Clearly he meant me. I began to understand how Fig felt when she spent time around humans.
“You there, boy,” the captain said to me. He snapped his fingers as if trying to remember something. “Your name is Skylar, right?”
“Um, it’s Kyler, actually.” I shrugged, not wanting to poke the bear. “But no worries. Close enough.”
“Tell me the news from Earth, Skylar,” he went on. “Last I heard, our Council of Wanderers wanted to meet with your United Nations to negotiate the right for our people to come and go as we please. Has that happened yet?”
“Not yet,” I told him. “But soon. I think the meeting is supposed to take place in a couple of days.”
I didn’t mention that the only reason I knew this information was because of all the doom-and-gloom news coverage surrounding the meeting. A lot of major networks kept interviewing “experts” who claimed the Wanderer population would use too much of Earth’s resources and lead to the downfall of mankind. (Way to overreact.) Others warned that if Wanderers were allowed on Earth, they might marry humans and create a new generation of mutant babies. Which sounded pretty cool to me, but the point was, the news was doing a bang-up job of getting humans all frothy about Wanderers for a bunch of bogus reasons.
“I hope it works out,” I added. “I never thought it was fair, the way Wanderers were cut off from Earth all those years ago. It would be cool if you came back.”
Right away, I knew I’d said the wrong thing. The captain clenched his teeth, similar to the way my father did when he was mad, but harder, and with an unsettling muscle twitch in his jaw. From somewhere in the background, a couple of the crew members groaned.
“Do you, Skylar?” the captain asked. “Do you think it would be cool if we returned to the original planet?”
That seemed like a trick question, so I stayed quiet.
“Do you think it would be cool,” he continued, “for us to return to a world that rejected us simply because we had the courage to leave? A world that spent the last five hundred years treating us like cockroaches because we developed abilities that they lack? A world that allows us to be enslaved for corporate greed? Do you think that would be cool?”
“Uh…” I cringed. “Maybe? I mean, not the enslavement part, but the going home part. If that’s what some Wanderers want?”
He scoffed at me. “My people don’t know what they want.”
Fig spoke up, but in a small voice that cracked on the first note. “Yes, we do. We want the freedom to—”
“Let me rephrase,” the captain interrupted loud enough to make everyone in the room flinch. “My people don’t know what’s good for them. They don’t understand that we’ve outgrown humanity, that we’re better than our ancestors were—stronger, fitter. Our bodies are made to live in space now. It’s the universe that nourishes us, not Earth. The universe is our destiny, our goddess. Returning to the original planet would drag us backward, no different than if humans returned to the trees to live as primates.”
His family nodded in agreement. One of them said, “Amen.”
“It sickens me, the way my people hoard relics from Earth,” the captain spat, his upper lip curling. “Clinging to their ancient books and their pictures of oceans and landscapes, thinking of these things as an anchor to their past. Those relics are nothing but anvils around their necks.”
“Excuse me.” I raised my hand, classroom-style. “What’s an anvil?”
The captain huffed in frustration, but he seemed more irritated with himself than with me. “Of course you don’t know what an anvil is. It’s an outdated reference, proof that not even I can escape our ties to ancient Earth.”
I was about to point out that he hadn’t answered my question when he added, “That’s why I burned every single Earth-made object that my ancestors brought on board this ship. All of them—films, clothing, photographs, music files, games. Oh, and books, of course.”
Books?
I gasped so hard I nearly collapsed my own lungs. Horrified, I wrenched my gaze to Fig, who didn’t look nearly surprised enough for my own comfort.
The Holyoakes burned books?
I couldn’t think of many things worse than that. For the first time, I wondered if it really was possible that Wanderers had stolen the Fasti star. Because you know who else burned books? Dictators and tyrants—the kind of people who were okay with wiping out anyone who stood in their way. But I took a breath and reminded myself not to jump to conclusions. The captain was one man. He didn’t speak for all Wanderers. He hated Earth, but he’d saved my life. That wasn’t something he would have done if he loathed humans. If that were the case, he would’ve left me to die, either that or flushed me out the waste port. And he hadn’t floated me…
Yet.
