My next stop was the learning center, a wide floating stage where my personal hero, the Dr. Sally Nesbit, would give a welcome speech in about thirty minutes. In the meantime, the rest of the astral physics team used a slideshow to explain how natural stars were formed. I already knew the answer—giant clouds of dust and gas rotating and colliding to form a dense core, blah, blah, blah—so I tuned out the lesson until it was over. Then an announcement came over the speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the woman who started it all, the one, the only, the inventor of the Fasti stars…Doctor Sally Nesbit!”
I bounced in excitement as a hole opened up in the stage floor and Dr. Nesbit’s brown head appeared. She rose higher onto the platform, and I waved, hoping to catch her eye. But oddly, she wasn’t looking at me—or at anyone else in the crowd. Her gaze was fixed on some random point in the distance. I glanced over my shoulder to see what had caught her attention, but there was nothing back there except a horizon of mud.
That was strange.
I squinted at Dr. Nesbit’s face. Was it my imagination, or did she look a little pale? The longer I watched her, the more I wondered if she was nervous, or sick, or just having a bad day. Because her forehead was glistening with sweat. (More sweat than the rest of us, anyway.) And instead of her usual “chill” stance, with one hip cocked to the side and both hands clasped in front of her, she was wringing her fingers like she was worried. She didn’t even wave to the crowd. If I didn’t know better, I would think Fasti was the last place she wanted to be.
“Welcome,” she told us. “And, um, thank you for…for coming.” Her gaze wandered to the horizon again, and she began scratching the back of her neck. “I…uh…I’m glad…to…uh…”
I leaned forward, willing her to finish the sentence, but she never did.
One of the other physicists, a short blond man with a ponytail, stepped forward. “You’ll have to forgive Doctor Nesbit. She’s a bit under the weather today.” At that, Dr. Nesbit gave the man an awkward smile as if to say Yep, it’s true. The blond man introduced himself. “I’m her assistant, Doctor Reed. I know you’ve come here to listen to a speech, but why don’t we skip straight to the Q and A, since that’s the best part. If you have questions for Doctor Nesbit, I’ll take them now.”
My hand shot instantly into the air, and I made the kind of intense eye contact that my teachers called “uncomfortable.”
Dr. Reed pointed at me. “Yes, young man. What’s your name?”
I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered, “Kyler. Kyler Centaurus.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “What’s your question, Tyler?”
“It’s actually Kyler,” I corrected. “I was the student who won the essay contest last year. Remember, Doctor Nesbit? You called me and we talked about…” I trailed off because I’d been too nervous to remember the call. “Never mind, not important. You explained how stars are formed in nature, but what about man-made stars? How do you create enough pressure to form a protostar core? What materials and equipment do you use? And how long does the process take from start to finish?”
Dr. Nesbit glanced at me, but she didn’t seem to remember who I was. I fought off a wave of disappointment, telling myself she had more important things on her mind than a short conversation she’d had last year with one boy.
“I’m sorry,” she said to me. “Those are very intelligent questions, but the answers are proprietary.”
“Proprietary,” added her assistant, “means a secret, Tyler.”
“Yeah, I know what it means,” I said. And my name wasn’t Tyler. But whatever. “Can you tell us how you keep the man-made star in a shrunken state until it reaches its new home?”
Dr. Nesbit shook her head. “Sorry. That’s also proprietary.”
I sighed. Whatever happened to working together, to sharing research and helping the next generation of young scientists, like me? “Okay,” I said, trying to stay positive. “Can I take a tour of the lab? I’d love to see where you build the stars, even if you can’t tell me your secrets.”
“As much as I’d like to do that, I’m afraid our lab facilities are—”
“Let me guess,” I muttered. “Proprietary.”
“—proprietary.”
Yep, I called it.
“But thank you for your participation, Tyler,” the blond assistant said.
OMG, MY NAME WAS NOT TYLER.
After that, Dr. Reed chose a different person from the crowd to ask a question. I glanced around to see if anyone else shared my disappointment in not learning anything new, but all of the tourists seemed more interested in the next subject: whether Fasti stocks were a good money-making investment.
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why anyone would travel all the way to Fasti to ask about anything other than man-made stars. This festival was supposed to be a celebration of celestology, so where were all of my people? Where were the other wannabe celestologists? I had come here to find my tribe, to meet others who wanted to talk about stars instead of stocks. People who would make me feel like I belonged. But looking around, the only people I saw were the kind of folks I had left behind on Earth.
My shoulders sank. Maybe the problem wasn’t them. Maybe it was me.
Maybe I didn’t have a tribe.
I dragged my feet out of the so-called learning center and hung out on the fringes of the festival for the rest of the day, doing my best to convince myself that this trip hadn’t been a total waste of my time and freedom. When night fell and the sky turned to a purple haze, a timer appeared in the air above the festival, counting down the minutes until the big reveal.
I peered around for the best place to watch the presentation. It wasn’t like anyone’s head could block my view—there was no hiding a star, even in miniature form—but I wanted to get away from the crowd and witness the miracle of science all by myself, to protect the moment from those who would ruin it for me.
