“Welcome to Zama Industries!” The chirpy woman’s black curls were hidden by a white industrial hard hat. She extended her hand, followed by passing an identical helmet and a visitor’s badge. “I’m Reika.”

“Lizbeth. Thanks.” She’d worn a bun this morning, anticipating the spaceport construction tour. “Really excited to be here.”

Reika gave a half-smile. “I doubt we’re going to launch anytime soon. Still, at least seventy-five percent of the space colony’s cargo is already scheduled go through the orbital port here once it’s finished.”

Lizbeth followed Reika over a metal catwalk that overlooked the start of the construction base. What must be the elevator shaft loomed starkly overhead, leaving them in shadow. A metal bot moved its limbs in perfect unison, creeping steadily upward

“I’m afraid watching the spider climb the drain spout isn’t very exciting…”

“No.” She couldn’t hold back her grin. “I spent all of university hoping to help build our path to the stars. It’s why I went into engineering.”

Reika’s reserve broke — as much as Lizbeth thought it ever did, at least. “I did the same. I wish everyone had your enthusiasm for the project.”

“Oh?” Her brow furrowed. “Have there been protests against it?”

“Protests, demonstrations, threats, the lot.” Reika grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ve had to increase our security. That’s why we had you come in the tunnel entrance this morning. But don’t worry —”

An alarm blared, with blue flashing lights turning the few others visible this early a ghastly corpselike hue.

“—we’ve taken quite a few precautions. Nothing to worry about. If you’ll follow me? I’ll give you the evacuation handbook once we’re back inside the offices.”

***

This week’s prompt was from nother Mike: Watching the spider climb the drain spout wasn’t very exciting…

My prompt went to Parrish Baker: The alert blared to life just as he sat down at the piano stool.

As always, don’t forget to check out everyone’s submissions, and jump into the prompt challenge if you’re interested!

“Beep beep.”

Josiah carefully twisted the paintbrush in a final swoop and tucked it into a bag until he could properly finish the design or clean his tools. He looked up finally to discover a petite brunette in her early twenties, gazing eagerly at him with sea-siren eyes, lids covered in a shade of glitter not he’d not seen in his 264 years.

“I like your mural.” Glitter girl reached forward with a wistful hand. “Always loved that cartoon while growing up, even if it was old-fashioned. An escape, whenever he wanted it. I guess that’s what you get from this hobby, huh?”

Her hand, he observed, glowed faintly red at her fingertips, which had nothing to do with her azure-painted nails that — unsurprisingly — also shimmered. The portal tremored, and he swallowed his sharp admonition that she was about to disturb the still-drying paint.

Glitter showed no sign of noticing what happened, nor his sudden friendliness.

“I expect you’d like to travel through yourself,” he interrupted smoothly.

She stared, then stuttered. “Ye-yes, of course. But there’s no secret faeryland beyond the brick. It’s just a cruel dream.”

“Good,” Josiah said, and seized her wrist. “I’ll show you.”

She tugged her arm, pulling back to no avail. “Let me go!”

He smiled, exposing fangs. “But my dear Glitter, you already gave your permission.”

***

Well, I went dark with nother Mike’s prompt this week (and have plans to expand this one to something even darker, yikes!): Painting 3-D tunnels on the sides of buildings was his hobby… and a memorial to Roadrunner cartoons!

My prompt went to Becky Jones: He’d sentenced her to a life of alarm clocks.

Find more, and play along, over at More Odds Than Ends!

“It’s never been checked out,” Lisbeth hissed. A woman two tables over fluttered her wings and a man wearing headphones that she suspected might be a technowizard looked up at the disturbance before going back to their respective archive projects.

She blushed, cleared her throat, and remembered her scribe’s vocal training. A low tone and soft voice carried less than a whisper, despite the echoes of the archival hall. “Sorry. We’re running low on space, that’s all, and there’s not a single record of anyone using this book.”

Lisbeth thumped the book down atop the librarians’ shared counter and felt her cheeks flame as the library’s users stared.

“Let me see that file.” Richard coolly pushed his spectacles toward glassy blue eyes with an ink-stained finger. “Ah, yes, this one. It stays.”

“A single look and that’s it?” Lisbeth was quietly outraged. “We have four hundred tomes in transit, and there’s not enough room.”

“True,” Richard answered amiably. His authority and calm befitted the head librarian position, as did his patience. “I applaud your candor and willingness to speak up, Cadet Lisbeth. Tell me, however, where do we work?”

She stuttered. “The – the library.” Her voice rose until it was nearly a question.

“Indeed,” Richard answered, pressing the tome into her waiting arms. “More specifically?”

“The King’s library?” She glanced around at his gesture for her to continue. “The…the magic library.”

“Uncouth to put it so bluntly, but yes, we are in charge of the kingdom’s archives, both magical and historical.” He leaned forward, sharp-pointed nose zooming so close she nearly forgot to look beyond the cracked glass of his lenses. “And what do you think happens every so often in a magical library?”

“We run out of room,” Lisbeth said uncomfortably, and tugged the book close to her robes.

“And what do you think happens when a magical library runs out of room?”

