Jed and the Junkyard Rebellion

by Steven Bohls

  “Move! Move! Move!” he yelled again and again. The marbles kept coming down.

  Starting to panic, Jed felt a word pop into his mind: SPLAGHETTI. That word again. Jed closed his eyes and dug into himself.

  The heat inside him began to light up. Each time a marble twanged off his ear or bounced against his forehead, the more urgently he fanned the tiny, growing spark. If he didn’t do this…well, he’d probably be the first person—or gold not-person—to experience death by marbles.

  “Move!” he shouted again. Heat burst out of him and shot sideways. The marbles obeyed, blasting toward the ceiling in a giant mass. They crashed against the ceiling haphazardly. Some went back up through the trapdoors where marbles still rained down. Most fell right back to the bottom of the train car, though, pelting Jed like hail.

  As quickly as it started, the marble rain stopped. Plexiglas on the back of the train car lifted two inches. The slush of marbles began an orange, red, green, and blue avalanche, dropping out of the train and down to the junkyard below. Jed slid across them until he was against the glass, too, giving him the perfect view of marbles pelting like shatterkegs to the ground. He tried to slow his breathing, but his heart still danced wildly in his chest.

  Lyle opened the door.

  “What was that?” Jed demanded. “Is that what you call training?”

  “You used the spark, didn’t you?” Lyle said. His voice didn’t hold approval, but it also didn’t sound upset. It sounded clinical.

  “No thanks to you,” Jed said, scrambling to his feet.

  Lyle ignored his anger. “Would you like some lunch?” he asked. “I’m famished.”

  Jed

  “What was with the marbles?” Jed demanded again. Lyle was working his way through an open-face avocado tartine, but for once, Jed didn’t feel like eating. He wanted answers.

  “Everyone I’ve ever known who achieved true greatness learned six characteristics: LEMONS. Letting go, endurance, movement, opportunity, unconcern, and suffering,” Lyle said, his voice calm as he ignored Jed’s question.

  “Unconcern doesn’t start with n,” Jed said.

  “No. It doesn’t. That’s the point. Don’t concern yourself with what others tell you is right or wrong. Decide that for yourself. If you believe in your heart of hearts that a word starts with n despite everyone telling you otherwise, then you listen to you—not them. I’m not suggesting being stubborn or acting like a fool, I’m merely saying that it’s okay to see the world differently from others.

  “L. Letting go: Don’t fixate on anything that weighs you down or keeps you from being the best you. If you’re climbing a mountain while holding a bucket full of rocks, then let the rocks go.

  “E. Endurance: That one’s obvious.

  “M. Movement: Everyone likes to plan, but not everyone likes to work.

  “O. Opportunity: Learn to recognize it and act.

  “Finally, S. Suffering: This may be the greatest tool of them all. Suffering builds strength. Minor suffering builds minor strength. Extreme suffering builds extreme strength. Embrace your wounds. They define you.”

  Jed scowled at that.

  “You chose this,” Lyle reminded him, finally acknowledging Jed’s annoyance. “I offered a way out. One turn of my key and…”

  “No thanks,” Jed said, still frowning.

  “The world depends on you getting this right,” Lyle reminded him.

  “And I did,” Jed said. “Sort of,” he amended.

  “You used your mutiny spark once, and poorly,” Lyle said. “Only my training—and yes, the marbles were part of that—can teach you to unleash its full power. Follow me.”

  Lyle patted his mouth with his napkin, folded it, and placed it on the table. He stood and led Jed back into the spark cabin. Jed followed, but with distrust.

  Lyle led Jed to a cabinet, opening it to reveal a jumble of keys.

  “What are those for?” Jed asked.

  “Take off your shirt,” Lyle said.

  Jed complied. The burn mark in the center of his chest had mostly healed. Fresh pink skin had grown over all but the small keyhole. He looked from the keyhole to the keys in the cabinets. “Do those belong to you?”

  “Yes,” Lyle said.

  “What do they do?”

  “Lots of things.” He walked to one of the pedestals holding a spark. “A single spark contains the life and power of the gold. One spark is incredible, untapped potential.”

