I remember how he used to call me Judy. Dad. He was the only one I would let call me that. Other than Mom, but she’s been gone awhile now. It’s weird to think that I only knew her for a few years.
“Look Judy,” Dad would say to me on more than one occasion as we stared out of the glass hub at the front of his ship. “There’s nothing better than the stars.” They would glisten through the window and I’d press my hand up against the cool glass, knowing that they held mysteries and adventures. That each star had a story to tell, a world to give. And that we were so close in our lovely little spaceship.
I loved Dad’s ship. Every square inch of it. I remember being a little girl and running all around, finding all the crevices and places to hide. Mom always said it was dangerous, but Dad told her not to worry—I was just being a kid.
I vaguely remember the first time I saw him, or anything else before that, for that matter. It’s like my life started when Dad landed his spaceship on some planet and found seven-year-old me alone, covered in blood, my hand gone. He was on one of his escapades that he so frequently makes, going down to random planets to investigate. I’d seen the flash of his spaceship landing, the light seeping through the darkened trees and although I can’t quite remember what I was running away from, I kept going. A nightmare later, running and scrambling, my mind on fire, and suddenly without a hand, I stumbled into the clearing, right into Dad’s arms. I’ve never been sure why he took me in. I suppose a bloody, handless, shaking child is nothing if not compassion-evoking, because he took one look at me and ushered me onto the ship.
And that was when my life began. I was fixed up and given a prosthetic hand back on Earth, but when I’d ask Dad what the planet was he’d found me on, he could never remember. He’d furrow his eyebrows and get that look in his eyes—the one where you’re shocked and almost angry because you can’t remember something so basic, so obvious. We eventually accepted the fact that we’d never really know where I’d come from. And that was okay. Because Mom and Dad, the spaceship and the stars, were enough for me.
For a while.
Growing up on a ship in the middle of space, instead of on Earth or any other planet, it took me years to realize that my parents’ profession was considered illegal. “Pirates” is what the officials back on Earth called them. Although I wouldn’t call them the traditional type of pirate. It’s not like they were doing anything wrong. Hijacking ships with crewmembers and stealing them blind would have been a bit nasty, I’ll admit, but that wasn’t what we were doing at all. It was the abandoned ships, the crewless hunks of metal that so frequently littered the vast void of nothing between planets and stars. No one was using them, no one really wanted them. So we took their parts and sold them for whatever we could get. But apparently Earth declares that they own all unclaimed spacecraft and that “pirates” like us are breaking a million laws by even taking a floating scrap of hull.
So, needless to say, I didn’t spend a whole lot of time on Earth. I can count the times I’ve been there on both of my hands. Eight. Only this time, I’m here alone.
Suddenly I hear a rap on the door and I hurry across the room to squint through the peephole. A girl my age with long brown hair, blue eyes and freckles stands outside my door, chewing her lip. I smile and unlatch the bolt, letting her into the room.
“Hi Jude,” she says in greeting and although she’s smiling, her eyes are sad, searching mine for any sign of sorrow. It’s only been a few weeks since Dad passed away. I smile at her, trying to show that I’m fine.
“You want coffee?” I ask, gesturing to the kitchenette a few feet away. I made some about ten minutes ago, knowing she would stop by. She’s staying with her family a few miles away. She nods and walks over to pour herself a cup. Sylvia has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Or, more accurately, my only friend. She was the only kid aboard Dad’s ship—the daughter of one of the crewmembers—before I came on. We were instant friends. She’s one of those people who gets along with everyone, but after a while you begin to read who she truly likes and who she doesn’t. She’s always got a smile plastered on her face, but I’ve gotten to the point where I know what she’s thinking without even having to ask a question. Our whole lives have been together. We spent our childhood peeking out of windows, counting stars, and dreaming up magical worlds for each speck of light on the canvas of black.
It’s so weird to think that that life is over. That life of blissful carefreeness where we had the luxury of doing nothing but dreaming all day. The realization comes as a shock to me, just like it has every day for the past two weeks. Dad’s gone. And all our worlds have been rocked because of it. My childhood has been stolen.
I have no one else. No one but Sylvia.
