Now is a Kind of Forever

Kelly Robson returns to The Sunday Morning Transport with a new story, filled with brilliant, but hidden, mayhem and joy.

May brings with it fantastic Sunday Morning Transport stories by Ken Liu, LaShawn Wanak, Scott Edelman, and Kelly Robson.

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~ Julian and Fran, May 24, 2026

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Now is a Kind of Forever

by Kelly Robson

Brilliant Station orbited the sun directly opposite Earth, as if playing a perpetual game of hide-and-seek in which the old ancestral habitat had long since lost interest. Originally a lightly populated sunspot early-warning observatory, artists moved in when the scientists left. They attached their studios and workshops to the tips of the station’s dendrites, and built out from there. Just a petite, snowflake-shaped nowheresville, protected from debris collision by experimental magnetic- and gravitational-field tech.

“The first Brilliants cared more about beauty than life,” Hyam told Chris, the Martian tourist he was hosting. “Occasionally a field failed and their habitats got popped by a passing micrometeoroid, but they were happy to pay the price.”

“That’s just nuts,” said Chris.

“Perhaps.” Hyam was unperturbed. Every tourist said the same thing.

He led Chris to a balcony overlooking the Agora, with its crystal sculptures, flower fountains, stacked terraces, and columned walkways. Brilliants lounged on every level, elegant in togas and chitons, colorful hanbok and hanfu, lavish saris and agbadas. On each angled surface, a gorgeous array of humans oriented to the contrasting and converging planes of the various gravity regimes, as if caught in a giant kaleidoscope.

Chris squinted. “The light’s a bit glaring.”

Hyam suppressed a sigh. Chris might be aesthetically impaired, but he was his responsibility. He guided the Martian to a bench.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I think I’m just hungry. You promised me noodles.”

Hyam grinned. “Indeed. I have such a treat for you.”

They strolled toward the heart of the Agora. Halfway down the ramp, they crossed paths with five starstruck Venusians, pointing and squealing at the sights while their host sauntered behind, smugly adjusting the folds of his toga.

“Why does everyone on Brilliant wear dresses?” asked Chris.

Hyam was tempted to retort: Why do all Martians wear shapeless trousers with too many pockets? But instead, he softened his expression, settling into the most serene version of himself. “Skirts are beautiful, don’t you agree?”

“A bit drafty, though.”

They entered a cobbled corridor, narrow and low—a slot of compression intended to heighten the drama of the cathedral-like spaces it connected. Usually, Hyam took guests straight through, let them marvel at the expansive hall beyond before returning to the noodle house, but Chris was impervious to beauty. Time to tempt him with the delicious.

“The Liu sisters serve Brilliant’s best noodles,” Hyam said. “Handmade using the finest fresh ingredients. Nothing printed.”

“The food is made by hand?” Chris looked impressed.

“Each and every bite.”

But the noodle shop was closed. Hyam put his nose on the dim window and shaded his eyes with his hands. Nothing moved inside, not even a hygiene bot.

“No noodles?” Chris asked.

“This isn’t right. The sisters never close.”

“No problem.” Chris shrugged. “I’ll just grab something from a buffet.”

As Hyam led the Martian down the hall, he made an effort to regain his equilibrium. No point in acting like a child just because he wasn’t getting his favorite noodles.

The buffet was newly renovated in violet and silver, with antique-style tables and chairs. An amorous pair were tucked into a cozy two-top, their legs tangled under a fringed tablecloth.

Chris flipped through the menu. “Oh look, noodles,” he said, and ordered a ready-printed replica of the Liu Sisters’ silver needle bowl, the sauce glossy and fragrant with mushrooms and ginger. Hyam poured two cups of tea and led his guest to a table.

“Aren’t you eating?” Chris asked.

“I only like art made by humans.”