“I spent my entire savings to see my wife again, and you made me relive the moment she took her last breath.” The lanky widower placed the virtual headset on Scrooge’s desk, his expression twisted with pain. “I want my money back.”
Unfazed, Ebenezer Scrooge caressed the frosty hair on his chin.
“Our firm must move with the times, Jacob. Renting an automaton will cost us half of what hiring a human clerk will, including the coal to power it. They are less error-prone, as well. Many London businesses are doing so. It’s in The Times.” Scrooge handed the newspaper clipping and his calculations to his partner.
Read it now
Captain Bob Cratchit yawned as he adjusted the holographic scanner, slowly bringing Sector 213A into clearer focus. It had been a long flight between the stars, and all he could think about was getting home to Earth for Christmas.
Alarms suddenly shrieked as the sector
Some people count their blessings. Ebenezer Scrooge preferred to count his money, and that’s exactly what he was doing as quitting time approached on Christmas Eve.
He’d programmed the holo-projector to display his wealth in a variety of ways—as thousand-dollar bills strewn on a king-sized bed, as bars of gold, or in today’s selected fashion, as stacks of Canadian two-dollar coins.
“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.
“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
There’s a child missing. A boy.
From time itself.
That’s what Luke said.
“Children don’t just vanish,” I told him, sitting at my kitchen table sipping coffee.
“Actually, they do, and may the Earl Grey be with you,” he replied, while looking with confusion at my coffee cup. “Waffles have do you?”
The corpse on the table had a melted eye socket, no pulse, and a sticky note on its forehead that read: Don’t eat Carl’s yogurt.
Mariana Vale adjusted her gloves. “You’re contaminating a crime scene, Luke.”
Luke James, wearing two left shoes, a NASA hoodie, and a baseball cap that read “Rebel Alliance Flight School,”
Therrus never meant to fall into Drovenveil.
HQ had calibrated the portal for Earth—Rio de Janeiro, to be exact. Instead, his body tore through an alien sky, a streak of green cloaked in the illusion of human flesh.
The impact cratered the hillside. Bones snapped, then reset with the efficiency of his
This is—what do the humans call it? —Heaven, Therrus thought. I can be myself and still be around the humans and all the great stuff!
The convention hall teemed with humans, many of them dressed up as various characters from the Earthan sci-fi media Therrus
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.
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.”
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