“Nasir, do you think another tattoo is necessary?” asked the robotic skull from its place hanging on a dusty shelf. His eyes glowed azure.
Nasir lifted his gaze from the pencil-sized steel spike—his rudimentary device for embedding the crushed blue Caerulum
“Come one, come all.” Erizan waved to the bustling crowds passing before his small circus tent. “Dr. Erizan Aziz’s world of mystery awaits those who dare tread the waters of the lost deep!”
He’d tailored this pitch for the ocean people of Leaslin. They were born in water, lived on water, died in water,
Tin Eyeswell stood on the precipice of immortality. The only obstacle between him and a hefty cache of Caerulum crystal was a group of peddlers down in the ravine.
Collateral damage.
Tin nodded at his partner, Merek, and caught his scruffy and sunburnt reflection off Merek’s metal
A deposit of azure Caerulum glimmers deep within the inky cold strata. The miners’ pickaxes splinter the stone in rhythm to their anthem. Drills thrum, gears grind, grunts echo, and oil drips—the never-ending song of the crystal mines.
But I don’t
Having my brain poked and prodded while I’m awake is a surreal experience. Prick on one part, and I feel like thick goo is running down my left arm. Boink another, and I can hear my aunt Patel singing the 1995 Indian hit,
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“Why are you soaking wet?”
Scamper reeled back from his best friend, HearSay, to avoid the shower as the awkward, towering droid dripped water from the ragged trench coat draped on his thin frame. HearSay brandished three glimmering fish impaled on his makeshift spear for Scamper
“Wake up!” a man barks through a respirator mask as he raps his baton across the window my head rests against.
I stretch open my drugged eyelids and meet an unrecognizable world. I’m waking up to falling ash and a crimson sky.
“It’s the
“You’re saying if we don’t stop Dorian from activating these paradox portals, then the entire multiverse will collide into one timeline and destroy reality?” Phezz asked, his bushy tail flicking.
Miriel turned to the squirrel-like Xintixa. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“What would that accomplish?” Harmony’s implanted short-term memory processor spoke for the young girl, imbuing her with a British accent.
Luke’s six-fingered hand trembled as he poured foamed milk with precision into the inky black liquid—each muscle begging to be the first to perform the long-awaited act. He had only read about making an espresso macchiato in his Human Studies courses, but now he was here on Earth, hiding his Civaran hand beneath caffeine-resistant gloves,
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“My, my, you have aged. Haven’t you, old friend?” Dorian whispered through his electronic voice box. He paced the control room overlooking Alice and the Timekeepers clashing with his stony, anthropomorphic titan down in the cavern. Alice piloted her 1910s diesel mecha, as always.
She was not the young Victorian blonde that he, the dashing Dorian Gray,
Glowing moss lined stone walls, lighting the winding path as Harmony and Phezz delved deeper into the deadly caverns of Molitoz. Harmony loosed a melody, pure and sweet, to galvanize the local animals who thronged around her. The woodland creatures were entranced by her song, and she hoped they would guide her in their
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“I wasn’t always a soldier, Leroy,” Alice growled as she piloted her hundred-foot-tall, gear-powered, British Mark VII Mecha, overlooking the coast of Praia do Guincho, Portugal.
“Oh?” the young French lieutenant remarked through the AM radio system as he sat in the adjacent American-made Ford T1919 Mecha.
“I grew up a proper Victorian girl
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