Phezz retrieved the last vial of poison from his belt. His mother had ceremoniously extracted the venomous substance from the tusks of his family’s herd of hairy and tortoise-like Jamjins for hunting. It seemed like a lifetime ago. During the peaceful times—before the Last Battle—before his brother activated the planet’s core defense
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Given his lifetime as a master chef of interplanetary travel, Gurfin knew there was always magic in his ingredients. But this time, he did not know, nor did he really care, where they would land after the wormhole eventually opened.
Some recipes required mastery—others he created simply to taste. The stew before him
“Name?” I ask.
“Zai Witz.”
“With a Z?”
“With two Zs!”
I rub the cheap pencil eraser against my clipboard, then write in the Z I’d missed. The S is still faintly visible, but I’m guessing this paper will go in the wastebasket anyway.
“And, where did you say you were from again?”
“I’ve always wanted to chase down a beautiful space princess!” Zaivar Witz remarked hopefully when the reward for the missing Princess Mira came through on the Interstellar Broadcast Bands.
Two days later, the hope solidified as his chances of nabbing the princess improved. He’d learned what he could about her, which wasn’t much:
Zai had a feeling he’d run into trouble tonight—he just didn’t know if it was the good kind or the bad. He pushed open the grime-encrusted doors of Randy’s Interstellar Roadhouse, releasing a wave of smoke, body odor, and honky-tonk music.
With a planetary alignment only days away, the H’don Galaxy was
Zai rotated the pendant dangling from his neck, lost in thought. Clanking shackles roused him, and he glanced at Xander, the drug dealer he’d apprehended in the Ketz District. “Maddening, isn’t it?”
A tall man in a red capitol uniform marched past the cell, and Zai shot to his feet. He slammed his huntsman’s
One hundred seventy hours. That’s it between me and flying somewhere beyond Inteltech’s reach.
I tug my sleeve over my tracker cuff, wishing my sentence for “reckless flying” could disappear so easily. No matter how hard I pleaded my case, Inteltech refused to listen.
Grivo, my cyborg overseer, adjusts his position atop a graffiti-covered
Zai’s blood pressure skyrocketed at the sight of the woman sauntering into the restaurant, her golden hair wound in a coronet, a faint sneer marring her otherwise perfect face. One look was all he needed to recognize Viola Gill, the galaxy’s most notorious slave trafficker.
He was bussing tables at the Perfect Plate
Zaivar tapped the message icon on the holographic display.
“Hey, Zai,” Sarea’s high voice said in the recording. “I’ve another chase for you. For real this time.”
Zai rolled his eyes and flicked the message away. How many times had he followed a lead only to find out her info was wrong or at
The void stretched before Spark, black flecked with silver, like glitter. The recycled air stuck in his chest as he took it all in—millions upon millions of uncharted stars, floating farther than anyone had ever gone before. Each was a new world to explore,
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At best, my Mark 12 Temporal Teleporter had maybe one last jump in it. Any means of controlling my destination’s location or time was lost long ago. But my space shuttle’s equally wonky steering was currently spiraling me into a gas giant
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Spark’s reflection multiplied infinitely in the high-tech museum’s mirror maze. Each image wore the same chartreuse blazer and metallic pants he’d chosen specifically to stand out at the exhibition. Now he wished he’d worn something less conspicuous. Being the center of attention
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