“Just because it’s old doesn’t make it worthless,” Baz said. “Not everything of value has to have a sleek silver exterior or run on ventasium. It’s too easy to forget that things like this existed.”
His piece of treasure found, Baz started to close the chest, when Leo spotted a black box that had been pushed to the corner. Normally it wouldn’t have caught his eye, except it had a familiar emblem on it, one he hadn’t expected to see in the pirate’s goody box: one large planet surrounded by a dozen smaller ones.
“What’s this?” Leo said, picking it up.
“Nothing. Not important,” Baz said, reaching for the box, but Leo had already opened it, its hinges clicking to reveal a medal. A gold sunburst with a silver star at its center. A bright red ribbon snaked out from the top. Leo had seen medals like this before. Captain Saito had one too.
“It’s not nothing,” Leo said. “It’s military.” Leo read the inscription. The top half was in Aykari, but the bottom was in English: For exceptional courage in the line of duty. He read the name engraved in the center, also in English.
Lt. Sebastian D. Blackwell.
“This is yours?”
“It’s trash,” Baz said. “Honestly, I’m not even sure why I still have it.”
“But this is a Coalition medal. That means you—”
Baz snatched the box from Leo’s hands. “Yeah, well . . . my father wasn’t the only pilot in the family,” he said.
Leo remembered. Jets. Not starships. Except for Baz it must have been the other way around. “Hold on . . . you were part of the Coalition?” And now you’re this? Leo thought. It didn’t make sense. How does one go from Coalition pilot sworn to defend Earth from its enemies to thieving pirate, boarding Coalition ships and leaving their crews stranded and helpless? “What happened?”
“Same thing that happened to all of us,” Baz said. “To everyone on Earth that day.”
He meant the attack. The day the missiles struck. The day that haunted Leo and replayed itself time and time again in his nightmares, the ones that took his breath away. “You were there,” Leo said. While Leo was standing on a beach watching the smoke rise, Bastian Black was only a matter of miles—not light-years—away.
Black nodded. “I was twenty-five when it happened. Like everyone else, I watched the cities burn. And like everyone else, I was mad. I wanted to do something, wanted to fight back.”
“So you joined the Coalition.”
“I already had some experience in the cockpit, so I joined the navy and they put me through flight school and stuck me in a starfighter.” Baz angled the medal in his hands, watching the glow from the overhead light skate across its gleaming surface. “That’s where I was when I earned this. We were raiding a munitions factory that the Djarik had seized, some planet I’d never even heard of, but it had a small supply of ventasium, so that made it worth fighting over. My missiles took out the factory and all the buildings around it. Turned out the factory was mostly abandoned, but the other buildings weren’t. My Aykari superiors said they didn’t know, but that it also didn’t matter: the mission was still deemed a success, despite the civilian casualties.”
Baz snapped the box closed. The sound made Leo jump.
“Those civilians—the ones in the blast radius—they weren’t Djarik sympathizers. They weren’t part of the Coalition either. They were just caught in the middle. Collateral damage—that’s what it’s called, just in case you were wondering.”
“I’m sure if they had known . . .” Leo started to say, but the look in Baz’s eyes was enough to cut him off.
“Sure,” he said. “Except there was collateral damage everywhere I looked. People forced to give up their land to make room for Aykari drills. Orders to abandon the defense of a planet because its ventasium stores were all dried up. Factories people counted on to provide food, clothes, you name it, commandeered and repurposed to make weapons and ships. I’ve seen things, Leo. Maybe not as bad as what the Djarik did to us, but they were still things I wanted no part of. I told them I wanted to quit, but the Aykari ordered me back in the cockpit. So I folded up my uniform, left it sitting on my cot, and found a different ship to fly.”
No wonder the Coalition bounty on his head was so high, Leo thought: Bastian Black wasn’t just a pirate.
He was also a traitor.
Baz carelessly tossed the box back into the trunk. “This war—this one we’re all caught up in? It’s not about us, Leo. You and me? We’re just a resource. Our precious planet Earth? Just a fueling station. A pit stop along the way. And once we’re all used up, we’ll all be tossed on the side of the road and forgotten, so you might as well learn how to survive on your own sooner rather than later.”
Baz started to close the trunk but paused, reaching for the black box again. This time he handed it back to Leo, practically shoving it into his hands. “On second thought, here. You take it. Give it to your father, if we find him. I’m sure he’s done something to deserve it. Or keep it for yourself. It’s got to be worth more to you than it is to me.”
Before Leo could think of what to say, the captain pushed his trunk of treasures back under his bunk, reburying it. He left the room with Leo still in it, on his knees, speechless, a pirate’s jacket tight around his shoulders, a Coalition medal heavy in his hands.
The Fender study had always been full of accolades. Plaques lined the walls of the house in Denver; medals hung from bookshelf corners. The Andrew Gemant Award. The Tate Medal. The Dannie Heineman Prize for Astrophysics. The Gerhardt Award for Achievements in Geochemistry. Everywhere you looked Dr. Calvin Fender’s name was wrought in gold and bronze.
