Author

Aimee Ogden

Aimee Ogden is a freelance writer, science nerd, comic book geek, and the mother of twin toddlers. Her work has appeared in Star*Line and Asimov's, including her Rhysling Award-nominated poem "Morning Sickness." You can find her on Twitter and Tumblr.

Memories in the Kitchen

Ruthanne has gone down into the basement, but she can't remember what for. She glances around, but the cobweb over the storage bins and the dusty shelves don't jog her memories. There's wet laundry in the washer, anyway; she bends to haul it into the dryer. Her jeans, Ben's…

Stubbornness and Sisters and Spite

Somewhere between Mars and Vesta, there's a spaceship held together by stubbornness and spite and the two sisters who crew it. Damn thing has outlasted its lateral stabilizers, its secondary thrusters, and Alis's marriage to a gutless Venuvian commsat manager. Her and Errin's…

Like Blood for Ink

When he was three, Jacob got his first skinned knee. I was in the backyard, trimming the raspberry bushes, while Derek moved wood chips in the front and Jacob rode his scooter up and down the sidewalk. Then a high-pitched squall cut through the podcast in my earbuds and I went…

City-Above, City-Below

On a clear day, when the wind stays home to rest and the waters of the lake go un-stirred, it's possible to cross from the City-Above to the City-Below. Go down to the lake's edge just after morning's first light, when the sun has begun to wake but not yet fully roused from its…

Two Offerings in the Halls of Undying

The primary solar sail of Yeshte's ship refuses to shift position, some ten trillion miles out from his destination. Yeshte hauls on the lever to shift the sail manually, the muscles of his back straining to meet in the middle, sinews and tendons standing stark in his hands. The…

First Morning on Mars

My first morning on Mars, I read the news from back home--the stuff the corporation let us read. Nothing about which side controlled the south side of the Saint Lawrence now, or the dysentery outbreak that had been raging in the Hennepin County camps right before we launched.…

Excerpt from The Collected Memoirs of Dr. Enid Farley-Wright: An Excursion to Cambridge Kinetozoological Park, June 12, 1914

I wanted to see the firebelly whale first, but Mother gave in to cousin Nellie's insistence on visiting the aviary presently upon our arrival. I dragged my feet while my cousin squealed over the xenoparrots and the little "hummingbirds," whose throats were cast of such fine iron…

Sunlight-Golden Treason, by the Candle's Waning Light

The assassin waits in Serekha's chambers until she returns from her evening meal. Serekha removes her headdress and sets it aside. Her hands clasp behind her back when she stands over the assassin. Their tray is spread out on the floor before them, and Serekha's quick black eyes…

Venti Mocchaccino, No Whip, Double Shot of Magic

Coffee at Cardinal Cups always comes with an off-menu bonus. One of Jojo's regulars pulls up to the drive-thru with his Wednesday morning office order: three frappes, two lattes, one soy mocha. He always leaves a good tip, and he always pays with a credit card. Credit card users…

In September

On a humid night in mid-July, Emily can't sleep. Her hand keeps sliding into the cool open space on the far side of the mattress. She slips out of bed and pads down the hall into the kitchen. The breakfast barstool screeches when she pulls it out, but there's no one in the house…

The Nine Bajillion and One Names of God

Sure, I'll state my name for the record. It's Maggie Rodgers, with a D. Like "and Hammerstein," not like "Mister." Where should I start? All the way at the beginning? So, on paper the project was called the Supersimulation, but privately, we called it "The Nine Bajillion Names…

Dances With Snoglafanians

The earthman arrived on a holy Nineday, when the wet winds blew out of the jungle. In the boiling-hot breeze from the rocket's engines, the ribbons tied to the spiraling Tower of Prayers snapped and shook--until the ship landed directly atop the Tower and crushed it into sacred…

Tomorrow's World

The young man comes to visit Patrice every day. The ink from his fresh-printed pamphlets stains her fingers when he presses one upon her, as he does each day. He never seems to hear her protestations that she doesn't know how to read. Every time he sees her he asks her if she's…