He turned to Fig with outstretched hands. “I made a promise to your father that I would watch over you, that I would keep you on the right path if anything happened to him. And I mean to do that, Figerella. Your parents left you in my care when they died. You’re my responsibility, and I won’t let you waste your life on humans.”
My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t known Fig’s parents were dead. Now that I thought about it, I’d never asked her about them. My heart sank. If Fig and I were friends, then I wasn’t a very good one.
“My parents were nothing like you,” she argued.
“Only because I hadn’t shown them the way yet,” the captain said. “They would have come around. They were reasonable people. They would’ve accepted the truth and followed me into the next phase of our destiny.”
“That proves you didn’t know them at all,” she said. “And they didn’t know you.”
The captain lifted one broad shoulder. “Then perhaps the universe took control and did what needed to be done in order to save you. Now your path is clear.”
Whoa.
Had this guy seriously implied that it was a good thing Fig’s parents were dead? If I didn’t already think the captain was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, that clinched it.
He slashed a hand through the air. “No more arguing. That’s what the enemy wants us to do—to fight with one another. They want to weaken and divide us with the same bickering they’ve sown on Earth. But as I’ve said in the past, we won’t sink to their level.” He snapped his fingers and called, “Kirk! Activate!”
Whoever Kirk was, the mention of his name made Fig’s eyes fly wide.
That couldn’t be good.
“I’m not going to lock you in your cabin,” the captain told Fig. “Because we both know how well that worked last time. But I’ve disabled my shuttle, so you can forget about stealing it again.” He thumbed at me. “And as for Skylar’s ship, it needs a new core processor. Without one, his engines won’t produce enough power to run a night-light.”
“And don’t even think about taking ours,” one of the older boys called. He pointed at a closed door on the other side of the loading bay. “The engine room door is double bolted.”
The captain nodded. “Basically, there’s nowhere for you to go, Figerella. I hope you’ve matured enough during our time apart to be respectful of our hospitality.”
Fig muttered something under her breath. It sounded like, “Hospitality, my butt.”
A clicking noise drew my attention to the rear corner of the loading bay, where a metal robot made its way toward us using six crablike legs that tapered to points at the ends. And I mean sharp points, as in “the better to impale you with, my dear.”
This must be Kirk.
He croaked in a deep drone, “Activated and ready for your command.”
Kirk looked like something out of a nightmare, with a set of pincers for hands and a cracked plastic head that must have been recycled from an old mannequin. As if that weren’t freaky enough, whoever built him had given him glowing red eyes and the warbled voice of a demon.
I mean, come on. That was laying it on a bit thick.
Kirk stopped in front of the captain and snapped both pincers twice
before bending at the legs in some sort of weird bow. I backed away toward Fig, putting a few feet of distance between myself and the robot. He was bigger than I’d originally thought. Even with his body lowered, the top of Kirk’s head reached the captain’s shoulders.
Captain Holyoake extended a hand toward Fig and me. In response, the robot swiveled its plastic face in our direction, giving me an epic case of the willies. “Kirk, do you remember Figerella?”
Kirk snapped his pincers again, which I took as a yes. Beside me, Fig went stiffer than a plank, which told me she remembered him, too.
“The universe has returned her to us,” the captain said. “And this time she’s going to stay. I command you to escort her wherever she goes, and make sure she follows the rules of the ship. You know what the rules are.”
“As you command,” Kirk droned in his devil voice.
“And this,” the captain said, nodding at me, “is our guest, Skylar. He is to remain with Figerella in her cabin until we decide what to do with him. Is that understood?”
“As you command,” Kirk repeated.
“Escort them to their cabin now.”
Kirk turned to face us, his needle legs tapping the steely floor. “Figerella and Skylar, proceed to the stairwell.”
