Ashfall Legacy

by Pittacus Lore

  World killer.

  I rubbed my arm, the one that had been bound by metal in that glimpse of my future. “I don’t know how much training I’ll need,” I said. “I’d need to talk it over with my uncle . . .”

  “Two weeks,” Tycius said.

  My uncle had heard everything. For all of Rafe’s hushed tones, Tycius was still a former spy. He probably knew how to read lips.

  “I can have you ready in two weeks,” Ty said, looking at me now. “If you’re up for it.”

  “Ready for what?” Darcy asked before I could respond. She got up from the Wayscope, rubbing her temples. “What are you talking about?”

  Rafe grinned at her. “Ready to save our kind, my child,” he said. “Ready to lead humanity into the future.”

  26

  “Do you like it here, Syd?” Tycius asked as we rode the train back from Little Earth.

  I looked out the window at the ocean, tinted purple due to a partial eclipse. The waters were dotted with small boats, the Denzan fishermen waving at the train as it passed by overhead. A coral reef sparked neon orange. In the distance, the craggy edges of Primclef rose up from the water.

  My life on Earth had been paranoia and chaos. My future, at least if I believed the Etherazi, was going to be danger and war. But here on Denza, at the institute, was the first time that I actually felt at peace. Ignoring the cold reception I’d gotten from some antihuman Denzans like Arkell, most of the people I’d met here were kind. They were good to one another. Nobody here suffered or was deprived of basic shit. I could take my classes, expand my mind, and dream about the Vastness. I realized, looking out over the ocean, that I felt more relaxed here than I ever had before.

  “Yeah,” I responded, after what I realized must have been one of those dreamy pauses. “I really do.”

  “I didn’t mean to push you back there,” Ty said. “We both know what’s at stake, but I’d understand if you wanted to wait. Get to know this place. Your life hasn’t been easy. You could have a break from it all . . .”

  My gaze drifted up from the ocean to the sky, the horizon, the violet backdrop dotted with stars. I liked Denza, but the Vastness still called to me. I thought about Ty’s suggestion only for a second.

  “No,” I said. “There’s no running from it. We need to find my dad.”

  The message from Captain Reno went out that night. We were going off-world again in two weeks. The Eastwood had been assigned to a tropical planet called Caris-III where we’d be assisting Denzan scientists to catalog the local plant life. The rest of the crew was excited. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that we weren’t actually going to Caris-III, that they were just part of a cover story to get us back out into the Vastness. I’d let Reno handle that.

  A small gray planet where ash fell like snow. Definitely not the sexy field trip everyone was hoping for.

  I stuck with my classes for the next two weeks, but most of my effort went into those underground Wayscope sessions at Rafe’s pizzeria. After that first meeting, I started taking more time in the chair than Darcy. She didn’t mind, always complaining about how the Wayscope gave her migraines. It didn’t have that effect on me. In fact, by the second week, I was straining against the limits of our bootleg Wayscope, dying to push my consciousness into new galaxies. I could pivot between star systems at will, probing for potential wormhole locations with ease. I figured that I could probably smash through that old Dungeon puzzle in seconds. Once I was plugged back into the Eastwood’s Wayscope, operating a cosmological tether wouldn’t be a problem.

  “You’re good at this,” my uncle told me, pride in his voice. “I knew you would be.”

  The truth was, I liked it out in the Vastness. I could blank my mind and forget all about the pressure on me—the politics and prophecies—and just be one with the cosmos.

  Besides losing myself in the Vastness, the only thing that really chilled me out during those two weeks was Human Book Club for Nonhumans.

  My science fiction class had quickly turned into the best part of my schedule. I’d been surprised when, right before the first meeting, when it was just supposed to be H’Jossu and me, Batzian and Melian showed up. Apparently, Mel had convinced Batzian that he should expose himself to some human culture besides Rafe Butler’s war stories.

  “This one was truly terrible,” Batzian declared, setting down his tablet with disgust. This was our last meeting before the training mission, the day before we were set to depart. “To think that humanity would dream of such amazing technological progress—for them, at least—and the result of that progress would be a police state. Disturbing.”