Leo would sometimes take some of the medals down and hold them, just to feel their weight, once draping them all around his neck like an Olympian, leaving him lopsided, leaning over, making it difficult to walk. All those awards told a story. A tale of a scientific genius. An expert in the fields of physics, astronomy, chemistry, you name it. One of the foremost human authorities on ventasium and its possible applications. The kind of human being that even a far superior alien race such as the Aykari could admire.
In short, a tough act for any kid to follow.
Not that he didn’t try. Leo would bring home certificates, fresh from the printer, with embossed gold stars and fancy script.
This certifies that Leo Fender has achieved the rank of Outstanding in the Grade-Wide Reading Challenge
We hereby recognize Leo Fender, Fourth Grader, for making High Honor Roll this semester
Congratulations, LEO FENDER, for completing the Colorado State Physical Fitness Test
Leo knew they were nothing like the awards hanging in his father’s office, awards that were given to only one or two people in the world. It didn’t take a genius to feel the minor heft of a sheet of paper with a gold sticker on it and realize how insignificant it was, how dozens, even hundreds of other kids in your school had the same piece of paper tucked into their folders to give to their parents in the hopes of having them magneted to the fridge.
And he would be lying if he said it didn’t cause an inkling of doubt, a moment’s hesitation, standing in the space between the study and the kitchen, the certificate held behind his back, looking at his father the famous scientist who says, “What do you have there?” Knowing that there was no way it could possibly compare.
But slowly, reluctantly, Leo would show him. And every time, Dr. Calvin Fender, winner of an actual Nobel Prize, would read over the certificate carefully, once to himself and then again out loud, his voice deep with gravitas, his eyes beaming with pride. And every time he would point to the certificate and say, “That is remarkable,” before handing it back. “Be sure to show your mother.”
And Leo would say, “Yes, sir,” even though he’d already shown her, because he always showed her first.
After the attack, Leo stopped showing his father every little slip of paper that came home. The report cards full of Bs. The occasional note informing Dr. Fender that his son had
been tardy to class. There didn’t seem to be much of a point. Even the medals and plaques hanging in the study didn’t seem to carry the same gravity as they used to, their polish faded, their brightness dulled. After all, what good is a bronze plaque against an alien menace that can appear out of nowhere at any time and tear your world apart? An engraved medal, no matter how prestigious, couldn’t deflect a Djarik missile. It couldn’t bring your mother back.
And what good, really, was a stack of papers celebrating your achievements if you only had the one parent to show it to?
Leo found everyone in the cockpit again. Kat was piloting—she had changed clothes as well, finding a warmer coat with a fur-lined hood, her holster cinching the coat closed. Bastian had traded in his flip-flops again, but now also sported a pair of gloves. Only Boo was dressed the same, his robe back around his muscular frame, though Leo guessed his thick coat of fur provided all the warmth he needed. Outside, Vestra Prime loomed before them in all its rugged ugliness.
“I forgot how desolate this place was,” Kat said as she wove the Icarus between the crags of brown rock jutting from the planet’s surface.
“Yeah. It’s mostly a wasteland,” Baz said. “Just a handful of outposts. Undoubtedly one of the most depressing places in the universe.”
“Then why does anyone bother to come here?” Boo asked.
“Because nobody else wants to,” Baz replied. “It’s too far from the more populated systems. There’s no V. No precious metals to be mined. Nothing of value save for a breathable atmosphere and a couple of halfway decent places to drink. It’s a place tailor-made for outsiders and rejects.”
“So we’ll fit right in,” Kat concluded.
Leo leaned over and whispered to Boo, “You been here before?”
The Queleti shook his head. He was staring out the cockpit. “There are no trees,” he said. “My planet is covered in trees, but this place is nothing but rock.” It was true. All Leo could see were the towers of stone erupting from a jagged surface that swirled with red dust. In the distance he could make out what appeared to be buildings of metal fused with the landscape.
“Mine used to be,” Leo said. “Covered in trees, I mean.”
Boo grunted. “What happened to them?”
“We did, I guess,” Leo answered.
As the buildings grew closer Leo could see they were connected by bridges, most of them at least three hundred feet off the ground.
“The dust clouds stay close to the surface, but they’re still hard on the lungs, so the first settlers built up, using the outcroppings as anchors,” Baz said. “Also the notorious Vestran wind makes it difficult for hovercraft to maneuver, so mostly people just walk wherever they need to go. Not that there’s much of anywhere to go.”
Unless you are trying to track down your father, Leo thought.
“There,” Baz said, pointing. “That’s the tower we need.” Kat nestled the Icarus down on a landing platform, fighting with the controls as the aforementioned wind shook the ship. Aside from the Icarus, the platform was empty. It really was a place nobody wanted to be. Kat unbuckled and checked the charge on her pistol again. Maybe it was just second nature. Or maybe Leo was just hoping that was the case.
Baz led them all to the back where Skits was waiting for them, two of her metal appendages crossed. “Let me guess,” the robot said. “I’m not coming with.”
