I thumb my radio’s call switch with trembling fingers. “Instructor Enza? This is Amy Macpherson.”
There’s a buzz and pop of static. “Yes?”
“There’s a-a small issue with the trans-universal stabilizer, sir.”
“What?”
“A, ah, gorg rat was chewing on the cables, sir. I chased it off, but the wiring sparked and there was
“What are you doing?” whispers Joe.
“Sleeping. Until you kicked me.”
“You’re a messed up sleeper, then.”
“Huh?”
“You keep playing footsie and stuff.”
“Gross. I’d never play footsie with a dude. Go back to sleep.”
“What kind of socks are you wearing?”
“Socks? Are you stoned? It’s like forty degrees in here.
Katherine Smyth needed a miracle.
The anti-matter induction chamber was history. Instead of a silvery sphere nestled in the heart of the Fortunato’s engine, a metal flower blossomed, as if opening toward weak sunlight. Her toolkit slipped from numb fingers, thudding onto the deck. Without the chamber, the Fortunato had no engines.
Joe Enza didn’t care where the giant hole had come from. He just wanted his parking spot back.
After twelve years of devoted service, he was finally MegaTech Temporal Conglomerate’s Employee of the Month. The distinction came with a meaningless certificate, a mention in the employee newsletter no one read, and a front row
Joseph trailed behind his companion, keeping a distance wide enough that if they found the dragon, it would be satisfied with one roasted knight.
“Sir Joseph, do you catch that foul scent? Methinks we draw near.”
Joseph gagged. “Dusk approaches. Perhaps we should return to our stallions and make camp. I shall continue
Joe’s gonna kill me for ditching him.
I surveyed the crowd of humans—attendees of the annual Legendary Law Enforcement Ball—craning my neck to see over their heads as I inhaled another small pastry.
Nah, he wouldn’t kill me. That’d be too much paperwork.
Cool night air swirled through the crowded garden,
“Lendur!”
Captain Donahue, the drill sergeant grandma commanding House Azure’s shuttle fleet, blew into the pilots’ ready room like a southern hurricane.
Lachlan set down his dripping mug and gave her a jaunty salute, left hand behind his back to hide the coffee-stained sleeve. He hated that his boss’s voice made him jump like
“I hired a mechanic, not a food service worker. What’s with the hairnet?” Greg Hahn sniffed, as if I were trying to smuggle improperly preserved twentieth century school lunches from my shuttle onto his shiny space station and he smelled something foul.
Don’t let his attitude bother you, Joe. You can handle another Z Job.
In an oak-paneled conference room at First Freedom Fiduciary, I scowled from across the oblong table at slick-haired CEO Maurice Meltonshire, whom I blamed for Joe’s death, and a cadre of lackeys and attorneys.
Joe’s attorney, Allison Raymond, clicked a remote, and the video projection screen flickered on with the image of my late
“You’re making enough noise to wake the dead,” Dad said from over my shoulder as I upended every bit of stainless-steel-ware in the kitchen drawer, trying to find my giant soup spoon.
“Well, you’d know,” I quipped, “considering you’ve been dead three years.” Then I turned to ask, “What brings you back this time?”
Andrea bit her lip, watching the dangerous groundhog sit on its hind legs, sniff the air, and exhale a wisp of smoke. Then it resumed eating grass.
Whenever Andrea needed repairs or a project done, she called Joe Enza before anyone else. He was dependable and always ready to help. That’s why she liked
“Supercomputer, notify me when the donuts are delivered!”
I licked my lips as the computer chimed affirmation. Orientation Day was the best. Donuts were ordered for the new recruits, and old hats reaped the benefits. For now, though, I withdrew a file from its stack and skimmed the title.
“Monologue Prompts: In the Event
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