Stowaway

by John David Anderson

  “It’s just a phase. She’ll get over it.”

  Kat gave him a dirty look. “Whatever. I’m just saying—a normal robot would answer your calls.”

  Baz peeked around the corner again. “If one of us could sneak past those guards and get to the Icarus, fire up the engines . . .”

  “Except we’re all wanted. They are probably looking for all of us.”

  “Maybe all of you,” Leo said.

  The pirates all stared at him, and for a moment he regretted opening his mouth. But then he thought of Kat sticking up for him just now and Boo standing tall beside him in Grimsley’s chamber. He thought of his brother’s last words before closing the cargo hatch.

  Be brave, Leo.

  “Grimsley just met me,” Leo continued. “Maybe the guards aren’t on the lookout for me. I could slip past them into the hangar, get to the ship, find Skits.”

  “Forget it,” Baz said. “Nothing about you is sneaky.”

  “I managed to get on your ship without you knowing,” Leo said, though really that had been mostly Gareth’s doing.

  Boo snorted. “He has a point.”

  “And what if those security bots do recognize you?” Kat said.

  “That’s when you guys come charging in,” Leo said.

  At least he hoped.

  Baz was still skeptical. “And how do we know you won’t just turn us over to Grimsley, hoping he’ll help you as some kind of reward?”

  The thought honestly hadn’t even crossed Leo’s mind. “That sounds like something a pirate would do.”

  As soon as he said it, Leo regretted it, but Baz surprised him with a laugh.

  “Okay, kid. We’ll watch your back. Once you’re in, go straight to the Icarus and tell Skits we’ve got a code fourteen. She’ll take it from there.”

  “Code fourteen,” Leo repeated.

  “And whatever happens, once you get aboard that ship, you stay on it. Find somewhere safe and hunker down. Things could get messy, and I don’t need you getting in the way.”

  “Got it,” Leo said.

  “This is a bad idea,” Boo muttered.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t my bad idea for once,” Baz said. “Good luck, ninja turtle.”

  With another deep breath, Leo turned the corner back into the main corridor facing the hangar and the pair of security bots guarding the entrance. The Aykari seldom used mechanicals for security. One Aykari soldier was equal to five armed robots. But two armed robots were probably equal to a dozen Leos.

  They certainly looked menacing enough, their armor plating suggested something like the medieval knights Leo learned about in ancient history. Their faces were more like jack-o’-lanterns—slits for mouths and point-down red triangles for eyes that pulsed each time someone passed, probably scanning faces. Leo hoped his wasn’t one of the faces they were looking for, hoped he was right and Grimsley didn’t count him as one of the Icarus’s crew. As he merged with the crowd, he fitted in behind a pair of Terratrins—a species he had at least seen before—their tall frames dwarfing Leo’s own. With their beak-like noses and leathery brown skin they looked a lot more like a mutant turtle than he did. He moved in close, close enough to walk in their shadow and overhear their conversation.

  “The Djarik have captured three planets out near Orion’s Arm, taken over the refineries, and forced the population into labor camps. I don’t think there’s a planet left that one of the two haven’t touched.”

  He was only ten meters from the hangar now. Leo could see that the security bots weren’t top-of-the-line models—their armor was already dented and warped. Nothing in this place looked new. Even the robots were used goods. But the guns seemed plenty functional.

  “If one side doesn’t win soon, there won’t be a galaxy left to rule over.”

  Rule over. No doubt that’s what the Djarik would do—seek to control every planet still remaining after the war was over—but it was the exact opposite of everything the Coalition stood for. Though the two aliens Leo was trailing obviously didn’t see it that way.

  “It’s all about the resources and who gets to control them. Doesn’t matter the cost. It’s all about greed, if you ask me. Greed and control.”

  Eight meters.

  Leo froze as a mechanical head swiveled in his direction; he felt those pulsing red eyes taking him in. Any second now he expected a mechanical voice to command him to halt as rifle barrels converged on him. He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder, to signal for help, to take off running. He hoped Kat could shoot as well as she could kick.

