She looked around her. Acorngrove was beautiful, just as beautiful as when Twig had left it. The havenwood trees rose around her, twisting and sending out many branches, the most beautiful trees in the cosmos. Their leaves rustled, golden and red. Treehouses rose on the branches, their lanterns kindling as the sun began to set. Around the roots of trees, the townsfolk had placed pumpkins carved with faces. Dry leaves scuttled over cobblestones and the flowers of autumn bloomed. The scents of cider spiced with cinnamon, baking apple pies, and pipe smoke filled the air, the smell of home.
All around her walked her fellow halflings. Women wore long skirts and aprons, and kerchiefs hid their hair. Men wore sturdy trousers, vests with polished brass buttons, and flat woolen caps. The people smiled at her, tilted their hats, and puffed on their pipes. They too were beautiful, Twig thought—a humble, happy people with ruddy cheeks, a people who knew no war, no hardship, a people who lived for eating good fare, smoking strong pipes, and singing around the fire.
It's beautiful here, Twig thought, the most beautiful place in the cosmos . . . yet sad. Full of memories.
She lowered her head. Those old days returned to her. Days of sadness coiling in her belly. Nights of wandering alone, staring up at the stars, yearning for their beauty, feeling that they were so far, so cold. Uneaten meals. Limbs dwindling down to skin and bones. Beds where she could not sleep, tears she could not shed, a life she could not bear to live.
"She has the melancholy," the town doctor had said. "It's an illness I cannot cure."
"I cannot live this life anymore," Twig had whispered into her pillow at night, hugging herself, shaking. "I want to die. Please let me die. Please, whatever gods might hear me, let me die."
Walking through Acorngrove now, older, a survivor, Twig reached to her belt and grabbed her electric wrench.
It was this wrench that saved me, she remembered.
When there was no beauty to falling leaves and pumpkins on cobblestones, Twig had always been able to sneak into her toolshed, to tighten screws, to twist bolts, to build her little robots. When all food had lost its flavor, when all flowers seemed wilted, she still had her junkbots. Her little motors. Her wrenches and hammers and screwdrivers. Her dreams of someday flying off on a great starship, working on engines larger than a man, finally reaching those distant stars.
And so, when she had turned eighteen, she had hitched a ride. She had blasted off Haven. She had hitchhiked across the galaxy and found her way to Earth, to the Dragon Huntress. She had reached the stars, found her great engines to work on, and she served with a real robot—with Giga, a robot more complex than any Twig had ever built in her toolshed.
I fulfilled my dreams, she thought, and I'm stronger now. I'm no longer that broken girl. Does coming home always feel so sad?
"Twig?" The voice spoke beside her. "Are you all right?"
She turned to see Riff looking at her, his eyes soft with concern.
She nodded, then lowered her head. "Yes, Captain. I . . ." She took a deep breath. "Old sadness and old memories are hard to let go."
Riff looked around him, then back at her, and he took her small hand in his large, warm grip. "It's hard for me to imagine being sad in a place so beautiful."
Twig looked around her at the shining lanterns, the rustling trees, the dry leaves that scuttled between the pumpkins. "Sadness doesn't just spring from ugliness. Sadness can live in beauty too. It's something that comes from deep inside you." She pulled a few dry leaves out of her hair. "Would you mind if I walked ahead for a bit? Just . . . to be alone for a few moments, at least until we reach my old gaffer's place?"
"Of course." Riff mussed her hair. "We're slowpokes anyway, gaping around at the trees. Go ahead and we'll catch up. And Twig . . . if you need anything, even just to talk, I'm always here. You know that, right?"
Twig nodded, a lump suddenly in her throat, and hugged him. Her head only reached her captain's belly, so it wasn't much of an embrace, but it was warm and comforting.
She walked ahead, leaving him and the other Alien Hunters behind to point at the pumpkins, the carvings in the trunks of the trees, and the elaborate tin lanterns that hung from the branches.
She passed by one tree where, years ago, fellow children had struck her and laughed as she fell. She walked by a pond where she would feed the ducks, her only friends. She climbed onto a hillock where she used to gaze up at the stars, the same stars that were now emerging. She stared up and could see Sol in the distance, a small yellow light, the star Earth orbited around. The star where she had found Piston, found Riff, found a new family. Where she had found the HMS Dragon Huntress, the ship that meant the world to her, the ship that was her home, that made her happy.
