because you are one of the few who thrive during the time when the sun has not yet risen, when the lamplighters are not even awake.
Silas yelled through the bars, “I told you they weren't no DTs. The boy’s spewing flames!” The young carnie sat in the opposite corner of the cell, both hands covering his mouth. “I ain't the one swiggin’ Sterno.” Silas threw down the blanket. “Put me in with the murderer. I'll be safer there.”
We were heading to Grampa and Gramma Kellan’s place for the holidays. Gramma would slip us some hard candy before Grampa took us back with him to “earn our keep” by sweeping, picking up tools, or playing around in the barn while he finished his work. “Don't touch it,” he'd warn us. “No time today for the Moon.”
Maria Purificación Jerónimo, B. Eng., dry spat at the bright point centered on her singleship’s main screen. The offset of the methane spectral lines confirmed this was the Earther starship braking ass-backwards on its fusion drive. The incoming squad of mercenaries was spoiling for a fight with her Alpha Centauri home, riding their engine’s blue flame like one ginormous ignited fart.
During the initial descent towards the reef, my guide from Dive Sirena™ -- who has asked me to call her Fabiana -- is slightly impatient, only a twitch at the tip of her fin giving away her mood. She wants to get to the good stuff, the bright coral reef that lies beneath the crystal clarity of the Caribbean.