by Dana Kelly
They received a watchful welcome from the small group of Cherry Grove’s inhabitants. Their faces bore varying shades of dark orange, almost all of them looked hardy, and all of them stood tall. Pure white irises distinguished the sturdiest of the locals.
Winds blustered from the northeast, and Rusty urged them all inside the tower. The locals followed at a distance as Casey’s team threaded the heating vanes and shear walls, hurrying across the patchwork deck, and soon crossed into the tower interior. A blast of warm air washed over them, and the locals swiftly scattered.
Hundreds of apartment floors soared high overhead. Aluminum barriers lined the walkways, festooned with glowing string lights. Curious onlookers peered down at the outsiders gathered in the courtyard, as Casey and her crew shed their jackets and gloves, storing their clothing in Malmoradan’s duffle bag.
Rusty slipped his gloves in his pockets, shrugged out of his own jacket, and tied it around his waist. His muscular biceps flexed as he pulled the jacket’s sleeves taught. “Besides chance encounters with unclassified xenos, what brings you all the way out here to Cherry Grove?” Like his rugged face, his neck and arms bore a dark orange tint, and thick coal-black locks tumbled down to his shoulders.
Casey retrieved her phone and showed him Dr. Hector Liu-Song’s info card. “We have a digital intelligence in dire need of this man’s expertise. Do you know where we can find this address?”
Rusty snorted. “Sure. That’s the Department of Sanitation and Reclamation, but you won’t find Hector there.”
“Do you know him?” asked Casey.
“Everyone knows him. Hector's put more than half of us back together,” said Rusty. “Unfortunately for you, I doubt he’ll see anyone this late, unless it’s for a medical emergency. So… The visitor center’s this way.” He pointed to a nearby office. “Tell Saffron I said you can bunk there for the night.”
Cajun stepped close. “Ya think Hector might make an exception for an old chère?”
“Who might you be?” asked Rusty.
“I’m John LeKay.” Cajun bowed politely.
Rusty returned the bow, and something teased his memory. “Wait. You’re not Cajun John LeKay, are you?”
“One and the same.”
“Well, ain’t that a jawker’s secret.” Vigorously, he shook Cajun’s hand. “Your beard! The mask was throwing me off, but I see it now.”
“I’m known by my beard?” asked Cajun.
“And plenty more! Hector speaks so highly of you. He could be a proper skyman for all the stories he tells about you,” said Rusty. “Right this way.”
“But how did ya recognize me by my beard?” asked Cajun.
“Hector keeps an old holo on his desk, the one from Deep Tide Forest—the one with you two standing in front of that blue-spotted lumicap,” said Rusty. “I can’t believe you got that close to one without getting caught.”
Cajun smiled as he reminisced. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”
Single file, they traveled the gaps between rickety storefronts, ramshackle kiosks, and improvised booths, all in various states of shutting down for the night. The cantina, however, remained vibrant with music and chatter. Tankards sloshed, and forks clinked rhythmically against tin plates as the patrons sang and cheered.
“Do they know what they’re eating?” asked Casey.
“Ambrosia,” said Rusty. “Stardust and unicorn meat!”
Casey frowned. “No, seriously.”
Rusty paused in his stride and turned around, filling the space between two booths. “We know.” He winked playfully. “It’s all molecular transconfiguration anyway. We just skip a few steps.”
“Stardust and unicorn meat,” said Casey.
“What are they actually eating?” asked Orin.
Casey raised her brow. “Remind me to tell you later.”
Before long, they stood at the threshold of a dimly lit porch. A set of corrugated doors barred their passage, recessed into a curved nook, crowned by a crescent of discolored, coarsened plate glass. “Shady Brae Medical Center - Dr. Liu-Song, M.D.N.S.” had been stenciled upon the glass.
“Finally,” whispered Mike, and he tapped the vest pouch that contained Nimbus.
“Knock loud enough, and he’ll answer,” said Rusty. “If you need anything else, you’ve got my spare cantie, and Customs is at the far end of the concourse.” He pointed to a dim clearing in the distance. “I’ve got day shift, and Candy’s got night shift.”
