Snowglobe

by H. A. Titus -

The glimmer of something shiny caught Marly's eye through the stacks of stuff in her grandmother's apartment. She slipped away from the two women standing beside her—the lawyer and her mom—and crawled over a chair laden with clothes.

"Marly? Don't wander far. We don't know what could be in here," Mom called, her voice sounding wrinkly with disgust. "I hadn't spoken to my mother in years, and for good reason. Why would she care if I inherited all this bugcrap?"

That last must have been to the lawyer-lady, who hadn't stopped fidgeting since they'd met. Marly twisted her mouth and carefully moved a few knickknacks from the table she was half-standing on.

The dusty glimmer she'd seen was a round globe with weird-looking white stuff and glitter inside. Porcelain figures holding hands gathered around a tiny wooden-looking house-like building that was open in the front. Marly picked up the globe and peered inside the house. Animals? And a couple holding a baby? What was this thing?

She shifted to bring it closer to the lights, and the foot not on the table slipped. Marly squealed as she tumbled headfirst into a pile of clothing.

"Marly!" She felt Mom grab her ankle and pull. "Marly? Are you okay?"

Marly flailed free of the clothes. "Yeah, fine. Hey Mom—"

Mom turned to find the lawyer-lady, and Marly caught a glimpse of the woman's coattails as she slipped out the door. Mom sighed and planted her hands on her hips. "Wonderful. I suppose I'll have to find a cleaning crew to haul all this junk out of here. Maybe we can rent it out once it's decent."

"Mom?" Marly stood up and held up the globe. "What is this?"

Mom's eyes went soft, reminding Marly of the blue crocheted blanket her grandma had made for her when she was a baby. Mom took the globe from her and turned it upside down. The white stuff flew into the top part of the globe, and when she righted it, slowly drifted down among the figures.

"It's a snowglobe," Mom said. "And this is a Nativity scene." She pointed to the wooden house. "It's to celebrate a holiday Grandma called Christmas. I'd forgotten all about it! I think it's actually close to the time she used to celebrate it."

"What's…" Marly rolled her tongue around the weird word. Just the syllables themselves made her feel a little shivery and expectant, like it was something she was supposed to be looking forward to. "Christmas?"

"A wonderful, beautiful holiday, Marly. Let's go home, and I'll show you." Mom straightened, cradling the snowglobe close to her body, and looked around the apartment. "Merry Christmas, Mom."

Echoes of Evil

by H. A. Titus

As the Anchor's clock turned to the hour, Cara spotted Clock and Cog trotting into the docking area. She grinned. School had been going for three weeks, and the siblings had never failed to turn up within five minutes of eight o'clock every morning.

"Pieter!" she yelled down into the cargo hold. "They're here."

"Up in a minute," he called back.

Cara swung out the hatch and onto the dock. As the two other orphans got closer, Cog hung back and motioned for his sister to go on ahead. Clock darted into the Anchor as fast as she could—she was always looking for time to study the ship and daydream about flying it one day.

Cog paused beside her, and for a second, his eyes looked like Pieter's had for the last few weeks. Bruised and tired. "Have you heard about anything weird going on?"

"Weird?" Cara shook her head. She'd been so wrapped up with the Anchor ever since Peter's trial that she hadn't really paid much attention to any of the news on the street. "Nothing except your out-of-the-blue question."

Cog's lips quirked into a half-smile. "You remember Nosey and Bruzzy?"

Cara nodded. Everyone on the lower levels had known them. Bruzzy never spoke a word, but he was always with Nosey, a girl who liked to listen to gossip and was terrified of big, open places. They had been nice, until Nosey had started freaking out more and more often. "They went to the crazy house, right?"

"Saint Christina's Clinic for the Neuro-Atypical," Cog said. "Yeah. Well, a couple of kids I know went up there the other night, to see if they could sneak in and see Nosey and Bruzzy, right? And when they got close, they could hear the patients all babbling and chanting something."

"So? They're crazy people. They're gonna babble, right?"

"Except they were all chanting the same thing. 'The planet began to crack. The ground shattered with a furious thunder! Steam hissed into the icy blackness in a vast dying breath.'"

