He didn't find out about the ordinary places where the regular workers could retreat to until he went to Space Bob's burger, ordered the basic burger, and burst out in tears when the waitress glided up with a burger on a bun, with lettuce and tomato and pickles cut in the shapes of the planets, with fries extruded to resemble space elevators, and the plate being a smooth bowl with a surface that pulsed constantly with strobe lights like one of the mythical UFOs. The ketchup was green, just to make it more alien, and now and then the silhouette of an alien waving walked along the side of the bowl. It was just all too much. He'd stood with the uneasy stomach that lighter gravity produced, he'd done okay with windows that you felt like you could fall into the abyss through, and it was this stupid, simple tourist trap burger that was his undoing. He wasn't a guy to cry, either, something he thought was important he explain to the waitress when she hurried over. Her expression was ruefully amused as she answered--


Inspiration: A friend posting a video of his "basic sashimi."
Story potential: Medium
Notes: Nice touch for setting up the character/worldbuilding. Basic job hazing on a space tourist trap.

The flowers were gorgeous and purple and ruffled and quite unlike anything she'd ever seen before. And they were sitting in front of her door. Being the security-conscious type of person that the security chief should be, she disciplined herself and ran a full scan over the flowers to make sure they were clear of any toxins, poisons, explosives, psychedelics, or any other residues that might make it a trap. high level gang ring of rickletons had made her a little wary, since they were known for holding grudges and keeping high level scores of who was ahead and who was behind and sometimes they had the nasty little habit of evening the playing field by killing whoever was at the top. She had a wincing suspicion that doing her job had put her pretty high up on the list, and she was hoping that something else would rise up to capture their interest (and points) very, very soon. She also hoped that it wouldn't be on her station, because she'd had enough trouble for a while and all she wanted to do was relax. That wasn't enough for her caution to make her not pick up the flowers--they were lovely, and real biomass, not one of the scented simulacra!--but it was enough to have her arrange them in a lovely vase and then set them in her fresher. She'd be able to see them regularly, and if they happened to explode or do something else interesting, then the door would add an extra level of shielding.


Inspiration: The gorgeous purple and unidentifiable flowers that I got at the farmer's market. No idea what they are, except purty.
Story potential: High.
Notes: And somehow this is the first step in getting the main character in a dynastic marriage to one of those trouble-making, rule-breaking, score-keeping aliens. Also, not sure yet if the dynamic would be more interesting if it was a male main character (dealing with unusually aggressive females and ending up with the usual female dynamic) or a female (because more fun). I confess, this also made me think of B5 quite a bit.

Two months since Rudy did a flying Dutchman when his safety line snapped while he was out working on the external antennae array, way up high there where there were no safety net floating forty meters out, where the beacons were all turned off because otherwise they could interfere with the signal. He should have remembered that his beacon was off and flipped it on, but maybe he was hit by a piece of flying debris when the smaller array came loose and swung on him. If it had been turned on, it would have automatically started broadcasting a mayday when both his boots let the surface of the station for more than a 120 seconds, but it was turned off. Laura and Grant kept going, because what else do you do? You go to work, you come home, you comfort your surviving spouse when she breaks down in tears in the middle of dinner, you sleep in the bed and try not to think of how empty it feels with only the two of you in it.


Inspiration: Trying to think of story ideas for the 4th Street Fantasy storytelling circle, wanted kind of a retelling.
Story Potential: High.
Notes: And then the flying Dutchman ship comes to the station just out of reach, demands supplies, mysteriousness ensues, Laura goes over because she believes Rudy is there, Grant is stopped, finale later he does make it, on some other station, or at least that's the rumor. There needs to be other plot stuff here, too, to make it truly interesting. Like what makes the spaceship a flying Dutchman, and are they pirates or under quarantine, or what?

Who wants a funhouse in space? Tourists, that's who. Nope, nobody who's actually worked in space or who may have looked out from their tether line and imagined drifting off into space would actually want such a thing, so their PR department's advertising it as if it is R&R for the tired spacer after long hauls is total B.S. Not to say some spacers don’t go there, but you better believe they got comped and they only went because they heard that tourist tail is so easy to get there it's like shooting asteroids into a gravity well. The rest of us stay away. The whole spacer line is just to get the tourists to go, with a giggle and a shiver and maybe the packing of party panties.


