The following transcripts were compiled from voice messages left on the employee services line for Callisto Research Base 115.

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2399-08-11T13:44:05.890981Z

Hello, this is Thomas Lee calling from lab 507B. I am currently experiencing a problem with the trash bin; it keeps repeating the message "please clear the trash receptacle" even though the bin is empty. Please call back or send a tech. My employee number is E9910394, my desk phone is 78-234-200-3198. Thank you.

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2399-08-11T14:02:12:091383Z

Hello, this is Thomas Lee from 507B again. The employee services line webpage says your hours of operation are from 6am to 10pm so I'm not sure why you're not getting back to me. I'm still experiencing trouble with the trash bin, which is repeatedly telling me to "please clear the trash receptacle" despite being empty.

I'm going head to the cafeteria for another strawberry-banana smoothie; if you could get a tech down here while I'm out that would be just super. Again, you can reach me at 78-234-200-3198. Thanks.

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2399-08-11T14:11:54.324882Z

Hi. This is Tom. Are you guys even in the office today? The trash can has been telling me to "please clear the trash receptacle" every five seconds for the last half hour. I need someone to fix this; it's seriously affecting my ability to get work done.

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2399-08-11T14:38:33.002741Z

Please clear the trash receptacle.

Please clear the trash receptacle.

Please clear the trash receptacle.

See how annoying this is?

Please clear the trash receptacle.

Please clear the trash receptacle.

Puh-lee-ease clear the trash receptacle.

This is the employee services line. I'm an employee. I need services. It's been, like, an hour at this point. Please get back to me.

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2399-08-11T14:52:02.091244Z

Hi there. Tom from 507B here. Am I going insane? I walked my ass all the way down to the employee services center and the door was locked and the lights are out. I need services. I need someone to fix my stupid trash can. Is anyone home? Or am I the only person on this stupid moon?

I'm gonna lose it. If I hear the phrase "please clear the trash receptacle" one more time I'm stepping out of the airlock in my underwear. And yes, please do report me to mental health services for that threat. Tom out.

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2399-08-11T15:32:49.328813Z

Hello, this is Thomas Lee. I left a few messages on the employee services line earlier and I'd like to report that they can be disregarded. I was having a problem with the trash receptacle in my lab but it turns out there was just strawberry-banana smoothie spilled on the sensor; it's working fine now.

By the way, I heard around the water cooler that you guys were going to be out from one to four today for Sheryl's back-to-Earth goodbye party. Hope that was fun!

Please do not report me to mental health services.

That's all.

Again, this was Thomas Lee, employee E9910394. Thank you.

The last sliver of sun disappeared behind the dome of the Imperial Auction House, and blue streetlights flicked on, their clockwork duty unbothered by the tension in the air. The woman across from me, a young blonde with cotton-candy blue lipstick and the eyes of a wolf, slipped something from her purse: a glint in the newfound light. My shoulders clenched, sweat pricking at the back of my neck.

It was only a compact.

I was sitting in the center of the safest city on Earth, a mere stone's throw from house of the ‘esteemed’ Emperor himself, scared senseless at the sight of a powder puff.

Vaughn set aside his pen, then read over his words. Not too shabby, but there was something missing. Did he need to say outright that this was the night of the License Auction? Perhaps not--any reader worth writing for could surmise that much. Maybe a bit more flourish for the wolf-eyed dame across the way?

The woman, unaware that she was being written about, tossed her compact back into her purse.

A plump man in a yellow raincoat huffed through the courtyard, plopping himself on the bench beside Vaughn. When his breath had caught up with him, he glanced around at the few hundred or so people waiting beneath the streetlights and smiled.

"So," he said, nudging Vaughn with an elbow. "What're you here for?"

This guy had to be joking. That or it was his first time. The License Auction may well be the largest gathering of the criminal underworld outside a gene-mod fighting ring. A seasoned bidder knew to keep his mouth shut.

"I'm looking to get a 'sale of illegal foodstuffs' license," the plump man continued, unaware. "I gotta nice bakery, and I wanna sell egg custard."

The wolf-eyed woman snorted, and Vaughn jotted down a note about a bakery.

"Egg custard?" he said. "You can bid on a license for any crime in the world and you want to sell egg custard?"

The plump man put his hands on his hips. "Well if they'd just make eggs legal again I wouldn't hafta."

Now a few of the shady guys crowded nearby began chuckling too, their breath curling like smoke in the cool, blue light.

"Well what about you then, eh?" the plump man asked. "You're not all here for the murder license, are ya?"

The question hung like a crook from a noose. The doors of the auction house opened, and people began filing in.

"Nope," the wolf-eyed woman said, standing up. "I'm after a license to own any exotic pet I want." She glanced at Vaughn. "And you, notebook guy?"

For the first time this evening, the tension fell from Vaughn's shoulders, and he laughed.

"I'm bidding on a libel license."

The plump man stood and offered a handshake to each of them. "Guess we're all innocents then, eh?"

Vaughn wrote the phrase "all innocents" in his notebook, then closed it. "Guess we are."

“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life.”

Those were the words painted in gold cursive on the side of Dedalus Dirkstrom's telescope. He licked his thumb, smoothed a wayward lock of hair, and peered through.

In the distance, below the skyline of a foreign port, a pack of sea dragons circled in the water. Their dark silhouettes churned and coiled, but for as long as Dedalus watched, their backs never broke the surface.

He was seated on the deck of his dirigible, miles from home and alone but for the company of his flying donkey.

"Tinker?" he said. "I have a job for you, but you're not going to like it."

The donkey brayed its disapproval.