“Did you finish your repairs?” Baz asked.
“Yeah, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“I mean, I got them, like, half done. But then I had to save all of you and then watch over the kid and some other stuff happened—and I don’t know how you expect me to do everything all at once, all the freking time.”
“She’s cursing now? That’s new.”
“Bite me, Kat,” Skits said. It seemed so strange to hear the robot hissing insults from the voice box beneath a painted grin.
Baz nodded to the ramp. “You guys go on. I’ll catch up to you in a second.”
“Father–robot daughter chat,” Boo whispered to Leo. “We probably don’t want to be here.”
As he made his way off the ship, Leo saw Kat step close to Black.
“Be honest, Captain. Are we really here to get out of trouble? Or are we looking for more of it?”
Leo paused at the top of the ramp, waiting for the response.
“Haven’t quite decided yet,” Baz replied.
Leo glanced over his shoulder to find them both looking his way. He tucked his head and followed Boo down the ramp.
Baz hadn’t been lying about the wind. Leo felt it the moment he stepped off. It didn’t feel like one blast of wind but several, a volley of currents whipping at him from all directions, nipping at any part of him that wasn’t covered, roughing his cheeks and instantly pulling tears from his eyes. And the sound. Howling at times, but at others just a hiss or a rumble like a crashing wave. And when it died down—which it did only for spells of a second or two—it almost sounded musical, like notes played on a flute. “It’s singing,” Leo said, but nobody could hear him because the Vestran torrent had already kicked up again, making it hard to have a conversation.
And difficult to walk as well. Twice Leo nearly fell over as a gust threatened to sweep his feet out from under him. Both times Boo caught him and kept him upright. The landing pad was situated on the edge of a collection of steel domes and stalwart towers sprawled across a slate of red rock. Swirls of the dust that supposedly stayed close to the surface still managed to find their way up here, though they were never allowed to settle for long. Leo coughed. Between the cold wind and the red dust, the air was only just breathable; it felt like he was sucking in tiny slivers of glass. Leo couldn’t even imagine where the planet’s oxygen came from: there wasn’t a bush or a patch of grass to be seen.
Nor was there another living being outside of the Icarus’s crew. Whoever lived here was clearly content to stay indoors.
Ghost town, Leo thought. And to think, he was here to find someone. In this place people went to not be found.
Baz caught up to them without Skits in tow. They all huddled close to be heard.
“How did that go?” Kat asked.
“About what I expected. She hates everybody and nobody understands her and the whole universe can just go collapse in on itself for all she cares.”
“And you still don’t think she needs a personality matrix adjustment?”
“I don’t know. I feel that way sometimes. Like the world is out to get me. Don’t you?” Baz grinned and pointed to one of the towers just across the long, narrow bridge. “That’s the one. Let’s hope they don’t mind us stopping by unannounced.”
The bridge was long but looked stable enough with thick cables and support pylons. The railing was high—up nearly to Leo’s shoulder—so at least you couldn’t blow right over the side. Not unless you were stupid and tried to sit on the edge, then you would plummet to your death for certain. Baz led the way. The tower in question took on an odd shape, actually getting wider and curving at the top. Sort of like a saucer.
Or a radar dish.
Leo leaned into the wind, keeping his hands on the rails. Eventually he noticed a pattern to the wind’s blowing: it got louder just before it was about to whip up and try and knock you over, which meant he could anticipate it and plant his feet against it. There was no way he could ever live here. The howling alone would drive him insane.
They made their way wordlessly across the bridge to a set of titanium doors on the other side. No control panel, just a small black globe like an eyeball set above the entry. A security camera.
Baz reached into the satchel he’d brought and removed his treasure, holding the vinyl record up to the black eye. Ziggy Stardust and his spiders from Mars were the key to getting in, it seemed.
After a moment, the doors slid quietly open.
And the pirates slipped quickly inside.
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The Price You Pay
SLOWLY THE CITIZENS OF EARTH BEGAN TO SLIP away.
When the first colonists set out, the destinations were familiar. Better, after all, to stay in the solar system you grew up in with the sun you were used to. The initial expeditions went to Mars. Some relocated to Coalition space stations already in orbit around Jupiter and Neptune. The more ambitious volunteered to help terraform the least inhospitable planets around Alpha Centauri, essentially a stone’s throw away with an Aykarian jump drive and a pocketful of V.
No matter your skill set, the Coalition could use you. There was a place for everyone somewhere out in the universe, provided you had the right permit and security clearance. If you were poor, underpaid, out of work, or just looking for a change, the Coalition would happily put you on one of their transports and send you where you were needed most. Farmhands and busboys hung up trowels and towels to go build water reclamation facilities on distant settlements. Prisons all over Earth suddenly found themselves with cells to spare as convicts were shipped out to work in off-world mining facilities, reducing their sentences by serving their time chipping precious minerals out of a cave on Cygnus 7 or operating excavators on the Aykari’s most recent discovery. The pay wasn’t always great, but the views on the journey over could be spectacular.
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