“Ag shame skat, they’re full. These trips are very popular you know.” The motherly receptionist patted Therrus’ arm. “I can sign you up for the next trip, though. It’s on…” She flipped through a large book. “May 4th. Next Tuesday.”
Therrus fumbled with his glasses, trying to make sense of her heavy accent. Shame? Had
The woman at the front desk eyed Therrus, then pointed at his sunglasses. “It might be bright outside, but don’t expect much sunshine from old Bulver. He doesn’t like reporters, Mr. James.”
Therrus, reveling in the ring of his adopted Earth name, replied with a bow. “Fear not, madam. I am only here to help.”
“You, too?”
Therrus ignored the she-human who spoke although he couldn’t help noting her voice was young-sounding, wry, and almost laughing, but with an edge of something else.
Something what? Didn’t concern him. The number one rule for Civarans visiting Earth: do not under any circumstances engage with the humans.
“Agent Therrus, are you insinuating your cover has been compromised?”
I opened my mouth but swiftly shut it again. Is that what I’m trying to say?
The hologram of my Earthan Initiative contact lifted an impatient brow. Intergalactic calls were tricky as well as costly. When initiated, it was better to keep them “short and sweet” as humans said.
Therrus tried to quiet his heavy breathing, back pressed to the door, hands bound before him. He attempted, again, to pull apart the bindings. Stars, these are tight. How do they have access to such advanced restraints? He’d been led to believe that monitoring these particular humans would be simple.
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“Get it right this time, Therrus.” Loriq’s green skin shimmers as he stabs a finger at the main console of the Civaran starship. “Three relocations in two months?”
“Word of honor.” I raise one six-fingered hand in an Earthling salute. “No more interacting with primitive humans.”
I didn’t know what hit me.
Only moments before I had been reveling in the frost crunching beneath my sneakers and admiring Earth’s rising sun. Technically I wasn’t doing anything that was prohibited. It just never occurred to my superiors that any Civaran would willingly venture into freezing temperatures. As a reptilian, I’m cold blooded, so this was imprudent at best.
It is a little-known fact that the universe runs not on love, money, or the speed-of-light, but on appointments. Missed ones, mostly. Civilizations have collapsed because a royal overslept, galaxies have failed to form because a bureaucrat’s lunch ran long, and a million-year war was fought because someone misplaced a tea invitation.
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“Do you mean to tell me that Henry Wotton of all people invited an American peasant to one of his parties?” Dorian Gray wrinkled his flawless nose.
Gazing with admiration at the dark-haired woman in navy-blue silk chatting with Lord Henry, Basil Hallward shook his head. “Caroline Brooks is scarcely a peasant, Dorian.
Dr. Miranda sucked in a breath of crisp autumn air and eyed the park across the street from her office. She’d had a long morning, and the sight of elm trees, limbs clothed in golden leaves, eased the tension in her shoulders.
I’ll take a walk, clear my mind, and—
“Doctor Miranda!”
Doctor Miranda’s shoulders instantly tensed again. Tilli.
It was midnight when I reached my flat. I’d left Henry Wotton’s party early, fatigued by tedious debate over whether a heavier-than-air flying machine was possible, sparked by recent reports from the United States. As I stepped through the door, an intruder flung me against the wall, pinning me there with a powerful forearm.
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“Too far.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I sped up to the portrait gallery.
“Nope.” Victor muttered to himself as he raised the hammer.
Bang. Bang—
I snatched the tool from his grasp.
He spun, his expression shifting from annoyance to welcome. “Jean-Luc!”
I glowered back. “Why, pray tell, are you banging holes in my walls?”
“I’m hanging a portrait!”
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