She was only minutes away from her old gaffer's place when the Onion Gang emerged from behind the trees.
Twig paused and stared, her eyes widening, her heart pounding.
No, she thought, trembling. Oh stars, no.
The boys stepped toward her. There were five of them. There were always five of them. Their eyes widened too, and their faces split into ugly grins. Most halflings were friendly folk with pink cheeks, kind eyes, and ready smiles. Not these ones. Not the Onion Gang. One of them was fat, another tall and lanky. Two were twins, and another was beefy and tall, almost as large as a gruffle.
"Twiggle Jauntyfoot," said the fat one and spat.
The tall one burst out laughing, sounding like a donkey. "Tinkle Stinkyfoot." He snorted. "That's her name."
The twins burst out laughing. The beefy boy, a brute called Loaf, stepped forward and grabbed Twig's collar.
"I thought we told you never to come back to this planet." He spat on her. "Thought we kicked you out."
"Let's toss her into the mud pit again!" said one boy.
"No, let's dump latrines on her like we used to."
They shoved her from one to another, laughing all the while.
"Let go!" Twig trembled with rage and raised her wrench. "Let go or I'll hurt you."
They kept shoving, kept laughing. One boy twisted her wrist, and another yanked her hair. Twig squirmed and fought them, but she was too small, small even for a halfling. Again she felt like a child. So many times, she had lain in the dirt, clothes torn, body bruised. So many times, she had wished to fight them, had dreamed that her little robots could fight for her, defeat these boys or carry her away to another world.
Loaf, the strongest of the bunch, twisted her collar with one hand. He pulled back his other hand and balled it into a fist.
"Time to teach her what happens to damn traitors who fly off to Earth."
He sneered, readying his fist.
Before he could strike, a golden lash flew out and wrapped around his wrist.
Loaf cried out in pain and released Twig.
"Do you know what an electric whip is?" Nova came walking forward, her golden catsuit whispering with every step. "If I hit the switch on the handle, it'll blast enough electricity up your arm to make it fall off."
Loaf wailed and his fellow Onion Gang boys gasped. The Alien Hunters came walking toward them: Nova, the gladiator princess; Steel Starfire, a knight in armor, his sword raised; and Captain Riff Starfire, a gun in his hand, his eyes dark.
"An idea, boys," Riff said, hefting his gun. "Run."
The Onion Gang turned and ran. Loaf took an extra moment to tug his arm free, then ran after the other boys, wailing for them to wait.
"Yeah, keep running!" Piston shouted. The gruffle came lolloping forward, his stocky body astoundingly fast on a planet with such low gravity. Though several times Twig's mass, the burly engineer bounded like a gazelle with every step. When he reached Twig, the gruffle held her arms and stared at her, eyes narrowing. "Are you all right, wee one?"
Twig nodded. "I'm fine."
Piston's eyes dampened, and he shook his fist again down the road, though the Onion Gang was no longer in sight. "It's this planet! It's this whole damn planet. Trees and flowers ain't natural, I'm telling you." He turned back toward Twi
g, and his face softened. "Let's go get rid of this robot, then blast off this rock. What do you say, Twig?"
She gasped and pointed. "I think we'll have to get rid of more than one, Piston. Watch out!"
The Alien Hunters all spun around to see a hundred metallic, buzzing robots flying their way, their bodies whirring with spinning blades.
Twig lifted her wrench as screams, electricity, and blood flowed across Acorngrove.
CHAPTER FIVE:
BOTS AND BLADES
Romy swayed as she climbed the stairs, carrying a pile of robotic isopods into the Dragon Huntress's airlock. The charred little things wobbled like plates in the grip of a harried waiter. Romy wailed, beat her wings, and crashed down the stairs.
"Ow!"
She fell right out of the Dragon Huntress and landed outside on the dirt, twisting one wing. The burnt drones, each no larger than a soup bowl, clattered around her.
"Damn Piston with his damn orders!" Romy rose to her feet and gingerly flapped her hurt wing. "Why do we need these stupid bots anyway?"