“Candy is a person?” asked Casey.
“That’s correct,” said Rusty. “Candy Yingtao-Shucong.”
“Just making sure that wasn’t code for ‘no one works night shift,’” said Casey.
“Ah, no,” said Rusty. “Candy’s a flesh and blood bann. Find me in my office when you’re up for the day. We’ll work out the slip fees in the morning.”
“I appreciate that,” said Casey. “Keep an eye out and be sure to let me know if you see anything strange. Come find me if it’s urgent.”
“Will you be bunking in the visitor center?” asked Rusty.
“The Beer Garden Hotel sounds a little nicer,” said Casey. “Look for us there.”
Rusty chortled. “I’ll just ask around. Someone’ll point me your way, I’m sure.” He bowed and took his leave.
“Why did he laugh?” asked Casey. “Did I say something stupid?”
“The beer garden hotel ain’t actually a place,” said Cajun. “When ya stagger out o’ the bar and pass out three steps into ya journey, well that’s it. That’s the hotel, so to speak. More proper places might call it drunken vagrancy.”
Casey chuckled, and she nodded. “Good to know.”
She faced Hector’s office and knocked hard enough to rattle the doors. After a moment, a lamp flickered on in the room directly above the entryway. Soon after, a dim yellow light bathed the nook, buzzing softly within its overhead recess.
From the other side, someone worked the latch, and a stooped, lanky man pulled open the doors. A full head of straight, white hair hung past his shoulders, framing his square face and dark orange skin. He wore a set of black thermals, and he stepped just close enough for the light to catch his light brown eyes. “John?” he whispered.
“Hey, Hector,” said Cajun, and they embraced.
“Is it really you?” asked Hector.
“As far as ya know,” said Cajun.
A smile gradually brightened Hector’s face. “How far can you throw?”
“As far as it… goes?”
“You beautiful idiot,” said Hector. “I’ve missed you!” He regarded the others. “Who are your friends?”
“I’m Officer Casey Cartwright, with the Interstellar Police Force.” Casey flashed her badge. “You should be aware there’s a hostile xenological intelligence we encountered up on Space Station 6. It’s skinny, covered in gloss black skin, and has a huge mouth full of blunt teeth. You haven’t seen or heard of anything matching that description, have you?”
“Definitely not,” said Hector. “Actually, the last part rings a bell now that you mention it. Oh wait, it’s just Cajun.”
“As funny as ya ever were,” said Cajun.
The rest of the group exchanged introductions, and Mike retrieved Nimbus. “We’re here for him. This is Nimbus. He got badly damaged by a repurposer, and he’s been like this ever since. Please help him. I don’t know how much time he has left.”
Hector regarded Mike quizzically. “Your fog is hibernating because its code is damaged. That’s perfectly normal after interacting with a repurposer. What isn’t normal—in fact, bordering on highly abnormal—is traveling all the way out to a countdown planet at the edge of the galactic core for a reset. I’m not saying you’re a wasteful moron of privileged means, but you literally could’ve had it done at any number of upgrade centers. Any big franchise is cleared for this kind of hardware. Why come to me?”
“I was told you have the expertise to restore his code, not just reset it,” said Mike. “Can you help
or not?”
“Probably. May I?” Mike nodded, and Hector took Nimbus into his grip. From off to the side, Hector retrieved a set of high-tech goggles, donned them, and studied the orb. “Come on, kid, it’s still warm. You got months left on this thing! Who told you it was running out of time?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Mike. “Can you fix him?”
“Yeah, sure, I can fix it.” Hector returned Nimbus and moved his goggles to his forehead. “But it’s late, and I’m not going to start doing that now. It’s involved, and it’s expensive.”
“I’ll pay you whatever you ask,” said Mike.
“Within reason,” said Cajun. “He’ll pay what ya ask within reason, ya hear?”
Hector scoffed. “John, you always ruin my fun! Sure, sure, within reason. Kid, you’ve got nothing but time. Besides, I’m not seeing any ticks or tremors, so you can definitely go at least one more night without it.”
