LAD heard rustling noises, and then Mundine’s voice. “Sorry, friend, it doesn’t work like that.”

“You came here to make a deal,” Arman said. “I know how it works. You don’t bring cash, but there’s a bank. Tell me which bank! Tell me your access codes!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Mundine repeated.

LAD was just about to ask Febby to open the door—hoping her presence would distract Arman long enough for LAD to do something, anything—when the radio monitoring job started spewing result codes into the system register. 20 milliseconds passed while LAD examined the data: multiple ultra-wideband signals, overlapping and repeating, likely point sources in the front and back of the house, approximately one meter above ground level.

“Febby,” LAD said, raising output volume above the shouting from the kitchen and the basement, “Febby, please lie down on the ground now.”

“Why?” Febby turned her head away from the basement door. “What’s happening?”

LAD turned output volume up to maximum. “Down on the ground! Get down on the ground now, Febby, please!”

Febby dropped and flattened herself against the floorboards 150 milliseconds before the first projectile hit the wall above her. That was enough time for LAD to analyze the background audio and estimate there were two squads advancing on the house, four men each, walking on thermoplastic outsoles and wearing ballistic nylon body armor, likely carrying assault rifles.

340 milliseconds after the first team broke down the back door, the second team charged the front door, and another spray of tiny missiles tore into the kitchen. Something thumped to the ground, and Jaya cried out. He ran three steps before a burst of rounds caught him in the back. He crashed against the wall and slid to the floor.

Febby was still screaming when the first team reached her.

“I’ve got a girl here! Young girl, on the floor!” called a male voice (H5).

“Where’s the IFF?” asked another male voice (H6). LAD checked to verify that Mundine’s identification-friend-or-foe signal was broadcasting from the necklace.

“It’s right here,” H5 said. “I’m reading the signal right here!”

“Febby,” LAD said. “Febby, please listen to me. This is very important.”

Febby stopped screaming. LAD took that as an acknowledgement.

“Please roll over, slowly, so these men can see me,” LAD said.

Febby rolled onto her back. LAD drove 125 percent power to the OLEDs on either side of the pendant, flashing Bantipor Commercial’s distress code in brilliant green lights.

“It’s her!” H5 said. “The girl’s wearing the admin key.”

“Damn,” H6 said. “Target’s probably dead. Search the house, weapons free—”

“Febby,” LAD said, “please repeat exactly what I say.”

4,560 milliseconds later, Febby proclaimed in a loud voice: “Willam Mundine is alive, I repeat, Willam Mundine is alive!”

After 940 milliseconds of silence, H6 asked, “How do you know his name?”

“Willam Mundine is being held in the basement,” Febby said, pointing to the door. “His K&R stripe number is bravo-charlie-9-7-1-3-1-0-4-1-5. Challenge code SHADOW MURMUR. Please authenticate!”

“What the hell?” said another man (H7).

“It’s gotta be the admin software,” H5 said. “She can hear it. The necklace induces audio by conducting a piezoelectric—”

“Save the science lesson, Branagan,” H6 said. “Response code ELBOW SKYHOOK. Comms on alfa-2-6. Transmit.”

LAD passed the code to the secure hardware processor, and 30 milliseconds later received a valid authentication token with a passphrase payload. LAD used the token to unlock all system logs from the past twenty-four hours, used the passphrase to encrypt the data, and posted the entire archive on the recovery team’s communications channel.

“I’ve got a sonar map,” Branagan said. “One hostile downstairs with the target.”

“Ward, you’re in front. Anderson, cover. Team Two, right behind them,” H6 said. “Branagan and I will stay with the girl.”

Febby sat up. “What are you going to do?”

“They’re just going to go downstairs and have a talk with the man,” H6 said.

“No!” Febby started moving forward, then was jerked backward. “Don’t hurt my Pa!”

“Febby, it’s okay,” LAD said. “They’re using non-lethal rounds.”

LAD kept talking, but she wasn’t listening. Something rustled at H6’s side. A metal object—based on conductivity profile, likely a hypodermic syringe—touched Febby’s left shoulder, and LAD went to sleep.

LAD woke from standby in an unknown location (searching, please wait). GPS lock occurred 30 milliseconds later, identifying LAD’s current location as Depok (city, West Java province, south-southeast of Jakarta). LAD’s internal battery reported 99 percent power (charging), and LAD’s network panel automatically connected to Willam Mundine’s bodyNet and the public Internet. A network time sync confirmed that 11:04:38 elapsed time had passed since Febby lost consciousness.

“Good morning, Mr. Mundine,” LAD said. “How are you feeling?”

Mundine groaned. “I’ve been better.” He opened his eyes and looked around. LAD saw a hospital bed with a translucent white curtain drawn around it.

LAD lowered the priority on the wake-up script. The entire routine had to run to completion unless Mundine overrode it, but LAD could multitask. While giving Mundine the local weather forecast, LAD simultaneously ran a web search for news about a kidnapping in or around Jakarta and also started a VPN tunnel to Bantipor Commercial’s private intranet.

LAD found Mundine’s K&R insurance claim quickly, but there was nothing in the file about the family of the suspect, Arman (no surname given). LAD’s web search returned several brief news items about a disturbance in Depok late last night, but none of the reports mentioned a girl named Febby.

LAD continued searching while a doctor came to talk to Mundine. After the wake-up script finished, LAD started scanning Depok local school enrollment records for a 13- to 15-year-old student named Febby, or Feby, or February, who had a brother named Jaya, or Jay, or Jayan, in the same or a nearby school. But much of the data was not public, and LAD could not obtain research authorization using Bantipor Commercial’s trade certificate.

Fifteen minutes later, a Bantipor Commercial representative named Steigleder arrived at the hospital to debrief Mundine. LAD suspended the grey-hat password-cracking program which was running against the Depok city records site and waited until Steigleder finished talking.

“Mr. Mundine, this is your admin speaking,” LAD said.

“Excuse me,” Mundine said to Steigleder, then turned away slightly. “What’s up, Laddie?”

“Apologies for the interruption, but I would like to ask a question,” LAD said.

“Absolutely,” Mundine said. “Steigleder tells me I’ve you to thank for surviving my hostage experience. Didn’t know you were programmed to be a hero, Laddie.”

“Febby helped me, Mr. Mundine.”

“The girl?” Mundine scratched his head. “Good Lord. Is she the one who caused that—what did you call it, Steigleder? The web problem?”

“A DoS attack on Bantipor’s public web site,” Steigleder said. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me a thirteen-year-old kid made us scramble an entire tech team?”

“She was only helping me,” LAD said.

Mundine chuckled. “Come on, Steigleder. Didn’t you tell me this web problem helped security services pinpoint my location? I really should thank Febby in person. She wasn’t harmed in the raid, was she? Or the others?”

“She’s fine, Mr. Mundine,” Steigleder said. “The recovery team used stun darts. The mother and the boy were knocked out. They’ll be a little bruised. The father has a fractured right arm from resisting arrest. And Bantipor is going to prosecute him to the full extent of the law.”

“As we should,” Mundine grumbled, “but the family shouldn’t have to suffer for the sins of the father. Couldn’t we offer them some sort of aid?”

“Sorry, Mr. Mundine,” Steigleder said, his voice’s stress patterns indicating indifference. “The Bantipor Foundation won’t be up and running locally for another couple of years. Until then, our charity packages will be extremely limited. Marketing could send them some t-shirts. Maybe a tote bag.”

“That seems rather insulting,” Mundine said. “Surely we can do more for the person who very likely saved my life.”

“Look, Mr. Mundine—”

“An internship,” LAD said.

“Excuse me,” Mundine said to Steigleder. “What was that, Laddie?”

“I’ve reviewed Bantipor Commercial’s company guidelines for student internships,” LAD said. “There’s no lower age limit specified. An intern only needs to be a full-time student, fluent in English, and eligible to work for the hours and employment period specified.”

“It’s a lovely idea, Laddie, but we can’t take her away from her family after all that’s happened.”

“She can work remotely. Bantipor already supports over five thousand international telepresence employees,” LAD said. “Indonesia’s Manpower Act allows children thirteen years of age or older to work up to three hours per day, with parental consent.”

“Won’t the mother be suspicious of such an offer from the corporation which is also prosecuting her husband?”

“Bantipor Commercial owns three subsidiary companies on the island of Java.” LAD was already drafting an inter-office memorandum.

“All right, fair enough,” Mundine said. His voice pattern suggested he was smiling. “And I suppose I already know what kind of work Febby can do for us.”

“Yes, Mr. Mundine.” LAD blinked the OLEDs on Mundine’s necklace: red, green, and blue. “Febby is a computer programmer.”

 

Blood Test

Elliotte Rusty Harold

 

Elliotte Rusty Harold is originally from New Orleans to which he returns periodically in search of a decent bowl of gumbo. However, he currently resides in the Prospect Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn with his wife Beth and dog, Thor. His short fiction has appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, T. Gene Davis’s Speculative Blog, SF Comet, and multiple anthologies. He has also written over twenty nonfiction books for various publishers, most recently The JavaMail API and Java Network Programming, 4th Edition, both from O’Reilly.

 

Marisol stepped into the shot put circle for her third and final throw. The Ruidoso track team was nine points behind. They needed another first place event to win the meet, but the girl from Mescalero Apache had already thrown 13.2 meters. Marisol had cleared that mark twice in practice, once by almost a full meter, but she had never done it in competition.

She had 60 seconds to make the throw. The worst thing she could do would be to rush it. She needed a near-perfect throw. She hopped up and down a couple of times to warm up. Then she stretched her arms up to the sky to limber them. Satisfied, she pulled her arms in and nestled the heavy steel ball against her neck. She squatted down facing the rear of the circle, took a deep breath and cleared her head.

Marisol pulled her left knee up and kicked back, almost all the way to the toe board. Her right foot hit the ground in the center of the circle, and she pushed off with as much force as she could. She swung her hips toward the front as she pulled in her left arm. She reached the apex of the spin and whipped her right arm out from her neck. With a half yell, half grunt, she heaved the shot with all the force she had.

As soon as the shot left her hand, she knew it was a good put – high, straight, and far. Her eyes found the shot near the top of its arc, then tracked it on the way down. When it finally smacked into the grass a good two meters past the mark she’d been aiming for, Marisol leapt and yelled for joy. A put like that clinched the meet. It might be a school record, maybe even a state record.

45 minutes later Marisol was sitting on a bench in the visiting team locker room trying to absorb what Coach Abrams was telling her. “They disqualified me?”

The coach put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Your scores have been dropped. They’re not going to count.”

Marisol tried to process the information. It didn’t make sense. “The shot was on my neck the whole time. I didn’t come close to touching the board. I know I didn’t. ”

“It’s not just the shot put. All your events have been dropped.”

Marisol’s eyes pleaded with him. “But they have to count mine. If they don’t count my scores, we lose.”

The coach nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“But why? I’m eligible. I’m not too old. My grades are good. I’m in the district. You know that.”

“It’s none of those things, Marisol. It was the blood test. It’s standard procedure when a record’s at stake.”

“The blood test?” She’d had her thumb pricked before the match like all the competitors; it was just one of those things you did. Did anyone even look at the little cards they put the blood on? “Coach, it must be a mistake. I don’t do drugs. I swear it. They must have mixed up my blood with someone else’s.”

“Not drugs. Marisol. The other thing.” Marisol looked confused, so the coach continued. “They test for the mutant gene. It’s usually just a formality. Only this time, you tested positive.”

Marisol looked at him in horror. “I’m a mutant?”

The coach nodded.

Marisol’s chin began to tremble. She started talking faster. “No, that can’t be true. No one in my family is a mutant. I trained hard. You know that. You know how hard I worked. I don’t have super strength or anything.”

“Probably not,” the coach admitted, “But the rules are the rules. Anyone with the mutant gene, even if it’s not activated, isn’t allowed to compete in interscholastic meets.”

Marisol felt like she’d caught a shot with her stomach. It wasn’t fair. She’d trained so hard, worked so hard. She was the best athlete on the team because she deserved to be, not because of some stupid mutant gene. Coach Abrams was still talking, but she couldn’t hear it through the ringing in her ears. All she could hear was her heart pounding. Her vision filled with black spots as her world crashed in around her.

The trip back to Ruidoso in the school van was the longest ride of Marisol’s life. Win or lose, the return home was usually filled with animated gossip about the day’s meet, the next meet and the boys’ team. This afternoon, however, the silence was so thick a javelin couldn’t pierce it.

Marisol’s disqualification had dropped the team from first place to fourth. The coach hadn’t told the team exactly why she had been disqualified, but there were only a few possibilities, none of them good.

Marisol curled up in the back corner of the van and looked out the window. She could feel the other girls looking at her, wanting to know what had happened but unsure how to ask. Marisol wished she had died out there on the track, maybe had an aneurysm like that kid from La Cueva at state last year. Her life was over, anyway. No track meant no scholarship, meant no college. She’d even dared to dream of competing in the Olympics. Now she could only see herself working at Dairy Queen. If she was lucky, maybe Coach Abrams would roll the van, and she would die in the accident before they got home. Then again, if she had any luck at all, she wouldn’t be some kind of sick mutant.

Marisol’s mother was waiting in her car when the van pulled into the school parking lot. Marisol grabbed her bag out of the back of the van as soon as the coach opened the door. She walked to her mother’s car as fast as she could without actually running. She didn’t want to endure one more minute of her teammates’ accusatory glances and whispers than she had to.

Marisol tossed the bag into the back seat, then threw herself into the passenger seat.

“Aren’t you even going to say hello?” her mother asked as Marisol buckled her seat belt.

“Hello,” she said flatly. She stared straight ahead. If she looked at her mother, she was afraid she might start crying.

“Meet didn’t go well?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we go?”

Her mother started the car. “I’m supposed to remind you to be careful if you go out running tonight. The coyotes have been coming down out of the hills again. They might be hunting in packs. Last night they got the Barries’ Maltese.”

“I don’t think I’m going to go running anymore.”

“Did the coach change your program?”

“No, I got kicked off the track team today.”

Her mother hit the brakes and slammed the car back into park. “Marisol Alvarez-Fuentes. What did you do?”

“It wasn’t my fault, Mama.” She could feel the tears start to come. “Please, just drive.” She didn’t want to start crying here where the team might see her.

“Marisol, you must have done something. You’re the best thrower and the third best runner they’ve got. The coach told me he thought you might make all-state in the heptathlon next year. He wouldn’t cut you for no reason.”

Marisol clenched her hands. “There’s something wrong with my blood.” Her voice got softer, almost a whisper. “They said I’m a mutant, and mutants aren’t allowed to play sports.”

“Oh.” Her mother put the car back in gear and pulled out of the lot. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally, they pulled into their driveway and rolled to a stop under the carport. Marisol’s mother turned off the car, but didn’t unlock it. “Marisol, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s not your fault. Can we go inside now?” She wanted to go to her room and sleep, maybe for the rest of high school, maybe for the rest of her life. She tried to open the door, but her mother had the child safety lock on.

“Marisol, there’s something I should tell you.”

Marisol crossed her arms over her chest. “Is there a special track league for mutants? Otherwise, I don’t see what difference it can make.”

Her mother sighed. “We hoped this wouldn’t happen, your father and I, but we knew it was possible. It’s why our parents – your grandparents – didn’t want us to get married, but we were young. Your grandfathers, both of them, wore masks back in Mexico.”

Marisol stared at her mother. “You never told me that.”

“I don’t remember all that much. I was younger than you are now when your nana brought me and tió Pablo across the border. She wanted to get us away from the violence and fighting before we were kidnapped by some old enemy with a score to settle or stuffed in a refrigerator to make our father angry.”

Marisol tried to understand what that meant, but she ended up just shaking her head. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I’m sorry, mijita. We should have told you sooner, but neither of us wanted to think about it. Your father saw some pretty bad things before he came north. You were born, and you were normal. Then your sister Anna came, and she was normal, too. We thought we’d dodged the bullet. Maybe we weren’t carriers after all. We didn’t see the point of burdening you with a lot of painful family history. ”

“Only I wasn’t normal. Not really.”

“No, sometimes the gene waits till puberty to express itself.”

“Fine,” Marisol said sharply. “I come from a family of freaks. Got it. Can I go now?” She returned her gaze to the windshield, pointedly not looking at her mother.

“Mija, it’s not the end of the world. You’re not wrong, just different. If Coach Abrams doesn’t see that—”

“It’s not him, Mama. It’s the NMAA, and the NCAA, and the Olympics, and everybody. Mutants aren’t allowed to run track. They aren’t allowed to compete in anything. They say it’s not fair to the other athletes.” Marisol had to stop to catch her breath. She was almost shaking. “Please, Mama, can I just go to bed? I don’t want to talk about this.”

Her mother sighed and unlocked the door. Marisol threw the door open and jumped out. Somehow she made it inside the house and up to her room before she started sobbing.

Marisol spent Sunday in her room, lying in bed. Her mother came in once to ask if she wanted to go to Mass, but Marisol frowned and turned over in the bed to look the other way. After that, her mother left her alone to mope.

Marisol turned her phone and computer off. She didn’t want to explain to her disappointed teammates why she’d cost them the meet. She was sure the rumors were already flying, anyway. She didn’t know which was worse, being a cheater or a doper or a mutant.

