We have been in the shelter for an hour, but it feels like a lifetime.
My tongue is thick, cotton-dry from disuse. Though my eyes have adjusted, the light is too dim to see my family’s expressions––just the faint outline of Mum’s slender nose, Finn’s trembling lips. My hair has unraveled from its braid,
The Skyfolk held no ill will toward penguins. Why would they fear such harmless creatures? In Antarctica and elsewhere, penguins could approach the alien settlers without so much as a second glance.
Thus, the U.N. Military devised a cunning plan.
A human—myself, it turned out—would be mind-linked to an Emperor penguin via psionics.
I scowl at the computer screen and push my hair out of my eyes, rubbing black-stained fingers on my hoodie. They should be dry, but I can’t leave prints behind. Mrs. Grant—calling her Mom still sounds weird—says dyeing it makes me look like a goth troublemaker. I yank on my hoodie strings. Maybe I am.
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Lady Coral lies cuffed to an ancient altar in the clearing below. I scan the trees for any sign of danger. My first heroic deed should be simple. Free Coral. Get her safely to Tob Space-port, out of the clutches of the village elders.
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Trey stared blankly at the flat screen. Another night of insomnia. Over the last few months, he’d tried everything: a new bed, diet, exercise, soothing music, noise cancelling headphones, sleeping in different positions. He’d even tried sleep therapy. Nothing worked. He dragged himself through the day like one of the walking dead,
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“Hez!” I jerk my starfighter up, narrowly avoiding a spray of voidblasts. “New shields. Quick!”
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” Hezekiah’s voice crackles through my comlink.
“My shields are down!” I dive toward the planet, shoving power into my engines. Newhaven’s emerald surface swallows up my cockpit.
“You’re the red dot, right?”
“Yes!”
Bea fought the urge to twitch as the sticky, worm-shaped alien readjusted itself around her ear. She failed.
“You better stop that if you want me to stay attached during the final round,” the alien, a glottaalan, snapped. It settled into place with one last splitch.
Two years ago, people would have said the old farmer was paranoid, putting electrified razor wire around the whole perimeter of his property.
Today is a different story.
The line of hunched-over shoulders shuffles toward the fence line. One by one, the men ahead of me approach the gate and speak to the warden,
I spent New Year’s Eve picking up my body parts from the sidewalk.
The streets were filled with people. It was dangerous to make my way through the crowd, but I wanted to get to the coffee house to ring in the New Year with some friends. When the old woman staggered towards me,
By all standards, Tony was cute. So few guys ever looked like their profile pictures, but he fulfilled his wonderfully. Nice smile. Stunning eyes. And praise the Lord, he knew not to wear cargo shorts on a date. Or ever.
We ordered appetizers, taking in the view from restaurant’s second story patio.
Neon lights. Scores of people. A quick glance over her shoulder. She popped the collar of her leather coat and hurried along the market street. How long would it take them to find her?
A kiosk to her right showed the Washington Post. She’d made the front page:
DOCTOR CYBER HAS VANISHED
“Glitch, have you disabled that security system yet?”
I scowled, my radio squealing with feedback as Zephyrus shot past. “Give me a minute, geez. Have you ever hacked through a next-gen firewall while dodging actual fireballs?”
He just laughed. It always amazed me how he could laugh at times like this.
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