“What do we do?” whispered Elissa.

“We go faster.” Kendree swiveled her chair and realized that she couldn’t type on the keyboard with her gloves on. “Elissa, I need your help.” Kendree rotated the pilot’s keyboard toward her friend. “I can’t type with these,” she waved her heavy gloved hands, “but I can tell you what to do.”

“Hurry it up.” Ruth said, still watching the screen.

Kendree talked Elissa through the menus as fast as she could. The shuttle began to accelerate, pushing them all back in their seats and slowly, so slowly, pulling them further ahead of whatever the soldiers had shot at them. Moments after their shuttle broke through the atmosphere, the missile exploded in a bright burst of yellow and gold.

“That was too close.” said Elissa, “I can’t believe it didn’t catch us.”

“Switch us back to autopilot.” Kendree sighed. She wanted to laugh or cry or hug someone, but she was still in her mermaid suit and strapped to her motorized chair. “We’ll be at the ship in just a few minutes.” She flipped the view screen back using the big switch, one of the few things she could manage with her gloves on. The sky changed from the blue of atmosphere to the darker background of space, with the ship already growing larger on the display.

The girls from the planet watched the ship open its hatch for them, gaping at the machinery and the wide reach of space beyond until they were swallowed by the dark docking bay.

The final step of the autopilot sequence disengaged the door and lowered the ramp. Kendree’s parents stood just outside.

“I told you she was wearing it!” her father elbowed her mother and pointed at Kendree’s space suit. “Well done!” he called to her.

“Kendree....” her mother choked out before she ran to her side, taking one of her bulky gloves in her hands.

“I’m sorry.” was all Kendree could manage before her face was wet with tears. “I couldn’t leave Elissa down there. I knew I could go get them.”

“We understand.” her mother responded gently. She took a deep breath and turned to their guests. “Welcome to our home, the TIRS-OLI.” Kendree had explained months ago to Elissa that her parents had named the ship for old Landsat satellites technology that was first used to map Earth from space, but from the confused look on Elissa’s face, her friend had forgotten, or maybe was just too worried to remember.

“Our parents...” Ruth began.

“Not to worry.” Kendree’s father reassured her “We sent them a message the moment you cleared the atmosphere.” He turned to Kendree. “A little close there at the end, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” she nodded, tears now dripping off her chin and pooling in the bottom of her faceplate. “I told Elissa how to speed us up. I couldn’t with these.” She waved her glove-encased hands before clumsily disengaging her chair lock and moving to her father’s side. He put his broad arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” she said again.

“Let’s get everyone settled.” her mother said cheerfully. “Girls, right this way.”

“Kendree, come with me.” said her father. “We need to get you into quarantine.”

“Quarantine?” asked Elissa, “Can’t she take all that off now that she is off the planet?”

“Her immune system is very poor, Elissa,” Kendree’s mother explained, “I know you and your sisters don’t seem sick, but just being in contact with you could make Kendree very ill. She is going to have to stay in her own zone for most of your stay. Besides,” she added more sharply, “That’s as close as we can get to grounding her on this ship.”

Elissa ran to Kendree, looking a little surprised at how light on her feet she was in the reduced gravity. Leaning down she put her forehead against the top of Kendree’s faceplate. “Once you are out of that thing, I’ll have them show me how I can talk to you.” she placed her hand on the glass over Kendree’s cheek, “Thank you for rescuing us, you crazy person.”

“You’re welcome.” Kendree smiled, the skin of her cheeks crackling from her dried tears. “Wait until you see the view!”

 

Cap’n Harry and the Pirates

Austin Hackney

 

Austin worked for two decades in children’s theater and television before dedicating himself to writing. Austin’s fiction, for both young people and adults, has been published under his own name in Aquila Magazine for Children, Dark Tales, Scribble, The Criminal Class Review, Unsettling Wonder, Stupefying Stories, Quarter Reads, and now The Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide. He divides his time between homes in Northumberland, England and Tuscany, Italy. He has two children and when not writing or reading, is a keen field ornithologist involved in conservation work in the UK. Austin’s Twitter handle is @AGHackney. He also blogs at austinhackney.co.uk

 

Cap’n Harry and Sibelius are the stars of the forthcoming Dark Sea Trilogy. You can find out more about them, their world and their adventures at TheDarkSea.com.

 

Harriet Howland – the freebooting aviator and Cap’n of The Redoubtable, an enviably fast old style Skyship that she’d obtained on her first adventure across the Dark Sea to the Moon - was preparing to celebrate her birthday in style.

“Now listen up good an’ proper you lot!” she said to the gathered band of rag-tag skyfarers who were comrades, crew and family to her. “We done right well to get that treasure an’ bring it back safe an’ sound from the Outer Archipelago. The Ancient Seal of the City, no less! I’m dead proud of us all, ain’t I just. An’ I’ve ‘ad notice that the Lord Mayor of Lundoon ‘isself is comin’ aboard this very after’ to collect the blessed thing. Frankly, I’ll be glad to get it off me ‘ands. While we’ve got it aboard, we ain’t none of us safe. We all know there’s other interests that wouldn’t stop short o’ bloodshed to get their piratical ‘ands on it.”

Harriet paused a moment in her oratory as a general murmur passed among the assembly.

“’owever,” she continued, beaming, “As it’s me bloomin’ birthday, I reckon we should ‘ave a fine and fancy feast to celebrate our safe return. Whaddya reckon lads an’ lasses?”

Caps flew into the air, borne up above the general cheers and whistles of approval. “Three cheers for Cap’n Harry!” cried a voice, and soon they all took up the cry, “Pip-pip-hooray!” followed by a hearty if somewhat tuneless rendition of “for she’s a jolly good fellow.”

“I thank you all, from the bottom of me ‘eart. Now, then – even a feast don’t make ‘isself, so let’s look lively – we’ll be wantin’ ale and grub and a space clearin’ for music an’ dancin’. Let’s be about it!”

While the crew set about their preparations, Harriet went down to her cabin and locked the door. Sibelius, the one-time Secrets Trader, member of the Monkey Nation, and now Harriet’s best friend and First Mate aboard The Redoubtable, was waiting for her.

He sat by the latticed window, looking out over the expanse of Dark Sea that still lay between them and the curvature of the Earth. Beyond the Earth the distant suns of the Outer Archipelago glittered and twinkled like Christmas fairy lights.

“That’s them lot busy, at any rate,” said Harriet.

The sky-monkey turned and nodded, smiling, showing a golden tooth. His leather cap was pushed back on his head, a tarnished silver ring pierced his ear, and his brass goggles hung about his neck. With one hand he brushed some invisible dust off his jerkin and breeches and then, reaching up a muscular, hairy arm, swung himself down onto the ground.

“They’re still there,” he said. “And, je crois, they come more close.”

“D’you think they’re onto us, then?”

“Perhaps, mon amie, perhaps. But I do not think they can know of the treasure. It is possible that they want to find me. After what happened before …”

“Yeah,” said Harriet, adjusting the eyepiece on the electroscope and flicking the brass switch so that the device popped and crackled into life as she bent down to look into it, “well they ain’t ‘avin’ you and that’s an end to it. You might ‘ve given them Pirates the run around, but you saved all our skins.”

“Even so, mademoiselle, I would not like to put you or the crew in danger.”

“I reckon we’re already in danger enough until we shift this treasure, Sibelius.” She adjusted a knob on the side of the electroscope. “Looks like they’ve come to a standstill. I wonder why they don’t come no closer? Mayhap it’s ‘cos they know we’re expectin’ the Lord Mayor’s ship up from Lundoon? No, wait a minute … They’ve launched a shuttle – an’ it’s headin’ towards us!”

As she finished speaking, a quiet bell tinkled from the communications device atop her Captain’s desk.

Harriet pushed aside the charts and star maps that were spread out over it so she could reach the winding handle. A few vigorous turns and a small cylinder popped out a tube at the top of the machine. Harriet caught it, and fingered out a typed scroll. Her eyes scanned the script.

“The Mayor’s on ‘is way now,” she frowned. “That’s bad timin’ and no mistake.”

Sibelius rubbed a leathery hand over his hairy chin. “The shuttle, she gets closer,” he said. “But it seems she changes course, towards the Earth …”

“Maybe they’re goin’ to try an’ intercept the Mayor?”

“But why, if he does not have the treasure?”

“I don’t know. You keep an eye on them pirates an’ we’ll prepare to repel boarders if we ‘ave to. It’s too late to warn the Mayor now ‘es on ‘is way.”

Harriet opened the oak box which held the treasure and withdrew a circle of embossed gold and silver; the Seal of the City of Lundoon. She slipped it into the leather pouch hanging from her belt and headed back up on deck.

The deck had been swept and swabbed, colored flags were festooned between the rigging, delicious smells wafted up from the galley, and the crew were already busy laying out trestle tables and rolling barrels of ale ready for tapping.

Harriet stood on the hind deck and looked out through her handscope. Above her the huge gas balloon that kept the ship afloat swelled and swayed, the steel cables that bound it to the body of the ship twanging and humming in the cosmic wind. The Dark Sea stretched out around her in all directions, the islands and stars near and far aglow with colored radiance.

The pirate shuttle sped through the inky darkness, like a flash of white flame in the night. But its course, as Sibelius had said, had changed. What are they up to? she thought. We should move The Redoubtable closer to port. If we’re in sight of the Skywatch they’re less likely to attack.

“Cap’n! Come quick!” The cry was urgent, almost panicked.

Harriet ran down to the main deck. A little huddle of crewmen stood by the open door of her cabin.

“It’s Sibelius!” one of them cried. “They’ve kidnapped ‘im!”

“Who ‘ave?” said Harriet, blanching as she pushed through the little crowd and into her cabin.

“The pirates!”

“But they’re miles …” The words dried on her lips. The window where Sibelius had been sitting was smashed, shards of glass and papers scattered over the floor, a chair knocked over. Beyond the broken glass a small, silent windcraft, boldly flying the pirate insignia, sped away into the dark.

