The skin on the back of my knuckles was peeled back, cracked and shiny with wet and drying blood. Some of it was mine. Some of it had belonged to the man on the floor, looking up at me from behind a broken nose and the fading spark of a fight in his eyes. I hadn’t wanted to hit him, but I told myself the same lie I always did, that I did it for her.
Uranus is a special place, that’s what they told me anyway. Initial probes way back when showed promise, like if a population of the galaxy’s nerds could get in there just right they could make a real home
In sci-fi, an author has to show not only cool applications of science in the future, or alternate history, or whatever branch of sci-fi the author is highlighting, the author needs to paint a picture of the evolution of culture. As the writer, you can look at Tolkien's painstaking work...