Fractal Realities: In the Face of the Wild

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


Vines and creepers covered every part of the bulkhead's interior. Sickly brown leaves, branches whose mottled bark looked like scales, as well as wicked looking thorns choked the mouth of the doorway. The metal surround it had warped, in some places buckling under the pressure of this supergrowth. Returning to what remained of the cockpit wasn't an option.

"How?" Munoz asked. "It's only been a few hours since we got back."

Jareed glared at the vegetation. "More importantly why didn't decontamination stop it? What good is the goddamn flush if this can happen?"

"Probably just another CYA from corporate's insurance lawyers."

"Fucking pen-pushing weasels. I wish they were here now so we could leave 'em on the goddamn ship."

A series of crackling pops sounded from above and they both watched as the vine tips overhead exploded outward into dozens of brand new glistening tendrils.

"We need to get out of here before this mess ruptures the hull."

"Grab what you can and meet me at the life boat."


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