“Sibelius,” said Harriet quietly, her heart pounding. The shuttle was just a decoy – and I fell for it! Then she was all action. “Right, you lot – get this mess cleared up and the window fixed. Davy, Sam, you follow me.”

Up on deck, she rang the clanging alarm bell. “I don’t want to spoil the party,” she announced to the crew. “But there’s been pirates on our tail since we left the Inner Reach. We was keepin’ an eye on ‘em, but it seems they tricked us good an’ proper. They sneaked up in a windcraft. They’ve ‘knapped Sibelius.”

The crew gasped and the gasp was quickly followed by loud and angry shouts. “Let’s go after ‘em, blow ‘em out the sky!”

“Aye, aye. But wait,” said Harriet. “They’ll see us comin’ a mile off, an’ this ol’ girl, fast as she is, ain’t no match for the speed of a windcraft. ‘Sides, we’ve the Mayor on ‘is way to collect the treasure.”

“We’ve got to save Sibelius!”

“’Course we ‘ave,” said Harriet. Her heart was suddenly thumping. A prickle of sweat broke out at the back of her neck. How long could she wait? She couldn’t. She’d have to offend the Mayor. He’ll think I’ve stolen it, she thought. Then said,“Meself, Davy an’ Sam are headin’ out now to give chase. Fire up the steamrocket! And look lively!”

Once in the pilot’s seat, with Davy and Sam strapped in behind her, Harriet pulled down her goggles, checked the pressure gauge and yanked back the contact lever. The steamrocket roared into life, a jet of hot steam shooting out from behind. Harriet released the brake and the thing shot forward, rising from the foredeck and soaring into the dark.

The cosmic winds blew and buffeted the little craft and Harriet strained to hold a steady course.

“Full throttle, Cap’n!” shouted Davy over the noise of the engine and rushing air.

“It is full throttle,” Harriet shouted over her shoulder. “But we’re losing ground on the windship.”

“If we don’t catch them before they get back to their ship, what then?” chimed in Sam.

“Then we board ‘er,” said Harriet, her face grim.

The others said nothing then. To board the pirate ship, just the three of them, was about as dangerous a thing as they could possibly do.

Even as they ripped through the Dark Sea as fast as the steamrocket could manage, Harriet knew, watching the windship whooshing ever faster into the distance, that they had no chance of catching up.

Once she’d seen the windship moor alongside the pirate vessel and lock on, she swerved away and flew the rocket in a broad arc, out over the top of the ship and round back toward The Redoubtable. It was an unnecessary manoeuvre, but she needed time to think.

I gotta rescue Sibelius, no question, she thought. But I can’t risk the lives of Davy and Sam, to do it.

“Davy,” she said as she cranked the rocket into cruise speed and tripped the gyroscopic autobalance mechanism on. “I’m goin’ down. I’ll take the batwings. You keep the rocket circling slow an’ out of reach of fire. I’ll signal you when I’ve got Sibelius.”

“You can’t go in on your own, Cap’n! It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s more dangerous to try an’ land this thing,” she said. “If I go down on the wings, there’s a chance that I can get aboard without ‘em seein’ me. We’ll play ‘em at their own game. You make out that you’re heading back home an’ while they’re watching you, I’ll sneak aboard.”

“But Cap’n …”

“It’s an order.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”

A moment later and Davy had taken the controls.

Harriet was sitting on the edge of a lateral rocket fin, pulling a stiff leather pack onto her back and tightening the straps around her waist and over her shoulders. She reached behind her and wound the crank handle on the side of the pack, listening to the clickety-clack as the clockwork mechanism wound tight. She pulled down her goggles, leaned into the wind - and jumped.

For a few seconds she fell through the dark emptiness, then she pulled the rip cord and the batwings, oiled leather stretched over a wooden framework, sprang out from the pack. She was in full, flapping flight, the mechanism clattering steadily behind her back.

She kept high at first, out of sight, as the steamrocket arced round, banked, and headed back towards The Redoubtable. Then she spiralled down towards the pirate ship.

Batwings were only meant for bailing out in emergencies. The mechanism would wind down and leave her stranded, at the mercy of the cosmic winds and the infinite vastness of the Dark Sea, if she didn’t reach a landing point soon.

Harriet circled down above the pirate ship. It was much larger than her own and clad in heavy steel plates. The menacing skull and crossed bones flag fluttered from its turret.

Funny thing is, Harriet thought as she came closer, it looks like there’s no-one about. Place is deserted.

Imagining the pirates all below deck gloating over their latest prize, her confidence grew. She steered herself between the iron and steel chimneys and over the blackened deck, searching for a place to land.

Then she saw Sibelius.

He was locked in a cage on the main deck. The cage itself was secured to posts by chains. They’re right full o’ themselves these blinkin’ pirates, thought Harriet. Thinking they can get away with this without even placin’ a guard! Even so, she had no idea, looking at the chunky padlock, how she was going to get him out of there before somebody did show up.

Harriet landed as lightly as she could, a soft thud. “Sibelius!” she hissed as she unbuckled the belt and shrugged the straps from her shoulders, leaving the batwings to clatter unceremoniously to the floor.

It was only when she reached the bars of the cage she noticed the expression on the sky-monkey’s face, the rapid shaking of his head and the anxiety in his eyes.

But by then it was too late.

Pirates appeared from everywhere. They popped up from behind barrels, through doorways, dropped down from the rigging and emerged through trapdoors. Cutlasses flashed and the barrels of pistols all pointed her way.

It’s a trap! Harriet looked left and right and all around, but there was no way of escape. You’re losin’ your touch, Cap’n Harry, she thought to herself. That’s the second time in one day that these lousy pirates have got the better of you.

“Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the fly.” Harriet spun round to face the speaker. It was the pirate captain, her old enemy and would-be nemesis. He grinned at her even as Harriet felt her own brow knot up in consternation. “How kind of you to … drop by.”

The pirates sniggered.

“What do you want Sibelius for?”

“Sibelius? Oh, the ape. Only as bait for the more important prize.”

“Me?”

“You!” the pirate snorted. “Hardly you! You flatter yourself, my dear. It is the Seal that I want. Your job is very easy. Give it to me.”

“I ain’t got it. It’s back on me ship.”

The Captain sighed and took a few paces towards Harriet. She tensed and backed off, but her arms were suddenly held fast by two rough looking coves whose skin was blotched and dirty and who stank of sweat and stale rum.

Suddenly the pirate Captain was right in front of her, his peppermint breath cool on her cheeks. “You shouldn’t lie to me,” he said quietly. Then his hand moved like lightning and a thin, curved blade flashed a malicious smile. Its treacherous kiss cut her belt and the pouch containing the Seal fell at his feet with a heavy thud. Without taking his eyes from Harriet, he lowered his boot onto it lightly and smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

Harriet struggled to free herself from the grip of the pirates but they held her fast. The pirate Captain picked up the Seal then turned his back and walked away. With a dismissive gesture of his hand he said, “Take them away!”

It was gloomy and cold in the bowels of the pirate ship, where Harriet and Sibelius were locked in a holding cell. A feint glimmer of sickly light spilled in through the grimy glass of a tiny porthole above them. Cobwebs hung thick in the corners and an occasional spider scuttled through the shadows.

“I’m dead sorry, Sibelius,” said Harriet. “I come ‘ere to rescue you and just got us both into worse bother than before – an’ I lost the blinkin’ treasure. I’m a fool an’ no mistake.”

Sibelius sighed. “No, mademoiselle, I do not think you are a fool. You are brave and perhaps a little foolhardy, but not a fool.”

“The question is, ‘ow the blazes are we goin’ to get out o’ this pretty mess? ‘Seems our adventurin’ days may be over.”

“Listen!”

Heavy footfalls sounded on the other side of the door. Both Harriet and Sibelius stood up and edged closer, stepping over the scuttling spiders that cleared out of their way. They both listened intently.

The footfall stopped. “Oh this is a fine job!” said a gruff voice. “Stuck down here in the grimy hold to keep these little wretches under lock and key.”

“They say the monkey can talk.”

“Bewitched, I’ll wager. That girl may fancy herself the cap’n of a ship, but my money’s on her being nothing more’n a witch, if the truth is known.”

“I’d rather have her as my cap’n than that miserable fellow up top, witch or no witch.”

“You keep your voice down, mate, or it’ll be you that’s hanging from a hempen rope today and not these two here.”

Harriet gulped. Sibelius rubbed his hairy hand around his neck.

“They say the Captain is scared of spiders, you know. Makes out he’s brave and bold, but he’s scared of spiders!”

“Good job he don’t come down here, then, mate! Place is riddled with ‘em.”

Harriet and Sibelius exchanged glances and then looked around at their cobweb infested prison.

“I saw him once, the Captain, up on a chair and simpering like a tearful toddler, because there was a spider in the corner of his chambers!”

With silent understanding, Harriet nodded to Sibelius and a moment later they were busy catching every spider they could lay their hands on. They shoved them into their pockets, into their shirts, anywhere they could find. There were hundreds to be had.

“Mademoiselle, régarde!” said Sibelius suddenly, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Harriet came over to look. Tucked in the corner of the cell was a thick white bundle of gossamer web, packed loosely around the softness of thousands of spider eggs. Harriet grinned. Sibelius lifted the nest carefully away from the wall and put it into his pouch.

A horn sounded. The guards shuffled and grumbled and then the bolt squealed back and the door opened. The guards stood with their long-barrelled flintlocks pointing at Harriet and Sibelius.

“Right then,” said the one with the gruff voice. “No funny moves or I’ve orders to shoot you down on the spot, understand?”

One behind each of them, the guards led them along a corridor, up some steps and out onto the deck. Harriet’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the ropes and the nooses hanging from the bar. Four of ‘em. One for me, she thought, one for Sibelius and... Her heart nearly stopped altogether.

