Allies

by Fred Warren - 

The corridors reeked of smoke and pesticide as they neared the marketplace. Smith and Kate paused to soak kerchiefs at a water tap and wrapped them around their faces to block the noxious vapor.

They found Charlie’s undelivered parcel—and the horrors writhing feebly within it.

Kate wiped her fingers convulsively on her skirts. “Augh. Fertilized spider eggs, much too close to hatching. What manner of fools has Beadle taken up with?”

Smith crushed the parcel under his boot heel. It made a sickening wet crunch. “Fools or lunatics. Maybe the Peacekeepers are trying out a new weapon they couldn’t test openly.”

“You think they’d turn these things against the very people they’re sworn to protect?”

“I don’t know anything anymore, Kate. The world’s turned upside-down and sideways. Nothing’s impossible.”

They entered the marketplace and found it empty of customers, merchants, and wares. Most of the stalls were overturned and broken. Spiders skittered here and there, and Smith dispatched the few that seemed aggressive. What the pesticide hadn’t killed, it pacified.

Their search revealed nothing. No children hidden beneath the wreckage, no trail, no evidence they’d ever been there. Smith slumped against a wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, head bowed on his knees. It was as if someone had drained all the air from his body.

Kate knelt down and stroked his cheek. “Don’t give up hope. Moving a dozen orphans is no easy feat, whether or not they’re cooperating.”

“Or dead.”

Her gentle caress flashed into a stinging slap. “If that word passes your lips again, it’ll be you in need of a proper burial. Think, man. Which route out of here would Beadle and his henchmen take?”

Smith scowled and rubbed his jaw. “It’s pointless.”

“Humor me.”

He stood up and scanned the market bay, pausing a moment to consider each exit. “The service corridor,” he said at last. “Over there. Nobody but suppliers uses it…and us, now and again.”

“Sounds like a good place to begin. Lead on.”

They’d only walked a few dozen paces before they found a skid loaded with motionless children, and two burly men in Enforcer uniforms sprawled on the floor nearby.

Kate sprinted to the skid and began pressing on necks and wrists for warmth and pulse, bending down in search of a soft whisper of air against her cheek. She smiled and waved at Smith. “They’re all here! All breathing, all safe! Let’s get them back to the nest.”

He just stood there, staring at her, eyes blank.

She trotted back to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. “Aren’t you happy? It’s a miracle they weren’t lost to us forever!”

He pushed her away—gently, but firmly. “I’m angry, Kate. Angry at myself for thinking I could trust Beadle. Angry for letting the sight of a Peacekeeper uniform terrify me into witlessness.”

“You meant well. Don’t torture yourself. God’s mercy provides for those whose hearts are true. They’re safe. Be content with that.”

“God’s mercy indeed, despite thinking myself too clever by half. Things have to change. It’s not enough anymore to keep to ourselves, pretending that no one will notice, or that we’ll be able to dodge anybody who does. We can’t defend ourselves. We need help. We need allies.”

She wasn’t in a mood to argue. “First, we need to get these wee ones onto their feet and back home. Pull them out of this meat wagon, and I’ll find some water to help rouse them.”

Smith nodded and began hoisting the children from the skid and propping them against the wall of the corridor. A few were already beginning to stir and moan.

Kate knelt down to examine one of the prone Enforcers. It was odd…there wasn’t a mark on him. No bloodstains, no sign of a scuffle.

Then she saw it, and she checked the other corpse to be sure. A single, perfectly round hole was drilled into each forehead, about the diameter of a piece of stout packaging cord, the flesh at its edge neatly cauterized.

A soft whirring sound came from above.

Kate froze. Moving only her eyes, she surveyed the corridor’s ceiling as gooseflesh prickled along her forearms. Nothing was there.

So, it’s allies he wants? Seems he has one already.

And there were some allies it might be better to do without.

Intersection

by Fred Warren - 

Avenir Station, Paradise Virtuality, Communications Nexus

Anya Sherikov and Vicky Remsen sat back-to-back at glowing consoles that floated within a mosaic sphere of rectangular windows--each one displaying a tiny fragment of the mayhem that was spinning through the Avenir space station.

Vicky paused to rub her eyes. “How do you work like this? Another ten minutes, and I swear I’m going to hurl. By the way, I’ll make sure you experience that with me in all its multicolored glory.”

Anya’s eyes darted among the scenes of carnage. “You’re a doctor. Prescribe yourself an anti-nausea drug.”

“Oh, you are so funny.”

“The good news is that we’ve done as much as we can, for now. The colonists will have to take it from here. I only hope our assistance was enough to keep them from being completely overrun. Before you log out, double-check the lower levels…make sure the pest control agent is working. You may need to dispense another blast if spiders are still moving about.”

“Way ahead of you. Checking the last couple of ring segments now.” Vicky’s fingers paused on her console and she leaned forward to squint at one of the windows, tilting her head to bring it into alignment. “Whoa. That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“Enforcers who aren’t running away. They’re at a corridor intersection, having an argument with some raggedy bum, and there’s a skid next to them with bodies piled on it.”

“Those are probably unfortunates caught in the first swarm.”

“I’m zooming in on it. Monitor A-34. The Enforcers sure look angry. I wonder if...ohmigod.”

“Now what?”

“Miss Sherikov…the bodies…they’re children.”

“Children? Let me see that. Perhaps the shabby fellow is their guardian, and he’s angry with the Enforcers for failing to protect them. Ah, there’s an audio tap nearby. Maybe that will shed some light on what’s happening.”

The Enforcer who seemed to be in charge stood scowling at the ragged man, arms crossed over his chest. Anya and Vicky could hear his gravelly voice now: “I told you, no payment until the end user certifies the goods. Doll-quality is worth four times whatever we have to dump into the labs. We’re not paying top credits for substandard material.”