  “You told me all of this before,” Jed said.

  “A single spark can turn someone into a king in this world.” He returned to the keys and thumbed through them until he found what he was looking for. Lifting a key from its hook, he turned to Jed and gestured to the hole in his chest. “May I?” he asked.

  Apprehension swam in Jed’s belly. He wanted to say no, but curiosity filled him. This key didn’t frighten him like the black key did. He was…unconcerned.

  Lyle step forward and put the key into Jed’s chest. He turned it, and a small click echoed in the room.

  A numbness trickled through Jed. He could no longer feel the temperature of the room, the pressure of his feet on the ground, or even the bruises caused by falling marbles. He couldn’t feel anything. It was as if the skin on his body had turned into a loose, soft bag. Jed shifted in place and realized that he was right. His skin sagged limply around his frame.

  “Go ahead,” Lyle said. “Step outside of your skin.”

  Instinctively, Jed put both hands into the hole in his chest and pulled himself free of his skin. Hidden underneath was a blinding body made entirely of sparks. They shimmered under the amber light of the cabin. Red, blue, and yellow—the sparks were woven through golden fibers and strands. For the first time, Jed saw himself. His true self. He was sparks and gold.

  Who am I?

  Outside of his skin, the world was just a photograph to Jed—one he couldn’t touch or feel. Uncomfortable with the sensation and confused by the weirdness of it all, he stepped toward his discarded covering and wrapped it back around his body. “Fix it,” he said to Lyle. “Make it part of me again.”

  Lyle turned around and rummaged through the keys. He lifted another one from its hook and slid it into Jed’s chest. The key turned, and sensation rushed back into Jed as the skin tightened around his golden body.

  “You need to decide right now,” Lyle said. “You were built to change the world. I need to know your intentions. I can’t have you throwing a fit every time something doesn’t go your way.”

  Anger flared in Jed’s throat. “How could I have known you were going to bury me alive? That’s not just something ‘not going my way.’” He added huffily, “And I didn’t throw a fit.”

  Lyle shrugged. “I can’t tell you everything that I’m going to do, and I can’t have you second-guessing me every time I try to teach you something. So, which is it: Are you in, or are you out?”

  Jed stood there—arms folded—looking from Lyle to the door. Finally, he relaxed, letting his arms fall to his sides. He sighed once. “I’m in.”

  Jed

  The training box smelled like electricity and child endangerment. Lyle wore his golden armor, the mutiny spark glowing with intimidation from his palm. Bins piled high with objects sat pushed against the walls behind him. Empty bins sat behind Jed.

  “Good morning. The world is one day closer to ending today,” Lyle said. “I don’t say that to pressure you, but you must start progressing faster than you are.”

  “I’m trying,” Jed said, wondering how those words weren’t pressuring.

  “Stop trying,” Lyle said. He tossed a tiny metal bolt to the center of the room. “Pull the bolt toward you.”

  Jed reached out his hand as if to grab it. “Move…” he whispered. “Come on…move.” He searched deeper inside himself for the warmth. He tried to find the same spark he had activated the day before. He knew it was there, in him, but he had no idea how to find it.

  “I—” he started but stopped himse
lf before continuing. No more excuses. No more whining. Figure it out, or don’t.

  The corners of Lyle’s mouth twitched just barely, as if delighted with Jed’s choice not to whine. “There’s a switch inside you—one that only you know how to activate. It’s not something I can explain to you. It’s something that you need to find.”

  “Move…” Jed said again to the bolt.

  “Find your motivation. In the iron forest you thought you were being attacked. You activated the junk to survive. It seems to me that we need to replicate those circumstances.”

  Lyle activated his mutiny spark, motioned to the bin behind him, and sent debris flying toward Jed’s face. Pens, rubber bands, a stapler, a small flashlight, and a hammer zoomed at him. Jed threw himself to the ground. The pieces of junk collided with the wooden wall.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” Jed asked.