She thought about going running, but honestly, what was the point? It wasn’t like she was going to be allowed to compete again.

She was still lying on her bed feeling sorry for herself when her little sister burst into the room, as usual without knocking. She was out of breath. “Marisol, have you seen Gordita? She’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”

Gordita was an eight pound, long-haired stray cat Anna had adopted. She smelled like she’d lost a fight with a litter box and looked worse. She also liked to pee behind Marisol’s bed if she didn’t keep the door closed. “No, Anna, I haven’t seen your stupid cat. Have you looked in the back yard?”

“Mama said she’s not supposed to go outside. It’s too dangerous with the coyotes.”

“I don’t think your cat knows that, Anna. Did you leave the kitchen door open again?”

“No,” her sister said, but the rest of her face said yes.

“Go look in the back yard. Maybe she went out to hunt for lizards and fell asleep in the shed again.”

Anna’s face brightened. “OK. Thanks Marisol.” She ran out.

Marisol flopped over in the bed. Was her sister was going to be a mutant, too? If she was, her superpower would be annoying people until they killed themselves to get away from her.

Monday morning her mother breezed into Marisol’s room and flicked on the light at 6:30 A.M. on the dot. “Time to get up, dormilona.”

“Mama, let me sleep.” Marisol tried to hide her head under a pillow.

Her mother grabbed the pillow away from her and threw it on the floor. “No, you’re going to school today. Just because you lost a meet, doesn’t mean you get to stay home.”

Marisol pushed herself up. “I didn’t lose. I was disqualified.”

“Either way. You’re going to school.”

“What’s the point? I’m never going to get out of this hick town. I might as well drop out now and get a job at the Dairy Queen. It’s all I’m going to be allowed to do, anyway.”

Her mother sat down on the bed and put her hands on Marisol’s ears so she was looking straight into her eyes. “Marisol, you listen to me. You’re going to college, mutant gene or no mutant gene. If you can’t get a track scholarship, you’re just going to have to study harder, and that’s all there is to it.”

“But Mama—”

“No buts. Get up and get dressed. You’re going to school. The bus will be here in thirty minutes. Get moving.”

Marisol groaned and pulled herself out of bed. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to go to college if she couldn’t run track, but college or no college, she knew she didn’t want to go to school today. By now everyone at school knew she’d been disqualified, and they were going to pester her until they found out why. If she didn’t tell them, they were just going to make something up.

As she got dressed, she pondered whether it would be smarter to tell the truth or lie. Maybe she should tell them she flunked the drug test. Some of the boys used steroids. Why shouldn’t the girls? By the time the bus came, she still hadn’t made up her mind.

Marisol waited outside the school until the last possible minute, trying not to be noticed. She slipped in right before the bell. Jenni, a senior and the team captain, spotted her, but Marisol ran to Physics class before Jenni could ask her what had happened Saturday. Since Marisol was the only sophomore on the varsity team, at least she didn’t have classes with any of her teammates.

Physics had been Marisol’s favorite class. She loved how gravity, momentum and energy determined how balls would move under different forces. Most of the students thought it was pointless, just formulas to be memorized for an exam and then forgotten, but Marisol had loved it ever since she realized Mr. Bloomfield was talking about what happened on the track. Today it just reminded her of what she’d lost.

She thought she heard somebody whispering about her, but Mr. Bloomfield shut them down fast. For once she was glad he was so strict about talking in class. She wanted to put her head down and pretend she was invisible. Maybe that was her mutant power? That could be useful. She looked at her hand and imagined it going transparent, but it stayed annoyingly brown and opaque.

Marisol’s luck ran out at lunch when Jenni and Sara found her in the girls’ room. Jenni was first off the mark. “What happened at the meet on Saturday, Mari?”

Sara jumped in before Marisol had a chance to reply. “Yeah, we’ve been texting you all weekend, but you aren’t answering your phone.”

Marisol turned to the sink. Did she really have to tell them? “Guys, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No way,” said Jenni. “You’re not getting off that easy. We practiced really hard for that meet, and if we lost it, I want to know why.”

“I’m sorry, Jenni. Really, I am. I wanted to win, too. And it’s not my fault. I can’t say why. Please don’t ask me to.” Marisol could feel the tears building up behind her eyes.

Sara took her by the shoulders, while Marisol stared into the sink. “Mari, it’s OK. You can tell us. We won’t tell anyone, at least not anyone who isn’t on the team. But I think we have a right to know, you know? Is it drugs? Are you taking steroids? or HGH?”

“If it is steroids,” Jenni piped in, “it’s not the end of the world. Some of the boys use them. There are ways you can hide it. You just have to stop taking them a few days before a meet. It might be good to give your body a break, anyway. You’ve been looking kind of beefy lately.”

Marisol twisted out of Sara’s arms. “Are you calling me fat?” Jenni was a twig. It was a miracle she could throw a javelin, much less a shot. She was only on the team because she ran fast.

“Geez, Mari, don’t bite our heads off. We care about you. If you’re having trouble we can help.”

“It’s not steroids, OK?”

“Then what is it?” Jenni asked. “It’s good for the team that you’re so — ” she paused to find the right word “ — muscular, but you’re bigger than rest of the sophomores. You’re bigger than most of the seniors. There must be a reason.”

Marisol’s face contorted in anger. “You want to know what’s wrong with me? You want to know why they disqualified me? Fine. I’m a mutant, OK? Are you happy now?”

Jenni’s eyes opened wider. “Wow, a mutant. I had no idea. Are you like, going to grow wings or something?”

“Or maybe be superfast?” Sara added.

“I don’t know. It’ll probably be something stupid, like turning myself purple or talking to squirrels.”

Jenni put her finger to her chin and pretended she was thinking. “I can see it now. You’ll be the Amazing Squirrel Girl, scaring evildoers with your super squirrel powers.”

“Yeah,” said Sara. “You can tickle them to death with your super squirrel tail.”

“Or stare them into submission with your super beady eyes,” added Jenni, and then she scrunched up her face and twitched her nose. Marisol couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

Jenni took Marisol’s hands in hers and looked into her face. “So, you’re really not going to run track anymore?”

“I want to, but I can’t. It’s against the rules.”

“What if we get you a secret identity?” Sara asked. “You could be the Masked Runner.”

“I don’t think masks are allowed, either,” Marisol said.

“That’s OK,” said Jenni. “We’ll figure something out. Com’ere.” She pulled Sara and Marisol into a hug. “It’s tradition, anyway. The wallflower on the sidelines is always the superhero who can outrace everyone. It’s going to be all right.”

Marisol snuggled up to the two girls. She smiled for the first time since the coach had told her. It felt good to know that even if she couldn’t be on the team, she still had friends.

When Marisol came home from school, Anna was sitting on the shag carpet in the living room watching TV. Gordita was purring in her lap. The show was some Japanese cartoon about three mutant girls in pink costumes who fought mad scientists and giant lizards. Marisol had always thought the show was stupid, but now it seemed mean, too. “You’re home early,” Anna said without taking her eyes away from the TV.

“I don’t have to practice anymore. No reason to stay late.”

“Are you going to be on TV now?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I thought all mutants got to be on TV, like the Danger Damsels.” She pointed at the TV. “Are you going to be a Danger Damsel?”

“That’s not how it works, Anna. I don’t even know what my powers are yet. Sometimes it’s just something silly like stretching your arms a few inches or being really good at counting things. Some mutants don’t get any powers at all.”

Anna stroked Gordita, and wrinkled her brow. Finally she spoke. “So if you don’t have any superpowers, why won’t they let you run track?”

Marisol looked at the carpet. “I wish I knew.”

Marisol stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She was wearing her track and field uniform. It was the closest thing she had to a costume. “OK,” she said out loud even though no one else was in the room. “If I have to be a mutant, at least I can see what my powers are.”

Flying would be cool. She squinted and thought hard about leaving the floor, but her feet stayed firmly planted on the ground. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes and tried again. Still nothing. With an increasing degree of self-consciousness, she tried hopping, then jumping, but every time she came back to the ground with a powerless thud.

Not flight then. What else? Telepathy? She closed her eyes and tried to hear the thoughts of someone else in the house. She thought she heard something in the kitchen. Her mother was chopping onions. Marisol could almost smell them.

The bathroom door flew open. “Marisol, have you seen Gordita?” asked Anna.

“Get out!” screamed Marisol. “Don’t you ever knock? I don’t care about your stupid cat!”

Anna’s eyes watered, but she closed the door. Couldn’t a girl have any privacy in this house? If she really was telepathic, she would have known Anna was coming before she opened the door. She could still smell the onions her mother was chopping, but it wasn’t telepathy. They were just strong onions.

Maybe she could walk through walls? Maybe she could walk right into Anna’s room! That would show her little sister. Marisol closed her eyes again and imagined herself becoming gaseous and intangible. When she felt as airy as possible, she stepped forward, once, twice, and then smacked into the sink. “Ow.” OK, she couldn’t walk through walls.

An hour later Marisol was back in her room, lying on her bed. She had been through all the superpowers she’d ever heard of, as well as a few she’d made up. (She was pretty sure no one had the power to make the captain of the boys’ track team come when she called.) She didn’t have anything to show for it except a bruised nose and messed-up hair. What was the point of being a mutant if all it did was get you kicked off the team?

Her mother knocked on the open door. She was dressed in her scrubs. “The hospital called. They need someone for the night shift. I put a casserole in the fridge for dinner.”

“OK, casserole in the fridge. Got it.”

Her mother walked in and sat down on the bed next to Marisol. “How are you feeling, mijita? Are you going to be OK?”

Marisol thought about it before answering. How was she feeling? “I’m OK, I guess. The girls at school were nicer than I thought. Only, I don’t know. I just feel… really sort of blah. I’m bored, but I don’t know what I want to do.”

“Why don’t you go for a run?”

“Mama.” She stretched the word out so it expressed her annoyance.

“Why not? I don’t think you’ve been running since the meet.”

“I only ran to train for the heptathlon. Now I can’t compete in that, either.”

Her mother gave her a quizzical look. “Did you only run to train for the competition? I thought you sort of liked it.”

“It’s depressing practicing for an event they won’t let me compete in.”

“All right then. Just a thought.” Her mother wrapped an arm around her. “I know it seems horrible now, but you’ll get through this, just like your grandfather did. It’s a speed bump, not a dead end. If you need anything, you’ll let me know, right?”

Marisol tried to fake a smile. “OK, Mama.”

“Good night, mijita. I’ll see you in the morning.” She kissed Marisol on the cheek.

After her mother left, Marisol thought about what she’d said. Mothers. She knew nothing. Nothing! So some old relatives back in Mexico a hundred years ago had the gene. What difference did that make to her now?

On the other hand, Marisol did feel really keyed up. She’d been lying in bed or sitting down for two days straight now. Maybe a quick jog would clear her head. Just an easy run up the street and back. She didn’t even need to keep time. Not like she was in training for anything, and she was already wearing her track clothes.

Marisol slipped out the front door. The night was hot, but not too hot to run. The full moon was out, so there’d be enough light if she wanted to go up into the park. She didn’t need to stick to the lit streets.

She walked out to the street and then started loping easily down her block. A coyote howled somewhere in the hills above her. Another answered from somewhere closer by. She’d like that, to be a coyote, free to run and play and hunt. Maybe that could be her mutant power, running with the coyotes. If she couldn’t be on the track team, she could join a coyote pack. Nobody bothered coyotes with blood tests and stupid rules.

As she turned off the street into the park, she thought maybe she should try calling to the coyotes. She felt a little silly, so her first effort was a thin noise, barely more than a whisper. A coyote would have to have super-hearing to pick that up. What the hell. There wasn’t anyone out here to see her. She mustered up her courage, pumped out a burst of speed and really let loose. Oh-woo-woo! Nothing responded. Any coyotes out there must be laughing at her. OK, she wasn’t Coyote Girl then.

Whatever. She was done worrying about what her power might be. If it came, it came. If not, she could still run. It was actually sort of freeing just running to run, not bothering with the training schedule Coach Abrams had set up for her. She didn’t need to worry about peaking early or how much time her muscles needed to recover before the next meet.

The measured route ended at the far parking lot, but tonight she still had energy left, so she picked up the pace and headed up the dirt trail that led into the hills.

Marisol was breathing hard and covered in sweat when she finally left the park and turned back onto her street. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been running, but she’d gone farther than she was used to. She was exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion, the sort that lets you stop thinking and just be. She’d sleep well tonight.

Marisol had just reached her block when she heard a scream. Anna! Forgetting how tired she was, Marisol sprinted. She covered the last half block fast enough to qualify for the Olympics. Then Anna screamed again. She was behind the house!

Marisol tore up the driveway, but when she hit the backyard she pulled up short. The flood light from the carport illuminated the scene. Anna was pressed up against the shed, clutching her cat to her chest. At the edge of the circle of light, between Anna and the back door of the house, three coyotes were waiting.

Anna cried to her, “Marisol, help me.” Her voice was weak and muffled.

“Stay put, Anna. Don’t move. Don’t show any fear.” Marisol’s mind raced. What should she do? If she knew what her powers were, she could fly in and grab Anna, or blast the coyotes with energy beams or even just beat them up. But mutant gene or no, she was still only a regular teenage girl.

Instead Marisol spoke as calmly and firmly as she could. “Anna, I want you to put Gordita down. The coyotes only want the cat. If you put her down, they’ll leave you alone.”

Anna shook her head. Then she hunched down, clutching Gordita tighter to her chest. Maldita sea, that was exactly the wrong thing to do! The smaller Anna made herself look, the more likely the coyotes were to attack.

One of the coyotes howled. To her surprise, another coyote responded from down the street. Marisol’s skin grew cold. There were more of them, and they weren’t far away. If she didn’t do something fast, they were both going to be coyote dinner.

The largest of the coyotes started to walk forward slowly. The light glinted off its exposed teeth. “Hey,” Marisol shouted. “Get away from her!” The coyote stopped and looked back at her.

Marisol stepped forward, waving her arms above her head to try to look as big as she could. “Hey, you dumb dog. Go away!”

For a second it looked like the coyote might actually turn and run. Then Marisol stumbled over a big rock in the dirt. She thrust out a hand to catch herself and skinned her palm as she hit the ground.

Anna cried out again. All three coyotes were moving towards her now. Anna had closed her eyes and still hadn’t let go of the stinking cat. Anna was sixty feet away and the coyotes were between her and them. There was no way she could get to Anna in time and not much she could do if she did, unless... It was a stupid idea, but it was the only thing she could think of.

Marisol grabbed for the rock she’d tripped over. It was stuck in the ground, and she had to dig with her fingernails to pry it out of the dirt. She looked at the coyotes advancing toward Anna. Marisol had never thrown that far, not even the last put that got her kicked off the team, and she had never needed to aim like this before, either.

Marisol pulled her arms in and laid the rock against her neck. It was heavier than she was used to, and it wasn’t balanced like it should be, but it was the only weapon she had. She turned away from her sister and squatted down. She planted her right foot and kicked off with her left leg. As she swung her hips around, she pulled in her left arm and sighted on the largest coyote. Screaming loud enough to frighten coyotes two counties away, she threw the rock.

The throw was so strong that Marisol stumbled a bit after she let the rock fly, then caught herself. As she slowed to a halt, her eyes caught up with the rock near the top of its arc. She held her breath as it picked up speed on the way down.

The rock was arcing. The coyote was trotting. She could trace the arc of the rock, see where it intersected the path of the coyote, see where it was going to hit. Que suerte. She’d done it. It was going to work.

And then, for no reason at all, the coyote stopped short.

No! The rock was going to miss. Her sister was dead. She saw the rock. She saw the coyote. She could almost see the spot in the dirt where the rock was going to hit, two meters too far. She could see where it needed to land instead.

And then, in defiance of everything her she’d learned in physics class, the rock turned in midair and continued along the new path Marisol envisioned.

The rock hit the lead coyote square in its skull. The impact made a squelchy, crunching sound, and the beast went down, dead before it hit the ground.

The other two coyotes stopped still, confused about what had happened to the alpha. Then one of them yelped, and they both turned and scurried out of the yard into the dark.

Marisol ran to her sister. “Anna! Are you OK?”

Her sister was still holding Gordita to her chest and shivering. Marisol grabbed her and clutched her like Anna was clutching the cat. “Anna, it’s OK. They’re gone now. They can’t hurt you. Come on, let’s go inside.” She nudged Anna to a standing position and held her tight as they walked back across the yard. She didn’t relax until they were safely back in the kitchen.

Once she’d made sure the door was shut and locked, both locks, she turned back to Anna. Anna was sitting at the kitchen table and squeezing Gordita like her life depended on it. The cat began to squirm until it finally extricated itself from Anna’s arms and jumped to the floor. Then it strolled off like nothing had happened. Stupid cat. She should have left it outside with the coyotes.

“Anna, what happened? Why were you in the backyard alone?” Marisol asked.

Anna recovered enough voice to protest. “Gordita was out there, alone. I had to get her.”

“Anna, that was a very dangerous thing you did. You know you’re not supposed to go out after dark, especially when Mama isn’t home. If I hadn’t come back when I did, you could have been hurt, or worse.”

“But you were there. You saved me. You’re a superhero, just like the Danger Damsels.” Anna’s cheeks were still wet and puffy, but she was smiling.