The steamrocket rested on the aft deck. Sam and Davy were tied up to masts next to the improvised gallows.

Oh blimey. ‘Ow did that ‘appen? She thought. Now we’re doomed for sure. But she caught their eyes and gave them an encouraging wink, although in her heart she felt that she had betrayed them all.

“This,” said the pirate captain, from his carved wooden seat that had been set out on the deck together with a table bearing a cup and jug of wine and a cushion on which was nestled the Seal of the City, “will be our last meeting, I think.”

Harriet said nothing, but held her head up high. Inside she felt like screaming. She was breaking out into a sweat. But she wouldn’t show fear to the pirates. She wouldn’t give them that victory, too. And besides, it was her duty to encourage her crew and show them a good example, even to the last.

The pirate Captain smiled. “I shall enjoy watching you … dance.”

Something tickled Harriet’s wrist. She glanced down to see a couple of hairy spider legs tapping out from her sleeve. She quickly pushed them back in.

“Take them up!” said the pirate Captain, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“Now!” said Harriet. She ducked down beneath the gun barrel and tripped her guard by the legs, sending him crashing to the deck. Sibelius had did the same. In the moment of surprised confusion which followed, she and Sibelius tore off their jackets, releasing dozens of spiders, which jumped and scuttled all over the deck.

The Captain screamed, spilling his wine like blood down his front. Harriet rolled and jumped, taking down another pirate and wresting his cutlass from his hand. She swung up into the rigging as a gunshot splintered the wood next to her head. But she was fast and not an easy target.

“Never mind the flies!” screamed the Pirate Captain. “”Get rid of these sp-sp-spiders! Get them off me! Get them off me!”

As Harriet reached the higher rigging, she looked down and saw Sibelius opening his pouch. In that moment, the nest burst and a cloud of thousands of tiny spiders exploded into the air below.

Spiders were everywhere. They were crawling on the deck, over the masts, rigging and sails, and on the clothes and faces of the pirates.

In the chaos that ensued, Harriet untied a halyard and swung through the air to the other side of the ship, landing expertly next to Davy and Sam. She cut their bonds with a single stroke of the cutlass.

“To the rocket” she said. “Fire her up!”

As the boys headed back to the steamrocket, Harriet fought her way to the captain’s table. It had been knocked over as his crew had rushed forward to try and get the spiders off him. The Seal of the City of Lundoon lay at her feet. She was just about to pick it up, when she felt the sharp stab of an elbow in her side, and another hand snatched it up. The hand belonged to a grim and dangerous looking fellow if ever there was one. ”Not so easy, little witch,” he snarled. He pulled out his flintlock and raised the barrel only inches from Harriet’s face.

It’s over, thought Harriet and closed her eyes ready her for the shot. But the shot never came. Her eyes snapped open again. The thug stumbled backwards, dropping his gun as he struggled to wrestle free from the hairy, muscular arm that had tightened about his neck. “Sibelius!”

The thug passed out on the boards and the sky-monkey tipped his leather cap at his Cap’n, the Seal safe in his simian grip.

“Quick! To the rocket!”

As they reached the rocket’s hatchway, they heard the pirate captain, who was now free of spiders, shouting the order, “Stop them! Don’t let them get away!”

Harriet kicked back, knocking a pirate from her as she scrambled into the rocket after Sibelius. The steel door swung shut and she bolted it down. Bullets pinged and ricocheted from the metallic surface as Harriet threw herself into the pilot’s seat.

“She’s not up to steam yet, Cap’n!” said Davy, an edge of panic in his voice. “I don’t think we’ll have enough power!”

Harriet yanked back the brake release and engaged the engines. Steam shot from the jets at the back of the rocket, but it was not enough to get them airborne. She pushed hard on the throttle and the steamrocket jolted forward, careering in a crazy zig-zig across the deck, sending pirates leaping to the left and the right of them.

“Hold on tight!” she called and shunted the thrusters into full power as they smashed through the balustrade at the ship’s edge and dropped into empty space.

The rocket spiralled through the Dark Sea at a dizzying rate. “We’ll ‘ave to freefall while she gets up steam!”

“She’s there Cap’n, she’s there!”

Harriet saw the pressure needle climb, re-engaged the engines and the rocket shot forward. Harriet lifted it and stabilised their flight path, getting her bearings and heading back to The Redoubtable. She could see the Mayorial Vessel, accompanied by a fleet of fast-flying, armed guard ships, had already docked.

“I think we done it,” she said, grinning. “I think we bloomin’ done it!”

Harriet stood on the foredeck of The Redoubtable watching the captured pirate ship being escorted by an armed City Guard down towards the Earth and the gaols of Lundoon. The treasure, the great Seal of the City, she had returned to the Mayor, whose gratitude extended further than expected as he promised her and her crew a plentiful reward for their part in the capture of one of the most notorious pirate gangs of recent times.

“It would seem, mademoiselle that our adventuring days are not over after all.”

Harriet turned about to look at Sibelius.

He was grinning, his golden tooth twinkling. “The crew are awaiting their orders, Cap’n.”

Harriet looked down and saw the crew assembled on the deck amidst the bunting and the burgeoning tables. Blimey, she thought. I’d clean forgot.

“Now then, lads and lasses,” she called. “As I was sayin’ before we was so rudely int’rupted, ‘ow about a feast to celebrate me blinkin’ birthday?”

As the crew cheered and the band struck up a tune, Harriet felt Sibelius, her best friend and First Mate, come and stand next to her.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Harriet. “Ain’t it just!”

 

Where You Want To Be

Jeannie Warner

 

Jeannie Warner spent her formative years in Southern California and Colorado, and is not afraid to abandon the most luxurious environs for a chance to travel anywhere. She has a useless degree in musicology, a checkered career in computer security, and aspirations of world domination. Her writing credits include blogs of random musings, thriller novel manuscripts, stories in Tightbeam online magazine, KnightBridge’s Rom Zom Com anthology, the Mad Scientist’s Journal, several police statements, and a collection of snarky notes to a former upstairs neighbor. She lives in the San Francisco Bay area near several of her best friends whom she refers to as “minions.”

 

Ollie sat back in the pilot’s chair with a happy sigh. The chair was too large for her slender fourteen year-old frame; the seat was originally built to the specifications of an adult raised planetside, so it gave her room to sit cross-legged as she worked. The instrument panel in front of her blinked green thanks to the past few hours she’d spent with the manual and a surreptitious kick to the underside of the console. Reaching to one side, she flipped a switch. “All sorted, Dodger! Our course is laid in and logged.”

“That’s Cap’n Dodger,” came the crackling reply after a moment, and Ollie grinned. Ever since the previous Captain Sykes got himself nicked by dirt-side authorities doing one of his “trades” with stolen goods a few cycles back, Dodger had taken over command their cargo ship. Since joining up a couple years before, Ollie knew being captain was all Dodger ever wanted to do, and he’d wasted no time after the arrest donning Sykes’ uniform jacket to wear it constantly even though it was too large. Dodge wore it with the sleeves rolled up and held his chin very high.

“Captain Dodger,” Ollie repeated dutifully, though her smile was in her voice.

“I best come up and check it,” he said. “Since it’s yer first an’ all.”

Ollie rolled her eyes. “Okay. Excited much?”

There was no reply to that beyond a dismissive snort, and Ollie laughed as she thumbed off the intercom. He might act casual, but she knew Dodger was excited about the prospect of seeing his sister again. They had both been in the FAGN program since early childhood, but weren’t assigned together. The Federal Association for Generational Navy was a well-intentioned program to find something useful to do with all the children born in space whose parents either couldn’t (by virtue of being dead) or wouldn’t (by virtue of lacking the ability) take responsibility. As far as work programs and vocational training go, it was moderately effective - if you got on a good ship, with good contracts. The Federation provided subsistence, so luxuries were a bonus you won for yourself.

Dodger hadn’t talked much about his sister when Ollie joined the crew two years ago as a stowaway. Their ship did mostly salvage ops – there was a lot of wreckage in and around asteroid and ring mining. Captain Sykes had started gravitating toward less than legal jobs, but once he was gone between Dodger and Ollie, they had figured out how to make more money running supplies and doing a little ring mining. That is, ice and water. There is never enough water in space. Ollie had a head for figures that helped them make a profit on their jobs, keeping them on the only-slightly-illegal side of operations. There was supposed to be a duly appointed FAGN officer in charge of the ship. Dodger was still three months shy of the age for full citizenship status, so they couldn’t get his self-promotion legitimized.

A thumping on the stairs and a creak of the cockpit door opening heralded Dodger’s arrival, and Ollie swiveled in the chair to wave hello. Dodger was a hand span taller than she, with a shock of dark brown hair and matching brown skin with the indeterminate bones of a space mutt. He wore the captain’s coat, and below that the same grey overalls as Ollie herself. He was scowling, but Ollie’s grin never wavered. She could see the excitement dancing in his eyes.

“Callie oughta be signaling us soon here,” he muttered, checking over Ollie’s programming in the console. “She said she would when they cleared the gas giant. I reckon today. Maybe even this shift.”

“Do you want to take the shift from me?” Ollie asked with a fake innocent look that didn’t fool Dodger for a moment.

“Nah. I’ll just hang out a bit. You know. See how you do with comms.” She knew that her work on communications was calm and professional. Ollie had taken it over as one of her ship’s duties months ago, for all official waves. But she also knew nerves when she saw them.

“Okay, Dodge. Captain Dodger,” she said, as he shot her a look all over again.

They sat there in companionable silence while Ollie pulled up charts on the current mining operations in the new system. Outside the stars barely seemed to move even with the engines at three-quarter burn. “When did you last see her in person?” Ollie looked back toward Dodger, who was starting to fidget with a lucky credit chip he’d won in an unsavory poker game back near the Pleidies.