The contraption Dedalus cinched to Tinker's back was comprised of a basket, a knot of gears, and an iron bit. When Tinker chomped on the bit, the gears would turn and the basket would open, releasing its contents to whatever waited below. Thus equipped, Dedalus smacked his donkey on the rump and sent him with a load of half-rotten fish to fly over the spot where the sea dragons swirled.

Ready again at the eyepiece of his telescope, Dedalus waited. Tinker dropped the bait, and in a flurry of seafoam and tarnished-brass scales, the dragons burst from the sea.

Fins flashed and serpents snarled, and Tinker escaped their ravenous jaws only by the hairs on the tip of his tail. As he flapped back to the dirigible, braying accusations at his master, Dedalus was filling his sketchbook.

A fin here, a wing there, an arch of precisely this degree. A lever, a hinge, a length of rope, and a whole lot of paint and silver and gold. Oh yes; by the gods and the heavens above, this was his greatest project yet.

When he returned to shore and home, Dedalus Dirkstrom had twenty-two pages of scribbles. With barely a stop to hitch his donkey and dirigible, he ran to the royal court, raised his sketchbook over his head and, out of breath, cried "I've done it."

The king, bemused by the spectacle of his exhausted-yet-overenthusiastic court engineer, stroked his beard in contemplation. "Oh? What have you done?"

"I've designed a new dreadnaught," Dedalus wheezed. "With fins and oars and ironclad sides, and it spits foam and fire from its bow." He shuffled through his papers, holding schematic after ink-smudged schematic before the king's nose. "Every detail is here, from the curve of the fangs to the silver-foil glint on its reinforced scales; a man-made sea dragon, built to command an armada."

The king folded his arms. "Well, it certainly sounds impressive," he mused. "But what of the enemy catapults? The ones on their sea wall, the ones I asked you to reverse engineer?"

With a moment to re-collect his breath and thoughts, Dedalus remembered the foreign port he'd journeyed out to see. "Ah, those," he replied. "I'll get to them tomorrow."

Ha! Thanks for finding the typo; one of those things that’s easy to know but even easier to autopilot your way into forgetting.

I also agree that a note home over giggling during a presentation is a little much. That’s why I forged my moms signature back in the first grade

Hiya astro!

I enjoy the blending of internal dialog and justification in with the narration; it really gets you into the main character's mind. So much of this story is...uncomfortably relatable, both realistic and a solid mirror to human psychology.

I noticed a couple tiny errors here; "get her parents to make up the different" in particular stuck out to me. As another small thing, the last two lines were particularly poignant and make for an excellent ending; I would rather see them on their own line for emphasis.

Great work, well-told. Keep writing!

Excellent poem! I hope to hear some pride in it at campfire ;)

There were one or two awkward lines here:
"To I who run your life means more!"
"Means not from that pledge you're free."
...I wish I had suggestions for how to massage these out, but I don't, which honestly probably explains why they're written the way they are. Still something to consider because I did have to pause and reread a few times to get the meaning and rhythm there.

My only other crit is a tiny thing; the first two lines of the second-to-last stanza both use the word "final"--this is just a tad too repetitive in my opinion.

As NicomacheanOrc pointed out, the last two lines are brilliant and hard-hitting. Fantastic work, keep writing!

The following letters were given to Ms. Evelyn Schwartz by her nine-year-old son, Jonah, on January 30th.

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January 18th

Dear Ms. Schwartz,

This letter is to let you know that Jonah has been misbehaving in class. Today while a fellow student was presenting our "recipe of the week", Jonah was not mature enough to handle the ingredient "grey poupon mustard". His giggling disrupted the class and was disrespectful to his fellow students, especially the presenter. Because this is his first offense, this is only a warning.

Please sign below to acknowledge the incident.

Respectfully,

Mrs. Fritz

There is a line at the bottom of this letter, upon which the name "Evelen" is signed in a third-grader's red-crayon scrawl.

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January 19th

Dear Ms. Schwartz,

I hope by now you've read yesterday's "misbehavior incident" letter. Today Jonah brought it back with an obviously fake signature, offering the excuse "maybe she forgot" when I asked why your name was misspelled. I am considering this a new incident. However, I am willing to give him a second chance to bring this letter home together with the original and get your *real* signature.

Please acknowledge when you have read both.

Respectfully,

Mrs. Fritz

At the bottom of this letter, "Evelyn" is signed in marginally-cleaner black ink.

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January 23rd

Dear Ms. Schwartz,

I honestly don't know why I am writing this letter considering you probably wont get to read it.

Your son, Jonah, had a minor misbehavior incident last week when he decided to have a giggle fit during a fellow student's presentation. I sent a letter home, and he returned it with a forged signature. I then sent a second letter, which he returned with a second forged signature. When confronted, Jonah told me that my efforts were "pretty cringe."

I am out of patience. This letter is to notify you that Jonah will be spending recess in the principal’s office this week.

Respectfully,

Mrs. Frtiz

The line at the bottom of this letter has been left empty.

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January 30th

Dear Willow Creek Elementary parents,

We are excited to announce that our much beloved "Lions, Tigers, and Bears" field trip is just around the corner. Please sign below to indicate your permission for your child to participate. The field trip will include a visit to the zoo (lunch will be provided), as well as a stop at a locally-owned ice cream shop on the way home.

The date of the trip will be Monday, February 13th; this slip must be returned no later than Friday, February 10th if you would like your child to participate.

We're looking forward to a fun adventure!

Your third-grade teachers,

Mrs. Fritz, Miss Joy, and Mr. Whittaker

There is a line at the bottom of this letter, offering a blank for the student's name and another for the parent's signature. Below that, however, is an additional note in red pen.

Please see my previous three letters, sign, and return.

-Mrs. Fritz