She stretched her wings ahead of her, then curled them inward, forming a leathern basket. She began to place the robots on her wings, feeling rather clever. She climbed into the Dragon Huntress again, carrying her catch, and made it up the staircase onto the main deck. She dumped the drones onto the floor and kicked one.
"Stupid bots." She folded her wings against her back. They hurt more than ever. "I hate robots. Useless machines. I— oh! Sorry Giga."
The android stood behind the couch, staring with wide, hurt eyes. Giga sniffed, then turned to flee the main deck, heading toward the bridge.
"Giga, wait!" Romy made to follow, but tripped over one of the drones and crashed down. She wailed, lifted the damn thing, and hurled it against the wall.
Machines confused Romy. She never understood what Giga wanted, never knew how to operate the microwave, never understood Piston when he roared about her eating parts from the engines. With a sigh, Romy rose to her feet, beat her wings, and flew up to the ceiling hatch. She climbed into her attic.
Before she could close the hatch, sealing herself in shadows, she froze. She frowned.
A beep sounded below in the main deck.
Romy stared down. One of the robotic isopods blinked, clicked . . . then went silent.
"Damn bots." Romy sighed. "Make no sense."
She pulled the attic hatch shut, leaving the damn machines below.
Only her hair of fire lit the darkness here. Romy walked between the crates, pipes, and barrels that filled the attic, moving toward the nest at the back. She had built the nest from old laundry—mostly stolen from Piston—and long strings of toilet paper. There in the center, snug as a bug, rested the spider egg.
Romy knelt and caressed the egg. "I don't understand robots, but I understand you. You're a creature like me. A monster." She lowered her head. "People fear me. I know it. That's the real reason Riff keeps me locked in here whenever we land on a nice planet. Because I'm a demon. A critter. A monstrosity. Like you."
The egg thrummed under her palm. Its surface was glassy, smooth, cool. It reminded Romy of the marbles she used to collect as a child. She made to sit on the egg again, to roost and keep it warm, when suddenly it tilted.
Romy narrowed her eyes.
A crack raced along the egg.
"Come out," Romy whispered, caressing the shell. "Come to me, my pet. I'll keep you safe."
A cooing rose from the egg. The crack widened. A winged figure, blue and translucent as if made of glass, stirred within. Eyes blinked, purple and wet. The shell crumbled and the alien emerged, seeming to Romy almost like a human child.
* * * * *
Riff fired his gun. Plasma blasted out of old Ethel, streamed through the air, and slammed into one of the flying robots. The drone screeched and crashed down to the ground, its saw blades still spinning, digging grooves into the earth.
Countless more drones flew toward Riff and his fellow Alien Hunters, blades whirring, each about the size of a pumpkin.
"What the hell are those things?" Nova shouted, swinging her whip. The electric lash cut right through one of the buzzing machines, sending its halves crashing down. "I thought there was only one robot here!"
"There was!" Twig cried. One of the bots flew her way, and she thrust her wrench. Electricity crackled between the wrench's prongs, drove into the drone, and sent it crashing down. "These must have come from the spaceship we shot down."
Riff cursed and fired again and again, shooting down the gizmos. One whizzed around his blasts of plasma, scuttled across the sky, and sliced across Riff's arm.
"Goddamn it!"
His blood spurted. The drone's spinning saw blade came whirring toward him again. Riff faltered backward, fired his gun, and melted the robot. It crashed down, metal spilling. Another buzzed toward him, and Riff turned around and fired, but the blast missed. He fired again, missed again. The robot scudded closer, large as a dinner plate, saw blades spinning, lights blinking, and Riff suddenly knew he was going to die.
A beam of light blazed.
The ray slammed into the robot, tearing it apart. Shrapnel clattered to the ground.
Steel came walking forward, his armor dented and cut. He raised Solflare, his antique sword. Light coalesced across the blade, then blasted out again, hitting another drone.
The knight tugged off a bot that was sawing through his armor, tossed it down, and cleaved it with his sword. He nodded at Riff, then turned and kept fighting.
"I need armor like that," Riff muttered and fired his gun again, hitting another robot.