“We was nine an’ eleven,” he said. “We’d asked to be on a ship together, but there was only two berths open. I went with Bill ‘cause I didn’t like how he looked at Callie.”

“You think he woulda…” Ollie didn’t want to finish the question, and Dodger shrugged.

“Maybe not. I was supposed to look after her, though. Mum said. Even though she was older. She’s an officer now, I hear.” There was justifiable pride in his tone. “Gonna have her own ship soon. Not as good as mine, ‘course.”

“Of course.”

A green light flashed on the console, and Dodger lunged forward to slap his palm down and open the channel. “FAGN ship New London here.”

The connection wasn’t good, and the sound crackled. “Dodge? Is that you? We’re being boarded!” A well-groomed young woman appeared on the screen, dark hair pulled back neatly into a bun at the back of her neck. Her face was a match for Dodger’s, but more feminine with subtly rounder eyes that were darker in the moment. She wore a jacket like Dodger’s that was tailored to her frame and size. “I don’t know why. This isn’t according to protocol at all.”

Behind her, the door to the bridge opened and white man with dark, curling hair with a neat moustache appeared. This one was perhaps thirty, dressed in formal Federation uniform, scarlet jacket and trousers tucked into shiny black boots. Everything about his appearance gleamed. The one mar on his otherwise handsome face was a scar that stretched from his eyebrow down to his cheek, leaving the eye behind it milky white with a crease in the lid. His voice was loud and slightly braying as he reached forward and laid a hand on Callie’s shoulder. “I am Captain Jazz Hook. On behalf of the Federal Association of Interstellar Systems, this ship is being decommissioned as an FAGN vessel, re-appropriated by my staff, and will be sent to Stargazer Station effective immediately. All crews will report to the same station for a new assignment either on the station or within the administrative ranks. Those under thirteen will immediately be enrolled in the education system to receive proper training for a future productive role in society.”

Dodger’s breath caught with Ollie’s as they watched Callie struggling in the man’s grip, which tightened on her as she tried to move away. He didn’t seem aware that the camera was on, or that a channel was open and broadcasting. “What? Why? Captain Hook, we are operating precisely according to orders and within budget.” Budget was usually the magic word in the Federation. If you didn’t cost money or make waves, you did as you pleased.

“That is not my concern. The FAGN program is ended, effective two standard days ago Federation surface time.” His tone went from officious to patronizing, which was almost worse. “Special interest groups, they passed new legislation. It’s not right for children to be forced to run about in space without supervision. It’s for your own good. And don’t worry, your rank will be translated into the new bands of a proper Federation corporate position. I’m sure you’ll make a very fine administrative assistant.”

Callie tried to push off the older man’s hand. “Don’t you ‘central supervision’ me, mister! You can’t just end the FAGN program. Captain Richards and I are duly approved and appointed ship’s managers. I’m sure if you’ll review our record–“

“All the FAGN records have been reviewed by appropriate personnel.” Hook beckoned. In the doorway, two more officers appeared and took hold of Callie on either side. They lifted her out of her chair to face him. “Your lack of immediate compliance with my authority only demonstrates the general laxity and disobedience that has characterized the FAGN program recently.” His tone turned vaguely conciliatory. “Look, we all realize that the program was a mistake. Children need close adult supervision at all times to protect them, and help them be productive adults one day. It’s a very dangerous universe, little lady, and while I’m sure it wasn’t your ship involved in heists this last year, it doesn’t mean we can allow this kind of activity to occur with a program under our insignia. Men, arrest her for insubordination. And you - go along now, there’s a good girl.”

Callie continued to protest as the two red-clad goons hustled her out. Dodger stood beside Ollie in stillness, a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle words that threatened to pour out of him. Thoughtfully, Ollie reached out to turn off the two-way communication, leaving incoming signal only. Standing alone on the screen, Hook’s unguarded expression turned to one of vague disgust. “Revolting,” he muttered, and pulled a small jump drive from his pocket to insert into the ship’s console. “The sooner all these space rats are rounded up and dumped for re-programming the better.” He drew back his fingers after plugging in. “It’s sticky? Stars preserve us, the whole place is sticky. The…” His voice trailed off as his eyes focused on the screen, seeming to look directly through the screen. “Hello, what’s this? Is there someone there? Can you hear-“

Callie and Dodger’s hands collided as they flipped off the communications switch, and in the silence that followed they stared at one another with wide eyes. Then Dodger’s face scrunched up, torn between tears and anger. “I’ll spend a year in a sanitation tank afore I’ll let them take my ship away. We worked too hard. We all done good jobs.” He leaned back against the entryway and slid down to sit on the deck panels, scrubbing at his face and hair with his hands. “But they got guns, Ollie.”

“Guns ain’t everything in space. I mean, I reckon we can get a paint job to cover our insignia, an’ maybe a new transponder back at Midway Station. It’ll cost, but with the last ice transport we have extra.” Ollie’s mind started racing, coming up with the plans needed to strike out as independents, away from the whole FAGN system. Hadn’t they been on their own for the last twelvemonth? “Our ship mighta been lost. We ain’t checked in officially for a long time anyway, right?”

“They got Callie though,” Dodger said, lifting his chin again to stare at the now-blank screen. “You hear what he said? They’re gonna “re-program” her, turn her into some kinda office drone that ain’t never gonna ship out again.” He took a breath, then flashed an echo of his earlier proud smile. “Didja see her uniform? She looked good, eh?”

“Real good, Dodge.” Ollie stood to attention beside her chair. “So you reckon she’d make a good first mate here, on the New London?”

Dodger stared at her for a moment, then a smile crept across his face. “That’s Captain Dodger. She better ‘member it, too.”

“You best tell her that in person. Let’s figure out how.” Ollie held out a hand, and Dodger shook it solemnly. Letting go, Ollie beckoned him to sit on the chair with her. She punched up new nav charts. “Stargazer Station. That’s two star systems away, nearly a full night’s travel. If we burn hard, we could be there by morning.”

“They’ll have guns and locks and cameras,” Dodger pointed out.

“We got a Paris,” Ollie retorted, referring to their most studious, technical-minded crew member.

Dodger grinned. “That we do! An’ one brilliant Captain.” He slapped the open-ship comms button. “All hands on deck! We got us an emergency here!” With that he stood up, and draped an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “Come on. We got us some heroic rescuin’ to go plan.” He paused, then looked sideways at her. “We got a plan, right?”

“We will,” Ollie nibbled on her lip, thinking fast as she let him lead her out.

Down in the hold, the crew assembled in the area normally reserved for ball games. Ollie remembered when she first arrived on ship, when the collective of oddly-shaped youths unnerved her. No longer. They were all family now, this crew of mostly space-born mutts. Dodger and Ollie were the only planet-born of the lot, but Dodger spent enough of his childhood in space that his bones never grew out all the way, leaving him below average in height for his age. Tiny and Mouse were both under four feet, Tiny because his legs were spindly and near useless, and Mouse because his legs were missing below the knees. The engineer, Paris, had the darkest skin and hair of anyone, though when he grinned it was a flash of white that brightened his whole face. He didn’t have a straight line in his body, but he never forgot a wiring diagram he looked at. Bongo had easily the longest arms of the group, and an easy way about him that made friends with everyone for all that he was the prankster of the crew. Mattie was the oldest at nearly twenty years old; looking at her she was mostly torso and curving, muscular arms; she could move tons of cargo in zero-gee like she was dancing with it. Mattie preferred playing net ball to reading and figuring, save for her stash of space-opera novels she scavenged. She wore her black hair in a tight braid that wrapped in a spiral on the back of her head, and had become like an older sister to Ollie in their time together.

Out in space protein was scarce, gravity was rare, and accidents twisted the body; it was a combination that resulted in a wide variety in body shapes. You grew how you grew, and the children of the stars were no two alike.

Dodger semi-floated down the stairs in the ship’s partial gee to stand in front of the crew, who arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him. Ollie settled herself on the stairs, wrapping her arms around her knees and propping her chin to ponder as their captain caught them up on current events. As usual, he didn’t mince words much. “Folks, we got us a situation here. Seems the Federation thinks they can take away our ship an’ turn us into station-bound idiots doin’ something “productive” for our corporate masters. I’m gettin’ the idea that’s working sanitation, food service, and bein’ some officer’s secretary.” A mutter passed through the ranks, and Dodger half-grinned at Paris. “You might end up some kinda engineer, maybe. You got the smarts for it. But what do I got? An’ Ollie here, we all remembers how she wants to stay away from the arms of her lovin’ family.”

“You got leadership skills, Cap’n Dodger!” Mouse saluted with a cheeky grin. Beside him, Tiny cheered with a woo and a fist pump.

“Yeah, but that ain’t gonna get me anything but re-programming in the Federation system, and a future herdin’ garbage, given my age and size,” Dodger pointed out. “Plus, there’s this complication. They took Callie’s ship, an’ her with it.” Smiles disappeared at that. For all that their diminutive captain was devoted to this ship-born family, they all knew his loyalty included his distant sister.

“So we’re gonna get her back,” Ollie spoke into the sudden silence. “I been thinking. You know, it’ll really let their guard down if we come in voluntary-like.”

Dodger turned and looked back incredulously. “Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?”

Ollie raised a hand. “Hear me out. They dragged off Callie. Like as not her crew, too, if they’re loyal like us. I mean, we’d all fight for you, right?” There was a mutter of assent around the bay. “Right. So she’s under guard. I reckon they’re all going to be guarded. But volunteers? What if we, poor orphan souls, saw the wisdom of the Federation?” She stood, placing her hand over her heart to look solemn. “I, for one, want to be schooled in how to be a proper citizen. I want a real job, something really productive for society. In fact, I think it’s my destiny to be a secretary to some high-ranked Federation official. Mattie, don’t you want to work in laundry?” Mattie looked startled, then started to chuckle wickedly, catching the drift of Ollie’s thoughts.

