Stowaway

by John David Anderson

  Oddly shaped, mustard-yellow ships.

  “Gareth, what are we doing?” Leo asked, but his brother’s attention was drawn to the sound of voices coming through the main hangar door. He grabbed Leo by the back of his shirt and pulled him behind a set of empty drums that once contained fuel for the Beagle’s sublight engines—the same engines that had been decimated by Djarik torpedoes four days ago. Leo was dragged down just as Bastian Black entered, followed immediately by the girl who had nearly choked Captain Saito to death with her clawed hand.

  She was the one talking, though it sounded more like lecturing.

  “I just wonder sometimes if you have your head screwed on is all. What made you think this wreck was a good target, that they would have anything at all that we would give a Farq’s fart about?”

  “It was a sitting duck. No weapons. No shields. It was worth the risk,” the wanted pirate replied.

  “But a Coalition ship? Seriously, Baz. We need to be careful. What if the crew had been armed with more than just pipes and wrenches? And that captain could have blown your brains out. What little of them there are.”

  “Good thing you were there to stop her.”

  “Yeah, well, one day maybe I won’t be around to save your hide.”

  “If only that were true,” Bastian Black quipped.

  The girl shook her head. “You know what I think? I think you might just be the worst pirate in history. And I don’t mean human history. I mean the history of the entire universe.”

  “Tell me that when your head is worth eight thousand pentars.”

  “You’re only worth that much because you go around telling everyone how notorious you are.”

  “Pirates are supposed to be notorious. You can’t be notorious if nobody knows you.”

  “Pirates are also supposed to take things,” the girl said. “That’s the definition of piracy. And what, exactly, are we leaving here with? Oh, wait. Nothing. In fact, you told them you would give them food. That’s the reverse of piracy.”

  “She has a point,” the four-armed creature lumbering just behind the humans said. It was the first time Leo had heard it speak. It had a surprisingly gentle voice, almost like a cat’s purr.

  Leo crouched beside his brother, watching as the man and the girl stopped to argue by the boarding ramp while the beast began messing with a panel on the ship’s belly. Gareth’s eyes were fixed on the alien, but Leo couldn’t take his off the other two, right up in each other’s faces.

  “I’d like to remind you that I’m technically the captain of this ship,” the man said. He didn’t sound angry so much as exasperated.

  “Then act like it. Our shipment’s already overdue. We don’t have time to board every bombed-out, derelict piece of scrap that we happen to pick up on the scanners, especially if we’re not going to get anything out of it.”

  “What’s the code for this compartment again?” the creature in the robe called out, interrupting.

  “Two-six-E-four-U,” the man said before turning back to the girl. “It’s one container of food. Besides, it will help ease my conscience.”

  “Since when do you have a conscience?” she snapped back.

  “Good point,” he said.

  There was a loud clatter as the giant creature pulled not one but two large containers free from the underbelly of the Icarus, dropping them to the floor. He and Bastian Black exchanged nods, then the pirate captain spoke into the communicator fixed to his jacket. “Skits? You there? Fire up the engines. We’re leaving. This one’s a bust.”

  “Which some of us already knew,” the girl added.

  A flurry of static hissed through the device followed by what sounded a little like crying, though from where he was hiding, it was tough for Leo to make out. It sounded distorted. Mechanical. Like the high-pitched whine of grinding gears.

  “Wonder what that’s all about?” the girl asked.

  “Who knows. Could be another power surge. Or maybe one of us looked at her funny before we left. Boo—batten down the hatches. We’re out of here.”

  The creature shut the compartment door and followed the two humans up the ramp as it closed. The pirates were leaving, thank the stars.

  Gareth muttered something under his breath, then turned to Leo. “You have your inhaler, yeah?”

  Leo patted the pocket of his khaki Coalition pants and nodded. He never went anywhere without his inhaler or his watch, both necessities in their own way. “Why?”