Cara frowned. "Why would they be saying that?"

"I don't know. But the kids said it was really freaky. Just the way they looked when they were talking about it gave me the shivers." Cog fidgeted with his welding goggles again. "They weren't lying, either."

"How do you know?"

"Same way I knew you weren't when you told everyone you were learning to fly. Who'd make something like that up?"

"You two gonna stand out there and yap all day?" Clock yelled from the hatch.

"Coming!" Cog rolled his eyes.

"Well—" Cara chewed her lip. "Do you think we need to tell someone?"

"I don't know," Cog said, turning toward the ship. "I just though you should know something weird happened. Y'know, to make sure you keep your eyes open. Don't need anything to happen to any of us."

"Yeah." Cara followed him into the Anchor, looking over her shoulder. The shadows in the docking bay seemed just a little darker and creepier. I hope that's just my imagination.

School Begins

by H. A. Titus

"C'mon, Cog, I said eight sharp! Where are you?"

Cara muttered the phrase for what seemed the thousandth time. Pieter turned away from tinkering with the navigation console.

"Maybe he decided not to come."

"He has to come. How will anyone take us seriously if the only one you ever teach is me?"

"Then you'll be the only orphan to ever fly a ship, and everyone else will wish they'd taken advantage of it while they could." Why was she making this into such a big deal? Pieter turned back to the console before he snapped at her.

He'd woken up in a grim mood, thanks to his continuing dreams about Amaris. He had no idea why her memory continued to dog him, and it was enough to make him dread sleeping.

"Oh, there they are!" Cara darted out onto the dock.

Pieter stood and looked out a porthole to assess his two new students. Cara was shaking the hand of a girl perhaps two Foundings younger than her. The girl had kinky-curly blond hair and seemed just as chattery as Cara, though she used big gestures on top of it.

A boy several Foundings older than Cara hung back behind the two girls, fiddling with the welding goggles pushed back in his shock of red hair.

With a shock, Pieter realized the boy's other hand, hanging down at his side, was metal. How had an orphan come by an expensive prosthetic like that? Of course, it wasn't covered with synthetic skin, but Pieter doubted anyone other than the richest Aristocrat could afford skin grown in Avenir's nano-factories. His own father certainly hadn't been able to afford the skin for his prosthetic.

What were the odds that there were now two non-cyborgs in his life that had metal prosthetic limbs?

The trio came up the gangway, and Pieter stepped away from the porthole. The blond girl's gasp was loud and amazed as she entered the Anchor.

"We get to learn to fly this?" she squealed.

"Eventually," Pieter said.

The girl helped and jumped, spinning in mid-air to face him. Her face was bright red.

"Pieter." Cara stepped up. "This is Clock." She nodded to  the girl. "And her brother, Cog."

Pieter tried to keep from staring at Cog's metal hand. "Welcome aboard the Anchor."

"She's a pretty little ship," Cog offered.

Pieter smiled. "Thanks."

"So, what do we get to do today?" Cara asked.

Her impatience made Pieter shake his head. "What positions would you eventually want?"

Clock cocked her head to one side.

He explained. "I can teach you a lot about piloting and maintenance, enough to get into a ship's position, but I don't know enough about navigation to get you on a ship--you'll have to start as a different position and find someone who is willing to mentor you."

"What about gunner?" Cara asked.

"I could teach you that, if you really want to know. It's fairly basic."

"Well, I know what I want," Cog said. "Anything you can teach me."

Pieter raised his eyebrows.

"Maintenance sounds the best choice for me, but the more I know about the ship, the easier I can fix it. Not to mention that it makes me more valuable as a crew member."

"Maintenance," Pieter said dubiously. Hardly the most glamorous choice, one he'd expected.

"It'd be perfect for him," Clock piped up. "He already knows a lot of the basics and has taught me. He even built his hand."

"Cloooock!" Cog moaned, his face turning a shade that clashed with his hair.

He'd built the metal hand? Pieter rubbed his jaw. That meant Cog knew a lot more than the 'basics', whatever his sister claimed. He could very well have a genius on his hands. The thought made him wince.

Before he could say anything, Cara said, "Cog makes sense. Maybe you should teach everything to all of us, Pieter."