  Stay cool. Keep your head down. Just breathe.

  Five meters from the door, almost even with the guards, the one still watching him. Scanning him. Processing.

  They’re not looking for you.

  “Sometimes I wish there wasn’t even such a thing as EL-four eight six,” one of the Terratrins said. “That would fix it all.”

  “Except how would we get back home?”

  “That’s the point—we never would have had to leave to begin with.”

  Two meters. Almost there. What would Gareth say if he knew what his little brother was doing right now? No doubt he wouldn’t have cajoled him onto that ship. They would have faced whatever awaited them together instead of him going it alone.

  Leo closed his eyes as he stepped over the threshold and into the hangar.

  The security bots gave no orders to stop. They hadn’t been scanning for him after all.

  Because I’m not a pirate, he thought.

  No, he was just a kid. A kid who was sneaking around, dodging guards, looking to blast his way out of a hangar in order to avoid the wrath of a black market dealer of V who’d just been swindled.

  Leo frowned. No. Nothing unseemly about that at all.

  We are all strangers, strangers in a strange land

  Crawling through the smoke, starting to choke, spinning out of control

  This world, it isn’t ours anymore.

  It’s a strange, strange land, and we want to get out,

  But we’ve got nowhere else to go.

  —Blind Republic, “Strange Land,” Firestorm Records, 2053

  A Narrow Escape

  LEO WOULD NEVER FORGET HIS MOTHER’S SMILE.

  He could conjure it whenever he wished, even without the memory saved on his watch. He made a point to remember it because it was such a rare thing. You don’t remember every brown-feathered bird that lights upon the branch of the tree by your room, but you remember the scarlet tanager that perched on your windowsill one gray Sunday morning, flamboyantly fluttering his wings before flying off. His mother’s smile was like that. Bright and elusive and fleeting. Something to be cherished.

  It wasn’t that she was unhappy, at least he never thought so. But Leo’s mother lived in the future, her mind always four hours away, three days down the road, fixated on the years yet to come. Always planning, contemplating, fretting, so concerned about what might happen next that she sometimes lost track of what she was doing. Leo would find her standing motionless, a forgotten thing in her hand—a book, maybe, or a spatula, staring off into space as his grilled cheese started to burn. She would get that look in her eye, and Leo would know that she’d gotten ahead of herself again.

  “She always worried too much,” Dad said after she’d gone. “Forgetting to open her own presents on Christmas because she was already planning what to buy us for next year.”

  Unlike his father who often looked on the future with a wide-eyed stare and a boyish grin, Leo’s mother met it with frowns and nervously nibbled nails. Dad contemplated the future’s rich possibilities. Mom tried to anticipate everything that could go wrong.

  Both of his parents thought Leo took more after her.

  But she could only fret over the future—she couldn’t see it. If she could, she wouldn’t have gone into town with her sister that day. She would have joined Leo and his brother and father down by the beach instead. She would have kept them all together. If she had known.
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  Nothing good ever comes from leaving the people you love.

  Of course nobody knew what was coming. Not the humans. Not even the Aykari, who had sworn to protect them, who had defenses in place to repel such an attack. Except those defenses weren’t strong enough. Not on that day. They were all taken by surprise.

  Leo remembered his mother smiling at him that morning, getting somehow stuck in the moment long enough to give him that gift along with a hug goodbye. She asked him to bring her back a shell, the prettiest one he could find. He promised her he would.

  She had long brown hair with light red streaks that stood out in the sun. Her name was Grace. And in that moment, and in all the moments before, she was the center of Leo’s universe.

  Then the missiles struck and the whole world shook.

  And that smile was all Leo had left.

  Leo finally allowed himself one quick glance over his shoulder—all the way down the corridor to the turn, just catching a glimpse of the top of Baz’s head peeking after him—then turned back to the hangar. The Icarus was halfway across the bay, its peeling yellow paint standing out against the silvers and grays of the other ships.