  Gareth didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Leo figured it out soon enough. He knew the way his brother’s mind worked. He glanced at the Icarus and then back at Gareth, realizing what was meant by getting out of here.

  “No. No way. Nuh-uh,” Leo said. “We are not getting on that ship.” He looked at the battered freighter, its ramp already shut. Stow away? Aboard a pirate ship?

  “You heard Captain Saito,” Gareth said. “The Beagle’s not going to make it much longer. And we can’t count on a rescue. These guys found us by accident. And right now, their ship is our best chance of going to get help. It’s worth the risk.”

  Leo shook his head vehemently. It didn’t make any sense. Even in its crippled state, stuck out here in the void, running out of food, the Beagle was still safer than sneaking aboard a pirate freighter. Captain Saito and the crew were like Leo’s second family. He knew every turn of the ship, could tell you who slept in which bunk. He’d seen the faces of a hundred different planets from the Beagle’s starboard observation deck. As much as he’d hated getting on it in the first place, as much as he dreaded leaving Earth, staying on board this limping, paralyzed ship was easily preferable to stowing away with a band of outlaws.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Leo said. “You saw what that girl did to the captain.”

  Gareth put his hands on Leo’s shoulders. “I did. But if we do this right, they will never even know we’re there. We just hide in that cargo bin and wait till they dock at their next stop, then we sneak away and go get help. Simple as that.”

  Anytime anyone ever said “simple as that,” it was to hide just how complicated things could be. “But what about all our stuff?” Leo thought about Houdini the rabbit, tucked under his thin Coalition-issued pillow. Thought about his backpack hanging in the locker that he used for a closet stuffed full of the comics that his brother said he’d grown out of. Thought about the pictures taped to the wall by his bunk, including the only one he had of his whole family, all five of them, Amos included.

  “Forget about your stuff. We’ll get it when we come back. Now come on!”

  With both hands, Leo’s older brother dragged him to his feet, pushing him toward the underside of the ship, careful to stay clear of the view of the cockpit. Leo glanced back at the hangar door, expecting—or maybe just wanting—to see Captain Saito there. She would order them to stop, override his brother’s foolishness. But the hangar doorway was empty.

  “Too sexy for you,” Gareth muttered, typing in the code he’d overheard. The latch slid open. From inside the ship Leo heard a kind of clanking and then felt a hum of energy, the ship’s engines powering up. He looked into the cargo space. A thin strip of light showed it to be half full of metal containers and crates.

  And a lot smaller than he expected. How long would they have to hide away in there? Hours? Days? This was a terrible idea.

  Gareth frowned when he saw the size of the cargo bin, but then he set his race face again. He reached for Leo to boost him up, but Leo pushed his brother’s hands away. “No. No way. Why can’t we just wait here?”

  “Wait for what?” Gareth said sharply. “For the Djarik to come back and finish us off? For the life-support systems to give out? To starve to death? We can’t stay here and just hope for a rescue. We have to do this. We have to go get help.”

  “But Dad . . .”

  “What about him? We have no idea where Dad is or what happened to him. Face it, Leo, we’re on our own.”

  Leo winced, his brother’s words biting deep. His eyes
stung. He shook his head again. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that. He’s out there. He’s still alive, and he’s going to come looking for us.”

  Gareth spoke more calmly. “Okay. Okay. You’re right. He’s out there. And once we get help we can go find him. But for now I’ve got to do what’s best for you, understand? I promised him. He said I was in charge.”

  Leo looked at the cramped cargo hold, back at his brother. “I’m not going. You can’t make me.”

  Leo felt his brother’s hand, fingers wrapped around his own. Felt the squeeze. Gareth pressed his forehead to Leo’s, locking eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  Leo felt himself go slack. So many times Gareth had been the only one around. After Mom was gone, with Dad spending all his time at the lab, leaving only one Fender who knew how to cook. Only one Fender around to read stories and tuck Leo in. To make sure he finished his homework and took a bath. To teach him how to whistle with his fingers and to ride his hoverboard. Gareth was there when nobody else could be.

