“For cryin’ out loud, Arnie! Will you quit snapping selfies?” Liz rolled her eyes. “We’ve been sent to explore and catalog planet 4X9, not pad our personal photo albums!”
“We’re the first humans to set foot here. I’m capturing an historic event. Oh look—ancient ruins!” Arnie struck a pose. “The first anthropologist to find ruins on an alien planet.”
My watch vibrated, the sudden brightness casting shadows across the bedroom ceiling. I sat up, blinking back sleep, forcing my eyes to focus on the tiny script flashing on the screen.
Evacuation assist on Telmar.
The coordinates faded into a jumble of letters and numbers, and I slapped the watch on my wrist with a grumble. Two hours of sleep. Two measly hours.
The cabin’s porchlight appeared through the trees. The cop in me couldn’t help wondering why Pete would leave a light on if he was on the run. The man I knew was smarter than that. Then again, that same man had mysterious figures in gray suits chasing after him.
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“This thing’s a museum piece.” Russ unlocked the door. “Literally. The only reason it’s not on display is that we don’t like to advertise.”
Will managed a half-smile as he entered the storage locker. Light flooded gray walls and concrete, making the object within incongruous: a domed cage of wrought copper and treated glass with exposed mechanical parts
Dear Marybeth,
It was supposed to be a simple experiment.
Well, nothing is simple about trapping dark matter. Still, the theory is sound, the experiments are straightforward, and the daily routines are predictable. And since we’re so far from civilization, we had to schedule everything out, just like they do for missions on the ISS.
Barely enough remained of the starship to make it valuable. It had been so badly damaged that Abby couldn’t tell what it was. It might have been anything from a cargo vessel to a battle cruiser. Now, it was past whatever purpose it had been meant for.
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Not again. Gerald could not do this one more time.
He rubbed his eyes. Michael’s words glowed at him in angry orange from the vidscreen:
REPORT INADEQUATE. RANKS MUST NOT BE ABBREVIATED. REFERENCE TIMECORPS REG. 927.3. RESUBMIT.
Gerald pushed back from the console and floated across the capsule until he bounced lightly against the opposite wall.
Your little act ends here. You fool no one. Now breathe. Relax. By the time you finish reading this message, all your online accounts will have been deleted; all your online profiles will have been wiped out. There will be nothing to recover. No data left anywhere whatsoever.
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“I said, hold still.” Landon squints at his phone.
I freeze, palm outstretched. Goodness, he’s getting snappy. “Have you got it?” My thighs burn from crouching on the boardwalk.
“Almost.” His blonde hair falls into his eyes as he leans forward and taps the phone screen. “Yup. All good.”
Long shadows crept down the hallways of the dead ship. The occasional piece of debris floated past, confirming Lianna’s theory that the whole ship had been decompressed. The structure looked intact, but no sign of the crew yet.
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Friends and fans knew him as Nole the Mole. The internet knew him as a viral failure.
Last year, he dueled Herbert the Hammer at the Twenty-Second Whack-a-Mole International Championship for the title of Mallet Master. Herbert’s score reached previously unseen levels, but Nole knew he could’ve beaten him— had he not ignored a “wet floor” sign, slipped, and sprained his mallet hand catching his fall.
I died three hundred and ninety-nine days ago.
The doctors told me that I didn’t really die. I just lost 46.6 percent of my human body. It felt like dying when they dragged my broken frame out of the rubble and inferno of the explosion and filled the empty spaces with wires and metal.
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