As her plan formed in her head, Ollie started pointing around the floor. “Tiny and Mouse, you two would be great cleaning and recycling. Paris, I bet if you volunteered for maintenance or even decommission duty, you’d know that space station and dock like the back of your hand inside a day. You know, pick the really dirty jobs with fuel lines an’ propulsion systems, an’ other stuff that would help get one ship ready while makin’ it real hard for others to follow. Is somethin’ like that possible?”

“Possible? Easy. It would be…fun.” Paris’s normally serious face broke into a smile that danced in his dark eyes.

One by one as they were named the gang looked thoughtful, considering their parts. “Yeah, what about me?” Dodger demanded, a trifle cross that he hadn’t been the one to come up with a plan, but not so angry as to sabotage it outright. “What do ya think I’d be good at?”

“Why, being bad of course,” Ollie grinned at him. “And real pissed off that we rebelled against your oh-so-wise leadership. Maybe you’ll get put in the holding cells so that you can find Callie and let the others in there know the plan. I ain’t never seen anyone pick a pocket or pilfer stuff like you. Surely you could get a couple door keys on your way in, and save ‘em until they’re needed? Someone gotta fetch out Callie.”

Dodger’s chin lifted, and he planted his fists on his hips. “That’s right. I am the best.” And that was that. Ollie left the crew planning their performances, and went up to chart a course of surrender and compliance.

It was a full sleeping cycle to get the New London to Stargazer Station, and Paris was at the helm as they opened up a hail with Ollie beside him. “Stargazer Station, this is the newly decommissioned FAGN ship New London, reporting in as ordered.” He winked at the girl standing by the chair, then added, “Our Captain was a little sulky about it all, so we had to lock him in his cabin. Could you send some officers to, ah, help him disembark?”

“Of course, New London,” came the reply. “And thank you for your cooperation. You’ll find the orientation complex to your right immediately as you dock.”

“I’m sure we will, Stargazer. New London out.” Paris turned off the comms and winked at Ollie, who was nervously biting her nails behind him. “So far so good. You know they’re going to have full grav on the station. That’ll make it harder on some of us.” Full gravity was hard to walk in, for those without long, straight legs.

“I know,” Ollie said. “But ya know something? If we believe in each other, we can do a lot more than if we worry about the hard stuff. The odds ain’t great as it is.”

Paris nodded. “It’s a good plan, though.” And with that solemn approval, he turned his attention to docking.

Just as anticipated, there was very little trouble getting Dodger marched off under arrest, protesting loudly all the way. He was even sporting a darkening eye by the time they wrestled him to the bottom of the gangplank. “I got rights! I’m a Captain, doncha know? Hey!” He wriggled and shoved, and winked once back at a sober-faced Ollie to confirm that he’d taken care of his first acquisition.

For the rest of the crew, there was paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork, and endless aptitude tests. Ollie noted that wherever they went, there were indeed armed adults and cameras constantly, hovering over them. As she had anticipated, Paris did indeed get shuffled off to maintenance and engineering, for his clear knowledge and experience keeping the New London in the sky. The rest of the crew adjusted their answers to all the questions as Ollie had directed, finding their ways into the innocuous but useful tasks the Federation assigned.

Two days later, Ollie was sitting at her post as a very junior secretary to the station’s command staff, performing yet another system mock-backup training drill according to the manual, sighing over the tedium of it. She’d done much harder programming on board the ship, and the strain of pretending to be a wide-eyed, enthusiastic Federation drone was starting to wear on her. Additionally, the constant adult supervision made her tense – it was easier to keep your head down and do a very uncreative job than to improvise or improve the routine. She was sure it was well-intentioned. But there were no ball games, no yelling, no exploring of the station, no hide and seek or other games at all. To be sure, the adults were all very solicitious, and quick to find all of her mistakes for her. “Now, you must be more careful, Olivia.” Ollie was deathly tired of being called Olivia. “What if this was not a drill? Anything could happen.”

Ollie wasn’t buying it. She’d made mistakes before. She’d nearly died once in the black, with only the quick-thinking Dodger saving her. The consequences of failure before ranged from death to a cuff across the head from Captain Bill or, after he was gone, a lot of flashing lights and warning sirens from the ship’s computer, followed by pointing and laughing from the rest of the crew. Ollie never made the same mistakes twice, because the consequences were either dangerous or embarrassing. The consequences here were lighter, and therefore taught her nothing. She was waiting for a sign. Or rather, a set of signs that her plan might be ready.

Tiny and Mouse brought the first, when they came to dump her waste paper basket. Tiny winked. “Didja hear, Ollie? That rotten ol’ Captain Dodger got hisself dumped into a cell with some girl named Callie. He went through a bunch-a other cell mates, but she’s the only one that calms him down. Ain’t that a shocker?”

“I’m shocked all right. Shocked it only took ‘em twelve days to find someone that calmed that reprobate.” Ollie nodded back. “When’s th’ regular day cycle where y’all take out the garbage?”

“Tomorrow,” Mouse averred. He rode on the cart where his lack of legs wasn’t an issue, and manhandled the larger refuse cans with ease from his perch. “We dumps all these carts behind the kitchen ports, an’ sort it all into recycling vs. what gets dumped into orbit.”

Ollie nodded. “Tomorrow, huh? Okay. If you guys see Mattie, tell her that she should do all the delicates in tomorrow’s wash.”

“Sure thing, Ollie!” Tiny offered a cheeky little mock salute and turned to start pushing the cart and his mate out of the office. They passed a frowning Officer Hook, and immediately lost their smiles and ducked their heads. Everyone did, when Hook was around.

Ollie, too, bent to her task as Hook came up to stand over her. “You’re planet-born, aren’t you girl?”

“Yessir,” she offered in a small voice. But no more. She knew never to volunteer anything.

Hook’s dark gaze swept over her, marking her blond hair and pale eyes, her straight-limbed delicate beauty, and his fingers tapped along the synth-leather of his belt. “You’ll do. You look better than the other children. We need an interview done tomorrow with a passing news broadcast crew; they’ve announced their intention to dock at oh-four-thirty in the second cycle.” He sniffed. “See if you can get someone to do your hair, and make sure you wear a clean uniform. You’re going to represent the face of the new Federation orphans initiative.” His smile was dark, and a little oily. “We must show we’re raising future generations. If you do a good job, you might even become a celebrity. We’ll need to keep you, at least, for when the inspections come.”

“Me at least?” Ollie swallowed hard.

“The others represent too high an impact on our protein allotment, and other resources. We’ll be shipping the rest of the leftovers off to work in the water reclamation facilities on one of Saturn’s rings in the old Earth system. The Federation needs ice.”

“Water is life,” Ollie whispered, going a little pale. It was also well known that life expectancies were short for anyone stuck as an ice miner.

“Just so, just so. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Olivia.” Hook turned to stalk out. “Miss Olivia. Yes, that’s what we’ll call you. Little Miss Orphan Olivia— “ the rest of his soliloquy was lost as the door shut behind him.

Ollie’s voice was shaky as she stabbed the IT comms button. “’Scuse me. Maintenance? This is Ollie in the officers’ cube area. Can y’all send someone to look at our speakers? They’ve gone mighty crackly.”

Paris’s calmer voice echoed back. “Roger that, Ollie. I’ll be there shortly.” And true to his word, appeared two minutes later. “What’s up? You look upset.”

“It’s gotta be tonight,” Ollie whispered low, darting looks all around. “There’s a news crew coming, and Hook’s gonna ship out kids to the rings for ice mining. Betcha they’ll pick the troublemakers first.”

The young man frowned. “No bet. Today, then. I’ll pass the word - let’s go at dinner.” He paused, then grinned whitely. “I got new keys today; I can cut grav to parts of the station at six bells in the dog’s watch. Reckon that’ll give us an advantage with the Feds at dinner. The New London is in berth twenty-two.”

“I’ll let Mattie know – it’s laundry day and she can tell everyone,” Ollie’s spirits rose, and for the first time since landing on the space station, she went back to her bunk humming.

Her room was only six feet square, with a bed that slid in and out of the wall and a small sink with a can that popped out of the floor in the corner when you stepped on a lever. The walls were metallic, and the floor a composite of ground space dust and polymer. Ollie smoothed out her sheet, and started putting her very few personals into the center. A few minutes later, “Laundry!” came the familiar cry outside her door, and Ollie opened it to see Mattie there with her hamper on wheels.

“Thanks,” Ollie offered up her only spare uniform and towel. Her explanation was mindful of the bugs they expected to find in all their sleeping quarters. “Twenty-two, and flying practice tonight, six bells in the dog. Haven’t you always wanted to fly? Tell people to pack snacks if they can.”

Mattie grinned, twirling the laundry cart easily over her head and down again so that Ollie could dump her load in. “Who don’t love flyin’? Twenty-two. Dinnertime for officers, snacks for us. Gotcha.” The long-armed girl turned and limped off with the cart, swooshing it from side to side as she went (complete with the appropriate whooshing sound effects), to go warn the rest of the crew in their various tasks.

The next two hours passed, and Ollie’s stomach knotted back up. She chewed two cuticles ragged, and repacked her very few personals three times into a small bundle tied in a sheet. As six bells sounded through the station she ventured out into the corridor, heading toward the docking bays. Halfway there, she felt abruptly lighter. Anticipating what was to come, she grabbed at a doorway and waited another second. Her feet came off the floor as a klaxon sounded, and she pushed hard to float the rest of the way toward the next doorway. “Alert. Alert. Please remain calm and in your berths. Maintenance to the control rooms. Repeat—”

In the distance, she could hear voices raised as officers yelled back and forth. Ollie continued her quick, weightless navigation of the hallways with the ease of one used to zero-gravity, meeting up with the crew as she went. Mattie joined her first, the older girl floating a bulging laundry sack behind her. She was graceful in motion without gravity, like a dancer without the need for legs or feet. “Tiny an’ Mouse are seein’ the garbage out from the prison level,” Mattie yelled into the other girl’s ear, until the klaxon abruptly went quiet. In a more normal tone, “Bongo’s already on board. Got a bunch of kids from there. Dodger an’ Callie are arguin’ about something, stowed in the garbage cans. Let’s go warm up the ship.”