Marisol sighed. “Anna, listen to me. I’m not a superhero. I threw a rock and got lucky. That’s all. I probably couldn’t make that put again if I tried a hundred times.”

“No, you are. I saw it. You glowed.”

Marisol held her hand up and looked at it. If it had glowed, it wasn’t glowing now. She picked up the plastic salt shaker off the table and tentatively tossed it underhand at the stove while imagining it landing in front of the refrigerator. It stubbornly landed exactly where she’d aimed, smack in front of the stove. After it hit it bounced twice, more or less toward the refrigerator, spilling salt all over the floor in the process. Újule, now she’d have to clean that up, too.

Marisol put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Anna, I don’t know what happened out there. Maybe it was superpowers, and maybe it was just dumb luck, but you can’t scare me like that. If those other two coyotes hadn’t run away, I don’t know what I could have done. And if anything happened to you, I’d be devastated. You’re my sister, and I love you.”

Anna threw her arms around Marisol, and hugged her tight. “I love you too, Marisol.”

Marisol returned the hug. Maybe she had superpowers. Maybe she didn’t. She didn’t know how else to explain what had happened. Rocks didn’t turn in mid-air like that. If throwing things at track meets had taught her anything, it was that when you threw something, its course was set. It might not go where you wanted, but once it left your hand, it was going where it was going. Physics class even had a fancy name for it, Newton’s First Law. The test she’d memorized it for was months back, but she still remembered the rule: objects in motion stay in motion unless acted on by an external force.

Maybe Mr. Bloomfield could explain what had happened. She could worry about that tomorrow. For now, Anna was safe, her mother loved her, and her friends were still her friends. The rest would take care of itself.

 

Lunar Camp

Maggie Allen

 

Maggie Allen recently started writing short fiction, but from her day job at NASA she has years of experience writing and podcasting about various nonfiction topics in astronomy and astrophysics. Maggie has other short stories published in A Hero By Any Other Name, the Time Traveled Tales anthologies, Athena’s Daughters, Soothe the Savage Beast, War of the Seasons: The Heart, and Contact Light. She co-edited Athena’s Daughters, Volume 2. These titles may be found at: http://silenceinthelibrarypublishing.com. Maggie is a guitarist and singer in the rock band, “Naked Singularity,” which released its first album of original music in 2013. They are working on their second album. Her band’s website may be found at http://naked-singularity.com, and her writer website at writermaggie.blogspot.com.

 

10-9-8…

Bee glanced around at the other passengers, trying to judge whether any of them looked nervous.

7-6-5…

Some people closed their eyes while some looked out the window, squinting a bit at the bright Florida sunlight.

4, 3, 2, 1…

The engines roared to life. Lift off! Bee felt her body pushed into the padded seat as the Firefly-class rocket she was on thrust itself into the air. She fought the G-force that tried to glue her to her seat and managed to turn her head and watch through her window as the sky turned from bright blue to black.

She’d ridden on a rocket like this before on her first trip to Luna City, but she’d been much younger then and accompanied by her parents. Today she was on her own and on her way to Lunar Camp. Many a thirteen-year-old would have been thrilled to have the chance to spend their summer at camp on the Moon. Bee Williamson was not that person.

“The moon has no plants,” she’d grumbled to her parents. “And who’s going to take care of my garden?”

Her family lived on an Iowa farm that was lush and green and gold. Bee loved it there. Though much of the farm work was automated or operated robotically, Bee had been given a patch of her own to use as she pleased, and she loved working it herself. She’d downloaded books on old-fashioned farming and pored through screens of the latest research so she could experiment with a variety of plant-growing techniques. She had big plans for her summer, and a trip to the Moon wasn’t included in them.

“Beyoncé, you know that Lunar Camp will look good on your application to SATAS,” her mother had said.

The sound of her given name always made Bee roll her eyes. Besides, it was too soon to even think about leaving the farm to go to the Space Academy of Technical Arts and Sciences, even though it would have something to teach her about plants grown on ships or about terraforming other worlds. That was still more than she could say of Lunar Camp.

She suspected Lunar Camp had little to do with agriculture or horticulture. Most likely she’d be tromping around in lunar dust collecting rocks and tripping into craters. Rocks were something Bee routinely pitched out of her garden. She didn’t see much point in collecting them.

But all of her protests fell on deaf ears Bee was on the way to the Moon.

Luna City was a popular tourist destination because the orbital station was a commonly used transit junction for those going on to Mars or the outer solar system.

Someday Bee hoped to see more of what was out there. But for now, it seemed that all she was going to see was monochromatic dust.

Bee sighed heavily as she climbed aboard the people mover at the Luna City docking station. A look out the window confirmed the starkness of the landscape. Bee pulled her hand-held, personal PAL device out of her pocket and messaged her parents to let them know she’d arrived safely on the Moon. Then she pulled up one of her agriculture texts and tried to lose herself in it for the duration of the ride.

Bee scanned the terminal for a Lunar Camp sign and saw it in the corner with one lone boy standing under it. She realized it had been hours since she’d eaten and stopped at a brightly lit automated food and beverage kiosk. She was in no rush to get to her destination. Five credits bought her a butter pie and a hot chocolate, which she alternately chewed and sipped as she strolled toward the gathering area for the lunar campers.

“Hey, where did you get that?” asked the boy standing under the Lunar Camp sign. Bee guessed he was probably around her age, though he was small, as if he hadn’t yet hit his growth spurt, and his skin was as pale as hers was dark.

“The butter pie? There’s a machine down that corridor over there.”

“They’re hard to come by in most places on the Moon – my older brother said there was a kiosk where you could get them at the terminal here in Luna City, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find it,” the boy said. “Do you think I have time to get one?”

Bee shrugged. “We’re the only ones here, so I don’t see why not.”

“Watch my stuff!” he said as he took off running, dodging around the other passengers coming and going in the terminal.

“Sure.” Bee shook her head and turned to study his luggage, which was sitting in front of her. Along with a suitcase were a duffle and a shoulder bag, all of which were stained with what looked like Moon dust. She peered at the nametag on the shoulder bag and was able to decipher that the boy’s name was Mike Lopez and that he was from the lunar colony of Plato, so named for the prominent crater it was near.

The traffic stream in the terminal was increasing, which probably meant another rocket of passengers had come in. Bee moved the wheeled suitcase and the shoulder bag closer to the wall to get them out of the way and then tugged on the strap of Mike’s duffel bag to pull it closer to the other things. She was surprised to find it heavy. She frowned. What did he have in there, rocks?

Just then, Mike skidded up to her, butter pie in hand. “Thanks for watching my stuff.”

“No problem. I’m Bee, by the way.”

“Mike.” He shook her hand and plunked himself down by the bags to eat his snack. “You wanna sit too? I can move this out of the way.” He shoved the heavy duffle over to make room for Bee.

“Why is your duffle so heavy?” Bee asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

“It’s got rocks in it.”

Bee snorted as she sat down next to Mike, a big grin on her face. “Why?” she asked.

“I found them in a small crater not far from home, and they’re different than anything else I’ve seen before. I wanted to show them to Etienne. He’s one of the counselors at Lunar Camp. He knows a ton about lunar geology.”

“So I guess you’ve been to Lunar Camp before?” Bee asked, skeptical that anyone could possibly enjoy it so much they’d actually want to go back.

“Since I was ten,” he said with a hint of pride. “So this is my third year.” Mike took a bite of butter pie and rolled his eyes back in appreciation. “It’s great, you’re gonna love it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s not to love?”

“Rocks,” Bee said, matter-of-factly.

Mike looked startled, as if he found it impossible to understand how anyone could not love rocks as much as he did.

Eventually more kids and a few counselors appeared, and soon everyone was rounded up and put aboard the Lunar Camp transport vehicle. The vehicle looked much like the people mover she’d taken from the docking station, with tall, heavily treaded tires.

“Be sure to buckle up good,” Mike told Bee. “The ride can be kind of bumpy.”

Mike sat next to Bee on the transport though she wasn’t sure why. Wouldn’t he have friends among the other campers since he’d been to Lunar Camp so many times before? But though he’d nodded to a few of them, he didn’t speak to anyone else. At one point, he rolled his eyes a bit as the noise from the rowdiest kids – sitting in the back to maximize the bumpiness of their ride – washed over them. Bee smiled and turned to look out the window at the so-called magnificent desolation on the other side of the pressurized glass.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Mike said gesturing at the view.

“Is it?” Bee turned to look at Mike. “It’s so… lifeless.”

Mikes eyes shifted from the view to her and back again. He lifted a shoulder. “I guess it’s all in what you’re used to.”

“How do you ever get used to not having trees? And grass? And birds?”

“How do you ever get used to not being able to see the Earth hanging there up in the sky?” he countered. “And weighing so much when you’re walking around outside?” Just then the vehicle went over a bump, causing it to catch air for a second.

Bee pulled her seatbelt tighter, but stayed silent. She didn’t have answers for any of Mike’s questions. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t cling stubbornly to the things she knew. She gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “All right then, tell me. What’s it like living here? You’re from Plato, right?”

When Mike gave her a quizzical look, she replied a little sheepishly, “I saw the name tag on your luggage back at the terminal.”

Mike flashed Bee a smile. “No problem.” He thought for a second. “I don’t know how much you know about Plato, but it’s the oldest of the colonies, so it’s kind of built up now, though it started out as a small polar outpost.”

“That colony had a rough start, didn’t it?” Bee wasn’t that well versed on lunar history, but like every school kid, she’d learned a few things that she frequently misremembered.

“Yeah it did – it was totally dependent on Earth until they figured out how to mine water from the craters nearby, the ones that always stay dark. But it’s totally different now. It’s a lot like New York City. You’d like it!”

“You’re assuming I like New York,” Bee grinned. “From what I hear, it’s about as green as the Moon is.”

“Don’t they have a big park there?”

Bee shrugged. “Don’t know, never been there.”

“What are they teaching you on Earth? Even I know about Central Park,” Mike scoffed.

Bee defensively folded her arms. “I’m supposed to be the expert on everything about Earth now? If you know so much, tell me more about Luna City.”

“It was built in… uh… well, it was after Plato.”

“Uh-huh.” Bee gave him a smug look.

“Okay, I don’t know how old it is. But I do know it’s way closer to the lunar equator than Plato is. It’s in the Sea of Serenity. Lunar Camp is a little further out in the Sea of Tranquility. It’ll take us a couple of hours to get there, even in these things.” Mike patted the seat in front of him. “They’re fast. And bumpy. Even with the big tires.”

As if to make his point, the vehicle plunged over the edge of a small crater, making Bee’s stomach drop. She was starting to regret having eaten the butter pie.

“Hey.” Bee poked Mike in the arm, waking him from his doze. “We’re here.”

Mike’s head popped up, and he craned past Bee to see out the window. “Are we inside the bubble yet?”

“Just got through the airlock. That bubble looks flimsy to me. Are you sure it’s safe inside?”

“Yeah, totally. Most places on the Moon have shields like this around them. Obviously, they keep the air, temperature, and pressure regulated, so we don’t scald or freeze.”

“It looks like it’s not even there.” Bee pressed her cheek to the glass, trying to get a good angle. She knew they were inside the bubble now, but it was nearly impossible to tell where its boundary was.

“It’s stronger than it looks. I’ve seen micrometeorites bounce right off these things! Besides, if the bubbles weren’t clear, you wouldn’t be able to see the moonscape. While you’re here, you’ll want to get the full experience of actually being on the Moon, you know?”

“Hmm.” The “full experience” seemed like more of a threat than a treat to Bee.

The transport stopped at what appeared to be a loading zone. Bee noticed rovers and small vehicles of all different shapes and sizes parked nearby. She’d heard there would be day trips and excursions out to different sites near the camp. She couldn’t work up any excitement over the idea of excavating rocks; she was actually interested in seeing where the historic Apollo 11 mission had landed.

In short order, Bee and the others were herded off the transport, through the loading area, and into the artificially gravity infused visitor center. The visitor center was almost a cliché. Like every space or science museum she’d ever been to, it was decorated with interactive information kiosks and holographic 3D immersive images of galaxies and nebulae. It also had a rotunda with a starscape on it – except the starscape was real. As was the crescent Earth that hung overhead, glowing brightly in the darkened sky. Bee swallowed as she looked up at it, a feeling of homesickness washing over her.

Before she could focus for long on missing home, all the kids were ushered into the auditorium. Some of them were quiet and looked nervous, others laughed and joked with the friends they had clearly been reunited with. Bee looked around for Mike, despite herself. At least he was familiar. She sat near the aisle, an empty seat next to her, just in case.

Two adults, a man and a woman, stood at the front of the auditorium, waiting for the campers to be seated. And there was Mike, talking animatedly to one of them. It dawned on Bee why Mike didn’t seem to have that many friends among the kids. How could he when he clearly preferred hanging out with the counselors? Presumably talking about rocks?

Once most of the kids had shuffled into the rows of chairs, the man Mike was talking to gestured for him to join the others. Mike looked around and smiled when he found Bee and the seat she had saved for him.

“Thanks,” he said, popping into it.

“No problem.” Bee had to admit that it was nice to know one person here, even if that person seemed to like rocks more than people.

“Hi kids, I’m Etienne Cooper, and I’ll be one of your counselors during this session of Lunar Camp.” Bee eyed him suspiciously. Etienne was bouncing on his heels as he spoke and kept fiddling with the zippered pockets of his jumpsuit as if it pained him to stay still. With his athletic build, Bee thought he seemed like he’d be more at home canoeing around a lake at a traditional Earth summer camp than up here on the moon. Etienne looked like he was about twenty-five, just like her cousin Omar. He was sporty too. Bee didn’t especially like sporty.

“This is Merja Petrowski, who will be your other counselor.” Etienne gestured at the woman next to him, who gave a shy wave. She was pretty, thin, and pale, with long, dark hair. “Please feel free to come to us about anything at all. There are lots of other counselors here, who you’ll meet for various classes and activities, but we’ll be the ones in charge of your age group, the Eagles. It’s great to see so many familiar faces from last year, and I’m really glad we can be together again this year. Despite having a lot of Earth kids from the northern hemisphere here right now, since it’s summer for them, you’ll still meet people from all over the solar system during this session. We even have a group of junior campers here, the Eaglets. We’ll expect you all to set a good example for them.”

Etienne nodded at Merja, who tapped busily away on her tablet.

“Merja’s just uploaded your schedules to your PALs, along with a map, and important emergency information. Why don’t you all check and make sure you’ve received them?”

The air was filled with the sound of twenty-six campers pulling out their PAL devices from bags and pockets.

“Are you with Etienne or Merja?” Mike asked Bee.

“What do you mean?” Bee looked up from her PAL at Mike.

“We won’t all fit in one cabin. They’ll split us in two, half with Etienne and half with Merja.”

Bee scrolled through the files they’d sent. “Looks like Etienne.”

“Oh good, me too.”

Bee wasn’t listening. She was gazing in horror at her schedule. It was exactly as she’d feared. Sure there was lunar history, volcanology, math, rocketry, arts and crafts, and a slew of other things. But there was also not one, not two, but three different classes on Moon rocks: lunar mineralogy, lunar geology, and lunar topography.

“What’s the deal with this?” she demanded, showing her PAL to Mike.

“Oh, cool, you got the same random electives I did.”

“Random electives?”

“Sure. Most of us have the same stuff, but there’s a couple of electives that are given out randomly.”

“So why do I have three classes on practically the same thing?”

“Because it’s random?” Mike said with a sheepish smile. “And here, they’re not the same.” He pointed to her screen. “Lunar mineralogy is all about the composition of lunar rocks, and lunar topography tells you where they came from, and lunar geology…” Mike trailed off at the look on Bee’s face, and then rushed through the rest of his sentence “…and lunar geology is a lab course, it’s more hands on.”

It was going to be a long summer.

“You should come with me after lunch, I want to show you something,” Mike said, lifting a forkful of unidentifiable grey stuff from his plate before shoving it into his mouth.

“Is it a rock?”

Mike laughed at Bee’s expression. “What else would it be? But seriously – remember the ones I brought from home to show Etienne? He thinks they have rare earth elements in them, and we’re going to run some samples through the chromatograph to see if we can maybe isolate some Yttrium or something.”

This piqued Bee’s curiosity. Chemistry was a key part of agricultural science, and Bee wanted to learn anything she could that would help her advance in her field of interest.

But one thing held her back from jumping on it – a trip to the lab would mean interaction with the one person she’d taken a dislike to since being at Lunar Camp. Etienne.

Mike practically worshipped him, so Bee didn’t have the heart to say that she found Etienne’s sporty “go get ‘em” enthusiasm exhausting. Mike was as serious about his love of rocks as Bee was about her love of plants. Even if she didn’t understand it, she respected it. Etienne? He was more of a geology evangelist. Mike might try to find some angle of lunar geology that might appeal to her, hoping to hook her interest, but at least he didn’t try to convert her. That was more than she could say for Etienne.

And there was one more thing.

“He’s going to call me by my real name, you know.”

“You mean, Beyon—”

Bee put up her hand to stop him. “Don’t say it.”

“What if I tell him not to call you that anymore?”

“Again, you mean?”

