Tempus Fugitive by J.S. Morin

Author:J.S. Morin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781643553474
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press

Eric stumbled to his feet, sopping wet and clinging to a half-eaten slice of pepperoni pizza. He had the presence of mind to alter his appearance while briefly submerged, rising from the water like one of the color-change plastic figures he’d had as a kid.

“Miss, are you all right?” someone asked.

Eric considered a voice before putting one on. “Uh, yah. I mean, that guy came completely from nowhere and, like, practically flattened me. My father is going to sue this place into next year.”

A crowd gathered now. Jessie’s stolen tech-bike had whined off into the distance. Everyone seemed to have come to the conclusion that it was safe now. They crowded around Eric, who now looked again like his choir-singer persona, albeit with an outfit he’d spotted on the rack at Mi Armario as Jessie sped them past.

“Did you get a look at them?” “Are you all right?” “Was that the terrorists from the newsfeeds?” “Do you have a lawyer?” “Lemme throw out that pizza for you.” “Stay there; I’ll find some napkins to dry you off.” “Did you have a datapad? If this one’s not yours, it’s going to Lost & Found.”

“Yeah, yeah, no, no, thanks, I’m set, no, it’s all yours,” Eric rattled off in teenage patois that was a good ten years out of date. But that’s what the girls had sounded like to him every time he’d tried talking to them. The cadence changed from planet to planet, space station to space station; he’d picked the Martianest-sounding accent he could come up with on short notice.

It wasn’t long before the police arrived. Or the Civil Defense Patrol. Eric was honestly having a hard time picking out the dividing line between the two. As a Convocation member, he hadn’t had to deal with non-magical law enforcement, and the Martians had been happy to leave him to his own profession for oversight.

Uniformed patrol officers stormed in, blasters at the ready, armored like he and Jessie were going to potentially bomb them or something.

“Who saw what happened here?” one of the officers demanded, face obscured behind the half-visor of their helm, turning them into a black-headed egg with a mouth.

“She got knocked over by them,” one of the nosy nearbys called out, pointing to Eric.

“Miss, were you able to ID the perps?”

“Oh. My. God! They were perps?” Eric whirled on the crowd. “Why did no one, like, mention that? Ew! One of them touched me.”

“What did they look like?” the officer pressed as his comrades fanned out to search the area on foot. He held up a datapad with front and side views of Jessie and someone’s sketched versions of the same poses for Eric.

Eric studied the flatpics briefly, then gave a melodramatic shrug. “Ugh. Like blurs? These people are clearly not blurry, and the ones who played billiards with me—knocked me over without a single care about my new outfit—clearly weren’t clear at all. Like, maybe instead of standing there playing picture book quiz with me, maybe you should, like, chase that bicycle.

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