The two girls reached the cavernous main hangar, looking through the numbered slots to spot their own ship. Mattie saw the New London first, and launched toward it like an eagle striking through the air until she caught herself on the landing struts. Ollie followed, a trifle more seagull-like in her path, and tossed her small bundle up the gangplank. The two girls worked in tandem, unhooking the manual clips holding the London’s landing gear onto the tarmac.

Paris appeared next, and launched himself at the ship next to the London, a similar FAGN-style cargo ship with Indian Princess painted on the hull. He had his own bundle with him that he lobbed unerringly toward the London’s hatch. “Callie’s ship,” he gasped, a touch out of breath. “I heard she an’ Dodge are fightin’. Just in case.” His grin transformed a somber face into a handsome one. “We got maybe ten minutes before they get the grav controls sorted out. Best be prepared for anything.”

Ollie nodded, ignoring the faint twinge in her chest region at his smile. The three quickly unlocked the two ships, and Paris disappeared inside the Princess to warm up the engines while Mattie did the same on the London. Ollie pulled a pry bar from the toolkit and waited at the bottom of the gangplank.

Tiny and Mouse appeared at the doorway pushing a long garbage barge loaded with six 200-liter cans, followed close behind by three Federation non-comms in uniform. “Stop! You can’t be in here!” The boys wrenched the barge sideways to dump the bins just in front of the entry way. The contents floated out in a cloud, including piles of refuse and six youths that scrabbled out of the mess.

“Scatter!” Tiny shouted at them. With the ease of the space-born, the unknown children pushed off unerringly toward the Indian Princess. TIny then grabbed Mouse’s pack and launched himself across the void toward Ollie. The two caught free hands, and with an elbow locked around the hydraulic strut controlling the gangplank, Ollie flung the boy and his packs up into the hold. “More’s comin’! We just gotta hold ‘em off!” Tiny said as he continued on to his station.

Behind him, Mouse turned with a grin to face down the adults that grabbed for him. Despite his diminutive size, the boy’s ease in weightlessness offset the advantages of the two women and a man grabbing for him. “Stop! Oof—!“ the man and women collided, with the third grabbing for Mouse’s shirt. He twisted out of it, leaving her holding fabric as he reversed his position with his back to the doorframe and shoved at the woman with both feet and a heave of his shoulders. Without gravity, the momentum sent her cartwheeling across the hangar toward the ceiling on the far side.

Turning mid-air, Mouse grabbed the pair clinging to the each other and heaved them off in yet another direction. “They’re coming!” he yelled, and gathered himself to push off for the New London gangplank as voices sounded from behind him. As he landed beside Ollie with a handhold on the edge of the hull, he eyed the prybar in her hand and winked. “That’s the spirit.” With a pat on her shoulder, Mouse pushed up past her.

From the entry point, there came a rush of youths in the plain grey overalls from the holding cells. Yelling and whooping, they rushed the Indian Princess as well as two more ships in the decommission line, easily overwhelming the three uniformed officers to cuff them to the fuel pumps. But no Dodger and Callie. Ollie grew anxious.

“Ready to depart, Ollie. Any sign of Dodge?” Mattie’s head poked out.

“Not yet. He—“ Ollie was interrupted by yelling from the entrance.

“Dark and stuffy rules lawyer! Defend yourself!” came a familiar voice echoing through the hangar.

“Idiot! Just get rid of him!” Callie appeared first in advance of her brother, and shoved herself through the entryway. She looked around a touch wildly until her gaze landed on her own ship, and she launched herself toward the Indian Princess.

Dodger appeared in the doorway, hooking one foot on the edge as the rest of his body dangled sideways back into the long hallway he’d just vacated.

“The prisoners will return to their holding cells. You are irresponsible and unfit for citizenship in the Federation, let alone command as an officer.” Hook’s voice boomed after him, echoing through the hangar as if he addressed all those escaping. The man himself appeared a moment later, catching Dodger around the waist as the two of them went flying together in a tangle of arms and legs across the open space.

“I know you are, but what am I?” taunted Dodger in return. As if all his fierce, irrepressible nature needed to exert itself at once, he was a flurry of fists and feet and knees and elbows, striking at Hook as well as any surface they encountered as the two bounced about like a pair of rubber balloons held together by static.

Ollie sucked in a breath as she watched, hand tightening on the steel bar. The two were surprisingly well matched in the struggle. Hook was clearly more experienced with combat and causing bodily harm, but Dodger’s ability to manoeuver in zero-gee and upper arm strength served him well, and he made sure Hook bore the brunt of each impact even as the boy’s face took a pounding.

The return of full gravity, when it happened, was helpful to neither. The two were perhaps four meters up a wall, where Hook had Dodger pinned, when weightlessness ended and the two fell to the ground in an awkward heap. The older man rose first, a sneer twisting his lips. “That’s it, boy. You’re mine now.” He grabbed Dodger up from the deck with a hand around the boy’s neck.

Ollie let go the hydraulics once her feet were on the ground, and launched herself across the distance to close in silence. Hook’s hand cocked back in a fist as Dodger struggled in his grip, the boy’s fingers struggling to pull the older man’s hand loose. He made choking noises, body writhing against the wall behind him. Hook leaned in close, his face close enough as he nearly spit in the lad’s face. “You are nothing but a little space rat, and you’ll be a space rat until the day you die, which will be soon if I have anything to say about it.”

“But you don’t,” grunted Ollie as she swung her pry bar at the back of Hook’s head. He staggered, then dropped like a puppet with his strings cut as Dodger threw himself sideways. The boy lay on his hands and knees for a moment, sucking in breaths as he rubbed at his throat. Ollie leaned down to listen at Hook’s lips.

“Is he dead?” Dodger asked hopefully.

Straightening, Ollie shook her head. “Nope. Good thing, too. We don’t need a murder rap chasin’ either one of us.” She offered Dodger a hand, which he ignored as he struggled to his feet.

“I didn’t need no help,” Dodger muttered.

“Reckon not,” Ollie nodded, trying for a straight expression. “Your ship is ready fer takeoff, Cap’n Dodger. Your sister?” They both looked to the Princess, whose gangplank was closing as the engines started to gow.

“She’s goin’ alone,” Dodger sighed, and grabbed Ollie’s hand as the two turned to run across the tarmac to the New London, whose engines were starting their low whine that presaged the thunder to come. “Apparently we both got us a powerful need to be in charge. I couldn’t reason with ‘er.”

“Girls are like that,” Ollie grinned as the pair dashed up the gangplank. She hit the closing controls, letting go of his hand when they were together in the belly of their ship.

Dodger lifted his voice to yell, “All clear, Paris! Get us outta here!”

“Aye aye, Cap’n!” came the response, and the London lifted to head out of the space station. A few moments later, they were on full burn out of the system with Dodger and Ollie on the bridge as Paris left to go check on his beloved engines.

“You mind if I send a private message?” Dodger looked to Ollie, who smiled and shook her head.

“You go on.”

“Thanks. And Ollie?”

“Yeah?”

“That was a great plan.”

 

The Hope of Astraea

Wendy Lambert

 

Wendy Lambert writes speculative fiction and is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. Her stories appear in Necrology Shorts, In the Shimmering, and the 2015 Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide. She works as a school librarian and lives in Utah with her husband and children.

 

“Is that the graveyard?” Cordelia pointed at the dots scattered across the navigation screen.

“Yes,” Cordelia’s dad replied. “We’ll reach it within the hour.” He tapped on the control panel, redirecting the massive solar sail by less than half a degree to avoid the drifting wreckage of ships from a long forgotten war. “Now, I need to concentrate – did you finish your schoolwork?”

“Yes.” Cordelia squirmed her way onto his knee. “How close will we get to the graveyard?”

“Too close, if you don’t leave your dad alone.” Captain Alex stood up from her console and arched her back in a stretch.

“Captain’s right. I need to concentrate. Besides,” he shifted Cordelia off his knee, “at eleven, you’re far too old to be sitting on my knee, don’t you think? Why don’t you go help Gran in the garden? I hear the strawberries are ready.”

Cordelia scowled. She didn’t want to pick strawberries. Her place was on the bridge of the Hope of Astraea – the starship she’d command when Captain Alex, her aunt, retired someday. She’d carry on the tradition of the past eighty years, bringing precious food and water, medicine and supplies to the farthest reaches of the system – a mining colony on the ship’s namesake, the moon of Astraea.

When she was captain, she’d be able boss everyone about, keeping the Hope of Astraea running smoothly. But she wasn’t captain yet, and it had been a very long time since she’d had fresh strawberries. Besides, Gran could tell her more about the ship graveyard. It’d been nearly four years since they’d last looped past it, and she didn’t remember it very well.

“Okay, I’ll help Gran,” Cordelia said.

“What, no argument? You must not be feeling well.” Cordelia’s dad pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

Cordelia batted his hand away. “Dad.”

“That ship wasn’t there last time. It’s not on any of the charts,” Captain Alex said, pointing at a dot in the upper right quadrant of the screen.

Cordelia moved in for a peek, but her Dad shooed her towards the bridge door. She slapped her hand against the button. The door opened with a whoosh. Milo, her very annoying little cousin, sat in the corridor. He’d been banned from the bridge since he’d let his silvery cyborg hand loose, and it’d caused all sorts of mischief before shorting out a console.

“Well?” Milo said.

“Well, what?”

“The graveyard. Are we almost there?”

“That’s my business. And the captain’s!”

“Is not.”

Cordelia sighed and rolled her eyes. She edged past Milo and broke into a run down the hall, her bare feet slapping against the worn wood planks. She couldn’t help but slow to look out the porthole as she passed.