“Oh yeah, I did try once, and he didn’t listen.” Mike chewed thoughtfully.

Bee just gave Mike an exasperated look.

“I’m sure it’ll work this time. He’ll stop calling you Beyon…” Mike checked himself just in time. “…by your real name. I promise.”

Bee looked over at the hopeful expression on Mike’s face and softened.

“All right, let’s do it.”

“Yesss!” Mike crowed.

“After we’re done eating.” Bee looked down at what was left of the refried bean pizza boat on her plate. “Actually, I think I’m done.”

“Are you sure?”

Bee nodded and then watched Mike stab the rest of her lunch with a fork and pull it over to his own plate. She didn’t know how he stayed so small with an appetite like that. And for camp food no less.

“Mike! Beyoncé!” Etienne boomed at them as they entered the lab.

Bee cringed. “It’s just Bee,” she tried to correct him, but he’d already scurried over to the other side of the lab and clearly wasn’t listening anymore.

“Come over here, Mike, and we’ll start putting some samples together to run through the chromatograph. Beyoncé can come over and help if she wants.”

“I don’t think she likes being called Beyoncé,” Mike interjected.

Etienne looked up from the lab bench and ran his hands through his curly hair distractedly before focusing on Bee. “Don’t like your name, eh? Why not? It’s distinctive.”

“I just don’t,” Bee said stiffly.

“Not a fan of the classics?”

“Not really.” Bee liked some of the music from years ago, but that didn’t mean she wanted to have to share her name with some long-gone music legend. Bee guessed she should count herself lucky that she hadn’t been named something even less desirable by her music-loving parents. Like after one of the robots in The Zartoids. Twenty-second century girl-bot pop was the worst. Ultimately, Bee didn’t want to be named after anything. She just wanted to be herself.

Etienne studied her, a slight twinkle remaining in his eyes. Bee felt like he was evaluating her, trying to figure her out. Bee gazed back stolidly. Let him try.

“You know what Etienne’s favorite old band is?” Mike broke into the awkward silence Bee’s words had left with an attempt at a joke. “The Rolling Stones.” He looked at them both expectantly. “Get it?”

A loud guffaw suddenly burst out of Etienne, making Bee’s eyes grow wide with alarm. Mike cracked up at this and suddenly doubled over with a helpless whoop of laughter. Etienne started laughing harder, more at Mike’s reaction to the bad joke than at the joke itself.

What was wrong with everyone? Bee thought. Had there been something in the food?

Still, standing there, watching Mike and Etienne practically weeping with laughter, it was hard to resist a little smile. Mike was so serious that when he did crack a joke, it seemed especially funny.

Bee made a decision. She reached down and grabbed Mike’s arm. “Yes, yes,” she said patiently, trying to lever him up off the floor. “It’s pretty obvious that you both probably like rock music.” At that, Mike lost it again, and this time dragged Bee down with him.

Bee let a giggle out, almost despite herself. It had been hard for her to resist the obvious pun. After all, she wasn’t completely devoid of a sense of humor, even if it sometimes seemed that way. Especially here, out of her element, Bee felt like it was hard to shine, and her personality was suffering for it. It felt good to laugh for a change, even if it was over something silly.

When they’d all recovered their composure, Etienne looked over at Bee. “So if you don’t want to be called Beyoncé, what should we call you?”

“Just Bee is fine,” she said, relieved that maybe the name situation would finally be resolved.

“Hmm. You don’t seem like a Bee to me.”

“I don’t?” Bee wasn’t sure she liked where this was going, and her guard went back up.

“Where are you from?” Etienne asked as he busied himself again with the lab equipment on the table in front of him.

“Iowa, on Earth.”

“Well, then, Iowa,” he said with a grin. “Why don’t you hand out those safety goggles and we’ll get to work.”

Bee let out a deep sigh and complied with Etienne’s request. Clearly there was no hope for him.

As she turned to pick up a box of glassware, Mike gave her a grin and a thumbs-up, as if it were mission accomplished. Clearly there was no hope for him either.

Etienne continued to call her Iowa for the next few weeks. Bee was alternately exasperated, confused, and the tiniest bit flattered. Iowa wasn’t bad as nicknames go, but it had come from Etienne, who she felt was purposely teasing her by using it. She tried her best to simply not react to it. That became hard to do, however, when it caught on and most of the other kids followed Etienne’s lead and started calling her Iowa also. Eventually, Mike was the only one who still called her Bee.

One of the big highlights of Lunar Camp was a day trip to the Apollo 11 landing site. It was now under a protective bubble, attached to a rather large visitor complex, within which one could walk around. The trip was a big deal because for the first time during their stay, the students would wear space suits and travel in small lunar buggies. This first excursion was to teach the campers about lunar history, but it was also an introduction to the fieldwork they would be doing later during their stay at Lunar Camp. Though larger pressurized transports could take you lots of places on the Moon, there were places where smaller vehicles were more practical.

Bee shivered with excitement as she and the others in her group were coached on how to properly don their space suits. She’d never been out on the lunar surface with only a pressure suit to protect her from the harsh lunar environment before. And she would get to see the spot where humans first touched down on another world. Even Bee couldn’t be cynical about that.

Both counselors inspected the pressurized seals at the neck and wrists of every camper’s suit before lunar buggy assignments were given out. Unsurprisingly, Bee was with Mike and Etienne. She was sure Mike had asked Etienne specifically if they could ride together, probably so they could talk about some sort of geologic minutia. But even the prospect of having to listen to several hours of that couldn’t dim Bee’s excitement.

Bee gripped the handles on the passenger seat of the buggy as they bumped over the rough lunar terrain. Though she was safely belted in, and years of buggies journeying from Lunar Camp to the Apollo 11 site had worn a wide swath through the lunar dust, the whole thing still felt precarious. Mike reached up from the back seat to poke her in an attempt to gauge her reaction. She twisted her head as far as the helmet would allow and gave him a big thumbs-up. Satisfied that she was enjoying herself, he relaxed back into his seat and engaged Etienne in a steady stream of chatter over the radio intercom.

The Apollo 11 complex rose out of the lunar horizon far faster than it would have on Earth, which Bee found faintly disorienting. A large building with a visible airlock held the museum and learning center and attached to it was a clear walkway that connected to the protective bubble over the site where people first landed on the Moon. Though anything historic within the bubble was safely covered with a protective surface or roped off, because the dome over the landing site was clear, one had the illusion, or rather the full experience, of seeing the Moon as the original astronauts might have done all those years ago.

It took what felt like ages to Bee for everyone to go through the airlock, park their vehicles, and doff their suits. But finally, the campers were free to explore. Bee headed off alone wanting some time to herself; something she hadn’t had much of since she’d been at camp. She made her way to the remains of Apollo 11 and stood in front of it, taking it in.

There was the half of the landing module that had been left behind. And there was the American flag, wired to look like it was waving in the wind even on the airless surface of the Moon. Though now, of course, because it was under a dome that contained a breathable environment, it looked even more stiff and unnatural. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin’s backpacks, along with other mementos they’d left behind, including a tiny gold olive branch pin, were preserved in the lunar dirt where they’d been carefully placed hundreds of years ago.

What those men had done was what she wanted to do. To land on a strange new world and see things that had never before been seen with human eyes. They had landed on what was essentially a barren wasteland. But if Bee closed her eyes, she could picture stepping out onto a planet covered with strange and wonderful new vegetation for her to study. Someday.

“Hey, what’s that?” Mike pointed toward the bottom of the large groove, or rille, that ran parallel to the track they were using to return to Lunar Camp. The channel beside them wasn’t especially deep; it sloped fairly gently off to their right.

“What’s what?” Etienne asked glancing over to the right, trying to see what Mike was pointing at. He pulled the rover over and paused so they could gaze down into the rille.

“I saw a patch of rock that looks a lot like the one where I found those KREEP rocks at home. Right over there.” Mike pointed.

“KREEP?” asked Bee before she could stop herself. It was going to be a long drive back. She might as well participate in the conversation.

“Yeah, KREEP. It’s an acronym for potassium, rare earth elements, and phosphorus. Don’t you pay any attention in lunar mineralogy?” Mike asked.

Bee couldn’t see him, but she was sure he was rolling his eyes at her in exasperation. Her lack of an immediate response made Mike and Etienne both break out in laughter.

“Ah, the silence of the guilty,” Etienne chuckled.

Mike gave her a poke in the shoulder. “The K in KREEP is because the atomic symbol for potassium…”

“Is K, I know. I’m not totally ignorant,” she said in a slightly haughty tone, which made Etienne laugh again. Bee glared at him through her helmet faceplate.

“It’s okay, Iowa, I know you’re a science whiz. But you should really consider the fact that you could learn something from all these lunar science classes you’re being forced to take. Something you can apply to your study of plants.”

“Like what?” Bee asked stiffly. She wasn’t quite ready to unbend yet.

“Like—”

“Hey guys, I really think they are the same type of rocks,” Mike excitedly broke in. He was leaning as far out of the buggy as his restraints would let him. “I used the magnification function on my suit and it’s a really similar outcropping. Do you think we could go take a look?”

Etienne examined the rille. “Sure, it’s not too steep here, I don’t think it would be a problem. But this rille has probably been combed over by other campers lots of times before. Do you really think it’s like the one at home?”

“The rocks look pretty dusted over. I don’t think they’ve been disturbed by humans. Please Etienne? This could be a big deal.”

“Why is it such a big deal?” Bee asked.

“Usually KREEP rocks are only found in the Ocean of Storms and Sea of Rains. Plato isn’t too far north of the Sea of Rains,” Etienne explained. “So the rocks Mike found at home aren’t so unusual. But finding similar rocks here in the Sea of Tranquility would be. So, let’s take a closer look.”

Etienne radioed Merja to tell her what they were doing and also followed protocol by radioing their location and their delay back to the camp itself. Then he pressed a key on the rover dashboard and pulled up the specs on the store of extra oxygen canisters on board. After he’d verified that their supply was adequate, he had Mike and Bee check the levels of the cans they were wearing.

“Looks like everything checks out. Let’s go!” With that, Etienne turned the buggy down toward the rille and gently accelerated. They picked up speed and neatly glided down the slope. Mike directed them toward the outcropping he’d spotted. Etienne stopped the buggy nearby and all three of them got out to take a closer look.

Mike crouched gingerly, his suit making him appear stiff as an old man. He gently brushed the dust off the dark gray rocks with a gloved hand, careful not to snag his suit or damage the rocks.

“Looks like mostly basalts. Pretty typical for this area.” Etienne commented.

“Yes, but look!” Mike bounced a few steps over. He bent over and picked up a rock that to Bee’s eyes looked exactly the same, though perhaps lighter in color. “Breccia.”

“Yep. Looks like. KREEP can be in either basalt or breccia. Why don’t we take a bunch of samples back? Maybe we can try to date them and figure out if these samples are unusual for this region. Hey, Iowa, can you grab the sample-taking equipment from the buggy?”

“Sure.” Rolling her eyes a bit at the use of her nickname, Bee hopped her way over to the buggy and pulled a grappling stick and some sample bags from the compartment that Etienne had indicated. As light as the items were, they set her slightly off balance and she found herself banging backwards into the buggy, ending up sitting down on the lunar surface.

“You okay, Iowa?” Etienne called out.

“Yeah, I’m fine. That might have actually hurt on Earth.” In the Moon’s one sixth gravity though, the fall had been almost gentle. She pulled herself up and grabbed the equipment again and hopped back over to where Mike and Etienne were standing.

“Turn around and let me check out your suit.” Etienne said.

“I’m really fine,” she said, her pride slightly wounded even though no one had laughed at her. She knew falls weren’t uncommon when you weren’t totally used to the local gravity or wearing a bulky suit. But Bee dutifully let him examine her suit for tears. He tapped on her oxygen tank. “Can you check your display again?”

Bee tapped a few buttons. “It’s fine. At sixty-five percent.”

Etienne frowned at that. “Hmm. That’s a little low, but still within parameters. Keep an eye on it for me and tell me what it says in five minutes.”

“Okay.”

Assured that she was all right, Etienne shifted his attention back to Mike, who was cramming as many rocks as he could into the sample bags.

“Whoa, I think we have enough, kid!”

Etienne grabbed the fullest bag from Mike. When Mike bent to lift the others, Bee caught Etienne shaking his head slightly in amusement. She couldn’t help but smile too, as she remembered the giant duffle of rocks with which Mike had come to Lunar Camp.

Mike hopped happily back to the rover, the other two bags of rocks clutched in his arms. He moved as easily as you might expect from someone who had been born on the Moon.

After the rocks were loaded, Bee, Etienne and Mike strapped themselves back into the buggy.

“Oxygen level report, Iowa?”

“Fifty-five percent.”

“Did you say fifty-five percent?” he asked, his voice a little sharper than before. “Are you sure?” Etienne leaned over so he could see her sensor results for himself.

“Is it okay?” Bee asked, realizing that Etienne seemed to be worried about her oxygen levels.

“It’s fine.” Etienne reassuringly smiled at her. “Please keep an eye on it and let me know if it goes down again. We can swap it out with one of the spares. That’s why we have them.”

Etienne headed the rover back up the rille. It slipped and slid a little in the lunar dust as it made its way up the side, but they were soon back on the track to Lunar Camp. Bee couldn’t help but notice that Etienne was pushing the buggy faster than he had on the way out.

She looked down. Her oxygen was down by another couple of percent. Probably nothing to worry about. Fifty percent of a can of oxygen should last her six hours. That was more than enough, even if it went down faster than it should. She closed the sensor results and resolved not to look at it for a little while.

Watching the scenery go by, Bee also couldn’t help but notice that they were totally alone. All the other campers and counselors were far ahead of them. She shivered slightly, this time not out of excitement, but at the realization of how isolated they were here. They were a few hours from Lunar Camp by buggy. A faster transport might be able to come and meet them, but it would take a while to reach them. Still, Etienne said it would be fine, so she was sure it would be fine. Bee sneaked a look down at her oxygen sensor and then gasped. Two percent. How could it be so low already?

“Etienne?”

“Iowa?”

“It’s down to two percent.”

Immediately, he pulled the vehicle over and hopped out.

“Don’t worry, Iowa, we’re going to fix this.” Grabbing a bottle of oxygen from the storage compartment, he instructed her to unbuckle her safety harness and turn around so he could access the back of her suit. She could feel him pushing buttons and imagined what he was doing. First, he’d have to make sure the oxygen reservoir was filled, and then he’d have to remove the old can. Click. That was the new can going in.

Etienne hopped back in and she refastened her seatbelt.

“That bottle of O2 was probably just faulty. But just keep an eye on it and keep reporting the numbers to me if they drop, okay?”

Etienne clicked his radio connection on. “Lunar Camp, this is Etienne Cooper on Rover 5. We have a potential emergency.”

Bee watched Etienne’s face closely as he calmly explained the situation. She didn’t know how he could sound so cool and collected. Did things like this go wrong on the Moon often, so he was just used to it? She wasn’t sure she could ever get used to this. If she explored other planets someday, they would have to be ones with air.

“We copy. An emergency vehicle is being dispatched now,” came the immediate reply from Lunar Camp. “We will supply an updated ETA when we get closer to your location. Just keep your vehicle on the track back to Camp.”

“Roger.” Etienne clicked the radio off and looked over at Bee. “It’s probably unnecessary, but better safe than sorry, okay?”

“Okay.” Bee knew he was trying to be reassuring, but she still felt miserable. Her excitement at being out on the lunar surface was definitely gone. All she wanted now was to be on Earth and to feel the rich, wet soil between her toes. Everything here was dust. There was nothing alive out here. Not like at home. Bee forced herself to stop imagining her farm. Tears were starting to well up in her eyes and she had no way to reach them to wipe them away.

The lunar scenery was whizzing by. Bee could tell Etienne was going as fast as he could, which worried her. She had a new can of oxygen, but clearly he was still concerned if there was an emergency vehicle meeting them and he was still pushing the buggy so fast.

Bee sneaked a look down at her oxygen sensor. “It’s at eighty percent.”

Etienne cursed and then winced. “Sorry.”

He pulled the buggy over again and this time had Bee get out so he could inspect her suit. Bee could sense he didn’t want to waste time, but he did a quick and thorough inspection anyway.

“I don’t see any obvious leaks. It might be a problem in the mechanics of the suit. It’s draining the oxygen too fast or something. I’ve never seen this happen before.” He sighed and moved his hand up as if to run it through his hair and then dropped it again when he realized the helmet was in his way. “All right, everyone back in.”

As soon as they were all secured, Etienne gripped the steering wheel and floored it. “Keep reporting the numbers to me, Iowa,” he said grimly. “Just stay calm and breathe as slowly and normally as you can.”

Twice more they stopped so Etienne could change Bee’s oxygen canisters, though each time they waited until nearly every possible breath was used up. After the final spare started reading frighteningly low, Etienne radioed Lunar Camp for the position of the emergency vehicle.

“We have you on the GPS; we are approximately twenty minutes from you if we both drive at maximum speed,” a female voice replied.

“Roger. Copy. We are currently driving at max speed.” Etienne clicked off the intercom and glanced at Mike and Bee. “Okay, kids, here’s what we’re going to do. And we need to do it quickly. I’m going to stop again. Mike, I need you to hop out too this time. You know how to change oxygen canisters on a suit?”

