Z.A. Mackic

This morning, I was hit harder than expected by the news that Meta is giving up on fact-checking. As someone who survived a war and witnessed the chaos of dictatorship and societal polarization firsthand, this feels like an ominous turning point. Part of me hoped I was overreacting—after all, my imagination has a knack for catastrophizing. But with billionaire after billionaire in the U.S. folding before any real pressure is even applied, it seems my imagination isn’t catastrophic enough. A few months ago, I decided to focus on helping people who will inevitably end up worse off in the coming years. Why? Because one haunting memory from the last war still gnaws at me. Near my university, there was an old woman begging. When I first saw her, she wore decent clothes and didn’t look particularly hungry. But day by day, her clothes grew more tattered, her frame thinner. At the time, I thought,  I don’t have enough for myself—how can I give anything to anyone else?  And then, one d...

Big news, everyone: my story,  "Haunted by Hairballs" —a ghost tale with a distinctly feline twist—has been accepted for publication! I'll share the link here as soon as it’s live, so you, too, can revel in the terror of cats wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting poltergeist. You’re welcome. But let’s pivot for a moment from the paranormal to something even more hair-raising: reality. Specifically, the current political situation in the U.S., which has been giving me unsettling flashbacks to my Yugoslavian roots. You see, I hail from the former Yugoslavia, where "chaotic political climate" wasn’t just a phrase—it was a lifestyle. And let me tell you, what’s brewing here feels eerily familiar. Déjà vu, but make it dystopian. Given my prior experience with impending societal meltdowns, I’ve adopted a survival strategy that might seem radical to some: I’ve practically ghosted domestic news. Instead, I stick to foreign sources to stay informed. Why? Because I like my in...

It felt like she was drifting in a fog, drifting in and out of consciousness, her eyes, correction, one eye finally focusing on her surroundings. She found herself in a cell onboard the highliner, one of those close to the hull, barely heated. Gingerly, she moved her limbs, assessing the damage. The moment the shuttle had landed inside the highliner, Duke’s men had seized her for interrogation. No jump yet. There was no doubt in her mind; she was certain. It would not go unnoticed by her. She took a deep breath and readied herself for the unknown, waiting patiently. Slowly, she moved her limbs, battling through the pain. Even breathing hurt. They must have broken her ribs. Beli watched as they beat her, that same grin plastered on his face. Could the doctor be right? Could it be possible that he wouldn’t be so monstrous if he had been raised with true love and respect? The kind they had on Voyager. She rolled onto her side; the pain shooting through her. But the pain seemed to be every...

Alathea halted the shuttle at the predetermined coordinates between Voyager and the Highliner, then initiated communication with the Highliner. “The Duke is still aboard Voyager. We’re devising a plan for his transport.” “We’ll dispatch a shuttle. Those were the Duke’s orders.” “There’s been a change in plans,” Alathea informed them. “I need to speak with the Duke,” came the reply. Alathea ended the communication and contacted Voyager. “We need to hurry. They’re preparing to deploy troops.” “We’re ready. It will only take seconds,” came the response. “Okay, I’m ready too.” “Alathea, we’ll wait for you at the edge of the Federation,” Tuvok assured her. “No longer than a week. If I’m not back by then, there’s no point,” Alathea insisted. “You will be back,” Tuvok affirmed. “I’ve met no one more capable than you.” “And you know that’s true since Vulcans don’t lie,” Tom added. Alathea blinked away tears. “Thank you, guys. You’ve shown me how amazing humans can be. Thank you.” “You’ll be ba...

Alathea and the captain were on the bridge, observing Tom as he skillfully guided the Voyager towards the towering Highliner. Menthat Bojan was also present, assisting them in locating the entrance to the Highliner. “That vessel, it’s massive. It could accommodate our space stations with room to spare,” Chakotay remarked. “It’s crafted for efficiency in travel. The greater the number of vessels it can ferry at once, the lower the cost of transport. The spice employed by Navigators is a precious commodity,” Bojan explained, then nodded towards Alathea. “You, as a trained Bene Gesserit, should be well acquainted with this, given your reliance on spice as well.” Alathea nodded. “Yes, the Empire operates on a merchant economy,” she confirmed. Turning towards Bojan, she added, “Starfleet does not. They do not use currency.” Bojan blinked in disbelief. “But how can that be?” he questioned, turning towards the Captain. “How does your society even function?” Captain smiled warmly at Menthad Bo...

Alathea glanced at the concubine, who sat in the surgical bay behind a force field, under the watchful eye of a security officer. Nearby, Menthat Bojan sat outside the force field, next to the security officer, his head leaned back and eyes closed. Captain had agreed to allow him and the Suk doctor to observe the procedures, after prolonged screaming by Beli, who insisted that she would trick him. Menthat was here now, taking his turn while the Suk doctor slept in the brig. Alathea grinned as she watched the snoozing man. His loyalty towards the Duke was degrading every day. “She appears innocent,” the captain remarked, drawing Alathea’s attention. “She’s not. Those women are trained. And not only in the ways of pleasuring but also in combat. It’s a necessary part of being in the harem,” Alathea explained. The concubine looked at them with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. “I’ve been here for five days already. Are you going to go through with this, or was it all just a pretense ...