“We are close,” Milo said in knowing satisfaction.

“I never said –”

“But you’re looking out like you’re going to see something.”

If she ran fast enough and took a detour through engineering, maybe she’d lose him, at least for a while. She rounded a corner, glancing back to see if she’d lost Milo when she ran smack into Uncle Joe.

“Whoa, slow down there,” Uncle Joe said. He was dressed in his spacesuit, his helmet clamped under one arm and a deactivated fixer-bot under the other.

Cordelia grinned sheepishly. “Hi, how is she?”

“She’s in tip-top shape, Captain Cordelia.” He saluted her just like he did the real captain. “At least after I caught this malfunctioning fixer-bot that was punching more holes in the sail than it was fixing.”

“Very good. Carry on, sir.” Cordelia scrambled around him, expecting to see Milo at any second. Cordelia thundered down the steps into engineering. She zig-zagged around humming machines and computers.

A greasy hand shot up from above a machine and waved. “Slow down, Cordelia.”

She skidded to a fast walk. “Good morning, Aunt Syrina. How’s everything running today?”

“Output’s a little low. I’m making a few adjustments.”

“Very good,” she said.

Cordelia raced up the stairs on the opposite end of engineering, taking them all the way to the top of the ship, to the garden. Its massive windowed dome gave the best views of inky space and distant stars. The heavy aroma of dirt mingled with the sweet scent of strawberries. She hadn’t outsmarted Milo at all. He knelt next to Gran over the strawberry patch.

“Gently now,” Gran said to Milo.

Milo moved his cyborg hand towards the tiny stem of a strawberry.

“That’s it . . . hello, Cordelia,” Gran said without taking her eyes off Milo.

Milo lifted the strawberry and dangled it above the basket. “Can I eat it?”

Gran smiled. “Sure, just this one.” She plucked a strawberry and held it out to Cordelia. “For you, my dear.”

Cordelia took the strawberry and bit into it, savoring the sweetness.

“Now that we’ve satisfied our taste buds, shall we?” Gran handed Cordelia a small basket. Gran had outdone herself this year. The plants bowed with all the berries. “How’s the Hope of Astraea today?” Gran asked.

“Fine. We’re approaching the graveyard, and Uncle Joe brought in a broken fixer-bot. Engineering reports a slight decrease in output, but they’re making the necessary adjustments.”

“And our course?”

“On schedule for the drop.”

Milo cleared his throat. “I heard there are dead bodies floating around in the graveyard.” His eyes were wide, and he crushed a strawberry in his cyborg fingers. Cordelia shook her head and frowned.

“Now where did you hear something like that?” Gran asked.

He pointed at Cordelia.

Gran laughed. “She’s just trying to scare you. There’s only the wreckage of ships floating about. Now, tell me Cordelia, what’s the most dangerous part?”

“Making sure the sail doesn’t hit large debris. We need to maintain our speed and course so we make our drop on time.”

Gran’s eyes sparkled with approval. “You’ll make a fine captain someday. It’s important to remember all those details.” She tapped at her head, covered in soft gray curls, edged in black. “And what happens if we are off by even a quarter of degree?”

“We’ll miss our drop, and the miners will starve. And we won’t make our turn in time, and then we risk starving, too,” Cordelia said.

“That’s right,” Gran said.

Cordelia’s basket was nearly full. There would be plenty of strawberries for pies and shortcake.

The peace was shattered as an alarm shrieked in rhythm with a pulsing red light. Cordelia had never heard nor seen that alarm before. Gran’s soft eyes turned hard, and she straightened her back, looking just like the faint memory Cordelia had of her when she was still captain.

The ship jolted suddenly to the right, knocking them all to the floor. A shadow darkened the dome momentarily as a starship passed overhead.

Gran grabbed both their shoulders, pushing them through the flowerbed, past the cherry tree towards a vent. “In there now. No matter what happens, you stay put. You hide. Do you understand?”

“What’s that alarm? Gran, what’s happening?” Cordelia asked.

Milo whimpered.

“Cordelia, you stay hidden. You keep Milo safe. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Cordelia climbed into the vent behind Milo.

The ship pitched hard to the right again, and then she felt it slow down. That wasn’t good. Milo clamped his cyborg hand too tightly around her arm. Cordelia worked her fingers under the hand and pulled it free.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to Milo.

Gran raced from the gardens, leaving Cordelia with the sound of her own thumping heart matching the rhythm of the alarm, continuing even after the sound abruptly stopped. She strained to hear the muffled voices, recognizing some as her aunts, uncles and older cousins. Some were definitely not her family.

The stillness of the garden broke as a man in ragged clothes and unkempt beard barreled into the garden, holding a gun – a pirate! He circled the garden, pushing aside branches, peering into the shadows and stopping for a time right in front of their vent.

Cordelia was certain he could see them between the slits in the vent, could hear her thumping heart. But he didn’t say a word. He paused at the strawberry patch and popped a berry into his mouth. He took her basket of strawberries and left. For a long time they sat there in silence, waiting for Gran to return.

“Do you think it’s safe?” Milo whispered.

“No,” Cordelia said. “If it was, someone would’ve come back for us.”

“What do we do?”

“Well,” Cordelia said, having had all this time to think on it, “we need to see what’s going on.”

“But Gran said not to leave the vent.”

“Who said anything about leaving the vent?”

Milo grinned.

From behind the vent cover and between rows of crates, they could see the entire family – aunts, uncles, cousins, her dad, and Gran – with hands and legs bound, crammed in the corner of the cargo hold. They looked okay, except for Uncle Joe, who sported a nasty bruise and cut on his face.

It hadn’t been easy snaking their way through the ducts. The hardest part proved crawling quietly, and it didn’t help that Milo had a metal hand and an endless number of questions.

“Are you sure they’re pirates? They don’t have eye patches or parrots. I haven’t heard any of them say argh even once,” Milo said.

“They’re not like pirates on water, but they boarded our ship. They’re holding our family hostage and taking our stuff – they’re space pirates,” Cordelia whispered. She then raised her finger to hush any more questions.

The six pirates had carried crate after crate of food and supplies meant for the miners of Astraea out of the cargo hold and loaded them onto their ship. They’d stolen a dozen crates before they gave in to their hunger.

Cordelia hadn’t noticed how skinny the pirates were until they cracked open one of the crates and began devouring the food inside. They even ate her juicy strawberries. The pirates had set their weapons on the crate beside the door, just feet away from the vent, where she and Milo gently nudged each other back and forth to see out. The pirates were focused on the food and watching her family, leaving their backs to the two children.

“How’s your hand?” Cordelia whispered to Milo.

“What?”

“Do you think you could get those?”

Milo’s eyes went wide. “What’re you thinking?”

“Those weapons are dangerous. The pirates aren’t watching. We need to get rid of them so that nobody gets hurt.”

Milo grinned and wrenched his cyborg hand free of his arm. Cordelia carefully pushed the hinged vent cover up and gave Milo a nod. His cyborg hand crawled out of the vent and gripped the edge of the wooden crate.

It always amazed Cordelia how a cyborg hand could do what hers couldn’t. The fingers crawled upward, scaling the crate in seconds. Milo was concentrating so hard that his tongue wagged at the corner of his mouth.

Cordelia glanced back and forth between the hand and the pirates wolfing down her strawberries. Milo’s hand gripped the handle of a knife between its thumb and index finger and then skillfully backed down the crate to the vent. Cordelia snatched the knife and set it down beside her.

Milo went to work again. His tongue whipped around his lips as the hand crawled back up the crate and grasped a length of metal pipe. The hand inched back down, the pipe clenched between the thumb and index finger but beginning to wobble. Cordelia stretched out her hand too late. The pipe slipped from his fingers and clanged to the floor. She grabbed Milo’s hand and shut the vent cover tight just as the munching pirates spun around.

Milo clung with both hands to her arm in a breathless moment of terror as one of the pirates, a wild and mean-looking one, investigated the sound. He bent down, eyeing the area suspiciously and grabbing the pipe. He set it back on the pile of weapons.

The pirates continued devouring their ill-gotten feast. Cordelia peered from the slits of the vent cover. Her dad stared past the pirates, between the stacks of crates; he looked right at her and winked.

Cordelia gasped. “Try again. Be careful.”

Milo nodded, and his cyborg hand once again inched out the vent and up the side of the crate.

“I see most of the jackets you’re wearing have the Zancor logo on them. Are you from the Astraea mining colony?” Cordelia’s dad called out to the pirates. Even with their backs to her and Milo, she could see them fidget uncomfortably.

“What do you care?” one pirate shouted back.

“It’s just that we’re bringing the food and supplies to you. All this is meant to supply your colony for the next four years. It seems that –”

“It seems that it’s none of your business,” the ragged pirate with the scraggly beard, the one who had searched the gardens, chimed in. Of all of them, he seemed to be the man in charge, the pirate captain.

“I’m not trying to pry . . . just want to understand.” Her dad’s voice was sugary sweet. Far more than these pirates deserved, she thought. But the distraction was good. Milo had successfully retrieved the pipe and was now bringing down a small pistol.

“Is there some problem with the colony? We’re not within communication range, so we haven’t had any updates in quite some time,” Cordelia’s dad asked.

The pirates looked at each other, all with guilty expressions, like they’d just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. The pirate captain spat at the ground. “All is not well, sir, and hasn’t been for quite some time. Miners are mistreated. Conditions have . . . shall we say – deteriorated.”

“I see,” said Cordelia’s dad.

Milo’s tongue wagged like a fast-spinning merry-go-round while he fixed his concentration on the last weapon, a long-barreled gun. It was trickiest of all. Cordelia was grateful her dad kept talking.

“I’m sorry for your troubles. Surely we can come to some sort of agreement. You all look hungry – I get how desperate you must be feeling, out here in empty space, so far from your families.”