Anya’s eyes narrowed, and she whispered a curse in Russian.

“That wasn’t the deal.”  The bum jabbed a finger at the Enforcer’s face. “I’m not waiting for some pasty-faced accountant to cull this lot to fit his budget.”

One of the other Enforcers was moving the bodies around on the skid, lifting up arms and legs. “Hey! This one’s got a club foot, Harry!”

“Do tell. I doubt it’s the only one. Forget it, Beadle. You’ll wait ’til the quality check’s complete.”

Vicky turned her seat around and leaned against Anya, arms gently encircling her shoulders. “Doll-quality? Labs? Material? What are they talking about?”

Anya pushed her away. “I need you to go check on John. Make sure he’s integrating properly. I’ll finish up here.”

“He’s fine. Father Sukahara sent me a progress report a few minutes ago. I figure they’re on their third pot of tea by now, which means Milton’s getting the nightingale story in all its painful detail.”

“Check him anyhow.”

“No. I want to know what those Enforcers are up to. The whole situation is sketchy, and you’re avoiding my questions.”

Anya spun around, nose-to-nose with Vicky. “If you don’t leave this instant, Victoria, I will isolate you from the network.”

Vicky backed away, eyes wide. “All right, all right. I’ll go. No need to get violent.”

“I’ll explain everything later. Out!”

Vicky’s avatar vanished, her voice trailing behind. “Just don’t expect me to stop asking.”

Anya returned her attention to the argument on screen. Flesh traffickers. Preying on children. They were usually more discreet. It was the first time she’d caught them in the act—and they’d chosen a singularly poor location for their little spat.

I’m sorry, dear one, but I can’t let you see what happens next.

Anya’s fingers flew across her console. The sphere of monitors was replaced by a single red-tinted display, front and center. With a grim smile, she aligned its flashing reticle on the nearest man.

Swordplay

by Jeff C. Carter

Councilman Moab placed a sheet over two bodies.  The third, a bloody man in a hospital gown, he left exposed.

Lancet held a gel pack to his bruised face and neck. “Is it over?”
 

“My men haven’t reported any other attacks.  We’ll have to review the vids and body counts before we know for sure,” Moab sighed.  “Two good men, dead for nothing.  What a waste.”

“And my family’s koto,” Lancet added.  He knelt down and picked through the wreckage of a shattered musical instrument on the floor of his chamber.

“Let me see the telemetry from your sword,” Moab said.

Lancet stood and slipped off a black silk sash, a priceless creation from the nanoforges of Avenir.  It snapped into the shape of a long blade.  Lancet turned it downward and a crisp holographic display mushroomed up from the butt of the sword’s handle.

In the floating movie, a scaled down version of Lancet darted down a hallway and severed an attacker’s arm. “Notice how he felt no pain,” Lancet said. The other man continued to lunge and swing.  A blur of information speckled the hologram as facial recognition software and DNA analysis overlapped.

A file photo of the man appeared along with his I.D. and personal history. “This says he was a patient at St. Christina’s Clinic for the Neuro-Atypical,” Lancet read. With a twist of the sword’s grip the playback streaked forward through Lancet’s other battles, completing a grid of I.D. photos in the air. 

“All from the clinic,” Lancet said.

“Do you think it was some kind of mass psychosis?” Moab wondered.

Lancet pulled his shirt taut, revealing a bloody handprint with smeared fingers that the killer had imprinted there. “No.  They seemed too orchestrated.  They rallied around this symbol.  The mark of Rahab.”

Moab nodded. “I saw that on the walls.  They had a battle cry, too.  ‘Rahab is death’.  It seems too organized to be psychosis but too sloppy for proper terrorism.  Perhaps they belonged to a cult?”  

Lancet pulled the sword to his chest and it slithered back into a sash and fastened around his ribs.  He walked over to the uncovered body. “This one claimed to have been a former servant of mine.  He had just killed my guard when your man arrived and put a round in the back of his head.  I thought it was over, but somehow he managed to get back up and kill your man, too.”

Moab rolled the body over with his boot and peered into the deep gunshot wound. “It sounds like he was unstoppable.  So then…why did he stop?”

Lancet grinned. “His old control chip kicked in.  A servant cannot kill his master.”

Moab walked to the transparent wall and peered into space. “What a senseless act.  And two good men, dead.  What a waste,” Moab sighed. He looked down at the broken instrument at their feet. “And your koto as well, of course. I know you wanted to pass that on to your heirs.”

Lancet scowled down at the barren, hostile planet below. “The only thing I want to give my heirs is a world worth having.”

Shadow

by Kat Heckenbach - 

Robynn’s legs cramped from kneeling behind the support column. And leaning against the cold metal wall was making her back ache. Why hadn’t Gavin come out of that man’s room yet?

And he was a man, Robynn had decided. He had to be. The no-blinking thing was creepy, but his eyes were far too human to belong to a droid. And no self-respecting droid builder would have made bangs so shaggy…

The door swooshed open and Robynn flinched, her heart suddenly fluttering like a hummingbird’s. She peeked around the column. Gavin leaned through the doorway and peered down the corridor. Then he stepped through; the door swooshed closed behind him.

Robynn stood and stepped out into view, arms crossed, as Gavin crept past. “What were you doing in there?” she whispered through clenched teeth. She smiled as Gavin jumped.

His eyes narrowed, distorting his little boy features. “None of your business, Robynn Shadow.”