  “He’ll find us. Or we’ll find him,” Leo said.

  “We’ll find each other,” Gareth replied. “I promise.”

  Leo nodded, placing one foot in his brother’s hands for a boost, pulling himself into the belly of the ship. The compartment was dusty and dry and even more cramped than Leo first thought. He wasn’t sure how the two of them were ever going to fit. The sound of the engines reverberated in Leo’s ears. He lay beside the hatch and put his hand out to help pull Gareth up.

  His brother didn’t take it. Gareth’s face looked pained, but determined.

  “What are you waiting for? Get in!”

  “There’s no room,” Gareth called up, talking louder over the sound of the freighter’s engines. “Remember the plan. As soon as the ship lands you get out of there and go find help. Be careful who you talk to. Coalition only. Show them your patch. Let them know who you are. Tell them what happened. Send them to come find us. The coordinates should be logged in your watch.”

  “What?” Leo yelled, seized with a sudden panic. “What are you talking about?” His brother was reaching out now, but not for Leo’s hand; he was typing numbers into the keypad that controlled the compartment hatch.

  “At least this way I’ll know you got out.”

  “Gareth, what are you doing?” Leo shouted. “You have to come with me! We have to stay together! I can’t do this by myself! Gareth!” Leo got to his knees, ready to jump down, but it was too late.

  “Be brave, Leo,” Gareth said, holding up one hand as the hatch slid closed.

  What do you call an exceptionally hairy alien?

  An extra-fur-estrial.

  —Stan Fustman, 101 Jokes That Are Out of This World, 2048

  The Turtle and the Exile

  WHEN HE WAS SEVEN, LEO FOUND HIMSELF LOCKED inside the janitor’s closet at school.

  The closet was set back in the maintenance area by one of those ancient gas furnaces that stank of burned oil and clanged like a marching band, so it took nearly an hour for anyone to hear little Leo screaming and pounding on the door. There was no light in the closet—only the dead bulb that the janitor never bothered to change—and Leo was sure the space was crawling with spiders and roaches, which made him itch and squirm. Even with a hit from his inhaler he struggled to breathe as he kicked and cursed the three boys that had locked him in there. There had been no cause other than Leo was short and shy and an easy target. The three boys had just been horsing around.

  The very next day, Gareth Fender was suspended for three days for fighting, though admittedly it hadn’t really been much of a fight. Leo’s brother cornered the kid who had orchestrated the prank in the hallway, pulled his shirt over his head, and punched him once in the gut, doubling him over and turning him into a crumpled heap on the floor. Then Gareth bent down and whispered that if he or his friends ever messed with his little brother again he would make the kid choke down his own teeth.

  Leo wasn’t picked on for the rest of the year.

  But he never forgot about the closet, or how it made him feel. It wasn’t claustrophobia exactly. He could spend hours in a tent or a cubbyhole, provided he had crawled in there himself, so long as he was certain he could get out whenever he wanted. It was the knowing that made the difference. Leo wasn’t afraid of tight spaces. He was afraid of being trapped.

  It was probably the biggest reason he hated space travel: because no matter how vast and open it seemed, all it had ever done for Leo was close him in, confine him, force him to live on a ship with its tunneled corridors and windowless compartments. It couldn’t compare to the tree-studded fields or stretches of sand back on Earth. Even in the places where you could look out, all you could often see was emptiness, like a solid thing, like a dark wall closing in.

  Taking your breath away.

  Leo screamed until his throat was raw. He screamed for his brother to get him out even though he knew his brother was long gone. And when his voice grew hoarse, he just whispered his brother’s name.

  “Gareth. What did you do?”

  Leo had always been the sly one. The jokester. Good with card tricks. Sleight of hand. But Gareth had fooled him this time. Trust me, he’d said. And Leo had fallen for it. At least this way I’ll know you got out.