Milo inched the gun down the side of the crate, holding it carefully above the floor. Cordelia looked each of the pirates up and down. They were so focused on her dad that they weren’t watching their weapons disappear into the duct. Cordelia reached out and snatched the gun from Milo’s grip. His hand crawled back in.

“I can’t agree,” the pirate captain said.

“Come on.” Milo tugged on her arm.

She wanted to hear her dad out. If anyone could convince them to give up their pirating ways, it was him.

Each carrying half of the weapons, the two children crawled towards airlock number two, far away from the tethered pirate ship and the cargo bays.

“It’s clear,” Cordelia said and poked the hinged vent cover outward. She climbed out, still cradling half the weapons in her arm. Milo poked his head out, looking both ways down the hall before crawling out.

They both knew they weren’t supposed to jettison stuff into space. Cluttered it up unnecessarily, Gran always said, but this was a special circumstance. Besides, this part of space was already cluttered up with those torn-apart ships. By the look of things, they were in the middle of the graveyard, far too close to the scarred, endlessly floating hulks.

Cordelia and Milo tossed the weapons into the airlock.

“Maybe we should just keep the one?” Milo protested. “I could shoot the pirates.”

“No,” Cordelia said decisively. There was as much chance they or their family would get hurt if he tried that.

She closed the airlock door and hit the button. Moments later the weapons soundlessly rocketed into space, joining the graveyard of the forgotten war.

“Now to catch us some pirates,” Cordelia said.

In a rush of whispered words, they’d come up with the plan. Cordelia knew that catching the pirates wouldn’t be as easy as stealing their weapons had been. They decided to lure the pirates into one of the empty cargo bays and lock them inside. It was the luring that troubled her. She knew from the dropped pipe that the men would come running at a sound, but what if they didn’t follow? What if she and Milo got caught instead?

She hoped Cousin Liza, the head cook, would forgive her for any dents to her pots, but the noise had to be loud enough to attract the pirates’ attention. With a last deep breath, she threw the stack of pots to the floor and made herself wait so the pirates could see her.

“My gun – our weapons!” a pirate cried.

Two angry-looking pirates tore out of the cargo bay and gave chase. Cordelia led them down the hall and turned the corner. Their legs were longer, and they were gaining, but she was a step ahead. She grinned. The plan was working. She half-turned around to see them racing after her, and as she turned forward again, she pelted hard into the pirate captain.

Where had he come from?

He grabbed her. “Got ya!” he said triumphantly.

Cordelia kicked and wriggled, but his hands gripped tighter and tighter.

“Well, well, well,” one of the other pirates said. “Looks like we got a rat.”

“Let me go!” Cordelia shouted.

The pirate captain laughed. “Not on your life. What’d you do with our weapons?” The pirate lifted her off the ground.

Cordelia kicked her legs. “I won’t tell you.”

“Then I’m afraid something bad is going to happen to your family. I don’t need a gun to hurt them, you see.”

Cordelia gulped. She could see it in his eyes. He would hurt them, all of them. “Over there.” She pointed down the hall. “Cargo bay four.”

The pirate dragged her down the hall with the other two pirates following close behind. Cargo bay four was filled with empty crates.

The pirate captain held her tight. “Where are they?”

“Over there.” Cordelia pointed to the far corner stacked tall with crates.

The two pirates glanced doubtfully at Cordelia, but with a nod from the pirate captain, they made for the corner. They tossed crate after crate aside, smashing them against the floor.

“They’re not here,” the pirate called.

“Where –”

The door to the bay whooshed closed. The pirate jerked around at the sound, loosening but not releasing his grip on Cordelia. Cordelia kicked his shin as hard as she could, just like she did when playing soccer with Milo in cargo bay six.

The pirate grunted and let go. Cordelia darted away squeezing between two stacks of crates to the vent access. She threw up the hinged cover and wriggled inside. She heard the crates being shoved aside as the pirates clawed their way to her. One grabbed her foot; she kicked up hard, smacking him in the face. He recoiled, letting go of her foot. She scrambled away as fast as she could, hoping none of them were skinny enough to fit in after her.

Cordelia crawled through the duct and stopped just outside the opening in the hall, listening for sounds of trouble. It was quiet.

A hand reached for the vent cover. Cordelia scooted back before she realized it was Milo’s. The silvery hand slipped under the vent and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“You okay?” Milo whispered.

Cordelia crawled out of the vent. “Yeah. You sure it’s locked well?”

Milo grinned and nodded. Cordelia checked the door lock, just in case. The pirates inside talked in low voices. One started pounding on the door.

“That’s three. Just three more to go,” Cordelia said.

An alarm blared at the same moment that blue warning lights began to whirl.

Cordelia and Milo gaped at each other.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

“Nothing good. You hide, okay?” She ran in the direction of the bridge, hoping the sound didn’t bring the other pirates out.

Cordelia reached the bridge and slid into the captain’s chair. The view-screen in front of her and every other on the bridge displayed the same scene – the Hope of Astraea hurtling towards a massive piece of a wrecked battleship at the edge of the graveyard. When the pirate ship had tethered itself to the Hope, it’d thrown her dangerously off course. The battleship would hit and damage the Hope’s miles-wide solar sail that caught the sun’s radiation and pushed them through space.

The warning alarm was clear. There wasn’t time for the ship to change course. The defensive laser array that normally blasted away pieces of space debris, ice, asteroids and meteors wouldn’t fire automatically on a ship. The computer didn’t know that this ship had long ago been abandoned. It needed a human to give the command.

Cordelia tapped at the screen, giving the command to fire on the battleship and blast it to smithereens. Within seconds, the central laser cannon sent bursts of brilliant purple beams towards the ship. The ship seemed to absorb the beams, but soon it began to glow from the inside before it exploded in a million fiery pieces.

The laser array lit up again, targeting one piece of wreckage after another, blowing them into tiny bits that would inflict minimal damage to the sail. Cordelia couldn’t help but hold her breath as the Hope sailed into the debris-filled space where the battleship had once been.

Sensors beeped as pieces of the battleship rained through the bottom center of the sail and engulfed the Hope of Astraea, sounding like sand hitting windows. Uncle Joe and his fixer-bots would have to spacewalk several times to fix the sail, but it would’ve been a thousand times worse if they’d plowed through the battleship, risking not only the sail but the whole of the Hope.

Cordelia let out a deep breath in relief. She brought up the navigation screen. The pirate ship had pulled the Hope of Astraea a fraction off course. It was enough, though, that if they continued on their present course for much longer, they would miss the drop point entirely, leaving the miners to hunt empty space for their food and supplies.

She’d watched her Dad make course corrections hundreds of times before. She tapped the command, altering course to match the computer-suggested path.

A hand gripped her shoulder.

The pirates. How could she have forgotten about the pirates? Cordelia whipped around.

Her dad beamed down at her.

“Dad!” Cordelia jumped up and threw her arms around his neck.

He hugged her for a long time. “You okay?”

“Yes, but what about the pirates?”

Her dad chuckled. “Well, I’d hardly call them pirates . . . more like starving runaway miners. The last three surrendered. They lost their nerve when the alarm went off and their buddies never returned.”

“Your dad’s being modest,” Captain Alex plopped down into her chair. “He’d nearly talked them into surrendering before the alarm.”

“We almost had ‘em,” Cordelia said.

“We really did,” Milo called from the edge of the bridge.

The captain waved him forward. “That was quite the handiwork, Milo,” she said.

Cordelia couldn’t help but giggle.

Milo grinned. “Thanks, Mom . . . I mean, Captain.” He saluted her with his cyborg hand.

She saluted back and turned to Cordelia. “You saved us. And by the look of things, you got us back on course.”

“Just keeping my . . . the Hope of Astraea safe, Aunt . . . Captain Alex. It’s my duty.”

“Not just yet. I’m not quite ready to retire.”

Cordelia blushed.

“But thank you for keeping her and us safe. And I’m sure there’s a whole colony of miners who will be grateful when they hear of your heroics.”

“Why don’t you and Milo go talk to Gran?” Cordelia’s Dad suggested. “She said something about needing to pick more strawberries for a celebration.”

“Beat you there,” Milo said.

“Oh no, you won’t!” Cordelia lighted past Milo, racing for the gardens and Gran.

 

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The Aliens and Me © 2015 Nancy Kress

Red Dust and Dancing Horses © 2012 Beth Cato

Cool Things That Happen On Venus © 2015 Cori Cunningham

The Worms Won’t Feed Themselves, You Know © 2015 Deborah Walker

Laddie Come Home © 2015 Curtis C. Chen

Blood Test © 2015 Elliotte Rusty Harold

Lunar Camp © 2014 Maggie Allen

Clockwork Dancer © 2015 Brad Hafford

When Hope Dies © 2015 Pam L. Wallace

Child of Luna © 2015 Ralan Conley

Warboots © 2015 Eric Del Carlo

The Rum Cake Runner © 2013 Jessi Cole Jackson

Leafheart © 2015 Anne E. Johnson

The Beach © 2015 Mike Barretta

Walk, Run, Fly © 2015 Amy Griswold

Luckless Tin Elephant © 2015 Angeline Woon

The Sugimori Sisters and the Time Machine Conflict © 2015 Brigid Collins

Alien Gifts © 2015 Sherry D. Ramsey

View from Above © 2015 Jeanne Kramer-Smyth

Cap’n Harry and the Pirates © 2015 Austin Hackney

Where You Want To Be © 2015 Jeannie Warner

The Hope of Astraea © 2015 Wendy Lambert

 

Permissions

The Rum Cake Runner was previously published at Crossed Genres Magazine and podcasted at Cast of Wonders. Reprinted by permission of the author.

 

Lunar Camp was previously published in Athena’s Daughters. Reprinted by permission of the author.

 

Red Dust and Dancing Horses was previously published in Stupefying Stories. Reprinted by permission of the author.