  There were at least a dozen of them. A couple two-seat fighters, some smaller star-jumpers, a few freighters the same size as the Icarus. A dozen different starships heading a dozen different places. They couldn’t all be pirates. Some of them had to be traders or merchants. Obviously not honest ones if they had to come here to do business, but maybe not as dangerous. Maybe not with a price on their heads.

  Maybe he could bribe someone. A smuggler would recognize a potential payout when she sees it; there had to be some reward for rescuing a Coalition vessel and its crew. It might be worth trying. Finding another pilot. Or even just sneaking aboard, taking his chances with another ship, another crew. After all, it hadn’t been that hard the first time.

  At least until he got caught sitting in the storage compartment that had once held two large containers of food.

  Containers that had been left behind on the Beagle by the worst pirate in the galaxy to ease the conscience that he supposedly didn’t have.

  As Leo scanned the array of unfamiliar-looking ships docked in the hangar he heard Kat’s voice in his head.

  We can’t just leave him here. He won’t last a day.

  Could he, though? Could Leo just leave Bastian Black and his crew after saying he’d help them? They were counting on him to get to the Icarus, to warn Skits, to power up the ship. This stowaway. This kid they hardly knew. But what reason did he have, really, for keeping his word? Because two of the crew were human? Because the alien talked to him and told him about his bathrobe instead of tearing him limb from limb? What would his father expect him to do? He would say that pirates couldn’t be trusted; they were just as dangerous to the Coalition as the Djarik.

  And his mother?

  She would have told him to trust his gut. And to do whatever he could to get back to his family.

  Leo’s gut told him that one of these ships was probably piloted by someone who would find it in their heart to help him, but that it was even more likely to be owned by a mercenary who would actually feed him to a Snid or sell him off at the next port.

  His eyes fell back on the Icarus. The only ship in the hangar he recognized. Sometimes it’s better to sleep out in the rain. Even Bastian Black with all his talk hadn’t made good on any of his threats to leave Leo behind. Yet.

  Leo steeled himself, his mind made up.

  Except there was a problem: the two additional security bots standing by the Icarus’s loading ramp, rifles slung across their metal chests.

  “Nerts!” Leo hissed. Even if the security bots weren’t looking for him specifically, they were clearly watching the ship. He had to get on the Icarus without being seen.

  Or maybe just without being caught.

  Leo looked at his watch. It was the first rule of magic—the first rule his mother had taught him at least: always give the audience something else to look at, something to draw their attention away from the real action.

  “Belgips. Ripe belgips. Ten for one pentar.”

  Off to Leo’s right stood a Jorl with its spiky orange head and catfish whiskers holding up some strange-looking purple fruit about the size of a baseball. He had a whole cart full of them. Leo turned his watch dial to four—the same recording he used whenever he and Gareth played tag—then changed course, heading for the cart.

  He’d never stolen anything in his life, unless you counted sweets from his own pantry after midnight, but it was only one piece of fruit. Besides, the peddler could have his belgip back as soon as Leo was done with it. Provided it was still in one piece.

  He slipped around the back of the carts and pilfered one of the Terratrin’s goods while its back was turned, cupping the purple globe in his hand. It was heavier than he expected, its outer rind tough as tree bark. Perfect. His fingers curled around it reflexively, remembering the hours spent tossing baseballs with Gareth in the glow of streetlamps back on Earth, and just as many hours doing the same in the hangar of the Beagle. Gareth always had the stronger arm, but Leo’s throws were more accurate.

  Leo ducked behind a stack of shipping crates within a belgip’s toss of the Icarus’s ramp. He only had one shot. Leo cocked. Aimed. Fired.

  The belgip pegged one of the security bots in the back of the head, the tough skin of the alien fruit resounding with a hollow gong. Both robots swiveled to see Leo taking off from behind the crates, running at full speed across the hangar bay.