Clock nodded, her curls bouncing every which-way around her head.

Pieter stared at the three. What had he gotten himself into? These kids were asking for knowledge that had taken him several years to acquire. Were they up for that? He knew orphans. They were usually content to slide by on the smallest amount of effort. That's why so many of them stuck to the streets, ignoring the orphanages' offers of education and jobs.

But Cara had already stuck with him for several weeks. And Cog--that metal hand didn't speak of someone who was content with sloppy work. If Clock was anything like her brother...

"It could take a long time to learn all of that," Pieter told them. "Several years at the least, if you work hard and are diligent about coming every day."

All three kids bobbed their heads.

"Okay then." Pieter gave them a small grin. Maybe everything would work out. "Then let Avenir's first Orphans' School of Flying begin!"

The kids surprised him by giving loud cheers and jumping up and down, their fists pumping. Pieter watched them celebrate and felt his grin stretching wider. For the first time since he'd met her, he had a feeling he was doing something that Amaris would approve of.

Visit Home II—No Picnic

by H. A. Titus - 

"Hey, boss." Reeder poked his head into the cramped office.

Darcy raised one groomed eyebrow. "Make it quick, Reeder."

"Look, I gotta go topside for a while. Family stuff." He hoped Darcy wouldn't ask exactly what kind of 'family stuff'. People generally got creeped out when he told them about his brother's…disease…even when Reeder didn't mention that he thought Danyel was possessed.

Darcy sighed, shuffled through the stacks of paper on his desk. He tapped his computer screen. "I don't know. I don't have many people to fill your shifts."

"Please? It's kind of an emergency." He hated how he sounded on the verge of begging.

"Is someone sick?"

"Yeah, my brother. He's not doing well at all." Not a lie. Not a whole truth, either.

Darcy sighed. "All right. And before you go—" He flicked a message at him. "One more delivery for the wizard Galileo. The sender specifically asked for you. Have fun on your trip."

Reeder glanced at the address. Galileo, Wizard's District, in the same writing as the last time. "Oh yeah. It'll be a real picnic."

Visit Home I—Video Feed

by H. A. Titus -

A loud chime startled Reeder from his nap. He sat up, his heart pounding wildly, staring around his living space with eyes stretched wide.

Another loud chime from the screen on his desk.

Reeder shook the sleep from his head and lunged for it. He tapped the screen and his video-call feature popped up.

"Call from 'Mom'," the computer voice said smoothly.

"Answer call." Reeder patted down his hair with one hand and pulled the chair closer to the desk.

The call window opened. His mom's two-dimensional face stared out at him. Dark, baggy circles hung under her eyes, and he realized that she had more gray streaks in her dark brown hair.

"Hello, Reeder?" She squinted at the screen. "Is this thing working?"

He usually chuckled at her technical cluelessness, but this time it stuck in his throat. The feeling of something wrong just pervaded the screen. "Press the video button, Mom. You must have turned it off again."

She rolled her eyes. "I did. There, I can see you now. How's work?"

"Fine. Busy. Lots of people seem to trust human messengers more than cyborgs or computers nowadays."

She nodded, her eyes drifting away from the screen. "Any friends yet?"

It was a constant worry of hers. She always told him he never had enough friends, that she worried when he stuck to himself.

Reeder changed the subject. "How's life on the farm?"

"Peachy keen," she said, a false note of brightness in her voice.

Reeder groaned. "Don't lie, please?"

She bit her lower lip. "Danyel has been…acting up."

His older brother? A chill ran down Reeder's back. It was never, ever good when Danyel 'acted up'. "What did he do this time?"

"He's just sick, Reeder," she whispered. "So mind-sick."

Bile rose in the back of his throat. The way her eyes dropped, the way her voice tensed…

"Mom, what did Danyel do?"

"He stabbed a stablehand." Her voice cracked. "The man lived, barely."

Reeder swallowed. His stomach heaved. He thrust the chair back from the desk and ran for his closet-sized bathroom. He made it just in time.

Danyel's second murder attempt. Reeder sat back on the floor, cradling his head in his hands, spitting to get the foul taste out of his mouth.