Mike looked annoyed. “Ticks? Tremors? What do you mean?”
“You,” said Hector. “You’re not twitching or shaking.”
“Why would I be doing either of those things?” asked Mike.
“This is a military-grade ancillary utility fog, undoubtedly paired with your neuroware,” said Hector. “Didn’t they explain this to you? They should’ve explained all of this before they upgraded you.”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t have any upgrades.”
Hector squinted. “They didn’t tell you. What did they tell you?”
Mike detailed the accident and the extent of his head trauma.
“Well kid, you’re missing some key parts of your story, but I can uncover some of it,” said Hector. “Medically, you have a right to know what I discover. Would you like to know what I see?” He tapped his goggles.
“Sure,” said Mike. “What do you see?”
Hector lowered the goggles back into place, and he took a moment to study his subject. “Well, you’ve got plates and screws in your skull, and more than a third of your brain matter is synthetic.”
“I’m aware of that much,” said Mike.
“You’ve got some kind of responsive dermal plating, but it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before.” He glanced at Nimbus. “The molecular structure’s repeated in your fog, but… Oh, I get it! This thing infused your skin with nanobots. Since they exist in symbiosis with your meat body, you need your fog to replace any lost machine mass. This thing’s beefy enough to run bleeding edge neuroware, so you can see why I assumed that was the case.”
Mike’s mouth hung slightly open. “I… Are you sure?”
“Completely sure,” said Hector. “You’re walking around in a permanent suit of micro-bot armor.”
“Does that make me a robot? An android?” asked Mike.
“No, man! All your internal organs are still right where they belong,” said Hector. “Here, look.” He pulled up his pant legs, revealing wholly mechanical shins. “I’ve got a complete set, acetabula to toes on both sides, and I certainly am neither a robot nor an android.”
“Nimbus, what did you do to me?” whispered Mike.
“The less you know, the happier you are,” said Hector. “Am I right?”
“All knowledge is worth pursuing,” said Edison. “Mike, you can ask Nimbus what happened after he’s been restored. With any luck, he’ll know how to reverse the process. If that’s what you want.”
Hector rolled his eyes. “Ah, boohoo. Kid, you’re bulletproof, blaster proof, knife proof… You get the idea. You didn’t ask for it? Big deal. Most mercs would kill for an upgrade like that.”
“I’m not a mercenary,” said Mike.
“Could’ve fooled me,” said Hector. “Hey, why don’t you vagrants sleep here in my lobby tonight? With the station crew in town, guest housing’s bound to be full up, but I’ve got plenty of couches and chairs. I hear they’re surprisingly comfortable.”
“Thanks, Hector,” said Cajun. “We’d be grateful.”
Hector looked at Mike. “There’s a bright side. My advice? Focus on that. I mean, cry it out if you need to, just don’t stain my cushions, okay?”
Mike narrowed his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”
“Great,” said Hector. “John, I’m glad you finally made it out here. Coffee and water are over there, and bathrooms are down the hall.”
Casey and her crew crossed inside, and Hector closed the doors.
The yellow light switched off.
◆◆◆
Hector’s exit sign served as the only lamp in his office’s darkened lobby. It cast shades of green upon the walls, the furniture, and the cluttered reception desk. Malmoradan lay curled upon the tread plate floor; his rebreather’s speakers muted his snoring. Both couches had been pushed together, forming a wide makeshift bed. Shona slept there on her back, with her knees bent over the upholstered arms. Mike slumbered on a reclining chair, while Casey, Edison, and Cajun slept on the floor, on beds made of seat cushions.
Upon a cozy loveseat, April huddled next to Orin as they pored over her phone. “If the station crew’s all down here already, what do you think was going on with their state rooms?” whispered Orin.
April closed her browser and opened a root directory command prompt. She pasted in several snippets of script and ran them. “Casey thinks the creature was studying Cherry Grove’s inhabitants. I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to suppose it was mimicking the inhabitants’ behavior.”