I decided to go back to my ship. The docking lot was mostly deserted, so no one would bother me there. I climbed on top of the Whirlwind’s hull and leaned back against the windshield with both arms folded behind my head. And then with nothing around me but the breeze in my hair, I watched the timer count down the seconds from five to zero.
Four…three…two…one.
I held my breath.
Silence fell. It was like the planet was holding its breath, too.
I turned my eyes to the heavens. Soft music played from distant speakers, a tinkling tune that swelled as fireworks rained sparkles across the sky. The music grew louder and more urgent. My heart raced, my gaze widening behind dark glasses. And there in the blackness of space, an enormous towing ship drifted away from the sun, creating a crescent of pure, blinding light. The sun pulsed like a beating heart, growing brighter with each throb, practically alive. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And when the star glowed full and uncovered, the music in the background hit a crescendo that raised chills all over my body. Gazing up in awe, I had to remind myself to breathe.
Oh yes, the trip had been worth it.
We made that star, I thought. Humans actually made that. Five hundred years ago we couldn’t travel beyond the moon, and now we were breathing new life into the cosmos by creating our own solar systems. How could anyone not tear up at the thought of it? I sure did. Emotion leaked from my eyes until the sun became a wet blur. I blotted my watery gaze and blinked up once more.
I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t notice I had company until I heard a sigh coming from the ship next to mine. I turned to find a girl sitting cross-legged atop a red ship with a white stripe painted down the middle. She was playing a holographic game, using her hand like a gun to shoot at three shimmery bubbles. Without even looking, she burst two of them with a musical pop. In the blazing light of day, I recognized the girl as the Wanderer who had yelled at me in the marketplace. But she seemed different now. Instead of a scowl, she wore a dreamy look on her f
ace.
“Mind-blowing, right?” she asked, still gazing at the star as she popped the last bubble. It was clear she’d known I was there the whole time, and I wondered why she didn’t say anything before. Or why she was being nice to me now. Maybe the heat from the sun had thawed her frozen heart.
“Yeah.” I faked a shrug, embarrassed by the moisture in my eyes. “I guess so.”
“That your ship?” she said, nodding at the Whirlwind.
“Yeah. Well, my family’s ship.”
“Nice.” She inched her glasses down the bridge of her nose and studied the hull. “Is that double reinforced?”
“Triple,” I corrected. “You can’t take chances with asteroids.”
“Don’t I know it,” she muttered under her breath.
“Oh, that’s right.” I mentally smacked my own forehead. Her people destroyed asteroids for a living. “Sorry. I forgot you’re an expert on asteroids.”
“No worries.” A hint of a smile played at her lips. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on you back there.” She thumbed toward the marketplace. “I get a lot of stares, usually not friendly. Makes me snippy sometimes. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Wanderers weren’t popular people. No wonder my gawking had put her on edge.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” I told her. “I’ve just never seen”—I searched for the right words—“a genetic mutation as cool as yours. I think it’s awesome how your body changed to make you better at surviving in space. You’re like science in action—a living, breathing example of the miracles nature can do.” My cheeks heated again. I hadn’t meant to go full dork on her. “I have a thing for science, if you can’t tell.”
After that she looked at me for the longest time, wrinkling her forehead as though she couldn’t decide how she felt about what I’d said. She went quiet for so many beats that I thought I’d ticked her off again. But then she stood up, took off toward me at a run, and leaped onto my ship with a celebratory whoop. In seconds, she was sitting cross-legged beside me.
“Figerella,” she said, extending a hand for me to shake. “Call me Fig.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. This girl had style, I’d give her that. I took her hand and squeezed it. “Kyler Centaurus,” I said. “Ky, for short.”
“Nice to meet you, Ky.”
“Same.”
“So where’s your family?” she asked.
I groaned. “It’s a long story.”
“It’s a long night.” She jutted her chin at the sun. “Or day, I guess, since the sun technically rose. Anyway, I’m in no hurry to go home.”
Neither was I, so I kicked back and told Fig about my last day on Earth.
“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up an index finger after I had described my accidental blastoff. “So you stole a spaceship…in your sleep?”
I laughed at the way she put it. “That sounds so much cooler than how it really went down. But yeah, I guess I did.” I scratched my chin, smiling. “Pretty sure that makes me the galaxy’s youngest master thief.”
“You could be a pirate legend.” She giggled. “A modern-day Blackbeard.”
“Hard pass,” I said. “Not a fan of pirates.” I was about to tell her the story of my own brush with ship thieves when I heard a familiar pair of voices talking right below the Whirlwind. I froze to listen, holding a finger over my lips in a signal for Fig to be quiet.
“Look!” a woman whisper-yelled. “Right there at the scratches on the loading-bay door! That’s from where we forced it open. It’s the same ship.”
My stomach dropped into my pants. I knew that voice—it was the redheaded pirate with the skull face.
“Huh,” a man said. “Why would the crew come here to be quarantined?”
I knew that voice, too—the fidgety good-looking guy with the gadgets strapped to his chest.