I shivered. Hearing even my wrong name coming out of that monster’s mouth felt like someone had shoved an icicle in my ear. “Wait, can we talk about this?” I asked the captain. “What did you mean when you said ‘until we decide what to—’”
Before I could finish, Kirk reached out with one of his pincers and zapped the words out of my mouth. I yelped in pain, stumbling backward and landing on my butt, which caused the Holyoake clan to erupt in laughter.
Well, except for the captain and his wife. They didn’t crack a smile.
“I should have warned you,” the captain said. “Kirk has permission to discipline our guests. I suggest you follow his orders the first time. He doesn’t like repeating himself.”
I stood up and made for the stairs, rubbing my sore bottom. I would figure out what to do when I reached Fig’s cabin. But when I climbed halfway to the top and turned around, I noticed Fig hadn’t joined me. She was at the foot of the stairs, where one of the older boys had stopped her to whisper something in her ear. I tensed at first, afraid that he’d threatened her. But whatever he had said made Fig stop and grin sweetly at him.
Except Fig didn’t grin sweetly at anyone.
She patted his jaw and then joined me on the stairs. When I raised a questioning eyebrow at her, she shook her head as if to say Don’t worry about it. I gave the boy one last glance before fear of another electric shock outweighed my curiosity, and I continued up the stairs.
“Cross us again, and we’ll take you to the Council.”
That was what Taki had told me.
And even though I’d pretended not to care, a cold finger traced my spine as I walked up the steps. The Holyoakes had told me horror stories about the Council and their kind of “justice.” Sometimes a Wanderer got out of control—starting fights, or stealing, or acting recklessly in a way that put the whole ship at risk—but nobody wanted to get the Galaxy Guard involved. So the ship’s captain could bind the offender and bring them to trial. When a case came up, the Council listened to both sides of the story and voted on whether to punish the crew member. I guess the sentences they handed down were better than a lifetime of slavery at one of Quasar Niatrix’s prison farms, but in my opinion, the Council had a disturbing way of matching the punishment to the crime.
For example, one time I overheard Taki on a video call to his friends, and they were talking about a woman who’d had her fists electronically hobbled as a punishment for violence. But the hobbles made it impossible for her to defend herself, so when a drunk miner had targeted her at an outpost, she hadn’t been able to fight back, and she’d ended up in the hospital with brain damage. Then there was a rumor about a man who’d stolen from his crew and had to wear I AM A THIEF in holographic ink on his forehead. Another man who had spied on his captain for proof of illegal blasting, hoping to collect a reward from the Galaxy Guard, had been found guilty and blinded with eye drops so he couldn’t spy again.
See what I mean? Disturbing.
I wasn’t afraid of many things, but the Council was one of them. They scared me the way the dark scared most kids. I couldn’t help wondering how they would punish me for what I’d done the last time I was on board the Wanderlust, when I’d stolen the captain’s shuttle and run away.
I shivered and shut down the thought.
It wouldn’t do me any good to worry about things beyond my control. Instead I focused on the scent of onions that clung to the air as I passed the galley. Nonna, the captain’s wife, believed onions had healing powers, so she put them in everything: chili, biscuits, oatmeal, even cookies. That was why the ship smelled so bad. As for the supposed health benefits of onions, I didn’t buy it…unless burping was good for your health. In which case I was probably immortal from the month I’d spent on board the ship.
Kyler’s stomach rumbled loud enough for me to hear. He rubbed his stomach and said, “Something smells good.”
“Then you must love onions,” I said. “Either that or you’re extra-hungry.”
“Or both,” he told me.
We passed three closed doors and entered the last cabin at the end of the hall, a closet-size room with two folding bunks attached to the wall. I caught myself tensing my shoulders when I saw the bunk where I used to sleep. It still looked the same: a scratchy wool blanket tossed on top of a bare mattress that was covered in splotchy stains of unknown origin. There was no pillow, never had been.