Why had the demon chosen his brother? Why had it been Danyel? Why not some other random guy?

"Reeder? Reeder?"

Reeder stood and wobbled back to his desk.

His mom bit her lip. "I need you to come home."

He almost threw up again. "What? No way!"

"Please? The doctor I spoke to thinks that he needs those he was closest to. She thinks that perhaps you could pull him out of the mindsickness."

Reeder shuddered. "I'm not going near that possessed creep again!"

It hadn't been the violence so much. That had come later, after he'd left. But the memory of Danyel's hollow, smoldering eyes following him everywhere, boring into him with malice every time his back was turned, was enough to give Reeder nightmares to this day. Three years later.

His mom glared at him. "Reeder, he's not possessed. Stop acting like a child. We need you!"

Danyel was possessed. Everything that Reeder had heard, the whispers and rumors floating through the halls of Zirconia, confirmed it. He didn't want to go back up to the grit-filled red landscape, to risk Ash Lung, just for a brother who hated his guts.

But he still loved Danyel.

"Okay, Mom. Okay. I'll talk to my boss and let you know."

A Mind of Metal and Gears (FLASHBACK)

by H. A. Titus -

Hazy whiteness blurred with colors as they moved in and out of his line of sight. The sound filtered to his ears, sounding similar to the time that Denton had shoved his face into a vat of brine for salted bug meat.

The one thing that he could clearly feel was the pain—the throbbing ache in his right wrist, and—not really pain for his left hand. More like a cramped, prickly feeling. Like someone had been clutching his hand tightly for hours.

One word, a familiar word, floated by, and he grasped at it, rolled it around in his head like a bearing, until he understood it.

"Cog?"

He forced his eyes to focus. They felt bruised and ready to fall out of his face.

His sister's blue eyes came together, clear in the blur. "Hey, sleepy-head!"

A second face joined his sister's, a woman in white with a funny-looking cap on her head. "Stay calm, Clock. Your brother just went through a lot of trauma—you shouldn't excite him."

"Trauma?" Cog muttered, trying to sit up. His right wrist felt weird. He was putting all of his weight on the wrist, not the palm of his hand. Why? Was his hand asleep and bending under the wrist weird?

He looked at the empty space where his right hand should be. A splotchy red and white bandage wound around the stump of his wrist.

His heart lurched. "Clock?"

"It's all right, it's all right," the nurse whispered hurriedly. "You just had an accident."

Accident. His memories came flooding back. It hadn't been an accident. Money had run out. He hadn't been able to find work for two weeks. He'd been stealing food for Clock and a meat vendor had come after him with a knife.

The nurse's lips drew together. "Such a shame," she murmured under her breath. "Such a waste." She turned away. "I suppose I should contact the orphanage about you two. Goodness knows that you'll need someone to take care of you now."

Clock's blue eyes flared. "Don't you worry about us. Cog's got a mind of metal and gears. Right now I bet they're spinning so fast that there's smoke just about ready to come out his ears. So don't you worry about us—Cog can take care of us. Right, Cog?"

Maybe so. Maybe not. But he wasn't about to go to an orphanage, not after the horror stories he'd heard from runaways.

Cog grinned at his sister. He had to be confident, for her sake, even though his own insides felt like gelled bug's blood. "Sure, sis. Sure."

Amaris

by H. A. Titus -

Pieter leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes.

In a way, night was a relief. It meant Pieter could go back to his cubbyhole of a living space and disappear from the world for a while. Away from the prying eyes of the Enforcers. Out of range of the stares from people in the docking bays who recognized his picture from the news reports.

It meant a break from Cara. He liked the girl, but sometimes her incessant questions grated on him. You had so much money, why did you get bored? Do the rich people really have cyborgs to serve them? Do you know where Avenir came from?

Lately, her questions had been taking a disturbingly spiritual turn. Who was Jesus? Why do you think the book you gave me talks about 'living water'? He didn't want the reminders of his mother.

But when he shoved away the cares of the day, she always took their place.

Chocolate-hazel eyes, silk-straight black hair pulled in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. A fierce temper and even fiercer devotion. Jokes and small talk late into the night, a glass of wine while watching stars out the glass-fronted captain's deck.