And then there’s Hourglass. That beautiful hunk of metal stationed down at the port. Small, but big enough for me, and the most glorious flying machine I’ve ever laid eyes on. Something flutters in my chest knowing that it belongs to me. Me. She’s all mine. But then those butterflies are shot and fall dead to the floor when I remember why. Because Dad’s not alive anymore and he willed his ship to me. It hurts more than I can bear—those dead butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
“Jude?” The voice pulls me from my tortured thoughts and I turn toward Sylvia. “I asked what you’re going to do,” she says softly. “Now that...” she trails off, staring down into her Styrofoam coffee cup, her lips pursed.
I ignore the aching screams building inside of me and harden my expression. “Well for starters, I’m getting off this rock.” I walk over to pour myself some coffee, wincing as my mechanical hand jerks too quickly and it splatters hot liquid across my arm.
“With what? You don’t have a crew.” Sylvia asks gently.
I clench my teeth. She’s right. Dad’s crew had been dwindling the last few years and now...now they’re all dispersed, off to new adventures. There’s just me and Hourglass left. “I’ll find a crew,” I declare, but wince the moment I say it, knowing how naïve I sound.
“Jude...”
“I know, okay?” I snap, surprised at how harsh my voice comes out. “But I can’t stay here. You of all people should understand that. I hate planets, I hate Earth.” My hands are shaking so I put my coffee cup down and lean against the counter. “I just need to leave,” I say, softer this time.
Sylvia is quiet for a long moment. “I guess I can see you doing it,” she eventually says. I can hear the smile in her voice. “Finding some crazy people to man that tiny ship.”
I laugh, despite how angry I still feel. “It’ll work,” I say.
Still smiling, Sylvia asks, “but who will take orders from a seventeen-year-old captain?” She gives me a look, knowing I’d never let anyone take control of Hourglass even if our lives depended on it.
“Seventeen-year-olds,” I answer matter-of-factly.
Her eyes narrow, but a smile plays on her lips. “You’ve thought this through already,” she states.
I nod, taking a sip of coffee. I’d thought it through the day after Dad died. The day I knew my life would seriously have to change—the day my denial ran out.
“What did you do?” she suddenly asks, putting her coffee down.
I smile smugly and turn towards the door, grabbing a set of keys and a bag as Sylvia follows me.
“Seriously, Jude,” she whines as we make our way down the hallway and out of the hotel. We wander outside onto the busy street and down the sidewalk, making our way past old rundown cars and buildings. It’s an older side of a town that’s pretty old all by itself, the place with the hangar where Dad would always dock his ship. It wasn’t all that high tech and no one bothered checking up on it. The hotel is only a few blocks away, and that’s where we’re headed.
“Nothing drastic, please,” Sylvia pleads. “Sometimes I don’t trust you, you know?” She smacks my arm teasingly. I ignore her, enjoying every minute of her confusion. She must know this because she sends me a mock glare.
Three crosswalks, and one car dodging later, we arrive at the hangar and I let myself in with Dad’s old key card. The tall metal gates groan open and I pry my way through into the vast expanse of ships. I spot Hourglass right away and head over. I only remember Dad docking her here once or twice and that was when we were destined to stay on Earth for a while. Usually she’d just be in orbit. But since Dad’s death, Hourglass has been sentenced here. The crew all left and I’m the only one who cares anymore.
I type in a six digit code on Hourglass’s keypad—a technology so archaic, Dad’s crew used to tease him about it—and the hatch unlatches and drops down like a castle drawbridge. I gesture my hands flippantly through the air and bow, while Sylvia curtsies back and darts up the ramp, laughing.
I follow her up and make my way through the cargo bay, down the hallway and to the cockpit. I look around and sit down in the captain’s chair, leaning back and putting my hands on the chair’s arms. This was where Dad used to sit and almost every day these last two weeks I’ve come here, sat in his chair, and stared out the glass dome window. Only I’m disappointed to find pavement and wire fences instead of soft blackness littered with stars.
“Really, Jude,” Sylvia says, plopping down in a chair beside me. “Tell me what you did.”