“Of course. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Great. When we stop, I want you to make sure that both my and Iowa’s O2 reservoirs are filled and then I want you to swap our cans.”

“But—” Bee started to protest.

“It’s fine, Iowa. Let me worry about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Bee didn’t know what else to do but agree.

“Report?”

“Three percent.” It was hard for Bee to keep the fear out of her voice. She was scared for herself and she was scared for Etienne. And she felt guilty. He was putting her life before his. She wasn’t sure she deserved it, with how she’d acted toward him all summer. All because of a stupid nickname that seemed very unimportant right now.

“Okay, let’s do this.” Etienne said, forced cheer in his voice. “Oh, and Mike? I assume you already know how to drive one of these things?”

“Yep.” Mike eyes were huge as he answered.

“Then I’m going to have you take over the wheel so I can focus on conserving oxygen.”

“No problem.”

“One more thing, Mike.”

“Yeah?”

“We need to go as fast as we can. Which means we need to lighten up the buggy.”

“The rocks?”

“Yeah. We’ll come back for them, I promise.”

“That’s okay. It’s more important that…” he paused, clearly not wanting to finish his thought. Bee knew if Mike was willing to chuck his precious rocks without a protest that the situation really was serious. That plus the fact that the lunar native was scared was perhaps more unnerving than anything else.

“It’s all right, Mike. We’re all going to be fine.” Etienne reassured him. “I’m going to pull over now. Let’s make this quick.”

Etienne pulled over and everyone jumped out. Mike threw the bags of rocks and the other field equipment out and then bounced as fast as he could to where Etienne and Bee were standing. In just a few minutes, he had their oxygen cans swapped. The three of them got back in the vehicle, this time with Mike in the driver’s seat. After a slight adjustment to compensate for his lack of height, they were off again.

“Mike, I want you to keep in radio contact with the rescue vehicle. Iowa and I are going to stop talking to save as much oxygen as we can and keep our breathing nice and shallow.” He reached forward and gave Bee’s shoulder what seemed meant as a reassuring tap. “And when we get back, Iowa, I’ll finish what I was going to tell you before. About how the Moon can help you to learn more about plants. That’s a promise.”

Bee turned as far as she could in her suit to look at him, and though he was putting up a good front, she could tell there was worry in his eyes. “Okay.”

“Just okay? Not going to argue about how pointless the Moon is? Or to tell me to just call you Bee?”

Bee thought his smile seemed a little weak. “You can call me whatever you want if we all make it through this.”

“It’s a deal.” Etienne gave Bee another comforting poke in the shoulder and then he sat back in his seat, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Bee had Etienne’s can of oxygen, which had been nearly seventy percent full when they’d hooked her up to it. But she had no idea how fast her suit would go through it. Etienne’s suit, on the other hand was functional, but that bottle had only been at three percent of its capacity before they’d stopped to swap. It might have dropped to two percent in the time it had taken to switch cans.

Bee noticed that Etienne hadn’t told either of them exactly how much oxygen was left. He’d just grimaced slightly at whatever the number had been. Bee tried to do the math in her head. Two percent of a can of O2 would mean Etienne only had fifteen minutes left, and help was at least that much time away. This was going to be close, possibly for both of them.

Bee closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that the lunar landscape wouldn’t be the last thing she ever saw. She opened them again and looked over at Mike, who had been kind to her since the day they’d first met. Then she twisted around again to risk a look at Etienne, who she was now starting to feel that she’d misjudged. He was brave and friendly, if to a fault, and right now his eyes were closed. Before she turned around again, she closed her own eyes tightly. Now if the worst happened, she could say the very last thing she’d seen were her friends.

Bee’s eyes popped open when Mike’s excited voice chimed in her ear. “The emergency transport! There it is!”

The transport, a white metallic boxy vehicle, practically glowed against the lunar terrain. It was a beautiful sight. Even more beautiful were Bee’s oxygen numbers when she looked down at her sensor. Two percent. It was a closer margin than she would have liked, but help was here and she knew she would make it as long as they didn’t waste time.

Mike pulled up next to the larger vehicle, which was extending its airlock. Bee jumped out to check on Etienne as quickly as she could, not wanting to waste any time.

“Etienne!” Bee shook his arm. “Come on! Are you…?”

Before she finished her sentence Bee realized that Etienne was not okay. He hadn’t reacted at all to her touch. She couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or worse. He couldn’t die now, not when help was here. She wouldn’t allow it. Bee grabbed Etienne’s arm and draped it around her shoulders.

On Earth, she’d never have been able to lift him, with or without a space suit on, but here he was only one sixth of his weight. He wasn’t much heavier than one of the farm dogs back home, so even though he was taller and larger than she was, she knew moving him was within her power. As long as overexerting herself didn’t make her own oxygen run out. But that wasn’t important right now; whatever happened, they could revive her. But Etienne…

With a mighty tug, Bee pulled Etienne out of the buggy.

“Here, let me help.” Mike grabbed Etienne’s other arm and together they dragged him as quickly as they could toward the airlock. A space-suited form exited and bounced toward them.

“We’ve got him,” Bee said stubbornly as the suit tried to intervene. “We don’t have time, just get out of the way.”

“Okay, kids,” the adult said. “The airlock only fits three. You all go first. I’ll be right behind you. The others inside will help as soon as the airlock equalizes.”

Bee and Mike rushed Etienne through the door. As soon as it closed behind them, Bee searched frantically for Etienne’s helmet fastenings. “Mike, help me!”

“We can’t take his helmet off until there’s air.”

“He’s not breathing anyway, just help me.”

“The light on the wall will turn yellow, then green. We can’t take the helmets off until it’s green,” Mike protested.

“Start undoing the fastenings when it’s yellow,” she commanded.

He nodded in response. Bee looked impatiently between the light and Etienne. And then the yellow light flashed.

As Mike worked on Etienne’s helmet, Bee rapidly worked on her own. Black spots threatened the corners of her vision. Her own oxygen was almost out, she realized. She ripped her helmet off, not paying attention to what color the light was, and then grabbed Etienne’s helmet and yanked it off too.

She lost little time breathing whatever air she had left into Etienne’s mouth.

Gasping, she doggedly started chest compressions. They were the most important thing, weren’t they? She tried to remember the resuscitation training that had been impressed on her many times during her childhood, but her brain was rapidly growing fuzzy. She felt Mike nudge her aside and take over. Suddenly very dizzy, she felt herself falling into blackness.

Bee slowly opened her eyes and then squinted at the bright overhead light reflecting off the white walls. A pale blue privacy curtain blocked her view of the rest of the large room she was in, but she realized that she recognized the décor from the time she’d sliced her finger on a rough rock and had to come to the infirmary to get the cut cleaned. Bee sat up slowly and tried to clear her head.

“Hey, you’re awake!” It was Mike. He got up from the chair he’d been sitting on at her bedside. “How do you feel?”

Bee frowned for a moment. “Not sure. Okay, I think?” Then it all came rushing back. “Mike, Etienne? Is he…?”

“He’s okay.”

Bee breathed out in relief and then had to lie back down for a minute until her head stopped spinning. “What happened? After…?”

“After you passed out? I kept resuscitating him until the airlock opened and the medtechs were able to take over. They were able to revive him and there doesn’t seem to be any permanent effects.” Mike was sober. “He was really lucky. A few more minutes and there could have been brain damage. You saved him.”

“We saved him. And you both saved me. Team effort.” Bee looked at Mike and smiled.

He shook his head, as if to deny his part but didn’t contradict her. “I guess we make a pretty good team then.”

“Yup. You, me, and Etienne.”

“Who knew?” Mike grinned.

“Oh come on, you did! You’ve been trying to get me to like Etienne for weeks.”

“So you’re saying I was right all along? And I might be right about other things? Like about how awesome geology is?”

Bee crossed her arms. “Don’t push your luck, Moon-boy.” She broke into a smile..

“Etienne’s awake if you want to see him,” Mike said, and Bee knew he was happy with her acceptance – if slightly begrudged – of his favorite counselor.

“Definitely,” she said, uncrossing her arms. “Let’s go.”

“Hey Iowa, how are you feeling?” Etienne sat up when he saw Mike and Bee peek past the curtains around his infirmary bed.

Bee opened her mouth automatically to object and then closed it. Maybe it really wasn’t such a bad nickname. Iowa was a place that she loved, now more than ever. It was home and it was a part of her. And the nickname had been gifted by someone she now admired, both for his bravery, and for his willingness to sacrifice himself for someone who hadn’t even been especially nice to him.

Bee gave Etienne a big grin. “I’m doing great. How about you?” She wrapped her bathrobe snugly around her and perched on the edge of the bed.

“I’m doing great, too, thanks to you.” Etienne looked pale and tired, which was to be expected after what he’d been through. Still it was disconcerting to Bee to see him lying in bed. It made him look slightly diminished; normally he was so energetic she wasn’t sure he even bothered to sleep at night.

“It was nothing,” Bee said automatically. She’d just done what needed to be done, hadn’t she? It slowly dawned on Bee that it was Etienne’s lead that she had been following. When it had been his life on the line, panicking hadn’t even occurred to her. She’d just acted. Just as he had.

Bee could see Etienne watching her and she wondered if her newfound admiration for him was somehow written on her face. Etienne’s own expression was serious, something that gave Bee pause, because of how seldom she had seen him look that way.

“It wasn’t nothing.” Etienne gently shook his head. “You saved my life. I need to thank you for what you did.”

“You saved my life too, so I guess we’re even. Thank you.” Bee said, crossing her arms across her chest, though it was with a smile to show that she meant what she said. She was thankful, though it was hard to say just how much out loud.

“You’re a stubborn one,” Etienne said, relaxing his own expression into a matching smile.

“You’re just figuring that out?”

He gave her a small wink. “I hear you also don’t really like rocks. Or the Moon.”

She grinned . “Not really. This place has no atmosphere,” Bee said coolly. She gave Etienne a quick glance to see if he would get the joke. She was rewarded with his barking laughter. His laugh was somewhat less exuberant than normal, but it was a relief to hear Etienne starting to sound more like himself.

“Now, I think I made a promise to you, didn’t I? Before…” Etienne waved his hand, as if ushering that whole episode into the past. “What if I told you that the Moon is a great place for you to learn about soil composition?” As if sensing that he’d caught Bee’s attention, he continued eagerly, “Maybe we could set up some experiments for you on plant growth in lunar soil. You’ll have to do some research on what’s already been done, but maybe you’ll find a new angle. And if not, it’ll still be good for you to learn more about experimental set-ups. We might even be able to get you some Earth soil to play with too, and lots of seeds of course…”

Bee sat silently, slightly stunned by what Etienne was saying. How had she not thought of this before now? Could she really grow plants here on the Moon?

“That sound good, Iowa?” Etienne waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello?”

Bee absentmindedly swatted his hand away. Her mind was racing and the possibilities suddenly seemed endless. “You would help me? I mean, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course I’ll help. You and Mike can help me clear out a corner of the lab, and maybe we can scrounge up some of those plant lights from somewhere…”

Bee listened wide-eyed as Etienne continued to list off lab equipment she might need. Mike, who had been quietly standing in the background jumped in with some suggestions of his own.

Bee watched them both for a few minutes and then, unable to contain her growing excitement, finally broke into the conversation. “Wait a sec! I need to get my PAL. I need to record these ideas!”

Bee rummaged through her things, finally locating her PAL in the pocket of her jumpsuit, which had been slung over the chair by her infirmary bed. She held it up triumphantly at Mike, who had followed her back to her room. “Found it! Now I can take notes.”

“So what do you think now, Bee? Think you might consider coming back to Lunar Camp next year?” Bee looked up from where she was kneeling and couldn’t help breaking into a smile at her friend’s expectant expression.

“You know, I just might.” She added shyly, “And you can call me Iowa if you want.”

“I just might.” Mike gave her a grin. Bee followed him back to Etienne’s room, PAL in hand. They had a lunar garden to plan.

 

Clockwork Dancer

Brad Hafford

 

When Brad Hafford was a boy he dreamed of being an explorer. Growing up on a farm it seemed impossible (and he was unsure if explorers even existed anymore), but he read constantly and continued to dream. He joined the Air Force and served overseas, then went to college to further expand his horizons. Exploring all his options, he studied many fields and earned a Ph.D. in archaeology. Now, he has lived and worked on four continents and has visited more than fifty countries. He has excavated at the great pyramids and at some of the earliest cities in the world. And he’s still exploring. He writes fiction and nonfiction and teaches archaeology and writing. He particularly enjoys writing for a younger audience — letting them know that explorers do exist and that his own adventures started from humble beginnings and became realized through travel and education. The message: See the world and never stop learning!

 

North London, 1847

A wind-up toy ballerina danced on a brass plinth. Rain tapped at the leaded glass window behind it. The dull light of a British autumn made the figure hazy, or perhaps it was the gloss of tears clinging to the eyelashes of the girl who watched it, brimming at her lower lids as she stared dreamily at the mechanical undulations.

Oh, if only she could dance.

But Eleanor had been cursed with a debilitating disease when she was only three years old. The doctors called it Sudden Infant Paralysis, but they didn’t really know what it was. They told her that one day they’d beat it, that she’d walk again.

And dance.

One day.

When would that day come? All she could do was wait. She sketched dancers and wished she were like them. She wound up her mechanical doll and watched it do what she could not. And she submitted again and again to doctors staring down her throat, tapping her knees with rubber mallets and jabbing her with needles filled with so-called cures – none of which ever worked.

“Eleanor?” she heard her mother call from the parlour. Her voice waltzed up the stairs and glided beneath the door. Majestic, beautiful. That was her mother, both in voice and in presence. But she was ashamed of her daughter. Or so it felt. No laughter had rung through the house, not since Eleanor was stricken.

Now Eleanor was forced to stay inside, hidden from the world, observing the passersby from a misty leaded window on a lonely second storey. She couldn’t go to school with the normal children. She couldn’t play with the normal children. But there were many books in the old house, and she read them all. She’d even taught herself to write. Unfortunately, reading only told her more about what was normal. What she was not.

Eleanor sobbed. She was a burden to her family. To society.

Her mother kept up appearances well, maintaining the large north London home on a small budget while doing her best to care for her crippled child, but Eleanor knew that the endless stream of doctors cost far more money than her parents could earn. Her father was constantly gone, working two or three jobs, but it was never enough.

A soft knock at the door heralded her mother’s arrival. The call, as always, had preceded her by several minutes, giving Eleanor time to compose herself. This time, though, it wasn’t enough. She was still sobbing softly into her scarf when the door opened.

“Eleanor?” Her mother said and then waited through a long pause. “This is Dr. Phipps, he’s here to...” her voice trailed off. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, Doctor.”

Eleanor looked up to see a rotund little man in a battered top hat carrying a cane in one hand and a black bag in the other. It was a bag the likes of which she’d seen many times. Too many times. Doubtless it carried the same concoctions every doctor brought, draughts and potions, jabs and poultices. They had different names and different smells, from sickly sweet to cough-inducing, but the end result was always the same – nothing.

“Good afternoon young lady!” the doctor said. He waddled closer, like a Christmas pudding with toothpick legs. “Aloysius Berringer Phipps, at your service.” He doffed his hat and made a little bow. “Most people call me Phipps.”

Eleanor found herself at the edge of a smile. This doctor didn’t act like a doctor. Most of them looked down on her with the stale air of superiority.

“Isn’t this the nursery?” He said, poking his cane at a pram draped with a sheet. “Strange place for a girl your age.”

“Father says I have to stay out of sight.”

“Doesn’t seem right to me.” Phipps made a tut-tut sound and shook his head. “You should be in your own room. When you aren’t playing outside, that is.”

“Oh, I can’t go outside. That would never do.”

“Tosh. There’s benefit in good air and exercise.”

Eleanor couldn’t tell if the doctor was winding her up. His tone was serious, but his meaning couldn’t be. “In case you didn’t know,” she said, “I can’t walk. I can’t even stand.”

“Oh, I know that. But it doesn’t mean you can’t exercise. Or have fun.”

“Of course it does. What kind of doctor are you?”

“The best kind!”

Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was surely mad, but in a funny sort of way. She indicated his black bag. “Are you going to jab me with needles like all the rest?”

“Heaven’s no! This is my lunch bag.” He produced a tea cake from within. “Would you like some?”

“You’re funny.” She hadn’t meant to say it. Such things weren’t polite. “I mean, you’re not like any medical doctor I’ve ever seen.”

Phipps bit into his tea cake. “To tell the truth, my doctorate isn’t in medicine, but engineering.”

“You mean, like driving trains?”

“More like building trains!”

“Then why do you want to see me?”

“I have a feeling your problem isn’t entirely medical.”

“Of course it is.” Didn’t he take her condition seriously? Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest and hunched over in her chair. “My legs don’t work!”

“True. But your mind isn’t helping. And neither are your parents, to be honest.”

“You shouldn’t insult my family.” Eleanor spoke to the floor now, not wishing to look at the doctor. His odd disposition would only make her want to laugh. She would show him how serious her condition really was, and laughing simply wouldn’t do.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. But really! Cooping you up in here? Not letting you reach your potential?”

“What potential?”

“Anything. Everything. Whatever you want, you can do it.”