The words hit Robynn like a brick. Gavin had never used that name for her. The other kids called her that, of course. “Robynn Shadow in the shadows…hiding, hiding…in the shadows…” Because she didn’t like being the center of attention—as if there was something wrong with that! She wasn’t hiding. And she didn’t care what they thought anyway.

But, Gavin…

Anger surged. Hurt anger that clawed its way out as tears burned her eyes. “Fine, Gavin Talker, do what you like!” She spun and stomped down the corridor.

“Robynn, wait!” His footsteps pounded behind her.

She could have easily outrun him, even out-walked, with her long legs and his short ones. But she didn’t speed up, and in moments he was next to her.

He tugged her arm. “I’m sorry. Please, Robynn.”

She stopped and looked down at him. His eyes were wide.

“I can’t tell you what I was doing here. No one can find out. Only Ave knows…and if she trusts me, then you should, too.” He squeezed her arm tighter. “And I’m sorry I called you that. I know you hate Shadow as much as I hated Talker.”

“Hated? What, you like it now?”

He smiled then, his wide eyes lighting up and his cheeks pushing out. “Course not! The kids’ll probably still call me that, but it’s not my name anymore, not for real.”

Robynn scrunched her mouth to one side. “So let’s hear it,” she said. “What’s your ‘real’ name?”

His eyes shifted down. “Okay, it wasn’t my idea…I know it sounds kinda strange…but it’s a real Earth name.” He looked up again. “Collodi.”

Robynn tilted her head, tightening her brow. “You mean like Carlo Collodi? The guy that wrote Pinocchio?”

“Pinocchio?”

“It’s an ancient story. About a man who doesn’t realize he wants a son, but he makes this puppet that becomes a real boy—because they love each other so much.”

Gavin stared at her, wide-eyed again, lip quivering.

Robynn knelt down. “Are you okay?” she asked as she wiped a tear from his cheek.

He nodded and smiled. “Very.”

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."

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."

Anthem

by Fred Warren -

“Let’s review. Little ones, what’s your job?”

Three hands shot up. “Begging!”

“But we have to be polite,” said Jeremy.

Molly nodded. “No grabbing or screaming.”

“Tears and sniffles are okay,” Pip chimed in.

Smith clapped his hands. “Excellent. Stay where you can see Kate, and do not leave the marketplace with any of the marks, even if they promise to take you home and adopt you. If they tell you that, bring them to me, and say I’m your guardian, understand?”

“Yes, Smith.”

“That’s my clever poppets. Now, Charlie and Cecile. Your turn.”

Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored with the whole affair. “I take the near side and Cecile takes the far side. We stroll around and stay casual. Look for the big’uns.”

Cecile fiddled with a lock of blonde hair and recited her part: “When we find a mark, we lift one thing and take a roundabout path to drop it in Kate’s bag.” She scowled at Charlie. “One thing. Last time, you got greedy and nearly got us all caught by the Enforcers.”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

Smith waved them down. “All right, that’s enough, you two. Charlie, she’s right. The marks are smarter these days, and some of them are just waiting for us to dip a finger in their pocket. Make sure they’re distracted, then in, out, and away. As for you, Cecile, I need you to concentrate. Sometimes it seems like you’re really shopping, not just pretending to.”

The hair-twisting accelerated. “I’m sorry. There are so many interesting things. It’s hard not to look. I’ll try.”

“Good girl. Kate will be at the center with the drop bag, playing crier for the fishmonger. As for me, I’ll be working the margins, the standoffish folk who can’t decide if they’re too good to mix with us rabble. If there’s any trouble…”

Five voices replied in chorus. “Bolt for the safe spot!”

“That’s right. Everyone’s on their own then. No heroes. If Kate and I can help, we will, but I want the rest of you to scuttle out of there like prime racing beetles and never look back.”

Kate plucked at his elbow. “It’s time, love.”

“Very well. Let’s keep our wits about us. Be light-fingered and pitiful. Tonight, we feast!”

#

Smith would have preferred a larger raiding party, but there’d been more Enforcer presence of late, and one of the beetle-meat vendors had missed the carcass they nicked last time. Some of the merchants, like the fishmonger, were friends and allies, but a few wouldn’t hesitate to turn Smith and his entire brood over to the authorities if there was any profit at all in it.

“Salt-Cod-Ohhh! Fifty the kilo!” Kate’s voice trilled over the market’s hubbub, bringing a smile to Smith’s lips. He could think of only one sound he liked better. Best not to dwell on that. He tugged on his cap and scanned the crowd. No Enforcers on patrol today, thank heaven. The little ones, with tearstained faces and outstretched hands, intercepted customers who’d just made purchases and were struggling with the change.

Meanwhile, Charlie and Cecile were threading their way among the shoppers crowding the aisles between stalls. Charlie paused to pull something from the pocket of a corpulent man who was arguing with a cloth merchant. Smith was relieved to see he didn’t double-dip but moved smartly along. Only a practiced eye would have noticed anything amiss. Cecile was focusing on the womenfolk, tapping a succession of purses and waist packs, twirling along like a ballerina. She had promise, that one.

Suppose I’d best earn my keep, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Smith sidled up to a well-dressed gentleman who was perusing a counter stacked with colorful insect shells. “Fine selection here, Guv’nor. Needin’ something special for the lady of the house?”

The man didn’t even look at him. “Yes, confound it. My Joanna is simply mad about these shells. It’s the latest fad. Her friends use them to serve party favors and appetizers. Rather disgusting, to my way of thinking, but she won’t be denied.”

“They do add a spot of color.” Smith leaned over to whisper in the man’s ear, simultaneously reaching for his back pocket and the wallet bulging there. “But if you’re looking for the best price, you ought to speak with Miz Whitman, four stalls down.”

“Indeed? Why, thank you. I’ll do that.”