  “I guess it shows that we’re a seriously pessimistic species,” I replied.

  “I actually agree with Batzian,” H’Jossu said. “I didn’t like it. I don’t understand why Winston didn’t just buy a machine gun or something. That would’ve been a better climax.”

  “That is not at all what I’m saying,” Batzian said. “Why is it always machine guns with you?”

  “It’s not,” H’Jossu said, slowly lowering his arms, which had previously been mimicking a machine gun.

  “No, sometimes it’s lasers,” I said.

  “Or karate,” Melian added.

  I held class in a little park outside the institute, the four of us seated across from one another on a pair of marble benches. We got lucky with our time slot, which happened to fall at one of the sunniest parts of the afternoon. H’Jossu periodically had to fend off flocks of small birds that wanted to nest in his wooly shoulders.

  “I thought it was romantic,” Mel said. “Even though his society was constructed to crush him, Winston still found hope and love.”

  “A foolish thing to risk one’s life for,” Batzian replied.

  Mel shrugged. “No more foolish than anything else.”

  I glanced down at the notes that I’d prepared for this class. “What’s crazy is that Orwell wrote this book seventy years ago, before the internet was even a thing on my planet. It’s wild how much he saw coming.”

  “Like touch-screen walls that are secretly spying on you,” H’Jossu said.

  “Everyone at the institute is assured of their privacy,” Batzian replied quickly.

  “I’m just joking, dude.”

  “It makes me wonder if Orwell was like a psychic—,” I started to say.

  “No, obviously not,” Batzian interrupted.

  “Or,” I continued, flashing Batzian my best version of my mom’s don’t interrupt me look, “maybe human society used Orwell’s writing almost as a handbook. Maybe we like internalized his dark thoughts about the future and they became a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  “Deep,” H’Jossu said.

  Melian sighed happily; she had a habit of doing that whenever she heard or read something interesting. “I know we don’t take classes while on the Eastwood, but do you think the four of us could still get together for some reading?”

  “I’m down,” H’Jossu said.

  “Totally,” I said.

  We all looked at Batzian. He tightened his ponytail.

  “I don’t think a little book club will get in the way of our duties,” he said. Then he smiled, a rare thing from him. “Also, I’m already halfway through Hyperion, so you’ll all need to catch up.”

  That night, I planned to get to bed early. We had a briefing scheduled in the morning. I’d just finished hooking up the network of trip wires that I kept in front of my room’s entrance and window in case of another Zara intrusion, when Hiram pounded on my door. For some reason, he was wearing black silk pajamas.

  “Brother, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said.

  “And you just now tried my room?” I replied, eyeing him. “Why are you dressed like a porno movie ninja?”

  “Shut up,” he said. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Uh, going to bed?” I responded, regretting immediately that I didn’t have a more viable excuse.

  “Going to—?” He shoo
k his head. “No way. We have plans. You’re coming out on patrol with me.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Pa-trol,” he said, sounding out the word, as if that made what he wanted any clearer. “Usually Darcy comes, but she’s having a special good-bye dinner with my grandpa that apparently I’m too much of an asshole to get invited to. So I need you to be my sidekick.”

  “As enticing as that sounds, I think I’m going to pass.”

  “Not optional,” Hiram said. “Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to go to Keyhole Cove? That’s where I’m staking out. Do you have any dark clothes?”

  I sighed. I had wanted to visit Keyhole Cove but got too snowed under with classes and training. I also knew that Hiram wouldn’t leave me alone until I said yes or somehow wrestled him out of my room. Plus, whatever he was up to sounded like a bad idea, which made me think I should go even more, as a representative of the good side of humanity.

  So that’s how I ended up perched on a rooftop in Keyhole Cove, peering down at the revelers below. The beachside village was a destination for a lot of the younger Denzans, basically Primclef’s designated party zone. The neighborhood was also a hot spot for the Vulpin; there were almost as many of them mingling down below as there were Denzans. Everyone filtered in and out of different bars and restaurants and VR arcades, listening to bands that were set up at the corners blasting synth-heavy Denzan music, or pausing at food stands or smoke stands to inhale some locally grown mushrooms, one way or the other.