Inspiration: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/26/arts/design/tomas-saracenos-cloud-city-on-the-mets-roof.html
Story Potential: Low
Notes: Eh. Tourists. What can you do?

The sirens sounded, she blinked, and bluetime started. "Oh, no," she groaned. Usually there was enough warning to get to her reality shelter, but this time she was caught out in the street. not the actual street, which would be instant death since there were still drivers who hadn't made it home, but the sidewalk beside what had been a candy shop and what was now an extravagarium of orchids and Venus flytraps, all tinted in blue and frozen in movement. They would move with the waves, and she'd never be able to predict when a wave was coming--but it was still a wall between her and whatever might walk the streets in stop-motion that meant it was there one instant and gone the next, drawn from the imagination of the residents and powered by the blue, twisted into something beautiful or terrible or deadly.


Inspiration: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lomoto/7090531397/
Story Potential: Medium
Notes: Eh. Neat bit of description, could work well with something, or could end up incredibly cliched.

The paints were in huge bags, all the reds and oranges of luck, ready for Holi, the celebration of color and light. All over the station, men were about to be ambushed by women spraying water and paint. The alien visitors had all been warned and tested to see if there were any possible allergic reactions that might require them to stay in their quarters for the week. The maintenance staff had been briefed, mostly that they should just worry about hazards on the floor and making sure signage was clear. Nobody would begrudge splatters of red and orange along the corridor walls for the next--


Inspiration: This picture. http://www.flickr.com/photos/subirbasak/6805819423/
Story Potential: High.
Notes: This has good potential, not so much because of the story idea this creates, as because I think there is a dearth of science fiction stories that encompass holidays, particularly non-North American holidays. Christmas is the exception, and yet there is always a hunger for something seasonal. The celebration of light and life in a different culture--that should fit in. Oh, and this is Holi: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holi

The doctor squinted at him. "This is a very asymptomatic broken leg." "You mean because it's broken but not swollen and it doesn't hurt or anything?" "That would be the one." He shrugged. "Can't tell you how it happened because I don't know." He'd been unconscious at the time, but he figured telling the doctor that would get him even more worked up, especially since it happened in Alien Sector. He knew how the med-techs got about alien quarantine and the possibility of alien experimentation (mostly, that they'd like to do some of their own to get back for all the years earth had gotten visited). He was--


Inspiration: Phil's otherwise asymptomatic fever/viral infection.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Eh.

They tangoed across the room with a dust rag in one hand and a mop in the other, pausing in the middle for a close embrace, and then moving on with the perfectly timed rhythms of professional dancers. They were professional dancers, of course, but not first and foremost. Nor were they cleaners first. No, what they had chosen to set above all other things in life was being able to live in space. Chronic lower back disc pain would have rendered her unable to dance...eventually, barely able to walk. In space, though there was some gravity in the residential quarters, she would get no worse. And she could still dance. And so they took whatever jobs they could--for he was a man loyal to the woman who had been his partner in dance since they were seventeen and his partner in romance for almost as long--and they danced in space.

Inspiration: "Swedish Wedding March"
Story Potential: Low? High? I am confused by this.
Notes: I love this image, but it's not a good story idea.

It was the spin of the wheel that did her in. She was elated at first when it settled on the huge golden pig. Everybody knew that that was the best prize the casino had to offer--an honest-to-god job working in the high-rollers room. Some namby-pamby people complained about the idea that jobs should be based on a roulette wheel spin, but the logical statement that nobody really knew what anyone's capabilities were until they were tested made enough sense, and the urge to be employed somehow, anyhow, anyway that could keep you on at the station, was so strong that the naysayers were ignored or mocked outright. She went up to the roulette runner when the spin stopped, and he gave her a big smile and a congratulations--

Inspiration: Some news articles about Vegas during the Chinese New Year.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: Not actually that dire--more that she finds an unexpected knack for dealing with difficult (alien) situations, and ends up settled in the job--which is pretty challenging and makes her wonder if she's crazy some days. Humorous.