“Happy to be of service. Enjoy your…” Smith frowned. Something had caught his sleeve. From the corner of his eye, he could see a thin, pale man standing behind his mark. The fingers that were holding onto his shirt shifted to grasp his forearm. The grip was strong. Inhumanly strong.

Gritty ash. The twit had a Frank watching his back.

The cyborg tapped the gentleman’s shoulder. “Master, this man tried to steal your wallet. I’ve sent a message to the Enforcers. Shall I restrain him until they arrive?”

“My wallet?” The man fumbled at his back pocket, then turned to glare at Smith. “Thief!” He backhanded him across the face, drawing blood. “Stinking low-deck trash! Hold him tight, Sixty-Three.”

Smith tried to bolt, but the Frank wouldn’t budge. It was like being handcuffed to a post. He hoped Kate was sending the children out of the market. She wasn’t shouting out her advertisement for fresh fish any more. No one else in the crowd seemed to have taken notice, but he knew the Enforcers would arrive in moments, and his heart sank as he writhed in the cyborg’s steely grip.

Then he heard something strange—and familiar. The market’s babble stilled. Every eye sought the ethereal music, children’s voices wafting through the air, raised in song.

A pilgrim race, we wandered long
Through endless night and barren space
’Til whale’s eye and angel’s song
Revealed you here, our resting place

Arise, Avenir Eclectia
Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia
Be strong, Avenir Eclectia
Live on, Avenir Eclectia

There, at the entrance to the marketplace, stood Ave, surrounded by a ragged choir of orphans, their faces tilted upward, eyes closed, countenances radiant.

They sang the anthem over and over again, as the crowd listened in reverent silence. A woman standing near Smith wept, her hands pressed to her face. Even the Frank was transfixed. His grip on Smith’s arm slowly relaxed, then released altogether. Smith leaped to one side, shedding his coat as the cyborg snatched at it, too late.

As he sprinted for the exit, Smith took one final, backward glance at Ave.

Their eyes met, and she smiled.

Rose

by Fred Warren -

I would show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood, shedding on her secluded path in life soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it with her, and shone into their hearts.

Smith’s palm light flickered, and he knocked the device against his knee to restore its pale glow. The energy cell was failing. He’d need to steal another tomorrow, but it would last long enough for him to finish. He flipped the final page in his tattered copy of Oliver Twist.

Kate brushed away a few bits of litter, sat down beside him on the floor of the corridor, and leaned back against the wall, wrapping her skirts around her legs, her breath fogging in the chill air. “Moppets are tucked away for the evening, and the guard’s posted.”

“Thanks, love.”

She peered over his shoulder. “Thinking on Ave again?”

“How did you know?”

“When she’s on your mind, you read that last chapter over and over again. Surely you’ve memorized it by now?”

“I want to remember her as she was. Kind, sweet, and sensible—if I’m the Artful Dodger, she was Rose Maylie.”

“And yet you parted ways. You’ve never told me why.”

“She fell ill. Fever, pain, delirium. After she recovered, she began going off by herself, down to the deepest levels of the station. She told me she’d had a vision—there were angels on Eclectia, and they’d chosen her for a great mission. She needed to stay as close to the planet as possible so she could hear their instructions.”

“Is that all? Hardly the most eccentric behavior we’ve ever encountered.”

“She became obsessed. Before, it was just me, her, and the other orphans, living one day at a time, getting by. I hoped...I even dared to plan for the future. Our future, together. After the fever, she started talking like a revolutionary, saying things needed to change, humming that idealistic old colonial hymn everywhere she went. We argued. She took the half the children to wherever she goes to commune with the angels.”

“I caught a glimpse of her a few turns in-station from the passenger terminal last week, sending her moppets to beg, same as us.” Kate shrugged. “If she’s planning a revolution, I think she’ll need larger soldiers.”

Smith sighed and slid the book back into his pocket. “The children still worship her, even the ones who stayed with me. I’m afraid one day she’ll lead them all on some foolish crusade to right all the wrongs of Avenir, protected only by their pure hearts and her angels. She’ll get them all killed or turned into little wind-up dolls for the aristocrats, just like Wallace said.”

Kate surveyed the filthy, corroded corridor. “She’s a mite older than you—perhaps the weight of responsibility weighs heavier on her shoulders. Can’t say I disagree about things needing to change around here.”

Smith shook his head. “The only way to save them is to help them survive to adulthood and steer clear of the gangs. They may have to work the mines or hunt beetles, but they’ll be able to make their own choices and fend for themselves. In the meantime, a few...the smart ones, the pretty ones, the lucky ones...might become Olivers and find themselves a real life where they’ll never be cold and hungry again.”

“Fewer ladies or gentlemen of means venture down here each Founding. I think we frightened off a couple of likely marks during our last raid. Poor timing, that.”

A soft whistle echoed down the corridor, followed by two more, louder each time.

Smith stood up and dusted himself off. “Poor timing all ’round. Blasted Enforcers picked a fine night for a random patrol. Wake the babes, Kate. Two levels down, four corridors outward ought to be enough.”

She scurried away as Smith began to gather their few possessions. And what of us, Ave? he wondered. What will our fate be?

No matter how many times he read the ending, the Dodger landed in prison.

Alone.

Lullaby

by Grace Bridges -

“Sing us a song, Ave!” The clutch of four-year-olds stared at her with demanding eyes, clustering around their ringleader, a tiny girl with blue eyes and golden hair wrapped in a ragged, patched spider-wool blanket.

Ave adjusted her position sitting against the wall, and forced a grin. “What song do you want to hear?”

Felicia frowned, considering. “The one about Avenir, please.” The other little ones nodded.

