Gemma Green boarded her Moving Across Time machine and set the date to June 1, 1893. “Ready, MAT?” she asked, giving the dashboard of her circular vehicle a pat.
A robotic voice responded, “Ready. When. You Are.”
Gemma sat back in the captain’s chair and
“Don’t. Touch. Anything.”
Jerp twisted his head toward the voice and pulled his appendage away from the marble statue depicting one of the weirdest creatures he’d ever seen. Two legs and only one tiny tentacle between them? Humans were strange.
All six of his mom’s eyes stayed
“Madam Centurion MXVII,” the construct intelligence within my gauntlet greets me with its musical, yet mechanical voice.
From my vantage on the precipice of Vox Emperii Inc.’s neon-glowing glass skyscraper, I can overlook nearly all of Rome. “Good evening, Antikythera Moda.”
“It’s that time again, isn’t it?” Melba’s smile was in place as always, but today there was a tinge of sadness to it.
Ellis nodded. “Afraid so. Closing Day.” He wore black on the day after Labor Day; he was in mourning, after all. Tourist season at the Sunray Inn had always been his happiest time,
With my American sense of direction and independence, I’d thought I could make it from my boarding house to the dreaming spires and spinning cogs of Oxford University without help. But I’d been wandering the crooked, twisting streets for hours now. A distant clock tower, hidden behind thick swathes of fog, struck noon with a melodic mix of bells and whistles.
Read it now
“We want to purchase explosives for our children.”
Most people, including most fireworks dealers, would wince at that phrasing. Not Louie Blanchard. For one thing, he knew the Pairish extraterrestrials’ translator devices sometimes missed certain subtleties in the English language. For another,
“Death’s Door to your right, Z.”
“Do you have to call it that?” I say into the comm of my stolen suit. Sweat dampens my forehead as I turn the corner on Dad’s spaceship. The giant metallic door I meet certainly seems like it would hide world-eating tech.
Have to get out of here. No time to waste. I weave through the long corridors at the edge of the army base, counting turns, counting breaths.
The vials jangle in my pockets, though I’d wrapped them in paper before leaving the lab. If they break
“Nasir, do you think another tattoo is necessary?” asked the robotic skull from its place hanging on a dusty shelf. His eyes glowed azure.
Nasir lifted his gaze from the pencil-sized steel spike—his rudimentary device for embedding the crushed blue Caerulum
They came back the year the soil softened.
Not the birds. Not the stray cats. Not even the neighbors who had long since decided the lot was cursed.
The ants.
At first, it was a line—thin as a thought—threading
Humans. Scout crouched in the narrow gap behind the couch as the two guards passed.
“Probably a glitch,” the guard that smelled like coffee said. “No one’s here.”
Scout’s ears twitched in amusement. He must’ve missed a motion sensor, but it didn’t matter. The employee lounge of CB-TED’s
The torture had stopped being pain three days ago. After a while, sensation was only data. Now it was just weather.
I slumped against the far wall of my cell, metal biting into my wrists. The shackles were designed for smaller creatures. They cut
Recent Comments