  It was a pretty wild scene, and I would’ve been happier to be down in it, rather than crouched next to Hiram in the shadows of a neon sign advertising a bar called Red Sands.

  “We’re the protectors of these people,” he intoned to me, his voice way deeper and more gravelly than necessary. “The Etherazi may be gone, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t threats.”

  “Okay, Batman,” I said.

  “What the hell’s a Batman?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Denza is open to immigrants from other planets, so of course the Vulpin are always showing up, looking for easy marks,” Hiram continued. “There’s at least one robbery over here every night. They think they’re so slick about it.”

  Hiram pointed down at a trio of Vulpin guys with their fur trimmed to tight braids along the backs of their heads. They swayed through the crowd, looking like any of the other partiers, two of them always hanging on each other, either roughhousing or dancing, bumping into the kiosks as they went. It took me a second to realize what they were doing. Whenever the first two bumbled into a stand, which always drew the ire of the owner, the third Vulpin used the distraction to pocket some bottles or loose items.

  “Man, you must be my good-luck charm,” Hiram declared. “Usually have to dick around up here for hours before there’s a bust to make.”

  I shook my head. “They’re just stealing some beers,” I replied. “That’s what you’re keeping Denza safe from?”

  “That’s how it starts,” Hiram said. He jumped up onto the balustrade. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

  Hiram leaped down to the street without glancing back to see if I was following. He landed only a few feet from one of the Vulpin thieves. He grabbed the guy by the tail and slammed him onto the cobblestones. The other two Vulpin immediately sprinted into the crowd. Hiram tried to give chase, but he was cut off by a bunch of confused partiers trying to break up the fight. I heard him yelling at them about “standing in the way of justice.”

  “Fuck this,” I said.

  I turned away and immediately came face-to-face with a pair of glowing green eyes and a glinting silver blade. As usual, I jumped out of my skin.

  “Got you again,” Zara said with a smirk, sheathing her blade in her hair and stepping back. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been on the roof, practically breathing down my neck, but it was definitely long enough to have overheard Hiram’s bullshit. “You didn’t want to go play party patrol with the big idiot?”

  “Not really my thing.”

  She stepped around me to peek over the edge. In the commotion, the Vulpin who Hiram had slammed had gotten to his feet and fled into the crowd. Hiram gave chase, the three Vulpin now working as a team to evade him. One always leaped in to provide a timely distraction whenever Hiram got too close to one of the others. From up here, the whole scene looked like slapstick. Most of the Denzans down below had stopped to watch the show as well, clapping and laughing like Hiram’s crusade was all a joke.

  “Those den Bono pups are enjoying themselves,” Zara said. “Stolen loot doesn’t really have value if no one’s chasing you for it.”

  “It’s like a game to them,” I observed, watching as two of the Vulpin boys lured Hiram around a corner just so the third, perched above a doorway, could dump a bucket of water over his head.

  “A competition,” Zara corrected. “To my people, everything is a competition. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  “I’ve mostly learned to check my closet before going to bed, like I’m five years old again,” I responded. Down below, Hiram, shouting, barreled around a corner after the Vulpin boys. I lost sight of him. “Hope he doesn’t catch them,” I said.

  “He won’t,” Zara reassured me. “He’s out here so many nights, playing his little police game. Every Vulpin on the prowl knows he’s coming and how to give him the slip. Even Darcy’s so sick of the humiliation, she’s making up excuses to get a night off.”

  I was still a little worried that Hiram might catch those Vulpin and cripple them out of frustration, but Zara didn’t seem concerned. More than anything, I was relieved to have Hiram out of my hair.

  “Want to walk back to the institute together?” I asked.

  Zara’s fangs glinted in the moonlight. “Sure.”

  “Without trying to stab me?”