“Home sweet home,” I muttered. “I never thought I’d miss sleeping on the floor of a travel depot.”
Kirk stood in the hallway, blocking our exit. Not that there was anywhere to go. As the captain had pointed out, I was stuck here. But I figured I might as well make the most of it, so I asked, “Can you bring us some food?”
Kirk clicked his pincers, something he did when he was processing input. “I was commanded to escort you to your cabin, Figerella.”
“And you obeyed that command,” I pointed out. “Your other command is to make sure I follow the ship rules. One of those rules is to eat a healthy diet.”
There was clicking. Then silence, followed by more clicking.
“Besides,” Kyler said, “the captain didn’t say we couldn’t have any food.”
More clicking. “That is true, Skylar.”
“Um, it’s actually Ky—”
“I will retrieve your food,” Kirk told us. “You will remain in your cabin.”
Kyler held up both hands in surrender. “I won’t move.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Skylar,” Kirk said. Then he backed down the hallway, watching us with those burning eyes until he turned the corner and crab-walked out of sight.
Kyler made a face. “Is it just me, or is it a total mind freak when he uses that I’m-gonna-eat-your-soul voice to say thank you?” He shivered. “Whoever programmed him is nuts. How do you know these people, anyway?”
“Never mind that,” I told Ky. “We don’t have much time before Kirk comes back. I need to know what kind of shock he gave you.”
“An electric one.”
“Well, duh. But was it big or small?” When that didn’t seem to make sense, I explained, “Kirk has two power settings for discipline. One of them is low. He can shock you all day long with that one. But the other one is high. It hurts like whoa, but he can’t shock you that hard again unless he plugs in for a couple of hours. And by that time, he usually glitches and forgets to punish you.”
“Ah,” Ky said. “You want to know which setting he used on me before you decide how to behave.”
“Basically,” I admitted. “So how badly did it hurt?”
“I don’t know. Bad enough to knock me on my butt.”
“Okay, but on a pain rating scale, did it feel more like Ouch, that’s
gonna leave a bruise in the morning or was it more like OMG my whole body is full of bees!?”
“The first one, I guess.”
“Darn. We have to be on our best behavior.”
A slow grin crept across Kyler’s mouth. “Or do we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where’s Kirk’s charging station?”
“In the loading bay.”
“Okay,” Kyler said. “And after he punishes someone with a superhard OMG-my-body-is-filled-with-bees! kind of shock, he has to power up for two hours before he can deliver another one, right?”
I nodded.
“What would happen if he shocked you superhard and you didn’t back down? Like, what if he punished you and then you broke an even bigger rule than the first one?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I’d felt that level-two shock, and my only instinct had been to back down. “Maybe he would go back to his charging station. Maybe not. It’s hard to say, because he can be glitchy.”
“That’s good,” Kyler said. “So if we want to ditch him and get out of here, all we have to do is misbehave. If I can provoke him into delivering a supershock and then you unleash your signature red-hot sass, he’ll want to go to his charging station to power up.”
“But what’s the point?” I asked. “How are we getting out of here with no ship and no shuttle? You heard the captain. He’s got everything on lockdown tighter than a clam with lockjaw.”
Kyler glanced down the hallway, where Kirk had just rounded the corner carrying a tray of food between his pincers. “I haven’t worked out all the details yet,” Ky whispered. “Just follow my lead.”
“Follow your lead?” I shot him a dirty look. We both knew what had happened the last time I’d done that. The phrase out of the frying pan and into the fire came to mind.
He shrugged. “Or you can stay here forever. Your call.”
When he put it like that, there wasn’t much of a choice. But I kept thinking, wondering if it was a better idea to play nice and earn the crew’s trust, and then slip away at a travel depot or some such. That could take a long time, though.
While I was quiet, Kyler’s eyes turned soft. “Hey,” he whispered, scratching the back of his neck and dropping his gaze to the floor. “I’m, uh, sorry about your parents. I didn’t know they were…um…gone.”
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