I saw the dismay in Princess Auvora’s eyes as soon as I removed my helmet; I’d probably have felt the same in her situation. But she recovered quickly. Smoothing her skirts, she lifted her chin and extended her hands in a welcoming, gracious gesture.
“Brave…” She faltered, her brow wrinkling. “Knight-ess?
Tax auditor Wanda Leechwell scowled at me over the stacks of receipts on her desk. “Mr. Montes, I appreciate that you were able to substantiate the amount listed under ‘Other Expenses’ on your return. But I fail to see how any of these purchases have a legitimate business purpose.”
I squirmed in my chair,
“Mom, do you know how to make a burrito?”
“Old Earth foods are under heading six on the Nutritionator,” I muttered as I held up my hand massager to the light. Yep. Little tooth marks lined the pinky finger. I shook my head in confusion. While I’d noticed scrapes on my hair-styler that morning, I’d thought they were scuff marks
Rich pulled his chair out from the breakfast table and glanced across it at his grandson. Tommy had his hand over his mouth, struggling to stifle a laugh. Rich bit back a smile. Tommy really hadn’t hidden the whoopee cushion well enough. Oh well, what could you expect from an eight-year-old? He sat down. Blaaaat.
Read it now
Let me tell you a love story. No, it’s not a fallin’ story—fallin’ in love’s the messy bit. This one’s about old love, the kind that’s lived a handful of years, that’s aged into something stronger and softer. That’s where the best stories are found.
Slim was a man of few words…
I leapt off the HareMaster and started my ear-obic workout. I needed hop-timal conditioning to win my eleventh Eggy award at the annual Easter Eggs-traordinary Eggs-treme Eggs-travagant Expo—so named because the sign printer ran out of Gs.
Midway through my bunny lifts, Mayor Badger shoved herself into my hole. “Hope you’re having
Over the centuries I’ve had brief spells where I’ve considered children adorable. But such misconceptions can be very dangerous. My only excuse, I’d caught a March madness.
“Those are the official rules. Any questions?” I snapped the NBA rulebook closed and stared down at the children. Fourteen wide eyes stared back at me.
On March 28, 2075, opening day for the Galactic Professional Baseball League, I had reason to be well satisfied with myself.
Intergalactic Sports Imports, the company I owned with my friend Ruby Trenholme, had just caught up on the delivery schedule for our first big contract: supplying game balls to everyone from the minors to the majors.
I just needed two more minutes!
“Come on!” I whispered to my masterpiece. Four minutes left on the clock for the challenge. Once my timer beeped, I’d have just enough time to plate it for presentation to Chef Gordy Lynn.
I quadruple-checked everything was ready on the nearby counter. I couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Since the last thing I needed was to draw negative attention to myself while visiting my girlfriend’s family, of course my brother had to knock over a decorative vase.
I stared down at the ceramic shards and uttered a Motervian curse.
Jorgaa knelt and dipped a blue finger into the scattered powder.
“With the beat, Master Quintin. With the beat.” The black-clad man paced in tandem with the metronome, his polished shoes clicking like talons on the marble floor.
I would have welcomed an ice pick to my skull over the abrasive tick, tick, tick dictating my every musical inclination. But my parents had made it clear that if I didn’t submit to…
Whenever a scientist—a certain kind of scientist— “misplaces” something important, I get a call. This time it came to my DC studio apartment at midnight. Instantly awake, I sat up and reached for a light switch. “Give me the details.”
“Yaeger, it’s Mitchell. I need you to find two adult woolly mammoths, hopefully alive.
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