“If it bugs you so much,” I said, “why you don’t just levitate my stuff back to its proper place?”
“Because,” Steven shouted, “I actually use my powers for good. I don’t levitate things to clean up your messes, you—”
Expletive deleted.
Yeah, I often provoke that sort of reaction from my
I’ve just finished mopping the floor of the Decimator’s control room when two Second Class Henchmen walk in. The big goons leave muddy footprints all over the—formerly—shiny floor. I glare after them, but they don’t even notice me.
Typical.
No one notices me unless they slip on a wet floor, or—
“Are you still working on that thing?” Mauldin shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and eyed the hunk of metal parts his brother was attempting to jimmy rig together.
“Yep.” Pablo paused and tilted his head. Pursuing his lips, he bent his head the other way. After a moment, his face
I’m going to enjoy shooting Hernandez.
I smile grimly as I run my feather duster along the balcony rail. My titanium blaster is a satisfying weight in my apron pocket. Too bad it’s set to “stun,” not “kill,” but I suppose one can’t have everything.
Twenty feet below me, the brightly-lit ballroom
Ronnie wedged his armored fingertips under the heavy stone concealing the control box. He yanked and the slab cracked apart, the noise thunderous in the tomb-like corridor.
“Oops.”
Not that he felt bad about breaking anything in Emperor Thallia’s creepy castle, but the louder he was, the better chance the mechanical samurai patrolling
I rushed to kick our jackets out of the way as Gran stepped through the front door. “Come in, Gran! Sorry about the mess.” I flushed. I had given this same apology every Friday night for ages.
I thought this might be the week we’d conquer the layers of detritus cluttering our apartment.
It isn’t every day that fate gives you a second chance. Most days she seems content to let the stars direct the courses of time and space—punishing humans for going past their limits. Today is different. Today is a day you don’t throw away.
I, Captain Anton Carrick Stansy IV, stand at the helm
“With muscles like that, you must be from a heavy grav zone.”
The lilt of female admiration cut through the music and clamor of the club. Pete kept the flirtatious smile on his face and turned in the direction of the voice, the spotlights blinding him to the details of the crowd. Bending backward
Greg glanced at the clock: a quarter to nine. He could close early. After all, he doubted anyone would saunter in fifteen minutes to closing.
But it’s the principle of the thing. The sign says open ‘til nine. Chin in hand, he flipped a page in his magazine.
The bell above the door jingled
Has it been long enough? The little voice in her head asked for the umpteenth time. No, one more time. Jyone used the phrase as a habitual counter, marking another revolution around the black hole. One more time around, then I’ll be far enough in the future that they will have forgotten me.
Read it now
“Running off to the Navy? You selfish coward!”
Her mother’s last message rang in Mira’s ears. Blinking hard, she refocused on the junction where the optical data lines for this section converged. Normally protected by the conduit pipes that lined the corridors, they cast a glow from the open panel.
If I told you I’d picked up a girl in the French Revolution and brought her to 1930’s Berlin to assassinate Hitler, you wouldn’t believe me… would you?
“It’s time.” Charlotte Corday’s soft whisper brushes my ear as she accepts a champagne flute from my tray. “Colonel Geissler promised to introduce me to
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