Ave smiled, for real this time. They always picked that one. She began to hum, and the children hunkered down in their bedrolls. Finally she sang it out, her voice breaking at “Be strong, Avenir Eclectia.”

The words of the song echoed oddly from the conduits of the service corridor. Eyes drooped closed, faces grew slack, breathing grew calm. Ave sang the song through twice more, letting it comfort the inner ache that threatened to burst forth and overcome her just as ruthlessly as a sudden vacuum leak. She must be parent to these children and the rest, even though she had no family herself, knew nothing of parenting. Be strong…it was her only answer, even when she had no more strength.

What must it be like to have a father? A mother? Longing rushed up from a secret place within her, and her face crumpled suddenly. After a lengthy moment, she sighed and flicked a tear from her eye. It was no use wishing for what could not be.

“Don’t cry, Ave.” Felicia’s small hand found its way into hers, and she snuggled against Ave’s shoulder.

Ave kissed the top of the golden head and closed her eyes in thankfulness.

Missed Lift

by Kat Heckenbach -

The lift doors shut with a quiet hiss as Robynn watched the man—‘droid?—disappear around a corner at the other end of the corridor. She shook her head and jabbed the touch panel again, angry that she’d gotten so distracted and now had to wait on another lift when someone could come by at any moment and throw a fit about her being where she didn’t belong.

Angrier that Denton and Strand had abandoned her…

Angriest because she knew she didn’t dare say a word to them about it. She needed their protection. They were the toughest urchins she knew, besides Ave. But Ave couldn’t be around all the time to stop them—or anyone else—from picking on Robynn. Better to befriend the bullies than be bullied by them. It was a matter of survival.

Tears burned her eyes and she chewed at her lip. It wasn’t her fault she had no home, no parents. So why did she have to be treated like a stray dog?

The metal wall in front of her hummed, and a ping sounded with each change of number above the door. The lift was close. Robynn shifted her weight nervously from one leg to the other. Hurry up, hurry up…

And then movement caught in the corner of her eye. She snapped her head to the side, expecting to see a grown-up, someone ready to scream at her (filthy little urchin!), and threaten to call Level Security. But it was a boy, crossing past the end of the corridor.

She stepped away from the lift doors just as they opened and jogged along the edge of the wall. When she reached the end, she peeked around the corner.

He snuck along, glancing side to side, like he was playing “secret agent.” His clothes were clean, his hair trimmed, and he’d gained a few pounds, but Robynn still recognized him.

Gavin.

What was he doing here? Ave had told Robynn…well, something. It was always something. Excuses for why Gavin never seemed to be around.

Robynn skulked along the adjacent corridor, following as Gavin rounded the next corner. He stopped in front of a door and she ducked behind a support column, pressing her cheek against the cold metal.

The door opened, and Gavin stepped through. A man’s hushed voice said, “You weren’t followed?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re sure? There were some kids poking around earlier.”

“No, sir.”
A grunt, and then the man leaned his head and shoulders out the door, facing away from Robynn. She held her breath as he turned in her direction. It took everything she had not to gasp. It was him—the ‘droid!

Finding Freedom

by Kat Heckenbach -


“Piper, wait up!”

The voice echoed off the metal walls of the corridor behind her, distorted by the faint mechanical hum that filled this level. Piper stopped walking and turned around. Nik was jogging toward her, face solemn.

Piper spun on her heel and continued walking away from him. Why had she bothered stopping? Jerk.

“Piper, please! I’m sorry!”

Yeah, right. Her eyes burned suddenly, and she strained, willing tears not to form.

In moments she felt the heat of his presence behind her, matching her pace. His words came nearly breathless. “Please stop. I didn’t mean it.”

Piper inhaled, clenching her fists at her side. “Too little, too late, Nik.”

“I was just teasing. I didn’t know it meant so much to you. It’s just a rodent.”

Piper slammed to a stop and rounded to face Nik. “Not ‘it’ you heartless slug! He! And he is my best friend!” Her heart pounded, sending her pulse thrumming in her ear. Tears pushed past her lids against her will, but she ignored them.

Nik’s brows knitted together and he lifted his arms as if wanting to reach out to her. But he pulled them back and crossed them in front of his chest. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I came to help you find him.”

Piper searched his eyes and found genuine concern. She closed her eyes and nodded. Then warmth infused her as she felt his arms wrap around her shoulders. She sank into him, resting her head against his chest. “Thank you.”

He rubbed her back and she pulled away from him. He smiled down at her, his hair slipping out from behind his ear and hanging in front of one eye like a black curtain.

Piper took Nik’s hand and led him down the corridor. Tara had said she’d seen something small and brown skitter across the floor in an area just around the corner only twenty minutes ago. They reached the juncture and Piper let go of Nik’s hand. She dropped to her hands and knees. A shuffling thunk told her Nik had joined her.

They crawled around, peeking into any gaps in the metal walls, snaking around support beams.

“Here, Piper…” Nik’s whispered voice was filled with excitement.

Piper snapped her head to the side and saw Nik kneeling in front of a gap between wall panels, arms stretched out to his sides. She scooted over to him and peeked over his shoulder.

“Freedom! There you are!” She pushed past Nik and scooped the brown, furry bundle into her palms. No more than six inches from nose to the base of his tail, Freedom perched on his back legs, whiskers twitching. His long, slender tail wrapped around her fingers.

Piper touched her nose to the tiny pink one.

Nik chuckled. “You know, he’s actually kinda cute.”

Piper turned to him and smiled. “He’s the best.”

Nik bit his lip as his eyes shadowed. “He’s from the planet, isn’t he?”

Piper swallowed and looked away. Was she ready to tell him everything? Indecision roiled inside her as Nik moved closer.

