I took the form from the gnarled hand. Behind the receptionist’s thick glasses piercing jade eyes examined me. “Fill this out and your request will be considered.”
Only two other applicants sat in cracked vinyl chairs. The mint paint was chipped and stained. A layer of dust covered most surfaces. I took a seat
“For the last time, Mr. Hernandez,” I enunciate, poking savage holes in my lime-green blotter with my peacock pen, “you cannot land in Wittenberg, Germany on October 31, 1517.”
“Killjoy,” mutters the time traveler on the other end of the phone. “All I wanted to do was have a look around.”
Shut the gates!”
Lieutenant Pearce snapped up as his comm unit screeched with the command. His chair creaked angrily at the abuse, and the report he had been engrossed in fell to the floor.
“Copy that? What’s going on?”
“It’s Farley! Gamma Patrol! Shut the gates, Pearce!”
The officer instinctively moved his hand
CT hunched his shoulders against the drizzle and the gazes of other pedestrians, his hood pulled up to hide his face. Neon signs colored the sidewalk and steel buildings odd tones in the night. Between the hordes of people, he glimpsed an officer ahead and swung toward a video advertisement sign, feigning interest.
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Green was her favorite color. Linzi used to call it the color of life. She was such an unusual child; she’d even begged to have the house shutters painted in Island Palm.
Now when I see green, it just reminds me of her death.
I sit next to the rain-splattered window, catching
Your murderer wears a green coat.
High collar, turned up. His unwavering eyes lock with yours from across the bar as he discreetly pays the door fee and enters like a kryptonite bullet nobody notices but you. His shadowy fedora is olive-tinted, matching every lime-tinsel and kelly-painted shade in this sweaty watering hole.
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This venture was supposed to be a pushover, thought Dor Manti as he dodged yet another vomited plume of emerald flame. The great, galloping beast was gaining on him, its maw still crackling with that damnable green glow.
And now I’m gonna die on this stupid backwater rock.
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Bahar stared down into the multilayered concourse and slammed her fist against the rails. Where is he?
Spinning around, she ran slap into a man’s chest.
Vrill.
A shudder shook Bahar and she ducked her head and attempted a hasty sidestep. “’Scuse me.”
Vrill grabbed her arm and grinned.
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The captain brought the rubber stamp down on the document and frowned at the blood-red imprint.
“This makes grim reading,” he sighed. His stare burrowed into the chief inspector’s face. “You found no evidence of survivors?”
From across the desk, he watched Holzfäller fold her hands across her lap.
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I run backward through time, toward the mushroom cloud that will soon be my invention warehouse, thankful that the inversion suit I’m wearing wasn’t destroyed in this inferno.
The eruption shrinks over the warehouse, and the fire bursts bright before reassembling the near end of the building.
Perfect.
I run in through the
NOTICE OF SAFETY RECALL: DOMESTIC BOTS
According to our records, you recently purchased a domestic bot from The Gentrifix Corporation. A routine safety check revealed an anomaly in the bot’s code that makes it aggressive when exposed to the unique shade of Martian Red.
Contrary to recent, unsanctioned news reports
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“Recepticore is offline. Starlink power is depleted.”
Eddie Caplan burst into the engine room. “What the blazes is it this time? Reeves, report!”
“Dunno.” His young assistant snapped her gum. “Just like the ship said, couldn’t link up with the star’s recepticore. Psh, dwarf stars, am I right? Betcha we wouldn’t have this
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