  “Catch them with your rally spark,” Lyle instructed. “Then put them in your bins. Keep them there with your mutiny spark.” Any fatherly concern he’d ever shown was now gone. Lyle launched a box cutter, bag clips, a small statue, a wrench, and a Slinky toward Jed, who ducked. The box cutter zinged by, leaving the air ringing behind it.

  “Use your sparks,” Lyle commanded.

  “I don’t know how,” Jed said, keeping one eye on Lyle and the other on the flying objects. Scissors zipped past his ear and stuck into the wall.

  “You can,” Lyle said. He sped up his pace, launching larger junk—wrenches, buckets, a lamp, wind-up teeth, and a drill—at Jed.

  The shower of junk swirled around the room as Lyle emptied his bins and then used his mutiny spark to continue to fire on Jed. It was a mini-junkstorm in the cabin, with Lyle standing in the epicenter.

  “Stop me,” Lyle said.

  Jed tried and failed. Even a simple penny became a much larger threat when zooming through the air at high speed, and the longer it took Jed to react, the faster Lyle made the pieces fly.

  “The world won’t stop while you figure out how to save it,” Lyle taunted. “If you can’t divide your attention between threats, you are destined to fail.”

  “I seriously question your teaching,” Jed said, dodging a flock of thumbtacks.

  “It’s not my choice to do this,” Lyle said, still sending junk shooting toward Jed. “You know the option I prefer.”

  “I’m not using that key,” Jed exclaimed. “Stop bringing it up!”

  “It’s the only thing that will work,” Lyle said. “You can’t do this on your own. It’s simply too—”

  Heat rose in Jed’s chest, and he waved a hand toward Lyle. A package of pencils, a broken plate, and a bicycle pedal reversed direction. The junkstorm spat back at Lyle. The heat in Jed’s chest grew. More and more pieces fired at Lyle, reversing direction and swirling away from Jed.

  “How…” Lyle began. He cut off his words and frowned. Anger boiled in his expression.

  Jed felt the power inside of himself. It was a chain reaction, spark-to-spark, igniting like a fire. The junk in the room fell from the air and landed on the floor with a crash as his power met—and then overpowered—Lyle’s.

  Lyle swiped his suit-powered arms furiously, trying to counteract Jed’s attempts, but it was no use.

  Focusing intensely, Jed squinted and waved his hands at the fallen objects. The pieces began to gather in bunches, rolling across the floor like snowballs and collecting more junk. Balls of junk zipped back and forth over the floor, following Jed’s command.

  Once all the debris was collected, he directed the balls of helmets, dented pots, light fixtures, and empty deodorant containers to roll across the floor and hop into the bins behind him. When the floor was clear, Jed smiled proudly at Lyle.

  “Well…done,” Lyle said. But there was no true admiration in his tone. Instead, his voice sounded hollow. “That was unexpected.”

  Jed

  Lyle left the training room without another word. Excitement hummed through Jed from his success. He’d done it. If even for just a moment, he’d controlled the sparks. He wanted to share what he’d done with someone, but Lyle had seemed less than enthusiastic about the accomplishment. Maybe he could tell Alice. No…she was flying security detail around the Endeavor until lunchtime. An odd loneliness stung him as he realized that the only other one he wanted to tell was an empty tin can of cherry pie filling.

  He grabbed his red backpack and headed to the crew workshop cabin. Alone, he retrieved Sprocket from the backpack. “I beat him at his own game today,” he said to her with a smile as he rummaged around the workshop for parts.

  “He doesn’t think I can do it on my own, but I proved him wrong.” Jed found a handful of half-dollar-size washers. “I’m stronger than he thinks, and I don’t need his scrap little key.” Jed squeezed the washers onto the ends of Sprocket’s legs. “Are those okay for feet?” he asked.

  He then found some braided copper wire that he fastened to the end of the can for a long tail. “How does that feel?” he asked her.

  A faint buzzing noise sounded from inside the can.

  Jed froze, holding her in his lap.

  Heat welled in his chest like it had before, but he wasn’t activating the mutiny or rally sparks. This was something else. He closed his eyes. This was coming from the life sparks inside him. He could almost see them releasing their power.

  “Gzzz…” Sprocket said.

  Jed’s heart jumped.

