“How long has your wife been missing, Mayor Collins?” Kelvin Lockhart asked, leaning forward in the leather guest chair. The move was as much about comfort as it was about being direct. The chair almost swallowed his small, wiry frame.
On the other side of the mahogany desk, Geoff Collins shook his head. “Quite an interesting euphemism.
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.
You wouldn’t forget the date of your dad’s death any more than you’d forget your own.
January 3, 1962. The worst day of my life. And only two months later, we’re going to Disneyland.
“Swell way to mourn,” I muttered.
Mom flinched like I’d punched her in the gut, but it was my kid sister Susie…
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.
During pregame warmups for the 2035 semifinals, my players couldn’t miss the basket. Shot after shot went up, then swished through the net. That might have made some coaches happy, but I’d seen too many teams have a great warmup and then come out flat.
Besides, I worried about our star player, Jake.
Just a spoiled rich girl! Not a serious archeologist! Was that all they thought of me? If they prohibited my inclusion on this expedition, then I would find it first! They couldn’t ignore my experience and commitment if I stood before them holding the relic!
The university library contained what I needed.
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.
“You gave me a shovel for Valentine’s Day?” My wife ran a finger along its heart-shaped grip as she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Jason?”
“I had it custom-made, Corazon, just for you.” I grinned. Her name means “heart” in Spanish.
Setting the tool gently back into its box, she said, “Snow isn’t even in
In my defense, when the aliens have the size and consistency of ketchup packets, it’s very easy to forget one in a flight suit pocket.
You know, that little bicep pocket where you stash the neural-connection ear buds?
On top of that, we’d been celebrating Zenibrian New Year—which is a pretty big deal…
I leaned against the fence, my jaw hanging open. Am I dreaming or drunk? “Dr. Conley, you said you needed a sheepdog for your flock.”
He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Exactly. From what I’ve heard, Mr. Ferguson, that border collie of yours is the best in the business.
When I was a kid, teleworking and remote learning didn’t exist. If the snow fell hard and fierce, we got a snow day. Meaning, no work for the grown-ups, no school for the kids. Heavenly bliss! That’s why, in 1983, I caused one of the biggest blizzards in New York City history.
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Inspector Gustav Ackerson removed his bowler hat and knelt next to the corpse. A boy of fourteen years stared at the nickelodeon’s plaster ceiling with glazed eyes. According to the night guardsman, the poor lad had snuck into the theater after hours and had been discovered lying on the floor next to a mutoscope.
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