Much worse than a few distrustful stares or never-ending chatter.

Her heart-shaped face was always in his mind, that playful fire dancing in her eyes. Even in the heat of battle, she had that spark, that vivacity, that filled his empty heart with hope and love.

She had been another mistake in the thousands that weighed on his chest. If he thought about her too long, his brain would start reciting his other mistakes. It was like she was a piece of fruit in the bottom corner of a large orange pyramid, and if he took out his memories of her, the rest came tumbling down on top of him.

Pieter groaned and rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that his head started to pound. "Go away, Amaris. Please, please go away."

Cog

by H. A. Titus -

"Hey Cara, where ya been lately?"

Cara trotted faster. "Buzz off, Denton!"

A foot slid between her shins, nearly making her do a faceplant into the metal floor. Cara caught herself against the wall and spun to get her back to it.

Denton and Strand crowded in close, while Robynn hovered behind them. Cara crossed her arms over her chest and gave them her best glare.

"Been missin' ya around the market," Strand said. "Where ya been?"

"Busy," Cara said.

She noticed that several other orphans had stopped, listening to the conversation. A couple of them were old friends, but they didn't look too inclined to stand up against Strand and Denton.

"Busy doin' what? Someone said you made friends with a rich kid," Strand said.

Denton frowned. "You turnin' your back on us, Cara? For what, expensive toys and pretty things?"

Someone else snickered. "Little young to have a boyfriend, aren't you, Cara?"

"He's going to teach me how to fly!" she said.

They all stared at her. For a moment, Cara thought they believed her. Then Strand snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, right," Denton said.

"No one's going to trust an orphan with the controls of a ship," Strand said. "The best we can hope for is bug hunting when we get older."

"But logically, she could be telling the truth," a boy with welding goggles pushed into his mop of red hair said.

Denton glared at him. "No one asked for your logic, Cog."

"I guess you've cleaned the earwax out since we last talked, since you can obviously hear me this time," Cog said, a smile curling the left corner of his mouth.

Cara noticed that despite Denton's angry glare, he looked hesitant to even get close to Cog. Then she noticed Cog's right hand was metal. That explained it—Denton had probably tasted that metal hand once or twice before.

"Explain your logic, Cog," she challenged. "Why don't you think I'm lying?"

"Flying is so far above our status. Why would you use that for a lie if you wanted to be believed? It's like a boy with blocks claiming he's God just because he can build a tower and knock it down—outrageous. It's so outrageous that if you were lying, no one would believe you. So I think you're telling the truth."

Most of the kids had moved on by now with exaggerated sighs about the weird ways Cog's mind worked.

Denton still looked unconvinced. "I still think she's lying."

Cara shrugged. "You can think that all you want. I wasn't interested in your opinion anyway."

"Little—" Strand started.

Cog slipped in beside Cara and put his hand on her shoulder. "Since you're not interested, Denton, then why don't you move on?"

Strand and Denton both shot glares, but Robynn whispered in Denton’s ear and he slowly turned away. Cara watched the threesome disappear into the marketplace, then she looked up at Cog.

He grinned. "You were telling the truth, right? So far my logic has been right, and I don't want Denton and Strand to hear you were lying after all."

She jutted her chin. "I don't lie."

"That I believe. So is there any way I can get in on these flight lessons?"

She paused. She liked working alone with Pieter—they were a good team. But Pieter had told her to keep an eye out for any other orphans who wanted to learn to fly. And if there were other orphans around, it would cut those stupid stories flying around about Pieter being her boyfriend.

Yuck.

Cara jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at the hangars. "Dock Seventy-three. Tomorrow morning at eight."

"Can I bring my sister, Clock?"

Cog and Clock. Cara had heard some weird names around Avenir, but these two probably took the cake. "Sure. Just be there at eight sharp."

Cog's grin curled around to the other side of his mouth. "Got it."

Delivered

by H. A. Titus -

This was the thirteenth door he'd knocked on.

Reeder took a deep breath and rapped the door with his knuckles. He knew that the wizards could hear him. He could hear the knocks echoing around in the hollow space behind the door, just as it had behind all the other doors.