  “Sprocket?” he said.

  Nothing.

  The workshop door was flung open, and Dak and Brindle entered.

  “Hey, there,” Brindle said. “Working on anything interesting?” He hovered over Jed and lifted an eyebrow at Sprocket. “Well that’s interesting, I suppose. Dak and I are going to the library for some cards. Wanna join?”

  Jed smiled. “Sure.”

  He stuffed Sprocket into his backpack and walked with them.

  “We never properly thanked you for saving our skins back in the gulch,” Brindle said.

  Jed wasn’t about to point out that most of the dragonflies didn’t really have much skin.

  Dak clapped him on the back and gave Jed a single nod. “Yeah. What he said.”

  “Alice said you plugged yourself into the ion battery,” Brindle said. “That true?”

  Jed nodded. “Looking back,” he said, “it doesn’t seem like the smartest idea.”

  “Well, it worked,” Dak said. “And you’re alive.”

  “Where have you been?” Brindle asked. “Haven’t seen you around. Rumors spread the way rumors do when all’s you got is a dozen cabins of living space to share. Heard Admiral locked you away or some such.”

  “Or some such,” Jed said. “Lyle is supposedly training me.”

  “Training you for what?” Brindle asked. “A mission?”

  “I guess,” Jed said.

  “A secret mission?” Dak asked as they entered the library.

  Before Jed could respond, the Endeavor jolted. A siren blared. The wall comm crackled to life with Zix’s voice. “All engine techs to their stations. Blown thermo induction valve. Pistons twenty-four through thirty-seven are off-line.”

  Dak and Brindle stood. “That’s us,” Brindle said, stuffing the deck of cards back into his pocket in frustration. “Always something breaking on this clunk heap. We needed a good four more days back in the gulch before we lifted her into the air.”

  “At least four,” Dak said. “Could’ve used twice that.”

  “If we lose any more parts, we’ll have to land in a township port,” Brindle said.

  A pop echoed through the cabin, and the comm crackled back to life. “We lost an ion capacitor,” Zix said. “Navigation crews report to your stations and begin searching for the nearest township port.”

  “Slug clunk,” Dak grunted.

  “What’s wrong with a township port?” Jed asked.

  “They don’t like our kind,” Brindle said. “Coppers and irons see us as dread, and they’ll smash us to scrap before you ca
n say, ‘Slug snot.’”

  “They’ll do the same to you if you aren’t careful,” Dak said, nodding to Jed’s chest wound. “As soon as they know you got metal for muscle, they’ll take turns using you for shatter practice.”

  The two dragonflies hurried from the library, headed for their stations.

  Zix’s voice crackled a third time on the wall comm. “Jed, report to the admiral’s cabin for instruction.”

  Jed made his way to the back of the train toward Lyle’s cabin. Lyle found him halfway there.

  “What’s going on?” Jed asked.

  “Join me in town,” Lyle said. “You’re the only other one on board who won’t draw attention.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a handful of batteries. “Here,” he said, handing the batteries to Jed. “These always make a port trip a bit better.”

  Jed pocketed the batteries, and he and Lyle made their way to the bridge, passing dragonflies who worked frantically on overtaxed engine parts.

  “If you remember, we had to leave the gulch in a bit of a hurry,” Lyle said. “The Endeavor wasn’t quite ready for this long of a flight.”

  Zix met them on the bridge. He handed a paper to Lyle. “Here’s the list of supplies we need if we want to stay in the air,” he said.

  The Endeavor limped through the air for nearly another hour, Lyle and Alice studying the maps and searching the skies for a township. Zix and the others hurried to and fro, patching breaks and trying to keep the ship together. Finally, Alice pointed to a distant black dot in the sky. “There’s Lunkway,” she said.

  Jed plastered himself to a window, drinking in the view as Lunkway slowly came into his sight. The floating city sparked not-so-distant memories of another hovering, iceberg-shaped township. Needlelike buildings jutted up from the base of the small metropolis. Spikes, Jed remembered. Long rods extended from the underside of the township with propellers at their ends. More propellers than Jed could count spun in a blur to keep the township afloat.