Terrene adj. 1

For those blue eyes, all alluring, / Seem to beg a loving kiss, / And my dreams float swiftly backward, / To the scenes of Terra’s bliss. // For I see a Terrene cottage / Hung with vines of earthly green / Where, my little Martian sweetheart, / You will reign, my lifelong queen.

In other sections gases had been freed in the air that were harmless to both Venusians and Martians but deleterious to human beings. Vegetable moulds from Venus, which fed like malignant parasites on all terrene plant-forms, had also been introduced in a hundred places; and no one knew what else the morrow would reveal in the way of extra-planetary pests and dangers.

To fight these beings the Old Ones attempted, for the first time since their terrene advent, to sally forth again into the planetary ether; but, despite all traditional preparations, found it no longer possible to leave the earth’s atmosphere. Whatever the old secret of interstellar travel had been, it was now definitely lost to the race.

The drinks came. I went at the Three Planets cautiously. You know the formula: one part Terrene rum—170 proof—one part Venusian margil, and a dash or so of Martian vuzd. It’s smooth and murderous. I’d never tasted one as smooth as this of Guzub’s, and I feared it’d be that much the more murderous.

Perhaps Kobler had succeeded. Perhaps the galaxy M 81 had been entered by a terrene ship for the first time... Much good it would do the United Space Corporation! [...] Then suddenly he realized that if the Santa Maria had indeed reached M 81, the planet Earth was not only sixteen hundred thousand light years away, it was also sixteen hundred thousand years ago.

[in a review of Pilgrimage by Zenna Henderson] ‘The People,’ for those of you who are not regular readers, are the descendants of the survivors of a spaceship from another planet which crashed on Earth long, long ago. [...] Since they possess special powers of telepathy, telekinesis, etc., which would be regarded with horror and terror by normal terrene natives, theirs is a story of the conflict between their desire to conform to Earth standards, and their slow recognition and acceptance of their special identity.

Gregors Forrestal was a dabbler in non-terrene gardening. As his wife once put it, he had a red thumb.

Peering closer, I saw the sides of the column were incised with narrow rows of cryptic letters. Strange, hooked characters they were, and like no Terrene alphabet of the many known to me. If anything, it resembled Sanskrit.

It’s called de Sitter space after the Terrene mathematician who first postulated its existence some centuries ago. Calling it a universe is a misnomer, really, for it’s larger than universes. It is a space, infinite in a sense mathematically transcending the Euclidean ‘flat infinity’ in that it is multidimensional.

‘Have you sampled Terrene beer? No? It’s good.’ She laughed. ‘Not as strong as feast macha but pleasant all the same.’

Even before extra-terrene space was surrendered to the mutineers and that slamships and nanoprocessors, Ewart/OzWest had turned to the mid-ocean trenches, seeding them with machines and dead configured for deep-water labour.

Selenites observe his repast through strange ocular devices, and scurry much. Were they capable of recognizing terrene expressions, they would note the grave look on his face.

There was an ornamental greengarden next to the house, where he’d managed to keep a few terrene flowers alive outside the confines of a glasshouse—edelweiss, crocus, Alaskan lupin, heather, all chosen for the cold and rarefied air. He had kept the heather for the colour, and the bees.