Theresa McGarry
Bio
Astronomy buff, NASA fan, I began writing science fiction at age eleven. I sold two science fiction stories and was a Finalist in the Writers of the Future. I was an award-winning scriptwriter for the audio Star Trek fan series, Defiant.
Stories (7/0)
Quantum Stills of a Thin-Spun Life - Part 6
The once secret Augur Chamber echoed with many awed and exclamatory voices as the Masters, Elders and senior Journeymen looked about and studied the strange objects. It was the first time any of them had entered the room, but for this meeting of the Advisory Council, Naera thought it best to convene where she could offer answers to some of the questions she knew were coming. That she had her own misgivings about both the immediate and ongoing future was something she couldn’t allow them to see.
By Theresa McGarry7 years ago in Futurism
Quantum Stills of a Thin-Spun Life-Part 5
Zennor strode through the doorway into the Command Center and found Algon at the Astrogator’s post. He slowed his steps as he approached her. But his concern for her was momentarily startled away when he saw all the active screens; panels dancing with energy pulses. “What’s all this?”
By Theresa McGarry7 years ago in Futurism
Quantum Stills of a Thin-Spun Life - Part 4
For uncounted minutes Parke looked down at the Captain’s chair from which he personally accessed the Core. And he knew he was postponing the private interface for myriad reasons, but primarily because he wouldn’t be able to unknow once he knew. Was that one of the reasons that previous captains had stopped interfacing? To remain unknowing? To be ignorant purposely? Because to know would mean taking action, rather than going on as they had been. He shook his head slowly, a gleam of tears in his eyes for his father, because it negated everything that a captain should be to refuse to understand, to refuse the responsibility of knowledge, even if it was unpalatable.
By Theresa McGarry7 years ago in Futurism
Quantum Stills of a Thin-Spun Life - Part 3
Back in the habs again, Dre-jin anchored himself with one foot on a torn locker hinge, bent over at the waist, his breath cutting into his throat as he attempted to draw air in, expel it out. His posture wasn’t helping, it just felt like a natural thing to do. Natural?! A cynical laugh itched at his windpipe, but his didn’t have enough breath for it to emerge, so it just added to the hurt.
By Theresa McGarry7 years ago in Futurism