“We’ve been together for seven months, Piper. I’ve never asked you about your past.”

She forced out, “I know.”

He waited in silence. She felt his gaze, imagined him staring at her profile. She closed her eyes.

“He’s from the planet, yes. So am I. My mom died when I was young. My dad was a bug hunter. He was killed. I was alone…starving. Pretty soon the traffickers had their eye on me. I couldn’t bear the thought of ending up someone’s…” Her voice cracked, but she steeled herself and continued. “I stowed away on a cargo shuttle from the planet to Avenir.”

Nik’s hand touched her shoulder…the gentlest touch she’d ever felt besides Freedom’s nuzzling. She realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. They dripped off her chin and landed on her open hands, on Freedom.

“Was he your pet while you lived down there?”

She shook her head. “I found him at the loading dock. I was sneaking around, trying to figure out how to get into the shuttle. I’d set my pack down—my last piece of lavabread was in the pocket. Freedom snatched it and ran off with it. I chased him.” Piper smiled at the memory and stroked Freedom’s fur. She raised her eyes to meet Nik’s gaze. “He led me to the rear hatch, and then straight to the perfect hiding place.”

Nik stared, amazement shimmering in his blue eyes. “So that’s why his name’s Freedom? Because—” He stopped, as if the next word had caught in his throat, and then looked down at the brown rodent in Piper’s hands and smiled.

Wizards’ War

by Holly Heisey -

Iri looked up from where she crouched feeding days-old mush to a rib-thin orphan boy. Shouts were coming down the corridor, educated voices. She stood to yell for the dozen or so orphans to disperse—

But the shouting men reached the corridor junction. One, gray-haired and flabby, stabbed a finger directly at her.

“You’re exploiting them—children!—in your mad ploys to get ahead of us!”

The second man she knew: Drake, the good wizard. “And your experiments with the Happy Bin are ethical? We don’t learn of an encounter until you’ve already spun the report your way.”

“Spin my reports?” The older man must also be a wizard, though Iri hadn’t seen this one around. “You’re training a bloody army to your own perverted way of thought. Sick! Sick!”

Iri—Whales protect her—could not help stepping out. “Drake saves us.” The two men stared at her. She licked her lips and forged on. “He gives us meals for learning that will get us out of here.” She stepped closer, next to Drake.

Something hit Iri hard on the cheek and she spun before she could right her balance.

“Fool girl,” Drake hissed. “Stay out of our wars if you know your own good.”

Iri stared at the wizard, tears stinging her eyes. She had hoped…someone cared for them…

“You hit her!” The older wizard lunged for Drake—Drake whipped out a silvery tool and touched it to the older man’s chest. The older wizard collapsed, spasming.

Iri covered a yelp.

“I help you, yes,” Drake said, “but only those who can be helped.” He spun and strode off, his coattails swirling.

Iri crouched beside the older wizard.

“That man…is a poison,” he said.

Iri didn’t have anything to say to that. She needed to think. She needed to think long and hard about what—if anything—to do next.

“Help me up.”

Iri helped the older wizard to his feet and he swayed a moment before brushing off his rich brocade coat. “I’m Wizard Encimanion Coriander Peronnel,” he said. “You contact me if Drake ever tries to take one of you again.”

Iri didn’t have anything to say to that, either, but she nodded, and it satisfied the wizard enough for him to walk away. He didn’t give a second look at the orphans he almost crushed underfoot.

Blink

by Kat Heckenbach -

Robynn walked behind Denton and Strand, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched, peeking between their heads. If she wasn’t so tall for her age, she’d be terrified of the two older boys. But she passed herself off as older so they wouldn’t bully her like the other kids. Instead, they took her in, treating her almost like an equal. Almost.

She glanced around, nervous. They shouldn’t be in this corridor—urchins didn’t even belong on this level, where the rich lived and didn’t want to be reminded of the poor and homeless. If anyone saw them they’d probably be accused, and convicted, of stealing—even without evidence.

She should just turn around, slip back to the lift and go down to their own level. Who cares what they have to show me…it can’t be that big a deal…

Denton and Strand stopped suddenly, and Robynn nearly slammed into Denton’s back.

“There he is.” Denton cocked his head slightly to the left where a man walked toward them. Robynn sucked in a breath and pushed against the wall behind the boys.

“You really think he’s a ’droid?” Strand whispered, face turned so Robynn saw his profile. His eyes were wide.

Denton nodded. “Gotta be.”

Robynn bit down on her lip. The man was getting close now—why weren’t they leaving? Her stomach twisted as she willed herself to meld into the metal wall.

And then she noticed…the man wasn’t even looking at them. He was only a couple of yards away. He should’ve been glaring at them, calling to have them hauled off. But he just stared forward, until he stepped up next to them.

The man turned slowly—stiffly—toward them. Robynn ducked her head behind the boys like a turtle pulling into its shell.

“Are you lost?” the man asked. There was something odd about his voice…

Robynn sucked on her lip. Could it be? Was Denton right?

“No, sir,” Denton said. “We’re just heading back to our rooms.”

The man’s head tilted to the side, and then he gave a courteous nod. “Well, then, get going.” He stared as if waiting for them to move. Robynn noticed he didn’t blink.

Denton and Strand looked at each other, their faces straining as if holding back laughter, and then they moved forward, exposing Robynn.

She froze. The boys kept walking farther away, but she couldn’t make her feet move, or make her gaze break from the man’s face.

He leaned in, hands on his knees, and whispered. “Don’t worry, I won’t report you. Get back to your level, though, before someone else sees you.” His lips curled into a friendly smile. “Oh, and I’d make some new friends. Those boys aren’t too bright. They wouldn’t know a ’droid if it hit them in the face.”