Eleanor sat silently for a moment. How she wished what he said were true! But it simply couldn’t be. “I want to walk, but my legs don’t work. So that’s impossible.”

Dr. Phipps leaned over, supporting himself with his cane as he tried to look directly at Eleanor. She turned her head away and hunched further up against herself.

“Not impossible,” Phipps said. An exhaled groan followed by a low crash heralded his arrival on the floor. His hat fell and spun in silly circles at the edge of Eleanor’s vision, but she did her best to ignore it and the doctor. After he caught his breath, he continued, “Not easy, either. But the first step to the impossible is to call it something else.”

Phipps tried again to catch Eleanor’s eye from the floor. He rolled first one way and then the other. Eleanor looked away and fought down the pesky curl at the side of her mouth as it sneaked its way into a smile. Finally, she met his gaze. There was a sparkle in Phipps’ left eye that made her wonder if it were some kind of gemstone. His eyebrows made funny squiggles, raising and lowering as if his thoughts were playing tennis inside his skull.

Phipps’ eyebrows finally settled into a deep V at the base of many furrows on his forehead. “Your legs may never work,” he said at last. “I know it’s hard to hear, but you have to face the possibility. Oh, there may be a cure, but it’s a long shot. So you can wait, and mope, maybe forever. Or you can find another way to walk.”

Eleanor knew that Phipps was being honest with her, but she had a serious illness, and what could she do that medicine couldn’t? She slapped her legs with both hands. Prickles of pins and needles ran through her narrow thighs. She could feel them, but she couldn’t move them. They sat lifeless and useless, not much wider around than her arms. Tears rose. “There’s only one way to walk,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” She sniffed and rubbed the corner of her right eye. “Don’t be so daft.”

Phipps rolled away from the chair, then back again, wobbling on his round belly. It brought the curl back to Eleanor’s mouth.

“People stroll, stride, promenade, march and perambulate, don’t they?” he said, lying on his back.

“Those are just other words for walking. They all rely on legs.”

“For centuries people thought the only way to fly was to be a bird. To have wings that functioned like theirs.” Phipps flapped his arms against the floor. “But finally, engineers thought of other words like float or glide and realised that lighter-than-air gasses held in a balloon could bear them aloft. Now people fly regularly, but still they have no wings!”

Phipps rolled back and forth again. “Have you ever tried rolling?”

“That’s not very dignified.”

“Who cares? It’s fun. Not very practical, though.” He rolled across the room and then tried to get up. “Makes you dizzy.” His head wagged and he sunk back to his knees. “Perhaps brachiation is the answer!”

“What’s that?”

“Using your arms to swing about.”

“Like monkeys do?”

“Exactly like monkeys do! If we were to hang ropes with rings on the ends from the ceiling, you could swing around.” He moved his arms in a ridiculous motion. “It could get you in and out of your chair and to and from your bed.”

Eleanor stifled a giggle. Phipps looked very silly. “Really?”

“Yes. You see, you just have to think of new ways of locomotion.”

“Locomotive? Like a train? I’d love to go on a train someday. See the world.” A spike of excitement consumed Eleanor’s thoughts for a brief moment, the warmth of possibility rising in her belly. Then it fell suddenly cold. “But I can’t go out.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not... normal.”

“Pish posh. You’re better than normal. So long as you use your brain, you can do anything.” Phipps scooted over to Eleanor on his knees. He picked up the sketchbook that sat by her side and asked if he could look inside. Normally Eleanor kept her work secret, but this time she agreed.

Phipps paged through drawing after drawing of ballerinas in various poses, amidst their most beautiful dances. He spent time looking at each one. Most people glanced and said nothing.

“You’re an excellent artist,” Phipps said at last, “but it looks like you draw only dancers.”

“I like dancers.”

Phipps cocked his head to one side, then almost to his shoulder. “Why are they all standing?”

Eleanor rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “You have to stand to dance, silly.”

“Are you sure?” Phipps stood up. He grabbed the sheet covering the pram and pulled it off in a flourish of fabric and dust. Eleanor coughed at the heavy bouquet of dirt and old furniture varnish but laughed at almost the same time. “What are you doing?”

“Wheels, my dear. Wheels might be the answer!”

“I’m not a machine!” Eleanor exclaimed. “And I’m too old for a pram.”

“True. But we can put wheels on your chair. Or...” He turned pages in Eleanor’s sketchbook until he reached a blank one. Then he drew hasty rectangles and circles, a few numbers and mathematical symbols, angles and more numbers. “You see, my dear!” He waved the crazy scribblings in the air. “If you can draw it, dream it, visualise it, then you can build it!”

There was no doubt about it. He was mad as a hatter. But Eleanor liked him. It was like watching a puppet show come to life. Phipps snatched up his bag and rooted through it, coming up with a spanner and a screwdriver.

“I thought that was your lunch bag,” Eleanor said.

“All engineers keep tools in their lunch bags, my dear.”

In a trice Phipps had disassembled the pram and converted it into a low-lying cart. Its upholstered surfaces made a central support rising from the frame, and the former hood made a low chair back. Golden fringe ran up and over it, fluttering along the edges.

Phipps knelt down on the altered pram and pushed himself from the wall, using his weight and a sweep of his arms to guide the cart into a half circle. He ended up facing away from Eleanor but twisted his bulbous body around to speak.

“What do you think?”

“Mummy would never approve.”

“She doesn’t want you to walk?”

“It’s not walking.”

“It’s like walking. It means you can move around. Even move to music.”

“You mean dance?”

Phipps bent down and pushed himself from the floor, then swayed again to make the cart perform another half circle. “I do.”

Eleanor clapped and clapped as if in the Theatre Royal itself. “I want to try!” she said.

Phipps picked her up and placed her in the low cart, carefully tucking her legs underneath. The raised central portion supported her, taking weight off of her legs, and the low chair back provided stability. Phipps made a few adjustments to ensure the cart fit its intended driver.

Eleanor was too excited to pay much attention. She pushed herself along and tried the swaying motion Phipps had demonstrated. It didn’t work as well for her. She didn’t have the weight to put behind it. “It’s not easy. Will you push me?”

“Dance with you? But of course!” Phipps pushed and pulled the cart around the room, spinning and humming a jolly tune all the while.

“We might be able to put gears in,” he mused.

“I’m not sure I like being so low to the ground. Could we make something higher, like a dress with wheels?”

“Now you’re thinking!”

“ELEANOR!”

Eleanor’s mother stood in the doorway, her face a tightened ball of rage. “What are you doing? And you!” she pointed at Dr. Phipps, her long hand shaking. “You’re supposed to be a doctor. A dignified man!”

“Allow me to explain, dear lady –”

“Get out!”

Phipps picked up his hat and bag, doffed the hat to the lady and disappeared down the stairs.

1848

The next few months were particularly difficult for Eleanor. She tried to convince her parents to allow Dr. Phipps to come back, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it, nor would she allow her to keep the pram-cart.

Eventually Eleanor managed to make her father understand the reason for hanging rings from the ceiling, and he installed a few ropes across the nursery, plus padding on the floor in case she fell. She practiced the brachiation technique over and over. It was tough. Getting momentum when she couldn’t control her legs made swinging nearly impossible. But impossible became an increasingly improbable word in her vocabulary.

At first she could hardly pull herself up from the bed, but she kept trying until she built strength in her arms and shoulders. Then she practiced swinging. She fell time and again and often felt like giving up. Still she pushed on. Her mother said that everything about it was unladylike, but with practice, Eleanor’s movements grew almost graceful. Long hours over long months led to smooth motions and pirouettes that might make a dancer proud. She even began choreographing moves to music in her head. For the first time, she was able to imagine herself dancing, rather than someone else. Just as Phipps had said, if she could visualise it, she could do it.

Nonetheless, even a short routine tired her. People just weren’t meant to dance with their arms for very long. But now that she had gotten a taste of what could be accomplished, her dreams soared. Not only could she imagine dancing, she could even see herself exploring the countryside or crossing the sea. Instead of telling herself it couldn’t be done, now she asked how it might be done.

Her belief in the impossible increased as she read about remarkable feats of engineering. Elaborate train networks were springing up across Britain and Europe, some with speeds up to 20 miles an hour! She had never before thought about how these feats were accomplished. Now she saw that it was thought, practice and individual steps that led to great things.

She begged her father to bring home books about engineering. When he asked why she wanted to read such things, she let slip a glimpse of her dreams. Then she looked away, ashamed. Her father sat silently for a moment, for an eternity.

Finally he said “That’s –”

“I know,” Eleanor interrupted, “unladylike. And not possible. I shouldn’t –”

“No. It’s... wonderful. Amazing. I dream of those things, too!”

“Really?”

“Yes, I think of speeding in a steam train or soaring in a balloon. Exploring the depths of the ocean, or even the stars themselves.”

“Really, really?”

They laughed together for the first time in Eleanor’s memory.

She convinced her father to work with her on the pram-cart, to improve it and to allow her to move through the house onboard. Her mother said it was an improper vehicle for a young lady, but even she smiled when Eleanor spun into a turn like a twirling penny and ended in a dancer’s flourish.

With each success, Eleanor’s dreams soared greater still. She built a new dancing cart with four wheels, each driven by a clockwork engine. And she began to design an even better framework and propulsion system – the wheeled metal dress she had suggested to Phipps. Her sketches showed it would work, but how to build it without good tools and additional hands? Her parents told her they would try to get what she needed, but something was wrong. They wouldn’t talk about it, and even her father was quiet when she asked about his dreams. “They’ll probably take those, too,” was all he said.

The next day, the bill collectors came. Because there was no money for them, they took the only thing left. They took the house.

Bethnal Green, 1849

When she’d been withering away in the nursery Eleanor had never thought things could get worse. But they had. Not only did the creditors take her house, they took her father, too. He was sentenced to Newgate Gaol until such time as his debts were paid. It seemed stupid to Eleanor. How could he pay debts if he was locked away?

Once again she blamed herself. Her energetic desire to build, dance and explore had meant an ever greater drain on the family finances. Her mother insisted on continuing the stream of doctors, but she could no longer pay for them. Now she visited relatives for help, but money was tight everywhere. She never explained, but Eleanor overheard conversations and began to put the puzzle together. When Eleanor’s grandparents had died, the inheritance had been divided among a large family and had quickly disappeared.

Eleanor and her mother ended up in a block of run-down flats off Bethnal Green with many other families in trouble. Most were women with children whose fathers had been sent to Newgate, just like Eleanor’s. The women typically eked out livings as seamstresses, barmaids, or peddlers, and most of their earnings went to pay interest on old debts. The children, too, worked wherever they could. Many turned to begging or stealing, all because of a system that made poverty a crime.

Eleanor’s mother couldn’t keep her shuttered away anymore, but she told her not to talk to the people of Bethnal Green. Though Eleanor respected her mother, she didn’t understand. How were they different? So, while her mother was out appealing to ever more distant relatives for money, Eleanor began talking. For the first time she was able to connect with others, with children her own age. Some of them made fun of her, but most of them were friendly and curious. They found her wheeled carts fascinating.

Her mother would have been mortified, but the strain of living in poverty proved so difficult that she simply stopped functioning. After her final contact, a third cousin twice removed, was unable to provide more than two shillings, she gave in. Once so strong and proper, she fell into a heap of utter despair, incapable of doing anything but sobbing.

Eleanor had known such sadness. She tried her best to lead her mother out of the spiral of despair, but it didn’t help. The only thing that put a semblance of a smile on her face was when Eleanor danced. She practiced every night, using her upper body to sway and shift the energy of the small, tightly wound engines. Her mother watched through hazy eyes just as Eleanor had once watched her toy ballerina.

Phipps would know what to do. But where was he? Eleanor wrote letters addressed to Aloysius Berringer Phipps, Dr. (the best kind) hoping that the Royal Mail could find him. She also sent word through a network of street urchins she had come to know. Her withered legs were particularly suitable to the profession of begging, and though she found it unseemly, she turned to it to support her mother and attempt to rescue her father.

She explored the backstreets of London with the urchins, taking on their attire of goggles and kerchiefs to protect eyes and nose from the sooty air. Cobblestones would have ruined her clockwork dancing cart, so she took only her hand cart.

It wasn’t the kind of exploration she’d dreamed of, but being out and about, even on the grease-smoke streets of London, was invigorating. Fog, smoke, and steam rolled equally down the evening streets, subsuming buildings in a haze that made them into giant ships on a murky lake. Big Ben tolled in the distance, and the clip-clop of horseshoes rang down the lanes alongside the clank of mechanical wheels. At times, the acrid tang of horse sweat and charcoal would suddenly be covered by a waft of fresh bread, or a heady breath of mince pie that made her mouth water.

Dancing still filled her dreams, and she practiced every night. Her four-engine cart was far from perfect, though, and she continued to draw plans for a better frame – a steel bustle that would form a rigid support for a skirt. Small steps to a greater goal.

One night, Eleanor spun merrily on her wheels only to find the self-professed leader of the urchins, a wiry boy of about thirteen, watching her. His street goggles were pushed up on his forehead, and he must have stood there for some time. Surprised, Eleanor tried to run.

“Wait!”

Eleanor stumbled, having forgotten the shift in weight needed to push her wheels in the proper direction. She ended up on her side, four wheels spinning out their tensed power in the air.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the boy murmured.

“Leave me alone, Sanjeev.”

“But your dance, it was so –“

“Silly?” Eleanor sniffed. “A crippled girl can’t dance?”

“You dance better than anyone I’ve ever seen.” He bent to help her up. “It was... beautiful.” The way he stumbled on the final word showed he’d rarely used it, or at least had never meant it until now. Eleanor decided it was sweet, something she’d never noticed in Sanjeev.

“Thank you,” she said and allowed herself to be righted on her wheels. She could have managed on her own, but it was nice to accept help from time to time.

“Why don’t you dance outside where we can join you?”

“I didn’t think anyone would understand.”

“Of course we would! Plus, me and some of the boys fancy ourselves musicians. Maybe we could help?”

“I’d like that.”

A shy grin pushed Sanjeev’s cheeks almost past his ears. Then he shook from his daydream. “Oh, I almost forgot. That Phipps bloke you’ve been looking for?”

“You found him?”

“More like you did.” Sanjeev waved a stained envelope in the air. “Barlowe and me went round the post. He sat on my shoulders and we put an old greatcoat over us, pretended to be a respectable gent. Asked for any letters for you, and they gave us this. All the way from Paris. Lucky Barlowe can read a little. Made out the word Phipps and figured it was worth the extra penny in back postage.”

“You’re a genius!”

Sanjeev’s dusky complexion reddened.

Eleanor took the envelope in hand. It looked as though it had been dragged across the English Channel and then trodden upon by a train of donkeys. It smelled of swamp gas, or what Eleanor imagined swamp gas would smell like.

She opened the letter and read:

 

Dearest Eleanor,

So sorry to hear of your troubles. I wish I could help, but the answer lies within you. Use your brain and you will rise above all difficulties.

To tell the truth, I have troubles too. I have had to flee to France, but I am using my brain! I believe I have a discovery that can be displayed at the Crystal Palace next year. I hope to see you there.

Your humble servant,

Phipps

 

“The Crystal Palace? Isn’t that the great exhibition house they’re building to display wonders from around the world?”

“I guess so. I don’t pay much attention to that stuff. But there should be lots of folks there worth a few bob.”

“I have an idea. Will you help me?”

Sanjeev fidgeted with the tattered waistcoat he wore. “Anything for you,” he said, reddening once more.

1850

In the course of a few months Eleanor turned a ragtag bunch of urchins into imaginative designers, energetic builders and skilled dancers. Together they created their own short, wheeled boards and more elaborate dancing carriages. They practiced using them for jumps, twirls and choreographed routines of all sorts. Boys and girls leapt to and fro in ever more elaborate patterns. Then they set their stunts to music.

With so much work and practice, they had little time for begging. Eleanor’s plan was to entertain crowds instead of taking from them, give them wonder in return for support for their creative efforts. Her ultimate goal was to gain wider exposure for their handicraft and skill at the Crystal Palace. But the plan divided the Bethnal Green urchins. Many couldn’t see the long term benefits for the intensity of their short term needs.

In an effort to prove the potential of her plan, Eleanor took the troupe to the streets earlier than she would have liked. She knew extensive practice was essential, but there wasn’t much time. So she performed her well-rehearsed dance before and after the troupe’s street rehearsal, and crowds slowly grew. The troupe began to find increasing coppers – even a few silvers – in the hat they kept out for donations.

As the urchins gained faith, they became more dedicated and began to help Eleanor meet her dream of a wheeled dress. Slowly the framework came to life. It was a gracefully curving cradle of eight sturdy metal strands, each ending in a fine brass wheel with its own clockwork engine. At the top of the cradle dangled a leather seat into which Eleanor’s legs would slip as if in a voluminous hoop skirt. At the same level, the level of her waist, there sat two small hand cranks to wind the eight engines. It was a masterfully engineered work, and all due to the reading, drawing and planning Eleanor had put in over the years.

Finally she was ready to decorate the frame with the help of the seamstress mothers. All of the mothers had become increasingly involved with their children’s work, pride in their dancing skills growing with every performance. Eleanor’s own mother came outside from time to time to watch them. She, too, grew in strength and acceptance every day. Many of the families had helped support her in her direst need, and she could no longer see them as lesser people. Bonding with them helped her to deal with emotional strife.