  They called for him to halt—their voices clearly meant to be the authoritative and intimidating kind—and moved to intercept with their rifles raised, but the boy they were chasing didn’t heed their warnings. He just kept running.

  Straight into the hangar wall.

  At which point he vanished. Poof. The security bots looked around, scanning the hangar.

  Had they picked that moment to look at the Icarus, they would have seen Leo’s real boots disappearing up the ramp.

  Leo’s mother had been the one to teach him how to do magic tricks. It had been a hobby of hers in high school. In fact, it’s how she and the future Dr. Calvin Fender had met: he picked a card and she pulled it out of his ear and wrote her number on it. It was, as both of them remembered fondly, the jack of hearts.

  Leo and his mother would sometimes spend all evening learning new tricks. While his father worked late in the lab and his brother was at practice, the two of them would sit on the porch and make cards levitate, spoons bend, and coins disappear. She was the master, Leo her struggling apprentice, the thread getting tangled, the coin often slipping from between his fingers and bouncing on the floor, the ace of spades never materializing as it was stuck somewhere up his sleeve. And when he grew frustrated—which was often—Grace Fender would put her hands on his, calming him.

  “It takes practice, Leo. Don’t worry. You’ll get it. You’re only seven. I didn’t start performing magic until I was twice your age. Besides, it isn’t supposed to be easy. That’s what makes it so special. If anyone could do it, it wouldn’t be magic, would it?”

  Along the way she taught him the rules. Like rule number two: never divulge how a trick is done. So when Gareth, who was better than Leo at most things but had no knack for sleight of hand, begged to know how his brother performed each trick, Leo would shrug and say, “Magic, of course,” before turning and smiling at his mother, the secret stuck between them.

  And rule number three: never perform the same trick for the same audience. Because if they know what’s coming, there can be no surprise, and the surprise—the revelation—is what gets you.

  Leo and his mother weren’t the only ones who knew that rule. The Djarik knew all about the element of surprise.

  The day the missiles struck Leo was distracted. By seagulls and darting fish and the feel of wet sand squishing up between his toes. The sky was empty. There was no way of knowing that a fleet of Djarik warships had just come out of their
jump in Earth’s orbit, arming their ordinance, picking their targets, most of the missiles launching before the Aykari even had a chance to respond.

  The devastation was worldwide. So many cities left burning. So many lives lost.

  The night before the attack, Leo’s mother had introduced him to a new trick, seemingly passing a chain of colored scarves through her skull, in one ear and out the other. “I’m cleaning my brains,” she said. “Just getting the dust out.” It was marvelous, just like she was. He begged her to teach him, but it was already late.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “I promise.”

  The fourth rule of magic was one he learned the hard way:

  Always leave your audience wanting more.

  “Skits,” Leo said as loud as he dared, not wanting to be heard from below in case Grimsley’s mechanical sentries had returned to their post. “Skits, where are you?”

  The only response was the muffled sound of music coming from the ship’s engine compartment. Piano and strings. Sad and slow. Leo followed the sound but stopped when the robot’s high-pitched voice came belting along the corridor.

  “‘And I need you now tonight. . . .’”

  Leo shuddered.

  He burst into the Icarus’s engine room to find Skits with two mechanical arms extended from its torso, one holding a torch that was welding two pipes together, the other tapping time to the music against her metal torso right above a sticker for Joe’s Crab Shack, in perfect imitation of Baz. The music came squeaking out of a speaker somewhere on the robot’s midsection, though Leo wondered how in the galaxy she could possibly hear it over her own screeching.

  “‘And I need you more than ever . . .’”

  She certainly didn’t seem to notice Leo waving his arms and shouting her name from the entry, afraid to get too close to a temperamental robot with a blowtorch in her hand.

  “Skits!”

  “‘And if you only hold me tight . . .’”

  “SKITS!” Leo shouted, jumping and waving his arms.

  The robot spun, the music instantly shutting off. “Gaaaahhhh!” she screamed, her torch flaring, its flaming tongue shooting across the room, nearly singeing Leo’s hair.