“I wish we could’ve talked to it,” said Orin. “Based on Casey’s footage, I think it’s more likely it was a body-snatcher. We never did check the hangar level, and that creature sure didn’t seem like the type to play house with itself.”
April nodded. “You may be right. I’ll make certain to scrutinize the station crew when we see them.”
“And why was it going for the reactor rods?” asked Orin.
“Maybe it was trying to kill us,” said April. “Maybe it was trying to kill itself.” The browser re-opened, now logged in to Orin’s account. She navigated to his media files.
“You got in,” he said. “How did you do that?”
She passed him her device. “It’s an old [crackle] I [prolonged crackle].” She struck her mask a few times. “It’s an old bit of code I wrote a few years ago. I’ll show you how to do it when we’re back aboard Watchtower if you want.”
“Thanks, but I’ve never been much good at comp-sci,” said Orin, and he swiped through several file folders. “Here we are. Adventure Road’s Yosemite Valley. It’s New Cal’s version of Planet Wonder, only way smaller and much less expensive. My mom bought the annual pass every year, so Mike and I used to go there all the time, all the way up through high school.” He opened the album. “That’s the Heart of Half-Dome.” He paused at each panel of image cards. “That’s the in-ride picture from El Capitan’s Inferno.”
“You both look terrified,” said April, and she smiled. Gently, she slipped her arm around Orin’s and leaned against his shoulder.
“It’s the first time we rode it.” Orin played back a short holographic video. “That’s the Curry Village Fountain during the Shooting Star Night Parade.”
“It’s not a bad loop,” she said. “I bet it’s gorgeous in person.”
“It never got old,” he said, and he chuckled at the next photo. “That’s my sister, Eridani. And that one’s me when I was ten. My mouth is pink like that because Eridani pranked me with a piece of lipstick gum. I walked around like that for almost ten minutes before Mike finally broke down and told me.”
“It sounds like Eridani [lengthy crackle],” said April. With a quiet growl, she swatted her mask. “It sounds like Eridani is something of a jokester”
“When we were kids, she was. Not so much now.” He stopped on a holographic video of exploding fireworks. “I don’t miss the pranks, but sometimes I really miss having her around all the time. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, until I met you.” He closed the album and returned her device. “Blacktusk said you�
��re an only child. Is that true?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “I grew up on Mars with three of my cousins. I thought they were my brothers up until about second grade, when my teacher corrected me. And there’s Casey, but she lived on Earth, and by the time I was old enough to remember her, she was already in trade school. There’ve been plenty of moments I’ve wondered what it might be like to have a sibling of my own, but…” She perked up and looked around. “Do you feel that? What is that?”
The lobby gently shook, and the tower creaked here and there. “Is that an earthquake?” asked Orin.
“It feels like one,” said April. “It must not be very strong. Look—nothing’s even falling off the desk, and I’m fairly certain a cantankerous glare could dislodge that entire pile.”
“It’s still going,” said Orin.
Cajun yawned awake, and he rubbed his eyes. “Surface quake,” he said. “Suspected we might be gettin’ those.”
“But Arsenal Bay isn’t seismically active,” said April.
“No, but with a two-hundred-degree temperature swing between night and day, the surface is bound to settle while it’s coolin’ off.” He stretched and rolled onto his side, facing away from them. “She’s like a creaky old house, and it ain’t nothin’ to worry over.”
Beyond the tower walls, the deep earth thundered as the quake at last subsided. Something vast hummed a low and oceanic chorus. April got to her feet. “Do you hear that? Outside the building, I mean. Can you hear it?”
“I hear it,” whispered Orin, and he stood beside her.
“I’m sorry, but that does not sound anything like a creaky old house!” she hissed.
“That’s a metaphor,” mumbled Cajun, and he adjusted his pillow. “Canyon-song’s what that is, and I told ya it ain’t nothin’ to worry over. Enjoy it. Maybe get to sleep before it fades. Ya never will have sweeter dreams than in the cradle of a canyon-song.”
After a moment, April relaxed and looked up at Orin. “It’s pretty-sounding, in its own way,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s because of this so-called canyon-song or not, but I’m starting to get drowsy.”