“So you’re not?” The words slipped out before Robynn could stop them, and she bit her lip again.

“Of course not. I heard them whispering halfway down the corridor…and I’m just having a little fun with it.” His eyes narrowed, and he patted her shoulder. “You believe me, right? Ever heard of a ‘droid with a sense of humor? It’s not exactly something you can install.” He winked and straightened up.

Robynn relaxed, and nodded at the man. Then she headed down the corridor toward the lift. She stopped and hit the button. The doors to the lift opened, but Robynn didn’t step inside. She gazed down the corridor where the man had been standing…where he’d spoken to her, and smiled, and winked…

…but not once had he blinked.

Words

by Kat Heckenbach -

Gavin stood next to the wizard—gotta stop thinking that…he says he don’t mind, but if I slip up and say it out there he could get busted—who wiped his hand on his already smudged lab coat. Thick, black bangs hung in his eyes as he peered into a bubbling test tube. And he keeps tellin’ me I need a haircut.

The table in front of them was covered with odd-looking equipment that whispered with ticks and whirs. Shiny steel and tarnished brass competed for dominance between modern technology and—what’s that word Ave told me once…oh, yeah—Victorian.

“Dr. Spiner, tell me again why you use this old stuff? It looks archaic.”

The man peeked out from behind his bangs and gave the strange smile he always did when Gavin used words for older people.

“Newer isn’t always better, son. Especially when you’re studying things of such antiquity.” The wiz—scientist winked and looked back at the table, then reached for a spindly metal contraption without further explanation.

Antiquity was the kind of word no one but Ave would use when speaking to him, at least not without patting him on the head and giving him a dumbed-down definition. But Dr. Spiner had trusted him to understand. Gavin bit his lip to stop the grin that wanted to push his cheeks out with pride.

And then, as he climbed onto a stool for a better view, he realized Dr. Spiner had used another word no one had ever spoken to him before. A word that made his eyes burn pleasantly with tears.

Son.

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.

Dodger

by Fred Warren -

Smith leaned against the corridor bulkhead and smiled as Kate ladled out stew to the queue of ragged children, each waiting patiently for their portion. It had been a good raid--enough meat, vegetables, and water to sustain his little army for a week, maybe two. Maybe they ought to try for blankets next time—heat to the lower levels of the Avenir station had been intermittent the past few days. They could stitch some of the material into fresh clothing.

“You’re a fool, Smith.”

He slid a hand toward the knife in his back pocket, then relaxed as the speaker emerged from the shadows. “Evenin’, Wallace. Come for a bowl ‘o beetle? Kate’s in top form tonight, and it’s as fresh as it comes.”

“Already ate. Better’n this slop.”

“I doubt that. State your business, or begone.”

“Why’re you still playing nursemaid to this pack of sewer rats when you could be second in my gang and live like a king?”

A toddler circumvented the line and went straight to Kate, bowl outstretched. She administered a mock scolding, then filled his bowl anyway.

Smith chuckled and pointed at the child. “I like them. Better than I like you.”

“Whuzzat?” Wallace snatched at the pocket of Smith’s coat before he could react, coming away with a tattered book which he held up for inspection in the dim corridor lightglobe.

“Give that back!”

Wallace grinned, revealing a row of discolored teeth, several missing. “As I live and breathe…Oliver Twist! I remember when the wizards came and passed these around. Waste of time. Hardly any of us could read.”

“Enough could. Some of us still teach the young ones.” Smith grabbed the book from Wallace and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Rot and drivel, every word. But you believed it, didn’t you?”

Smith didn’t reply. He returned his attention to the children.

Wallace’s eyes lit up. “Aha, you still do! That’s why you won’t join up with me. You fancy yourself the Artful Dodger, watching over your band of adorable urchins. Do you line them up in the marketplace when the Welfare Society matrons come ‘round? Little tin cups and thumbs in their mouths, hoping some rich, barren hag makes an Oliver out of one of them?”

“Shut up, Wallace.”

“Now me, I always admired Bill Sikes. He was a man’s man, owed nothing to nobody.” He looked Kate up and down, running his tongue over blistered lips. “Saw something he wanted, he took it.”

“Sikes found himself dangling from the end of a rope.” Smith took a step to the left, putting himself between Wallace and Kate. “You keep mixing it up with the Peacekeepers, they’ll Frank you. You’ll spend the rest of your life with a head full of chips and wires, scrubbing toilets for those barren hags you despise.”

“You think they don’t do the same to the little cherubs they adopt? Rich folk want their pets obedient and housebroken.”

Smith seized Wallace by the collar and flung him down the corridor. “Get out of here. Don’t show your face on this Level again, unless you want it rearranged.”

“Last chance, Smith. Drop the apron, and be your own man. I won’t ask again.”

“You have my answer.”

Wallace straightened his jacket, locked eyes with Smith for a moment, and spit on the deck as he stalked away.

The children fed, Kate left the kettle to stand beside Smith as he watched Wallace vanish into the gloom. She slipped an arm around his waist. “Friend of yours?”

Smith shook his head. “No. Not any more.”

Never Again

by Kat Heckenbach -

Xavia fanned herself with her outspread hand and groaned. “Is it always so hot on this level?” Her jeweled bracelets clinked softly in rhythm with the movement of her arm. She wrinkled her nose as she scanned the marketplace around her. Bare metal, garish lighting. Commoners scuttling around the meatmongers’ stands like the beetles whose meat they were there to purchase. “Why did I let you talk me into this, Tomi?”

Tomika rolled her eyes and tucked a tress of long black hair behind her ear. “Aren’t you at all curious about what goes on down here? Where things come from? How they get here?”