She shook her head, confused.

“It grows,” he said softly.

Lisbeth’s internship hadn’t felt real until that moment. Her own magics were small, and it was easy to think of the larger magics as illusions, or powered by technowizard mechanics.

Now the weight of her chosen career field began sinking onto her shoulders, and she felt every missed drop of the caffe she’d missed this morning as she struggled to study the hall that had seemed so familiar only moments before. “It grows,” she repeated. “Grows?”

“This particular book catches fire whenever it leaves the protections of this hall,” Richard said quietly. “Balefire. The pages aren’t damaged.”

Gulping, she realized the implication, and hastily shoved the volume back onto the shelves. “But the person carrying it…”

He nodded. “It will never be checked out.”

***

A fun one from Parrish Baker this week, with a bit of a tweak: The librarian discovered that one book in the collection had never been checked out—and when she opened it, she understood why.

And hey, it was a trade week, so check out what Parrish did with mine: “Of course it’s only cheesecake.”

Find more and play along, over at More Odds Than Ends!

“The forecast said it would be dry,” Izz said through clenched teeth. She studied the swirling cloud of pale gold and ice with a steadily increasing throb at her temples. That unpredictable nebula was moving faster than they’d expected, and half the hull still yawned open.

“That was last night.” Greaves sounded as cheerful as only an incorporeal sentient AI could.

An AI that clearly had never dealt with storms, Izz added silently. A molar twinged, and she eased up before she wound up dependent on Greaves for dental surgery.

“G, if I might remind you…you were the forecast. These aren’t normal storms moving in.”

Puzzled silence hissed over the ship’s speakers.

Right. She sighed, tugging on her spacesuit. “A normal storm, planetside, is a bit of rain, maybe some lightning. A bad storm adds high winds. Most storms are an inconvenience.”

“I understand.” That was as robotic as Greaves ever got — a sign the AI was learning. “This is not a normal storm. I should have woken you sooner. You need to finish the repairs so the ship is safe.”

“I need to finish the repairs because the ship is what keeps us safe,” Izz corrected. “Because that’s ammonia rain and faux-pyrite hail on its way, and we’re docked at an ancient station that’s been abandoned for at least the past five hundred years.”

***

Thanks to Leigh Kimmel for the prompt this week! Last night the forecast said today would be dry. Now we have storms moving in — and I need to get that work done…

My prompt about rocks went to nother Mike – check it out over at MOTE! And don’t forget, you can join in the prompt exchange or snag a spare – new prompts roll in tomorrow.

“Forbidden Hill?” Matt sneered, his face pale above a burgundy polo strangely reminiscent of a slightly too small pajama top. He tilted his head back and drained the rest of his beer, tossing the bottle to the side and reaching for a new one. “That’s a stupid name.”

“Watch it, new guy.” Dari snapped the words, then nestled her own bottle into the dirt by her feet with exaggerated, tipsy care. “I don’t want to deal with exploding glass because you’re too drunk to keep empty bottles away from the bonfire.”

The fire popped, and Terry leaned forward with a stick to give it a few pokes. Someone paying attention might have noticed his casual maneuver to roll Matt’s bottle away from danger, but most of the group had left careful observation behind well before the sun had set.

“Sure,” he said finally, and leaned on his stick. “I mean, yeah, it’s a dumb name. Most people go up sometime as a kid. Some return wondering what the big deal is.”

Matt leaned forward, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed. “What’d you do?”

“Ah.” Terry poked the fire again, and sparks flew in the air. “I went up with a group when I was fifteen.”

“Terry’s our eldest,” Dari informed Matt, gesturing at the group. Two women darted by in the background, shrieking merrily before collapsing into a giggling pile of darkened greenery. “He’s the responsible one.”

The alleged elder shrugged from the lofty reaches of twenty-five. “I just never felt the urge, but you know how it is at that age. We ran up the hill and back for baseball conditioning, and then one day we wandered in.”

“So is it a big deal or not?” Matt prodded. “What’s up there that’s so forbidden?”

“Ruins,” Dari informed him. “Ancient ones. Prehistoric.”

Terry studied the white and orange flickers. “Turned out, what I saw wasn’t what the others saw.”

“Some people claim it’s a whole ‘nother world,” one half of the giggling bush said.

He glared at Em, wishing he’d never told her what he thought he’d seen…but he’d been young and in love, and careless. At least he hadn’t shared everything.

The other half of the bush chimed in. “There are all these rumors about people disappearing.”

Rolling his eyes, Matt gave a deliberate yawn. “Runaways, probably.”

“They tried destroying it, but even the ruins retain the power once worshipped there,” Dari said with ponderous drama, waving her arms in the air and splashing beer everywhere with a sizzle. “I just saw rocks. Wish I’d seen another world when I went up Forbidden Hill.”

“No, you don’t,” Terry said quietly, but neither of them heard his words.

That was fine with him. No one else needed the burden of what had really happened to those unfortunate souls who’d been caught in the other world.

***

Well, that got dark, but I’m pleased with this quick little bit inspired by AC Young’s prompt! We had a trade this week – check it out! And there’s more, over at MOTE!