As he waited for an answer—not that he expected one, there had been no answers at the other doors he'd tried—he looked down at the square of folded paper he held.

Galileo, Wizard's District was written in wiry, slanted letters.

"No address, no directions—serve him right if I up and dumped it somewhere," Reeder muttered under his breath.

He looked up, prepared to knock again. A thick brown face fringed with a static-y mop of yellow-white hair stared at him from two inches away, if that.

Reeder yelped and jumped back.

The man's fingers twined around his arm and jerked him inside the room. Reeder flinched as the slamming door brushed his heels.

The wizard poked his face close again. "Got a message for me?"

"You—you're Galileo?"

"Wouldn't have opened the door if I wasn't," the old man snapped.

Reeder thrust out the letter. The wizard grabbed it, stuffed a handful of credits into Reeder's hand, and shoved him back out the door, nearly taking off Reeder's nose as he slammed it again.

Reeder stared at the acid-splattered metal. "You're welcome."

Scurry

by H. A. Titus -

Reeder kicked a stray red pebble across the waiting area. It skittered over the uneven metal floor and under the railing into the docking bay. A few seconds later, he heard it plop into the ever-present puddles of water that the pumps never seemed to siphon out. The plop echoed around the empty metal cavern.

He was about ready to go look for customers elsewhere when he heard the loud, hollow click that indicated a ship had come into harbor. A whine of old hydraulics, and a loading disc came up through its tunnel, a small, dripping ship nestled in its middle.

Small meant private, and private usually meant no messages because they could afford to use the 'nets. Still, there was a chance. Reeder watched the passengers disembark and make their way up the ramp to the waiting area. Two men. One young, with expensive-looking clothes and a carefully disheveled, devil-may-care attitude. The other was older, with grimy-looking hair and clothes and red-rimmed eyes.

Probably a grit-breather, Reeder thought.

The young man blew past without even looking at him, but the grimy man stopped and held out a square of folded paper.

"Can ye take this to the wizard Raminoff?" he asked.

Reeder cringed. He hated delivering to wizards. Hated going through the labyrinthine passageways of their quarters in Zirconia, hated trying to find the right wizard's study, hated seeing them with their potions and bubbly pots and the steamy feel of the air that made your skin itch.

But he hadn't earned anything so far today, and there was his brother to think of.

Reeder took the message. "Two creds."

"The wizard'll pay. Scurry off, now."

Great. Reeder sighed and scurried off.

Bread and Water

by H. A. Titus -

Cara peered through the crack that led from her hidey-hole to the marketplace. Orphans, hunters, and merchants scurried around the large area, giving no sign that they'd seen her worm into the pile of broken beams.

Another night safe. She sighed, snuggled down in her pile of rags, and pulled her one whole blanket up to her hips. The space was just big enough for her bed and a wooden crate of belongings, but she preferred it over the shared rooms at the orphanage.

Cara reached into the crate and gingerly pulled out the book she'd found in the Anchor’s cargo hold. The leather cover crackled as she opened it to the first chapter.

Genesis.

She read through several books with odd sounding names like Exodus and a really boring section called Numbers. She skipped ahead and found Judges, a book with some weird stuff in it, like a guy getting a tent stake pounded through his head.

That's gross. As she paged toward the back of the book, she tried to remember when she'd learned to read. Most of the orphans couldn't read or struggled to sound out basic words.

She'd been able to read when she was five, she knew that. She remembered standing on the street corners and reading the marketplace signs for fun while she waited for her dad to come collect the money she'd gathered from pick-pocketing that day.

At least, he'd said he was her dad. Cara shivered and turned a chunk of pages. A line in red caught her eye and she paused to read it.

"Will you give me a drink?"

She backtracked. A teacher named Jesus was traveling through a place called Samaria when he met a woman by a well. As they talked together, Jesus told her about this water that could give her eternal life.

Now this was interesting. Lots of people wanted eternal life. She kept reading.

Several chapters later, she found a story where Jesus talked about being the 'bread of life'. How could bread and water give life? How could a man be bread?

With a buzz, the lights in the marketplace dimmed. She shut the book and looked out. The stalls were shuttered, the street deserted. Must be midnight.