Now Eleanor showed that working together could also help with financial strife. Not all of them wanted to dance, but they had other skills that could help support the group effort. The seamstresses made costumes; the barmaids advertised performances; the peddlers traded for materials. The musically inclined formed a new kind of music, one that enhanced the wheeled street dance. Meanwhile, Eleanor taught techniques of building and design.

At long last, the team gathered to help Eleanor strap herself into her dancing framework. The mothers helped her don the outer covering, a dress made from an exquisite powder-blue silk gown, accented with elaborate lace and shining ribbons, a lucky find from a sympathetic ragpicker.

The skirt draped fully over the framework like that of a royal French lady from the last century. But Eleanor didn’t want to be so formal, nor to hide her true nature. She no longer wished to be anything other than herself, and the cloth might bind in the clockwork wheels if the dress dragged the floor, so she had the seamstresses bring the hem up. The effect was that she and her beautiful dress appeared to float over the ground.

They had a month to practice before the Crystal Palace opened, but the new dress worked so well that Eleanor had little trouble making a wondrous new routine. The opening of the Exhibition presented an obstacle, however. A group of street dancers – no matter how polished they now appeared – were unlikely to be given admittance to something so regal. Eleanor asked Sanjeev and Barlowe to sneak in and find Phipps. She described the funny little man as she remembered him, and not an hour later they returned.

Phipps wasn’t quite as he had been. He still had the charming mannerisms, but life had carved many more wrinkles into his face and had taken away much of his girth so that he no longer had the plum pudding wobble about him.

“My dear!” Phipps exclaimed, “How you’ve grown!” Eleanor extended her arms from her perch in the clockwork dress, and he took her hands heartily.

“And you,” she replied. “You’ve grown a drooping stance and gaunt look that don’t suit you.” Eleanor had learned to be honest with friends.

Phipps straightened and doffed his hat. Much worn, it was the same hat Eleanor remembered. “I fear my situation has not allowed me much joy,” he said, “until now, that is! You and your dress are incredible! You’ve built this by yourself?”

“Never! You taught me to have faith in myself, but I’ve learned to have faith in others, too.”

“Well said, young lady. Perhaps I have not given others enough credit, nor allowed them to help when I needed it.”

“I would ask your help now, Phipps, if possible.”

“Anything in my power.”

“Can you help us to gain entrance to the Crystal Palace, to dance?”

“I will do my very best, my dear!”

Hyde Park, 1851

Two months went by as Phipps tried to gain access for the urchins. Meanwhile, he visited Bethnal Green often to laugh and sing with them. One night, he explained his situation to Eleanor and her mother. He had fled Britain after a duel had gone badly. He refused to fight, and his honour had been lost. Once again, Eleanor found it difficult to understand. Refusing to harm others seemed quite honourable to her.

He had gained experience building French airships near Paris and then designed a new form of container that could revolutionise the capturing and controlling of lighter-than-air gasses. His display at the Crystal Palace consisted of versions of the containers that he hoped would renew his honour.

Finally Phipps managed to arrange a short time on the central stage for Eleanor’s troupe. That day, he led them to the Great Exhibition. In the distance, the Crystal Palace shimmered, a mass of sparkling glass and metal, like a constellation come to earth. Its imposing grandeur, still hundreds of yards away and fronted by throngs of people, nonetheless dominated Eleanor’s view.

Sanjeev showed his nervousness by taking her hand, something he had been too shy to do in the past. Eleanor squeezed tightly for reassurance, hers as well as his. They rolled along Hyde Park, the milling people little noticing them. There were so many wonders that one more group of people, even on wheeled boards, attracted but a few gawks and hushed whispers. Thousands would see them dance, but it would be difficult to compete for attention among so many incredible things.

Inside the aptly named Crystal Palace, exotic foods competed with machine oil for olfactory attention, and tall Prussian hats vied with feathered ladies’ bonnets to block the view.

“Is everything ready?” Eleanor asked Phipps.

“Indeed. I even managed to drape a ringed rope for you.”

“And our surprise?”

“Never fear!”

At the appointed time, the urchin band produced their musical instruments and struck a chord. Eleanor took center stage twirling like her old toy dancer – simple circles to a lilting tune. Then, without warning, the music jumped to life, and fifteen wheeled dancers burst on stage. They made tight circles and figure-eights around Eleanor’s majestic form. As they wheeled past, they flipped in the air, held handstands atop their boards or twisted about, all to the thrumming beat of percussion and strings.

Eleanor swung into her routine, graceful and frenetic in alternating waves. At exact musical counterpoints, she spun the winding cranks at her side to keep her engines moving. As the band reached a crescendo, she used the rope to spin over the stage and back as if coming down the banister in her old house so long ago. The crowd gasped in awe, and from above, Eleanor could see just how large it had grown. The entire palace was watching.

It was time for the finale. Amidst leaping dancers, Eleanor wheeled to the edge of the stage, winding her cranks with fury. Then she launched into the ether. With neither rope nor wings, she flew. As one, the people below took an astonished breath, then leapt into peals of applause.

Eleanor and Phipps had incorporated air containers beneath her steel framework, and as she spun in place at the end of the routine he added the lighter-than-air gasses through a hose beneath the stage. Now she floated above as in her own airship. She flew without wings, she danced without legs. She rose above all difficulties.

When Eleanor reached the ground once more, she found Phipps working his jaw in funny circles, an expression that reminded her of his old self. She couldn’t help but giggle.

Unable to speak, he pointed behind her.

Eleanor cranked her clockwork engines and turned with a subtle shift of weight to find a short woman in a heavy cloak nodding at her. The throngs parted to a respectable distance. A tall man nearby beckoned.

As Eleanor approached, she realised who the woman and her companion must be. Her breath escaped in a rush. “Your Majesty!” she exclaimed. “I fear I cannot curtsey, for my dress is made of steel.”

“You need not curtsey, young lady. You have proven yourself of a noble spirit that we honour deeply.”

“You are most gracious.”

“Tell me, is it true that you have no legs?”

“I have legs, your Majesty, but they do not function.”

“Yet you dance, and even fly. You have given us great pleasure this day. Is there something we can do for you?”

Eleanor could hardly believe her good fortune. “If you please, Ma’am,” she stammered, “release my father from debtors’ prison?”

“Done. Albert, see to it.”

“And might I ask that you look into the system that put him there? His only crime is in loving his family and trying to provide for them.” She indicated the urchins with a sweep of her arm. “All these dancers would like their fathers returned, too.”

“You speak with great wisdom and empathy.” Queen Victoria cast a stern glance at a shuffling group of men in stiff, high collars behind her. Then she turned back to address Eleanor. “Would you consider becoming a court dancer, to entertain us in the future?”

“As your Majesty pleases, but only if my troupe is also welcome.”

“Of course.”

Eleanor flitted over to her friend and mentor, wheels abuzz. “And you would do well to employ Dr. Phipps,” she said.

“What kind of doctor is he?” asked the Queen.

“The best kind!” said Eleanor.

Phipps’ left eye gleamed, and all the urchins cheered.

 

When Hope Dies

Pam L. Wallace

 

Pam Wallace is a little bit of this and a little of that, but the sum of her parts can mostly be described by one word: family. Her stories can be found at Daily Science Fiction, Every Day Fiction, Abyss & Apex, Shock Totem, and Journal of Unlikely Entomology, among others. She is part of the badger crew at Shimmer Magazine.

 

Esperanza dribbled water on each seedling – not that she thought it would do much good. The tiny leaves were yellowing between the veins. Mama would have said they’d never grow right and she should replant.

She’d replanted at least ten times now, and it still wasn’t any better.

What was needed was a good rain, falling from the sky in great sheets, the pale, packed earth soaking the moisture up like a sponge, filling the arroyos until they ran clear and full through the valley. Wash away the filth and dust and all trace of disease. A new beginning. Hope for the future.

“The rain will come, Espie,” the kid they all called Prophet said, rocking on his heels and smiling at the haze-colored sky.

He was one of the whitest gringos Esperanza had ever seen – skin the pale cream color of Mama’s lace tablecloth that she only used on special occasions.

Most of the time, Esperanza wasn’t sure there was anything between Prophet’s wide-set, flat-lidded eyes and the back of his skull. But every so often, he said something that turned true. That was how he’d earned his name, since he couldn’t remember his own when he showed up in town a couple of months after all the adults died.

“Aw, crap, Espie.” Nate tossed a stone from one hand to the other, and from the mulish look on his face, Esperanza could tell he wanted to toss the stone right in Prophet’s face. “There he goes again. Tell him to shut up already.”

“He’s not hurting anything, Nate. He’s just a kid like us.”

“He ain’t like us! He’s a retar –”

“Don’t,” Esperanza yelled, shoving Nate away. “Don’t you dare call him that! He can’t help the way he was born.”

Nate glared for a minute, then kicked a clod of dirt and watched it bounce across the empty lot, skip-hopping puffs of dust in its wake. “Well, he can help what he says. Anyone can see it ain’t gonna rain.”

Parched, crusted dirt stretched far as Esperanza could see. The golden wheat fields that used to surround Huntsville were gone, replaced by fields of bomb craters that reminded her of all their pockmarked faces – and most especially Mama’s and Papa’s before they died.

“I’m hungry,” Prophet said. “Can we go eat, Espie?”

While he seemed to be about the same age as Esperanza, he had a baby-face like a five-year-old, and he didn’t act much older than that, either. At least he was easy to please. He’d gobble up a can of green beans with so much enthusiasm, you’d swear he was eating chocolate cake.

Esperanza shoved her water bottle in her backpack. “Yeah, let’s head back.” Her garden was towards the edge of town, where Mister Johnston used to grow corn. Twelve ears for a dollar, and the sweetest corn ever. Her mouth watered, thinking of an ear slathered with butter and chiles – just like Mama liked it. And then, thinking of Mama, her eyes started watering, too.

She turned to her little brother. “Vamos, Luis. Time to go.”

Slumped in his lawn chair with a blank look on his face, Luis stared at the mountains that used to be a dark green blur of trees. Now they were just naked gorges and bare rock. They used to go camping up there in the deep forest, by a stream that held the sweetest brook trout. Esperanza and Luis would splash around in the cold water chasing frogs till their toes were numb.

“Vamos, Luis,” she repeated, louder this time.

Luis startled. “Are we going home now, Esperanza? Mama’ll be wondering where we’re at.”

Esperanza bit her lip. Luis knew as well as she did there was nothing to go home to – just an empty house and two rock-covered mounds out back – he just didn’t remember he knew.

Esperanza wished she didn’t have to remember all that’d happened, either. She’d rather be building forts, playing ball, lazing in the sun by the river like a normal twelve-year-old – not trying to keep a pack of orphaned kids warm and fed. She didn’t want to worry any more about what they were going to do once the food in the supermarket was all gone. She didn’t want to speculate any more about what might be going on outside of town. And most of all, she didn’t want to ever bury another body.

She gave Luis’s lawn chair a soft kick. “Mama knows where we are. Let’s go.”

With the blank look still in his eyes, Luis stood and folded his chair. He slung it over his shoulder and plodded up the street, the chair bouncing against his side. Esperanza noticed the strips of denim were starting to fray on the edges. Cabron, but Luis would throw a fit if that chair broke.

Mama had worked on the chair while she sat by Luis’s bed, double-sewing strips of denim from old jeans to replace the worn-out webbing on a lawn chair. When it was finished, she painted a picture of their favorite camping spot on it.

After Luis recovered and Mama was sick, he’d painted a bright red heart in the corner. The color still reminded Esperanza of the blood on Mama’s lips after a coughing fit.

After the bombs, everyone’d been pretty orderly at first. And then half the town got sick. Not radiation sickness, Papa said. Plague of some kind.

One thing Esperanza had never figured out was why all the kids didn’t die, too. Everyone in town got sick, but only those under twelve recovered.

Madre de Dios, she’d been trying to figure things out ever since last fall, and she still wasn’t any closer to an answer. Not that it really mattered anymore – answers wouldn’t bring Mama and Papa or anyone else back. “Let’s go.”

The sun blazed, radiating heat shimmers from the hard, crackled earth. The street was so dusty, Esperanza could hardly see the pavement. A good rain would wash it all clean, but since the last bomb fell, they hadn’t glimpsed even a wisp of cloud or blue sky – just a murky brown haze.

Esperanza headed for the boarded-up supermarket where they lived now. It’d never be home to Esperanza – that would always be the small ranch outside of town.

After Mama and Papa died, Esperanza kept Luis home at first, even though he’d near drove her loco asking where Mama had gone. When their food supply ran low, it’d been a relief in a way to move to town, even though the guilt had almost ate her up. That ranch had been everything to Papa and Mama, their big American dream – owning property, being self-sufficient. Mi ranchita, Papa had always called it, but Esperanza had always preferred Mama’s name: Casita de Esperanza. House of Hope.

Of course, now it wasn’t anything but a House of Empty. Just like Esperanza felt inside.

Prophet was at a standstill in the middle of the street, staring at something off in the distance. There was a heavy stillness to him that caught Esperanza’s attention.

“He’s coming,” Prophet said. A trickle of drool ran from the corner of his slack mouth.

Esperanza didn’t see anything except a swirl of dust, way out on the road winding down from the mountains. “Just a dust devil.”

Prophet’s eyes were always moving, like he was searching for something the rest of them couldn’t see, but now he looked Esperanza right in the eyes, his gaze heavy and clear. “He’s. Coming.”

She’d never seen Prophet so intent. Esperanza looked towards the road again. The whirlwind of dust was closer. Something about it didn’t look right. She shaded her eyes with one hand.

The dust cloud was moving. Or something inside it was. And it was yellow. “Madre de Dios, is that a school bus?” The putter-pop of an engine broke the stillness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a vehicle. She hadn’t even been sure there was anyone alive outside of Huntsville.

Maybe it was someone with supplies and food. Dios, what she wouldn’t give for a nice cold soda. Fresh tortillas. Hamburger and fries. Just as her mouth started watering, Esperanza remembered Papa’s warning – when things go bad, chances are a stranger would be just as like to shoot you for some water as they would be to help you.

Nate came running up, his eyes as big around as Esperanza figured her own were.

The bus spluttered up with a squeal of brakes and shuddered before the engine went dead. The door whooshed open.

A smell rolled out that reminded Esperanza of a mountain meadow after a rain. A tall fellow eased up from the driver’s seat and hopped down the steps. There was no one else on the bus.

“Hey there,” the tall guy said.

He had the biggest ears Esperanza had ever seen on a person. They sat low on his head and stuck way out.

It was only after she was able to draw her gaze from the peculiar ears that Esperanza noticed the stranger’s honey-colored skin was smooth and clear. Not a pockmark in sight. Esperanza couldn’t stop her finger from reaching up to trace the nooks and crannies on her own face.

The man pulled a red kerchief from his back pocket. “Sure is hot today.” He mopped his face, then looked straight into Esperanza’s eyes. “What we need is some rain,” he said.

A little chill ran across the back of Esperanza’s neck. His eyes were an unnatural shade of green, as bright as new grass in spring. Papa’d always said you could judge a person by the look in his eyes, but this man’s eyes didn’t tell her a thing. He didn’t have the look of a gringo, but he didn’t look Hispanic, either.

“Who’re you?” Nate asked. “You got any food? Who won the war?”

The stranger looked up at the sky as if an answer might be found hidden somewhere in the brown haze. “You can call me Clarence,” he finally said. “And there wasn’t any winners –only losers.”

“Didn’t you get sick?” Esperanza asked, still focused on that smooth complexion.

“Everyone got sick, didn’t they?”

“Yep.” Esperanza waited for a better answer but the stranger just smiled. She didn’t trust anyone who didn’t want to answer simple questions. From what they’d heard before the radio transmissions stopped, everyone in the country had got sick. Heck, all the kids had the same pockmarked faces as Esperanza.

Maybe this man had been far enough removed from towns to escape the plague, but then again, whoever put the germs in the bombs would probably have made sure they were protected against it. “Where you from?”

Before the man could answer, Prophet came running up, a big grin plastered across his face. “Clarence!” he said.

The stranger’s face softened. “There you are.”

“Yup.” Prophet nodded hard enough to knock his hat off if he’d been wearing one.

“You know him?” Esperanza asked.

Prophet didn’t answer, just kept on grinning in that way he had, the one that made you think you were his long-lost best friend.

The stranger answered instead. “He wandered into our territory after the bombs and stayed awhile.”

“Yeah? Where was that?”

“Oh, just up the road a ways,” he said with a vague wave of his hand toward the mountains.

“There’s no towns up that road.”

“I didn’t say I lived in a town, did I?”

He said it friendly enough, but with just enough of a challenge in his voice to rile Esperanza and set her even further on edge. She glanced around at the other kids. Besides Nate and Prophet, there were two girls, Jenn and Alice Hunter, hunkered up against the side of the building, and another group of four kids headed their way. Esperanza was getting nervous being out in the open with this stranger.

Luis pulled on her shirt. “I wanna go home! Mama’ll be worried about us being gone so long.” A hunk of dark hair hung across his right eye.

“Go on inside,” she said, glad of the interruption.