“Not at all,” Xavia said as they shuffled forward with the crowd. “As long as it’s on my plate and cooked the way I ask…which reminds me, I need to put in an official complaint about the chef at—”

A scream broke the surrounding chatter, and Xavia clamped her hand onto Tomika’s arm. “What’s going on?”

The mass of people in front of them shifted, but Xavia could see nothing except their backs.

Tomika pulled free of Xavia’s grasp and climbed up on a bench, her high heels ringing the metal seat. She peered over the crowd and then stepped down. “Looks like a gang fight at the other end.”

“You’re kidding me! On our level something like that would never—”

The crowd suddenly surged back, forcing Xavia and Tomika against the table behind them. Xavia reached back to steady herself, and swallowed a scream of revulsion as her hand slid into something firm but…slimy.

She lifted her hand and turned around. A beetle the size of a dinner plate lay on its back, legs splayed. Its belly was pried open, revealing a swell of glistening pink flesh.

“Ugh, oh, Tomi…I knew they were big, but…”

“Xav…” Tomika’s voice came from behind Xavia’s left shoulder. “That one’s just a baby.”

Xavia spun to face her friend and narrowed her eyes. “Take me home.”

A Matter of Hunger

by Grace Bridges -

Smith loitered in a dim corner of the Level 18 marketplace and chewed on his last lavabush seed. There’d be no more until another freighter docked—and then only if he was in the right place to catch any that dropped during transfer.

He peered along the row of meatmongers, noting which had shelled their wares already and which merely laid out the sections of beetle carapace with the meat still inside. He preferred the ready-to-cook variety, because it was quicker to “dispose of,” and there would be no evidence except in their stomachs.

A rumble within reminded him to be quick about his task or he’d lose the opportunity. He gave the signal agreed for today—three sharp raps on the nearest support strut. At the metallic clangs, two dozen ragged children emerged from the shadows, roughly grouped in two gangs who proceeded to charge at each other with full-throated yelling and blood-curdling screams.

The merchants, fearing the worst, ducked for cover and ran into the outer passage. The crowd of shoppers rolled back in waves with cries and screams. Smith darted along the tables as he unrolled his antigrav sack. Slab after slab of the best beetle steak slid into its dark maw.

He paused only once to look up at the staged fight—the kids actually enjoyed this, he could tell, and grinned at their exaggerated anger and fake punches.

Smith stuffed one more massive steak into the bag and pulled it along in the air behind him to a little-used service corridor. He tapped a strut to signal dispersal of the battle, then slipped inside a hatchway with the treasure clutched tight.

Tonight, the children would eat.

Bedtime Stories

by Greg Mitchell -

“Daddy? Tell me about the angels.”

Dressler pulled the covers to Edilyn’s neck, red light from the small bunker window painting her face in harsh contrast. The sound of dirt and grit scraped against the pane glass, a constant white noise that Dressler had all-but tuned out.

“Come on, Lyn,” he sighed. “Not tonight. You really need your rest.”

Through bleary eyes, she beseeched him. “I feel fine, Dad.”

A sharp pang pierced his spirit.

Three years old and she’s braver about this than I am.

“I don’t really want to,” Dressler grinned, his nose and eyes burning with tears that he kept barred.

“Please, Daddy,” the little girl begged, reminding him of all the little things in life she’d begged for. New toys, a special treat. A million trivial things he’d taken for granted. Things that would be left behind when she was gone.

Dressler cursed in his heart. Better do it. Better savor these moments. You won’t have much opportunity before long.

“Okay,” he relented, and the girl’s feet squirmed under the covers, her face brighter than 94 Ceti. “The angels are beautiful creatures that live in the ocean depths.”

“How did they get there?” she immediately asked her usual question.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ve always been there. Maybe they came from somewhere else.”

“A boy in my class said they have magic,” she nodded eagerly. “Is that true, Daddy?”

“That’s what I hear, but I’ve never seen one for myself,” he chuckled. “I guess that’s why we have stories. Sometimes believing in a thing is more important than the thing itself. Does that make sense?”

She shook her head no.

“Yeah,” he huffed. “Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me most of the time, either.”

Pausing, Edilyn furrowed her brow, the soft shush-shushing of the windswept sands comforting, even in Eclectia’s tumultuous storms. “Daddy . . . Could the angels make me not sick?”

Dressler’s chest tightened, his breathing short. He bit on his lip, forcing his emotions back. He’d cry later, after Edilyn was asleep. He’d cry ‘til morning. “I don’t know, Lyn,” he whispered in a raw croak. “But I’d like to believe.”

Midnight Song

by Kat Heckenbach -


“Sir, they’re singing.”

Spiner looked up from his lab table and found the boy staring through the tiny porthole into the pitch black of space. Surely he’d heard wrong…

“Singing, Gavin? What are you talking about?”

Gavin tilted his head to the side, but didn’t answer.

Spiner propped his chin on steepled hands and stared at the young apprentice. The boy’s freshly cut hair held the slightest curl at the back of his neck. His shirt still hung like a sack on his wiry frame despite weeks of eating four full meals a day. Fortunately he devoured knowledge as easily as he did food and had proven very quickly that Spiner made the right decision by taking him in.

Gavin sighed and turned around. “It’s stopped now.”

Spiner shook his head. “What—?”

“The sea angels,” Gavin said. “The ones Ave told me about, down on the planet. I felt it the other day, but didn’t know where it was coming from. But just now, I realized, it’s them. Not singing with sounds…” He bit his lip, and searched Spiner’s face with his gaze. Finally, his eyes brightened. “They sing emotions. They were singing…joy.”