Issue 94 – Alien Fronds

strange fractal flowers
mesmerising explorers
death on a far world

By Aeronwy Dafies

Lianus Astros
By Harris Coverley

vines of quantum strength
creeping through the galaxy
weaving about worlds —
sentience helpless to stop
whole universe entangling

Pitcher Plant
By Jay Sturner

Met a fellow botanist today
in the amber swamps of Teegarden b,
deep in Valley X.
Now we’re together, trapped
in the iridescent belly of a pitcher plant:
Swapping photos of home worlds and loved ones
            as our spacesuits slowly dissolve.

Originally published in Star*Line (Fall 2022).

New Planet Landscape 1
By Ken Poyner

Beware the flowers.
They look drearily inviting;
In demeanour they seem the soul of hospitality.
But when they change display
Through any three competing colours – then
Shimmer hypnotically and deliciously,
Delirious and futilely un-maternal –
The pressure in their stems builds erotically,
Calling come hither, be suspended in joy:
They are about to refine your alien passion
With their thanksgiving of having found
You,
All of you,
Their sudden, ignorantly confident prey.

New World
By DJ Tyrer

Lost colonist
Far from settlement
New world, barely explored
Comms malfunction
No help coming
Starves, surrounded by food
Belly full
Alien plants indigestible
Satiates hunger
Without any nutrients

The Language of Plants
By Nieske den Heijer

“I need to warn the governor! You have to let me through!” I wave my papers in front of the guard’s face, but he does not budge. “Please, she is in grave danger!”

The only movement in the guard is a subtle rolling of the eyes, and with his genetically enhanced muscles I am no match for him. My only hope is my words.

“The governor has requested an hour of complete isolation to contemplate the peace deal with the Mimicians, I am under strict orders not to disturb her. You can go in later today, make an appointment.”

Again, I wave my papers, pointing at the words I circled: “That might be too late, I have reason to believe that the plant they gave her is a trap!”

Again, the guard rolls his eyes: “The top experts have examined that plant, it is just an ugly orange piece of plastic. Get back to your translations and leave science to the actual scientists.”

My subsequent angry shouts attract my boss, who puts a hand on my shoulder and quietly says: “Calm down, you know we scanned that gift from top to bottom, it is harmless. No chips, no gas, no technology. Just plastic, so what are you so afraid of?”

Hope flickers within me for a moment as I explain: “I just translated an article in their language on living plastic! It grows all over their world, it can seem to be plastic but it can come alive!”

My boss shakes their head: “No, we just had hours of peace talks, we must assume that they mean well.”

That is when we hear a scream come from the governor’s chamber. Everyone starts running, we open the door and I am shoved aside by more burly guards. But I do catch a glimpse of our beloved leader, wrapped in orange vines. A purple flower with large petals, which was previously not there, covers her head and seemingly smothers her. Two guards touch the vines, snapping off some vines, which seem brittle and hard. But suddenly in one fluid movement streaks of orange envelop their bodies and two more purple flowers appear. After that everyone steps back, looking at each other for ideas on what to do.

Weak movements from the bodies seemingly make the plant grow, and from beneath the forms wrapped in vines a pool of blood begins to form, spreading rapidly. Then green vines begin to grow, twisting within the liquid as if to feed on it. With a final shudder both the bodies and the plants stop moving and everyone’s gaze is drawn to the floor where the green vines have formed themselves into: “We decline your offer of peace”

Ends

New Planet Landscape 36
By Ken Poyner

I thought at first the grass looked
Suspicious. The wind blew,
The grass did not wave. When
Clouds formed, the yellow rain
Rained up, not down: the soil
Squeezing itself into cracks and dust,
Its tears fouling the atmosphere.
Still, all of us have seen the
Bizarre and dis-ordinary. We categorized,
And moved on. The grass, however,
Plotted. One day it was a field;
On the next it was eight.
Our star craft sat at first resting on
Innocent soil: a site selected
For its access and simplicity, a place
Approachable through all modes.
But in came the grass, and around
Our retreat the fields
Collected, divided, renewed, pledged
And grew. How the grass understood
A maze could stand between men
And sheltering machine none of us knew,
But we wonder who is testing whom,
And if the last categorizing is nearly through.