“You said you’d take me home today,” Luis said, not budging an inch.

“Mañana.”

“That’s what you said yesterday and the day before. I want to see Mama!”

Most of the time, she tried to be patient, hoping that once the shock of Mama’s and Papa’s deaths wore off, Luis would be okay. But after all this time, she was tired of pretending, and right now, she was just plain tired of it all. “Not now!” she yelled. “Get on inside!”

Luis’s eyes got real big, then filled with tears as his lower lip quivered. Esperanza felt like she’d a big ache in her chest when he turned and ran inside the grocery store.

Clarence gave her a look and shook his head. She was already ashamed of her outburst, but she couldn’t back down with everyone staring at her, could she?

And besides, who was this stranger to walk into their town and start trying to tell them what to do? What was he even here for, anyway? “What is it you want here, mister?”

Prophet tugged on Esperanza’s sleeve, his face lit up like a light was shining from inside. “He’s here to help us, Espie.”

“We’re doing just fine on our own,” Esperanza said, jutting her chin out.

“I’ll allow you don’t have cause to trust me,” Clarence said, “but I do want to help you kids out. I imagine it’s been a mite scary. When did your folks die?”

His question threw Esperanza off, making her recall that awful day Papa died. Esperanza felt all unsettled, like she didn’t know which way to go or what to feel. The girls by the car started edging closer, while Nate stuck his hands in his pocket with a frown.

Esperanza swallowed to ease the strain on her throat. “A while back. About seven months,” she answered, not even sure why she was answering at all. Truth was, it’d been seven months, twelve and a half days. Early morning, just as the sun was clearing the horizon.

“I’m sorry, girl.”

“Wasn’t nothing more than all the others went through.”

“Still, hard for you kids to be left alone.”

Esperanza shrugged. She sort of did wish she could trust this stranger, let him take over things so she could just be a kid again. But she didn’t know enough about him yet. He might be one of those who would want to take what little they had, and she wasn’t about to let any of the others get too close to someone they couldn’t trust yet. “I said we’re just fine.” She turned to the others, “C’mon, let’s go inside.” She pulled Prophet by the sleeve into the store, motioning the others to follow.

After everyone was in, she locked the door, peeking out through a crack in the plywood to watch Clarence. He smiled at the door, like he knew Esperanza was watching him, then sat on the steps of the bus. After a while, he leaned back against the open door and appeared to fall asleep.

“What are we going to do with him?” Alice asked, jerking her chin toward Clarence.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’ll be gone by morning. Just stay away from him for now.”

“He seems all right to me. Maybe he can drive us someplace.”

Maybe it was stupid to stay in Huntsville instead of going to look for help somewhere, but Esperanza had promised Papa that she’d take care of the ranch, and she meant to abide by that promise, no matter what. “We don’t even know who he is or what he wants!”

“Can’t be much worse than what we gone through already,” Nate said.

Esperanza didn’t have an argument for that. For about the gazillionth time since Papa and Mama had died, she wished she could just crawl into the corner and never, ever come out again. She’d never asked to be in charge of things, it’d just kinda happened. She wasn’t even very good at it.

“Esperanza! Isn’t Clarence coming inside to eat? He can have some of my beans,” Prophet said, holding out his can.

“He’s got his own food. He said he wanted to stay in the bus,” Esperanza answered. She was getting pretty good at lying. Mama’d skin her alive if she could have heard.

Luis was huddled on their makeshift bed of sleeping bags and quilts, still crying. He didn’t turn over to look at her. Esperanza knew she should apologize, but she was just too worn out to do it right then. She threw herself down beside Luis and turned her back on him.

She sure wouldn’t have made Mama or Papa proud today.

It took several hours of tossing and turning before Esperanza was able to sleep that night. She dreamed of Papa, staring as if he were trying to say something with only his eyes, and in the background, Mama cried Luis’ name.

Esperanza woke with a heavy feeling in her gut. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Prophet, sitting with his back against the wall.

“Hey, Espie!”

Esperanza sat up and rubbed her eyes. Luis’ side of the bed was empty. “Where’s Luis?”

“He left. Can we have Crispy-O’s for breakfast?”

“He left? Where’d he go?” It was a stupid question. There was only one place Luis would go.

Prophet shrugged and climbed to his feet. “I dunno. Can we have Crispy-O’s?”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I–I–I dunno.” Prophet sucked on his upper lip while his gaze swept around the room, finally fastening on Esperanza. “I want Crispy-O’s.”

Esperanza could only think of Luis and what might happen if he made it to the ranch by himself. What would he do if he saw the graves? Esperanza’s imagination ran wild, imagining Luis upset and wandering off to who-knew-where. He wouldn’t last half a day on his own.

Prophet jerked on Esperanza’s shirt. “Espie. Can I have Crispy-O’s?”

Worried out of her mind over Luis, Esperanza shoved Prophet away. He stumbled and fell to the ground with a cry. A part of Esperanza was horrified at what she’d done, but she couldn’t think of anything right now except Luis.

She ran outside without apologizing or helping Prophet up.

Luis’ bike was gone. If he’d left at first light, he’d almost be at the ranch by now. Esperanza hopped on her own bike and pedaled down the street.

She’d just passed the city limits sign when she heard the bus chugging up from behind. She pedaled faster, but there was no out-running it.

“Get in, Esperanza,” Clarence hollered above the engine noise.

Esperanza pedaled faster.

“You’ll get there a lot quicker in the bus,” Clarence yelled.

Prophet was perched on the seat behind Clarence. Esperanza laid on the brakes, skidding to a stop. “Prophet, get off that bus!”

Prophet didn’t raise his head to look at her. Esperanza guessed she didn’t blame him much, not after she’d yelled at him and shoved him down.

What to do now? She couldn’t leave Prophet alone with the stranger, but she needed to get to the ranch, and it was still a couple miles away.

Papa always said, comes a time to stop worrying and just trust that things’ll work out. Right now, the important thing was to catch Luis as quick as possible.

Esperanza gave in and hauled her bike up the bus steps and stowed it between the seats. She sat catty-corner from Prophet. Clarence pulled the bus back on the road. Prophet sniffled and swiped at his nose.

“Don’t you think Prophet deserves an apology?” Clarence asked, staring at Esperanza in the driver’s rearview mirror.

It wasn’t that Esperanza didn’t want to apologize. She hated hurting Prophet’s feelings. But she didn’t like it that this stranger was the one telling her what to do. “I didn’t do nothing.”

“Didn’t you?”

The bus hit a pot hole, almost throwing her from the seat.

Prophet reached a hand out to steady her. “Esperanza! Don’t fall!”

His worry and concern for her was plain to see. He was one of the sweetest, most caring persons she’d ever met. It wasn’t right to take her frustration out on him.

She sighed. Mama’d always said no sense in letting pride get in your way.

She moved over to sit beside Prophet and patted his hand. “I’m sorry I pushed you, Prophet. I was worried about Luis. But you didn’t deserve that, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

Prophet snuggled against Esperanza’s side. “That’s ok,” he said.

Esperanza met Clarence’s gaze in the mirror, and the stranger nodded approval. The bus sped up and didn’t hit any more pot holes.

“Esperanza?”

“Yeah, Prophet?”

“The rains are coming.”

“That so? When?”

“Soon.”

They came to a series of small dips in the road. It wasn’t much farther to the ranch. “Turn left at the next road,” she said to Clarence.

They turned the corner, and there was Luis, walking his bike. He had his lawn chair slung over his shoulder. At the end of the road, the roof of their home could be glimpsed through the treetops. The bus squealed to a stop. Esperanza hopped down.

Sweat beaded Luis’ forehead. Both bike tires were flat. He let Esperanza hand the bike up to Clarence, but when she turned back to help him into the bus, he’d gone on ahead, still walking toward home.

Esperanza chased him down, pulling him to a stop with a hand on his shoulder. “Get on the bus, Luis,” she said.

Luis shook his head. “I’m going to see Mama.”

“Mama’s –” Mama’s what? Dead? She couldn’t say it. Realized she hadn’t ever said it out loud.

Luis looked as beat-tired as Esperanza felt, but he had that stubborn look in his eyes that used to make Mama shake her head and mutter under her breath. Mama’d always let him go on about his way when he got like that, and eventually he got over it. But this was different.

Maybe a cold dose of reality was what he needed. Maybe she should just take Luis on home – let him see for himself.

“You’ll get there quicker on the bus,” she said.

Luis cocked his head, studying her. “You promise?”

Esperanza nodded.

Luis shrugged. “K, then.” He climbed up the steps into the bus.

“Hey, Luis,” Prophet said with a smile and a little wave.

“Hey.”

“Wanna sit by me?”

With a nod, Luis slid in beside Prophet. Esperanza sat down across the aisle from them.

Clarence pulled back on the road. Prophet bounced in his seat like it was a trampoline. Soon enough, he got Luis to join in. The cushions squeaked and groaned as they bounced so high they almost fell on the floor. They fell back on the seat, giggling. Esperanza wished she could remember what it was like to feel that carefree.

When the bus slowed down to take the bumpy dirt drive to Casita Esperanza, Luis stopped bouncing, his body edged and still.

Clarence pulled up at the side of the house in a whirl of dust and opened the door. No one moved while waiting for the dust to clear. It’d always been quiet at the ranch, but the kind of quiet that was comforting – chirping birds, buzzing insects, and wind rustling the leaves.

What she heard now was the wrong kind of quiet. A still, empty quiet.

Esperanza looked around, the memories rushing in. There was Mama’s garden, the hills and furrows now bare dirt. The door to the shed stood open. Papa had used to sit there, where the roof overhang shaded him from the afternoon sun. His chair leaned drunkenly against the wall.

Luis’s face pinched up like it did when he was scared, and he settled against the bus seat like he wanted to melt into it. For some reason, that just made Esperanza mad. Here her brother had been at her for how long now, asking every five minutes to go home to see Mama, and now they were here, he wouldn’t get off the darned bus.

“C’mon,” Esperanza said, jumping down the steps to the ground. “You wanted to come home. Here we are.”

Luis got up, dragging his feet down the steps like he was walking in deep mud, his face getting tighter and tighter. Esperanza’s chest felt all pinched up, but her anger kept building. “Go on, then.” She pushed Luis toward the house. “Go see Mama.”

She felt Clarence’s eyes on her back as she followed Luis across the porch.

Luis fumbled the door open and stepped inside. “Mama?” His voice sounded tiny and echoing.

Inside, everything looked the same. Just dustier. The emptiness made Esperanza’s stomach clench.

Mama’d always been at the counter, kneading dough for tortillas or stirring the always-simmering pot of beans. At the kitchen table was Papa’s chair, angled to get a view of the mountains. Esperanza imagined if she held her breath, she’d hear echoes of her parent’s voices, forever alive in the house they’d pinned all their hopes on.

“Mama?” Luis sniffled, swiped at his nose. “Where is she?”

Esperanza couldn’t feel anything, like she’d breathed in the emptiness of the house and now it was lodged inside her chest. “She’s gone, Luis.”

Luis’ eyes shifted around the room, and then he brightened. “She went to get Papa at the shed, didn’t she?” He ran outside.

Mama’s coffee cup was on the windowsill, where she always set it so she could find it easy in the morning. Esperanza imagined Mama watching her with disapproval.

She’d pushed Luis too far. She ran after him, catching him halfway across the yard.

“C’mon, Luis. Let’s go back.”

Luis threw her arm off and stomped through the gate and across to the shed. Esperanza’d never felt like such a gawd-awful failure.

“Papa? Papa!” Luis’ voice echoed in the shed. Normally pigeons would have fluttered from the roof at the sound, but there was only more of the awful silence. “Mama! Ma-a-maaaaa!” He ran out of the barn. “Where are they? Where’d they go?” He pulled at Esperanza’s jacket, his voice shrill and panicked.

Esperanza couldn’t help it – her gaze was drawn to the side of the shed where she could just see the ends of the rock mounds.

Luis’ gaze followed hers. His soft gasp sounded like a firecracker in the still air. “No,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. He backed away. In his eyes, Esperanza saw horror as the memories finally returned.

“No. No. No.” He turned and ran.

Esperanza chased him. She thought for a minute he was going to run off to who-knew-where, but when he saw the bus, he headed straight for it. He threw himself on the bottom step and scrambled up.

Clarence started the engine. As Esperanza climbed the stairs, Clarence shot her a disapproving look.

Luis huddled in the seat, hugging his lawn chair to his chest.

“Luis, mijo,” Esperanza said, laying her hand on his shoulder. Luis jerked away, and that hurt almost as bad as hearing Mama rasp out her last breath.

She flopped into the seat behind Luis and Prophet. Clarence started the bus and headed back to town.

“Esperanza?”

“Yeah, Prophet?”

“The rains will come.”

“Yeah? When?”

It was Clarence who answered. “Soon,” he said, watching Esperanza in the rearview mirror.

Esperanza got a shiver, the kind that Mama used to say was from someone walking over your grave. She was probably turning over in hers right now, from the mess Esperanza’d made of things.

She missed both her parents so much. They’d have known what to do.

Mama with her gentle patience. Papa – well, he was the strongest man Esperanza knew. He’d look a person right in the eye and tell the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

They’d both taught her what to do.

She crawled around the seat and knelt in front of Luis. “Luis, you listen to me.” Luis huddled against Prophet with his eyes shut tight, but Esperanza didn’t let that stop her. “We can’t bring back Mama and Papa. They’re gone. Papa wouldn’t want us to just give up and cry for what’s gone. He’d say to pull ourselves up and keep moving on. Together, as a family.”

Luis opened his eyes, but still wouldn’t look Esperanza in the eye. “I want it the way it was,” he whispered.

The want in his voice was naked and raw. “I do, too,” Esperanza said, her voice all raspy and tight. Her eyes watered, but she swallowed down the tears. “Our old life is gone, Luis. And it isn’t ever coming back.”

Luis chewed on his lip for a while. Esperanza took his hands. “I told Mama I’d look after you, and I will. Everything’ll be all right. It won’t ever be like it was, but we’ll do okay.”

Luis looked doubtful. But at least he was listening.

All of a sudden, Prophet jerked up from his seat. “Stop, Clarence!” He pushed past Esperanza and pulled on Clarence’s shirt. “Stop. Stop!”

Clarence stomped on the brakes and the bus squealed to a halt. Prophet hopped down the steps and banged on the door.

Clarence watched him with a considering look for a moment, then nodded. He opened the door, and Prophet jumped down and ran a few steps out. He spread his arms and looked up at the sky.

They were stopped beside Esperanza’s garden. “Prophet, what’re you doing?” she hollered.

“A rain dance!” Prophet twirled around, his face turned up to the sky, arms splayed. “Rain, rain, rain,” he chanted.

Esperanza jumped down from the bus. “Prophet, get back here.”

Luis pushed up against her arm and leaned into her. The contact felt good. Luis watched Prophet for a full minute, then hopped down the stairs.

Prophet grabbed Luis’ hands and pulled him into a twirl. “Rain, Rain!” he chanted, gathering speed. Before long, Luis was chanting too. They whooped and hollered, spinning a cloud of dust.

A movement caught Esperanza’s eye. Clarence stood aside, his bright green eyes shining like they were full of diamonds. He wiggled his fingers at the sky.

A wind swept up, raising dust and a chill across Esperanza’s neck. Her hair blew into her eyes.

Prophet dropped Luis’ hands and stopped spinning, turning his slack-jawed face to the sky.

“What’s that?” Luis asked, pointing up.

On the horizon, a wall of towering purple clouds piled up against a blue sky. The clouds advanced with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. The sky turned purplish gray. The air chilled.

Rain smacked down with honest-to-goodness great globs of water so big they danged near hurt when they hit. Esperanza turned her face to the sky. Raindrops splattered her face, wetting her hair to her head. The musty smell of damp earth rose from the hard-packed ground.

Prophet grabbed Luis’ hands again and they danced around some more, laughing and sticking their tongues out to catch raindrops.

Esperanza’d felt for a long time now like her heart was nothing but a big patch of ice, but as she watched Luis and Prophet act like kids again, something broke free. She took a deep breath, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, it didn’t feel like it caught in her chest.

Clarence put an arm around Esperanza’s shoulders. “Mind if I stay for a few days?”

Esperanza shrugged. “It’s a free world.”

“Maybe it will be now. It’s time to rebuild.”

There he went again. Esperanza pulled away to look him in the eye. It wasn’t that he didn’t look human, ’cause he did, but there was something strange about him that Esperanza couldn’t put a finger on. “Who are you, really?”

“It’s not important right now who or what I am. I’m here to help you find your way.”

He didn’t flinch from Esperanza’s gaze. There was something pure in his expression. It reminded Esperanza of Mama’s look when she was tending the garden. She’d walk down the rows, touching each plant, checking it for bugs. If she did find one, she wouldn’t stomp on it, she’d just pick it up, take it off a ways and let it go.

Esperanza guessed if she saw something in Clarence that reminded her of Mama, it couldn’t be all bad.

She looked over her garden. The seedlings were flattened to the ground. They hadn’t been strong enough to stand up to the battering raindrops.

Meanwhile, there was her brother and Prophet, dancing around like wild things. They’d all made it this far. They’d all been strong enough to make it so far – even Luis. His chair leaning against the bus caught Esperanza’s eye.