Cara put the book in the crate and plopped her head on her pillow. Just as well. She needed to sleep on what she'd read tonight.

Buried Treasure

by H. A. Titus -

Cara rattled the lid on a metal storage container. "Pieter, this one's stuck!"

She heard his footsteps clanging overhead, then Pieter jumped down into the cargo hold, forgoing the ladder, and hunched to avoid banging his head. He wedged his fingers under the lip of the container and pulled hard. After a few jerks, the lid popped open.

Cara peered inside. The container was a jumble of clothes and cables.

"Why are we cleaning again?" she asked, lifting a stained shirt out of the mess with a pinkie finger.

Pieter shrugged, took the shirt, and tossed it on the ever-growing pile of garbage. "The Anchor is due for a clean. It's not like we'll be going anywhere soon."

Cara nodded. One the sensors were installed, Pieter would be allowed to fly as long as he stayed away from hotspots frequented by smugglers. It was just the installation that was taking so long. She reached into the box, jerked out a tangle of cables, and tossed them to the side. Pieter turned to sorting them as Cara dug into the box. More clothes, more wires, more clothes—

"By all the stars in the sky!" she said, pulling out yet another wad of clothing. "How many clothes do you need in space?"

"Oh, half of those were disguises that I never needed." Pieter grinned sheepishly. "I have a weakness for disguises."

"I guess so." Cara looked into the box to see how much more she had to go, and drew a sharp breath. A book sat at the bottom of the container. A print book. An old print book, by the look of it.

She carefully fit her hands around it and drew it out. The soft suede cover was spiderwebbed with tiny cracks. The book was sturdier than she first thought. The pages, though yellow and thin, were sill attached to the binding.

"What's this?" she asked Pieter.
He glanced at it and shrugged. "An old family book my mom gave me. Said it was the only possession left from our ancestor on the generation ship. I've had it buried in my boxes of stuff for years. Never was one for books."

Hmm. Might be worth a look at. First time I've ever gotten the chance to read a print book. Cara put it to the side and continued sorting through the garbage. She'd read it tonight, if she got the chance.

Beginning of a Dream (FLASHBACK)

by H. A. Titus -

Ten-year-old Pieter Kinsrol flinched as the sharp, tinkling crash indicated that yet another bottle had been thrown against the wall.

"I said to get me some of the old stuff. I'm not drinking this garbage."

Pieter crept to the door of his closet-sized room—a luxury even for the rich on Avenir—and closed it softly. He could still hear his father railing against the servant, the politicians, the Peacekeepers, and anyone else who had offended him lately, but at least it was muffled.

Pieter sat on his bed and pushed the metal window blind to the side. Having a window was, again, a product of his father's wealth. He smiled and pushed his fist against the glass, then splayed his fingers so his entire hand pressed against the cool, smooth surface.

To him, this was how space would feel. Smooth, cool.

Quiet.

Pieter stared down at Eclectia. How would it feel to traverse that rough, red surface?
A transport ship came into view. The metal hulk swung around, surprisingly graceful despite its bulky lines and behemoth size, and bright blue blazed from the thrusters on the back.

Pieter grinned. Forget traveling on the surface. Someday, he'd fly.

Brush

by H. A. Titus -

Reeder stared out into the murky sea. It stretched as far as he could see, changing colors the further away it went. Close to the viewing bay, it was a pure, bright teal. A few feet away, the color melted into a dark blue, then a midnight blue, then inky black.

Schools of purple and yellow-striped seafish swam in circles near the viewing bay, attracted to the underwater city by the lights and the warmth. One swam straight up to the glass and knocked on it with its parrot-like beak.

Reeder laughed and knocked his knuckles against the glass. The fish retreated in alarm. A translucent shimmer floated between him and the fish. Reeder felt a strange, peaceful warmth flow into him. It wasn’t the first time he or his family members had met one of these strange underwater creatures. Angels, some called them.

Reeder was pretty sure that the one that had driven his brother mad with fear hadn’t been an angel.

The shimmer floated away, leaving behind an indiscernible gap in the view. The colors of the fish and the water seemed duller. Reeder picked up his official messenger’s bag and turned away to finish his day’s work.