All around him, the other Alien Hunters fought too. Nova kept lashing her whip, slicing through the buzzing machines. Piston swung his hammer, crushing any robot that flew near; the hammer's head was as large as them. Twig kept leaping about, thrusting her wrench, electrocuting the machines and sending them falling.
Across the town, halflings were fleeing to hide behind trees. Several of the robots were flying toward those trees and sawing the wood. Branches crashed to the ground. One tree collapsed entirely, spilling its treehouse. More halflings fled and wailed, but some joined the fight. Children shot slingshots at the drones, and three halflings—town guards with brass stars on their vests—even had real guns.
Riff blasted the last drone. It clattered to the ground, gave a last whirr of its saw blades, then fell still.
"Shenanigans." Riff wiped sweat off his brow and approached the shattered machines. "What are they?
The other Alien Hunters gathered around him, staring down at the broken bots.
"They look like the drones that clung to our hull." Nova lifted one, then grimaced and tossed it down. "Only these ones have saw blades instead of claws. Soldiers rather than leeches."
Steel examined a halved bot. "There are strange letters on this one. I can't read them."
"Giga might be able to." Riff holstered his gun, tore off the metal panel with the foreign writing, and slung it through his belt. "We'll take it back to the ship. We—"
"Riff, watch out!" Steel cried, raising his sword.
Heart leaping, Riff turned to see one of the drones rise from the ground and fly toward him, wobbling but still spinning its saw blade. He cursed and fumbled for his gun, but he only sliced himself on the metal shard in his belt. Steel blasted light from his sword but missed the flying bot. Nova cracked her whip, but the drone dodged the lash and came flying toward Riff's throat.
Riff grimaced, drawing his gun, already knowing he was too slow.
A blast roared through the town.
A bullet slammed into the drone, tossing it off course. It whizzed past Riff's head, narrowly missing his cheek. Riff fired his gun, blasting a hole through it. The robot crashed into a tree and thumped to the ground, smoking.
Heart thudding, Riff turned his head toward the source of the bullet.
A halfling stood there, holding a smoking shotgun. He stood just shy of four feet, clad in cotton trousers, a green vest wit
h silver buttons, and a gray cloak. His hair was white and bushy, rising as if in surprise, and his eyes were blue, weary yet kind.
"Missed one." The halfling lowered his shotgun and nodded at Riff. "Name's Doro. Mayor Doro Jauntyfoot. You must be the Alien Hunters."
"Papa!" Twig cried and ran toward him, kicking dead bots aside. She reached the white-haired halfling and leaped onto him.
"Hullo, daughter!" Doro said, embracing her. "Welcome home."
* * * * *
Not an hour later, the Alien Hunters crowded together in Mayor Doro's treehouse, devouring a meal like starving sailors found drifting at sea.
We were at sea for too long, Riff thought, stuffing mushrooms into his mouth. The open black sea of space.
The treehouse rested upon the branches of a massive, twisting havenwood tree called Major Woodwick—the largest tree in town. The tree was large but the treehouse was cozy, no larger than the kitchen back on the Dragon Huntress. Paintings of Twig as a child hung on walls of polished wood. Jars of electric fireflies glowed in alcoves, casting golden light. The tabletop was small, the chairs no larger than stools. Yet the feast on the table could feed an army. Venison, beef, grainy bread, stewed vegetables, and fruits of all kind rose in mountains on wooden platters. The Alien Hunters—other than Romy and Giga, who were back on the ship—were attacking the meal with a ruckus of clattering cutlery, lustful chewing, and quite a few belches.
"Mr. Jauntyfoot, I must thank you again." Riff swallowed his mushrooms and wiped his mouth on his napkin. "For too long, we survived off rations—pills, frozen food, and whatever greasy burgers we could pick up at space stations between Sol and here. It's lovely to finally be enjoying a hot, home-cooked—"
"Shut it and pass me that gravy." Nova reached across the table, knocking into Riff in her attempt to reach the gravy boat. "Need more gravy."
Riff glanced over at Nova's plate. She had piled it high with roast beef and mashed potatoes, her second helping. Riff had no idea where the slender ashai was packing it all away. She poured a river of gravy onto the meal and tucked in, speaking between bites.
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