New Sky Station: A Short Story Collection

By Krista D. Ball

Making a living in space is tough. Doesn't matter if you're a human, a troll, or a pixie. Everyone's gotta pay the rent. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Krista D. Ball
• Release date: Jul 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9780993718335

Book preview

Introduction

This isn’t based in any world or novel series I have. I’ve wanted to write slice-of-life urban fantasy on a space station for a while now. Basically, elves in space. I already had too much on my plate to work on the idea, however, so this concept has been sitting on my brain’s backburner for a while.

In 2019-2020, several anthology calls went out for various fantasy-themes, so I decided, pretty much on a whim, that I’d write Giant Rights. I’ve since written more short stories, some of which are published in anthologies now, all based in this universe. It’s been a great way to write something I’ve been itching to try, but in smaller bits that I can do in a weekend.

I hope you enjoy this fun little look at my version of elves in space.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank all of my Patreons and readers, who have supported me through some rough patches. I really appreciate you. Thank you so much.

GIANT RIGHTS

A free short story that my patrons and newsletter followers have gotten. Written over the course of a week in January 2019, during my shift of staying with my mother in Newfoundland just after my dad’s death. She was waiting to move into the senior’s home (across the parking lot!), and there had been an anthology call out for giant stories. I wrote this as a stream-of-consciousness of ideas over that week. I edited it later, after the story was rejected, to make it longer and a bit more fleshed out.

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Day 1 of the Lifter’s Strike

Miranda, third of her generation, Ottawa Clan, jumped when her boss shouted orders about six inches from her ear. Miranda? Miranda! What are you doing sitting here?

Working, Miranda said frostily. She didn’t stop typing. She had to sign off on the last of the forms before she could get on with her day.

The lifters have been on strike for twenty minutes now! Why are you sitting here like green moss on a log?

Three more keystrokes, a digital signature. Done. Miranda spun her chair around to face her boss. Several sets of eyes peered over monitors and away from phones and tablets, all seeing what had Lauren McKay frothing at the mouth now. That was the downside of working in a newsroom; everyone was so damn nosy.

I know, Lauren. Like I said, I’ve been working.

What could be so important that you are just sitting here with your thumb up your ass, while the lifters are on strike?

Even seated, Miranda was nearly eye-level with the hysterical Lauren. In a patient voice, she answered the person who signed the pay cheques. I have two interviews already prepped and ready for you to use at any time. I also signed exclusive rights to four private videos, and non-exclusive rights to six others. We paid for the exclusive ones; not the others.

I don’t care! Every halfwit with a phone is already there.

I know. Most have signed over their video permissions for us to use.

How much did I pay? Lauren asked.

Fifty cash each and fifty-dollars on their slot card for the cafeteria, Miranda said with a smug grin.

Oh good girl, Lauren said. For a moment, she was distracted by the twenty-five percent savings that Miranda had broker in paying partially out of the discounted cafeteria fund. But, the moment vanished. I don’t care. I need you down there. No one wants to hear some fumbling twit on the news! They want a familiar, soothing face.

Miranda prepared herself for the incoming salvo.

Well, a familiar face anyway. God, Miranda, wouldn’t it kill you to wear some eyeshadow?

And there it was.

Miranda kept her mouth shut and waited for Lauren to finish her rant about how earthy-hued skin did not show up well on camera and how makeup existed and why didn’t she just use it. Miranda didn’t bother to explain to Lauren that she was currently wearing eighteen different products—all from Sephora, of course—and that they were designed to highlight, not diminish, her unique features. 

Lauren only cared about advertising clicks.

Well? People are needing a familiar face on their phones and they aren’t getting it with you sitting here.

Miranda dropped her go bag on her desk, which was already packed since she was a professional who knew how to do her job unlike some people who were paid to be annoying. She stuffed her phone in her coat pocket, dangled her ear piece and cable around her neck, and clipped a smaller bag from her desk drawer to the larger bag. That one contained a wire microphone, since it was possible her wireless ones would have too much interference in the recyclers to work properly. And she needed exceptional sound quality if she was interviewing big people.

Well? Can’t you move any faster? Lauren demanded. Are you going slow on purpose?

Yes, Lauren. I am, Miranda said in a sing-song voice. She flashed her boss a massive, toothy smile.

Once the bag was securely over her shoulder, Miranda headed for the door. She didn’t bother to turn around when Lauren shouted she wanted something good. Miranda just waved a hand in the air.

Miranda was an award-winning journalist. She’d won four different awards while she still lived in Canada, and