  “No promises.”

  We made our way down to the street and strolled through the crowd. At some point, Zara filched a bottle of Denzan moss ale from a street vendor. She was much smoother than the other Vulpin; I didn’t even see her do it.

  “Are all Vulpin thieves?” I asked.

  “Only the ones who practice,” she said, wiggling the bottle at me. “Is every human so uptight? Are you going to tell Hiram on me?”

  I snatched the bottle from her and drank. “Nope.”

  The ale tasted sweet, and, as soon as it hit my tongue, the colors around me seemed brighter. We passed the drink back and forth. I became keenly aware of how I swung my arms when I walked. Time felt slower for me, even though all the people we passed were sped up.

  “Do you know which way we’re going?” Zara asked.

  “I was following you,” I said.

  “Uh-oh.” She held up the half-empty bottle and swished the ale around. “This stuff is strong.”

  I laughed. “You should steal more.”

  As we stumbled onward, my nostrils flared. I smelled something that I hadn’t since coming to Denza—bacon frying. We’d reached a block of shops that were owned and operated by Vulpin proprietors. There were stalls selling all kinds of meats, a couple with secondhand electronics and ship parts, and a few hawking knives and other edged weapons. I noticed that all the stalls on the left side of the road were operated by Vulpin who kept their hair short and spiky, while the stalls on the right side were run by merchants with looping curls down the sides of their heads. The hawkers spent as much time glowering at one another as they did shouting at passing customers.

  “Den Iben,” Zara said, gesturing to the left, “and den Rost,” she said, gesturing to the right. “A healthy rivalry to drive commerce, only a few stabbings every year.” She squeezed my arms, claws sharp against my biceps. “We should not have come this way. Someone may try to kidnap you.”

  She was making fun of me, but I didn’t mind so much. “You’ll protect me, right?”

  Zara considered this. “For the right price. Maybe. There’s no glory in guarding a farty Earth boy.”

  My stomach rumbled. �
��If you’re done roasting me, can we get something . . . ?”

  I trailed off as the crowd parted and I caught sight of a surprising figure. Arkell stood hunched over one of the tables selling bootleg technology, the Eastwood’s chief engineer shaking a metallic conduit in the face of a hostile-looking den Iben male.

  I pointed him out to Zara. “Isn’t that . . . ?”

  “Hmm,” Zara said. “What’s he doing down here? The institute is not so cheap that he’d need to barter for spare parts.”

  As we watched, Arkell and the merchant exchanged a few last words. Clearly, the Denzan wasn’t getting what he wanted out of the exchange. He stuffed his gadget back into his coat and stormed away from the table.

  Alarm bells blared in my mind. Something wasn’t right. Once Arkell was out of sight, I approached the merchant’s table.

  “Excuse me,” I said, trying to come off as sober as possible. “What did that last customer want?”

  The Vulpin eyed me skeptically. “He just asked for directions,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  Zara sidled up to my side, clucking her tongue at the merchant. She brushed the mane on her shoulders, and I thought I saw a flash of metal there. “Come, come, den Iben,” she said. “We’re all friends here.”

  Surprisingly, the merchant seemed to relax in Zara’s presence—I guessed brandishing a weapon was how the Vulpin shook hands. “Ah, den Jetten, I did not know this was your human,” the merchant said. He leaned closer. “That pissy Denzan had a burned-out Wayscope refractor. Wanted to know where he could get another one. I told him that this isn’t no black-market shop. He thinks all us Vulpin traffic in banned tech.”

  “What’s a Wayscope refractor?” I asked with all the subtlety of a hammer.

  The merchant gave me a wary look, so Zara pulled me away from his stand.

  “Very rare Vulpin spycraft,” she explained. “We can’t use the Wayscopes like the Denzans or you hybrids, but if we sneakily attach a refractor, we can intercept whatever data the Denzans pull from the Vastness. It’s tricky, though. Unstable. A thing like that could make a Wayscope overload. Works equally well for stealing information as it does for frying whoever’s in the chair.”