I laugh. “I put out an ad,” I explain and am just about done spilling my secret when a beep fills the air and I look down at my pockets in surprise. I pull my phone from my pants pocket, tapping the screen and bringing it to my ear. “Hello?” I answer while Sylvia watches me curiously. Suddenly my palm feels sweaty and I lean forward in my chair, finding it surprisingly hard to conjure up words. “What? Um...really?” Laughter echoes through the line. “Okay,” I respond and a few seconds later, I hang up the phone.
Sylvia’s eyes bore holes through mine, staring at me expectantly and for a few seconds I’m too shocked to answer.
Slowly, I feel a grin making its way across my features and I make a face at Sylvia. “I,” I taunt, wiggling the phone in front of her face. “Just got myself an engineer.”
“His name’s Jacob Holden,” I tell Sylvia who’s basically gushing at the seams. I spread my arms out. “And yes, I just got myself my first crewmember.”
Sylvia jumps up from her chair. “No way,” she says for the hundredth time. “Like seriously? How did you do this?” She punches the air like it’s her victory and not mine while I lean back in my chair and laugh.
“I’m thinking a minimal crew,” I tell her, studying my nails in feigned nonchalance. “Just a few people. It’s not like this ship really needs a whole lot.”
Sylvia laughs again and plops back down in her chair. “This is huge,” she declares. “Oh, wait,” she says suddenly, her excitement momentarily quelled. She leans forward, placing a hand on my armrest. “Does he know?” Her eyes grow wide.
“What?”
She balks for a moment. “Well, first of all, that you’re seventeen, and second of all, this is a pirate ship.”
I snort, getting up from my chair and walking down the hallway. “Please,” I say, giving Sylvia a look as she follows me. I walk into the hallway that leads to several crew quarters, shoving the doors open and checking to make sure all the old crew’s things are gone. “Of course he knows I’m seventeen. In the ad, I explained that the captain was young, and it was assumed that all crewmembers would be young too.” Sylvia nods in relief as I grab a rumpled blanket from the bed, fold it under my arm and proceed to the next room. “And of course he doesn’t know that this is a pirate ship.”
I hear Sylvia groan behind me. “Jude,” she moans.
“What? It’s not like I could advertise my piracy,” I tell her in my defense. Sometimes I wonder whether she paid any attention to anything that was going on in our childhood, other than our silly games and magical worlds.
“True,” she admits and helps me continue to fold up blankets.
“I’ll feel him out when he comes and if he seems...able to stomach it, I’ll tell him and see if he still wants the job.”
“And how are you going to pay him?” Sylvia asks as if it’s only just occurred to her.
“The same way everyone always got paid on this ship – through the scraps and ships we find.”
Sylvia reaches out to grab my arm, stopping me so that I turn around. “You really think you’re going to find stuff?” she asks. “You’re not just dreaming up some fantasy?” She asks the words gently, her eyes imploring mine, but they still hurt.
“Sylvia,” I say, slightly annoyed. “I’m not just running away here. Dad’s dead,” I tell her and the words hurt more than I could ever imagine coming from my lips. “And I have to do something now. I need a life and a job. And this is the only thing I know how to do. The only thing I can imagine doing.”
Sylvia looks at me for a long moment and finally nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”
I turn back around, my arms full of blankets as we head down the narrow hallway. “And it’s not like I’m misleading any potential crewmembers. They’ll know the circumstances and if they’re as young as I’m predicting, they’ll be so happy to have any job out in space, they’ll take any pay I offer.”
I grab my bag, stuff the blankets inside and put it by the exit. I’ll wash them in the machine back at the hotel. “Oh, and...” I turn to look at Sylvia and raise my eyebrows tentatively. “You on board?” Her father was the medic aboard Hourglass when my dad was its captain and Sylvia was her dad’s assistant throughout the years. She’s practically a doctor herself. I’m not going to find any other teenager as equipped as she is.
Sylvia smiles and rolls her eyes. “Duh, Jude,” she says. “I’m actually a little offended you even needed to ask.” She laughs and throws her bundle of blankets at me. I catch them, smiling, feeling relief flood my stomach. Deep down, I really didn’t know whether she’d agree or not.
“And besides, you’re going to need help finding the rest of your crew.”