  Except Leo wasn’t out of anything. He was trapped.

  And now he was alone.

  He could feel the thrum of the ship’s engines all around him. He couldn’t tell how fast they were going, but he knew they hadn’t engaged their FTL drive. You could tell when a ship jumped: time seemed to slow down—or maybe it actually did slow down, Leo had never understood the physics no matter how many lectures his father gave—every part of your body felt like it was stretching, the particles pulling away from each other as if you would literally split into a trillion pieces, fragmenting in every direction. And then there was the blinding pain, right behind your eyes and the overwhelming urge to vomit that first timers—and some twentieth timers—never managed to suppress, only a split second of torture before everything evened itself out for the duration. At least until you came back to sublight speed and it happened all over again: two upchucks for the price of one.

  Leo hadn’t gotten that feeling—the sinking, sickening stomach drop, the dizzying head spin—which meant the ship was still using its conventional thrusters, saving its ventasium.

  Which meant that he couldn’t be that far from the Beagle and his brother.

  When I see him again, Leo thought to himself, I’m going to let him have it.

  When, he told himself. When. When. When.

  We’ll find each other.

  Leo stopped pounding uselessly on the hatch door and began searching for a keypad or an emergency release in the darkness, something that would unlock it, though once he felt the ship moving he realized that opening the hatch to the outside would be the absolute worst thing he could do—no sense blowing yourself out of the airlock. He just wanted to know that there was a way out, that he wouldn’t be stuck in here forever. At least the cargo holds were hooked up to the ship’s life-support systems, gravity and oxygen. At least he could breathe.

  Until he couldn’t.

  Until the space around him constricted even further—the darkness wrapping its fingers around his neck, leaning against his chest. Leo’s breaths grew shallower, more hurried, until he couldn’t swallow. Until his throat felt like it was the size of a pinhole.

  You are alone, the darkness said. You are alone and you are trapped, and there is no way out.

  Leo choked. Gasped. He fumbled for his inhaler in the darkness, dropped it, scrambled, down on his knees, banging his head against the compartment’s metal side, finding his medicine, flipping the cap, wrapping his lips around it.

  Taking a breath.

  The instant chemical rush. Like being on the highway and opening the car window to stick your head out. He took a second deep breath, then curled into a tight ball on the floor of the compartment, barely fitting between the container
s, head pressed back against the steel siding. He conjured his father’s words, the reassurances he gave whenever Leo had a panic attack: Deep breaths, Leo. In. Out. Imagine your chest filling like a hot-air balloon, lifting high into the clouds. Nothing else around. Just clouds and blue sky. Ever since he was little it was the same image. Always the balloon. Always the clouds. Leo felt the rattle in his chest calm, the grip around his throat ease. Yes. He could breathe. Just breathe.

  But he could still barely see. Blinking at the thin strip of dull white light by his feet, barely enough to illuminate his boots, he felt like he was out there already in the vacuum of space. Cold and dark. He rubbed at his arms and his right hand stopped at his wrist. At his watch. The gift from his parents.

  In the meager glow of the light strip, Leo turned the dial to twelve—the hologram he played the most—and pressed the button.

  Suddenly the space before him was filled with the soft glimmer of the projection. It was the only holo that wasn’t of Leo, the one he’d kept in the watch’s memory from the very first year he got it.

  It was a recording of his mother.

  In the holo she is sitting on the porch of the house where Leo grew up, holding a thin blade of grass that she’d just pulled from the cracks between the steps as if it were a delicate flower, looking at it intensely, biting her lip, as if trying to solve the puzzle of it being there, how it managed to grow where nothing else could, living in the most impossible of places. After a moment she turns and says:

  I see you, my little lion.

  That’s what she called him. Often right before she would pounce on him and tickle him furiously, until he roared in laughter. But not this time. This time he’d caught her just sitting there, twisting the bit of grass back and forth, looking thoughtful and just a little sad.