“You’re saying if we don’t stop Dorian from activating these paradox portals, then the entire multiverse will collide into one timeline and destroy reality?” Phezz asked, his bushy tail flicking.
Miriel turned to the squirrel-like Xintixa. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“What would that accomplish?” Harmony’s implanted short-term memory processor spoke for the young girl, imbuing her with a British accent.
Accountant Barnaby Rudge plunks a thick file folder onto my desk. “I’m finished with Pickwick’s papers, Mr. Scrooge.”
“About time.” I pull a leather-bound ledger from the drawer. “Now process Dombey & Son.”
“Certainly—there’s just one thing.”
I scowl. “Do you still have great expectations of going home early for Christmas? Humbug!
“Ugh, could you be any slower?”
I risk a glance over my shoulder to look at the current angry customer. She’s dressed in an expensive-looking coat and is staring daggers into the back of Jimmy, my coworker, who is fumbling to spray whipped cream into her mocha.
He doesn’t reply as he drizzles a little chocolate over the cream
Earth Station 23
The temperature systems hummed.
I tapped my knuckles against my palm, trying to think, but getting nothing but tightness in my chest and throat.
Stinging in my eyes.
Therrus had told me once that tears, fascinatingly, were the universal expression of grief… Human, Civaran, Klibian…
That didn’t help right now.
Therrus wanted to hate the cold.
Thick snow spilled over the tops of his snow boots, soaking his socks and numbing his shins and feet. The frigid air assaulted him, stinging his hidden scales and causing his holographically projected skin to turn bright red. He took a deep breath, the wintry Connecticut chill sharp in his lungs
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