Soon, he’d have enough money to explore deep into the ocean. Find out what what those creatures really were. Get a good glimpse of one.

Maybe find a cure for his brother.

Anchor to the World

by H. A. Titus -

Pieter Kinsrol sat on the catwalk, looking wistfully down at his ship, the Anchor. He’d always liked that word. Something firm and strong, to hold you fast. The ship was his anchor, holding him fast—otherwise, he might have set himself adrift a long time ago.

The sound of feet pinging along the catwalk made Pieter raise his head. A girl in a tattered jumpsuit came to his side, sat down, and started swinging her legs.

“Hello,” she said. “Why aren’t you in your ship?”

“Two years of probation. They haven’t installed the electronic sensors yet.”

“I was wondering what sentence you got. They wouldn’t let me into the courtroom to hear. Not even to testify. Guess no one likes hearing the truth from an orphan.”

He remembered seeing this girl as he handed out food.

“So why’d you do it?” She turned her face up toward him.

“Do what?”

“Smuggle. You’re rich, so why did you have to smuggle to feed us?”

Pieter chuckled wryly. “How did you know I was rich?”

“You look it.”

Pieter sighed and rubbed his face in his hands. “I started smuggling cause I was bored. Better than getting addicted to drugs for a rush. In the marketplace one day, I saw an orphan beaten because he tried to steal food. I felt ashamed, because I had enough money to feed all of you, and I was keeping it to myself.”

“Well, thanks.” The girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Cara.”

“Pieter.”

Cara’s heels made thudding noises against the catwalk. “Y’know, if you still want to help the orphans, you could make ‘em a school, where they could learn jobs so they wouldn’t have to steal no more.”

Pieter looked down at her and saw a familiar light shining in her eyes. He remembered seeing that own light in his reflection’s eyes, as he stood at the window above the docking bay as a young boy, watching the ships.

“Well, the only thing I’m good at is piloting ships. Maybe I could teach that to the orphans. Why don’t you come tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it some more?”

Cara’s eyes sparkled as she nodded and rose to her feet.

As he watched her dance away, Pieter felt a warmth of satisfaction in his chest. Maybe he had more than just the Anchor to hold him here now.

Arrest

by H. A. Titus -

Cara sat on a catwalk, the shadows obscuring her as she watched the smuggler unloading his ship. She’d noticed him last night, handing out bread to a few orphans in the marketplace. He looked nice, so she’d followed him so she could get a look at his ship. She wouldn’t have dared with some of the smugglers, but this man she trusted as much as she could trust anyone.

His ship was a newer model, sleek and pristine. If she ever got her hands on a ship half as good as this one, she’d be happy.

It wasn’t quite fair, she told herself. She liked flying. When she was five Foundings old, she’d snuck on board a trade ship for a round trip to Zirconia and back. But, being an orphan, she’d never be accepted in a flight school, even if she had enough money to pay for the classes.

Maybe this guy would give her lessons. He’d handed out food, hadn’t he? That was more than any of the other smugglers, or even the honest merchants, would do. It was strange that he would care about the orphans, yet disregard the Peace Council’s laws.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Cara stood up and leaned over the railing. Three Enforcers strode down the row of docking bays toward the ship. She looked back at the stack of boxes. The smuggler had gone inside.

She bit her lip. Did she have time to warn the smuggler?

The smuggler ducked out of his ship just as the Enforcers reached his stack of cargo. They stood facing each other for a moment. Cara could see the smuggler’s face, his blue eyes calm, his muscles relaxed. Didn’t he understand what the Peacekeepers were there for?

One of the Enforcers finally cleared his throat and spoke. “Pieter Kinsrol, you’re under arrest.”

Pieter. So that was his name. Cara expected him to make a run for it, or dart back inside his ship and try to escape. Instead, he nodded and spun around to receive his handcuffs.

Cara gently slapped herself. Had she just seen what she thought she’d seen? Who in their right mind would just let himself be arrested?

As the Enforcers led Pieter away, Cara jogged along the catwalk to keep up. There had to be a way to help him. And by the Whale, she was going to find that way.