Doc Sklodowski’s forehead furrowed as he examined me in Martian General Hospital’s clinic. “I’ve never seen anything like this on a scalp—or anywhere outside of a photo. Are those bruises what they look like, Mr. Enza? They can’t be.”
I winced as my head throbbed. “Oh, yes they can. Let me tell you
Joe sat near the edge of the roof, bathed in the cream-colored glow of Jupiter’s broad disc. “Why is it always some damn birds?” They loved building nests in the Slip Time Cooler housings, and he could just see a feather poking out. These dumb old models. Why didn’t they put grates over
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I had promised my wife, Olivia, I would be home at five, yet as the clock ticks past seven, I still haven’t left my office. But I can’t help it, I love my job. I would tell you exactly what I do for a living, but it is quite classified. Lucky for me
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My Uncle Joe is an overachiever. He’s fulfilled legendary quests for the Queen, survived the krakens of the southern oceans, and is the only merchant who hasn’t been robbed by pirates—if you believe his hours-long tales.
Uncle Joe’s exploits nearly always took place out on the high seas, inaccessible to anyone but
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.
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