There was a meaty thud of fist against flesh, and the woman hissed, “Because there was no quarantine, you idiot. They lied to try to scare us away.”
“Ooooooh,” the man said.
Fig pointed down and mouthed, Friends of yours?
I shook my head and scanned the docking lot for Galaxy Guards…or private guards…or buff guys…or buff kids…or anyone at all who could help me. But no such luck. I had come here to be alone, and I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted. I had even shut down Cabe and stowed him in the utility closet so he wouldn’t freak out about the festival and try to plaster me to the ship. I might be able to activate him from my key fob, but could he open the hatch with his ropy hands?
I wasn’t sure.
Fig elbowed me, whispering, “What’s going on?”
I leaned in close to her ear. “Those are pirates,” I breathed, pointing down. “They tried to take my ship. I got rid of them and escaped, but they found me again.”
Fig bit her lip, deep in thought for a moment, before she glanced over her shoulder to the ship where she had sat a few minutes earlier. I followed the direction of her gaze and spotted a long, skinny box she must have left on the hull. Whatever was inside the box seemed to spark an idea for her.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she whispered.
I nodded for her to go on.
“If I can get rid of the pirates, you give me a ride to Earth.”
“Deal,” I said. I would’ve given her a ride anyway.
“Okay. Be right back.”
I didn’t know what I expected Fig to do, but it wasn’t to leap onto the next ship and pull something resembling a rocket launcher out of the long, skinny box she’d left there. In one easy motion, she hoisted the canister over one shoulder and shouted, “Yo ho, scalawags! Want to hear a joke? Why couldn’t the pirate sit down?”
“Whoa, whoa, what’re you doing?” yelled the redheaded woman.
“Stop messing around with that laser, kid,” hollered the man.
Fig told them, “Because he lost his booty!”
While the pirates kept clamoring for her to put down the cannon, Fig winked at me and said, “Get it? Booty? As in stolen treasure?” When I didn’t answer right away, because, you know, I was completely in shock, she added, “Pirate booty. See what I did there?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I see what you did there.”
“I thought it was funny.” She shrugged. “Oh, well.”
She peeked through a round scope mounted to the side of the cannon and took aim. A beam of red light shot from the barrel, forcing me to shield my eyes. I heard a sizzle and a bunch of pops. When I peeked between my fingers, smoke was rising from a hole in the docking lot, and the pirates were gone.
Holy mother of Einstein. Had she…vaporized them?
“Hope you can swim,” Fig hollered at the hole.
I craned my neck and found the pirates bobbing up and down like corks in the watery mud below the dock. A smile sprang to my lips. “That was amazing!”
Fig patted the weapon as if to say Good job. “That was only level one. This baby’s got ninety-nine more where that came from.”
“Whoa,” I breathed. If that was level one, I would hate to see what it could do on full power.
“We should get airborne,” she said, tucking the cannon back in its box. “Before someone calls security to report the—”
A siren interrupted her. I whirled toward the high-pitched wailing and recognized a Galaxy Guard air bike speeding toward us from the other end of the docking lot. The smoke from Fig’s laser cannon must have caught his attention, and now he was coming to investigate.
“It’s about time,” I said to Fig, but she wasn’t listening. Her face had gone white. “What’s wrong?” I asked her. “This is a good thing. Now the pirates will go to jail.”
Fig shook her head, her eyes flashing as they met mine. “This is not a good thing. Who’s the Galaxy Guard going to believe? Two adults—two human adults—floating in the mud, or the mutant kid who fired on them with an illegal blaster?”
“B
ut I’m human,” I argued. “I can back up your story about the pirates.”
She flung a hand toward the laser cannon. “And what about that?”
“Oh, right. The illegal blaster.” I’d forgotten that part. “Yeah, we should motor.”
“Forget what I said before,” she told me. “You’d make an awful pirate.”
“The worst,” I agreed. “I think I’ll stick with celestology.”
I jumped down from the windshield and keyed the entrance code into the loading-bay door. It lowered with a mechanical whine until it touched the landing pad, covering the hole the pirates had fallen into and muffling their shouted curses. Fig handed me the blaster case so she could climb down from the other ship. Meanwhile, the Galaxy Guard air bike had closed half the distance of the docking lot, near enough for me to make out the lettering on the rider’s chrome helmet. It read OFC Zen.
“Halt,” Officer Zen called through his helmet speaker. “Close your vehicle door and stand aside with both hands in the air.”
“Not likely, buddy,” Fig said as she passed me up the docking ramp. She helped me haul the laser cannon into the loading bay, then she punched the button to close and seal the door before jogging up the stairs to the main level. “The pilothouse is on the top floor, right?”
I chased after her. “Yeah. But it’ll take me a minute to set the auto—”
“Forget the autopilot,” she told me. “I’ll fly her myself.”
“You can fly a cruiser?”
“In my sleep,” she said, skidding to a stop in front of the pilot’s seat. “My people don’t live on the ground, remember? I was born on a cruiser.” She took a moment to glance at the controls as she sat down. “This ship has fingerprint recognition. You’ll have to give me flight privileges.”
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