Star Spark

by Day Leitao

  The ship fell on the water.

  “What’s happening?” Marcus yelled from the back.

  “It’s all under control.” Kind of. But worrying his friend wouldn’t help.

  The ship was submerged and once it got below the turbulent surface, it found calmer water. There was still some risk of hitting rocks, but this wasn’t a rocky area. He hoped at least all the maps he’d studied were correct, unlike the simulator.

  Marcus ran to the front. “We’re under water!”

  Dess leaned back and put his feet on the dashboard. “We’re fine. Let’s get some water.”

  Marcus had a grimace. “You do know that the thrusters won’t work under water, right?”

  “We’ll get out of the water first. This is good. Nobody will shoot us here.”

  His friend shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “You hurt my feelings by doubting me.”

  “Whatever, Dess. I’ll get the water.”

  In fact, of course Dess had no clue what he was doing. It was nothing more than a guess. Educated guess, maybe. Then, maybe, uneducated, because he had to throw everything he’d learned away. Now he had to figure a way to face the storm when they emerged. No. That made no sense. No storm lasted forever.

  9

  New Reality

  A horrific strident noise awoke Saytera. It was as if a dolphin were dying in terrible pain. She’d never heard that, and had no idea if dolphins screamed, but that was what it sounded like. Without daylight, she hadn’t noticed it was already morning. She got out of her bed and turned the light using that switch on the wall, but it hurt her eyes. So sudden, so strong, so artificial.

  The bedroom had white walls and two beds, one on top of the other. She’d slept in the bottom one. There were two wardrobes. One was locked. Everything was cold, impersonal, as if it weren’t meant for a human being. Saytera had slept in dark grey pants and a shirt, but knew she’d have to put on that horrid jumpsuit for the day. The material was artificial, impermeable, and not something her skin would be able to breath in. Whoever had chosen these things didn’t consider the extra time required to take it all off to pee. White and blue, shiny. The people she’d seen the day before were wearing them. She still remembered the comments and sniggers and wasn’t looking forward to meeting them.

  No. That was stupid. They had probably just been surprised by her appearance and smell. Today it would be different. She had to believe they’d be nice and friendly, otherwise she’d be rude to them unwittingly end up justifying their impression. At least Yansin used to tell her stuff like that, about her perceptions and expectations affecting the way the world responded to her. Saytera tried to expect the best.

  As she was zipping up the dreadful thing, the door opened. A girl with short blond hair, already dressed in a jumpsuit, got in.

  “Hey,” she said without looking at Saytera. “I’m your roommate. But don’t worry, I never come here, I usually sleep with my friends. I just came to pick up something.”

  The girl opened the wardrobe that had been locked. It had a few objects in the bottom and no clothes. The girl closed it and walked to the door. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  The door then closed. Saytera wondered if she should have said something else, realizing that she’d never had to introduce herself or try to make friends. Whenever someone new arrived at Ken Island, Yansin usually introduced them to Saytera. Now she was clueless on what to do. Had she been rude to the girl? No way to know.

  Saytera wished she had someone to help her, someone to guide her. She tied her hair in a bun, got out of her room and recognized the hallway from the previous night. Some other apprentices were walking all in the same direction and she followed them. They reached a large room with natural light from windows by the ceiling. It had about fifteen tables for six people each, and a counter. The place didn’t look like an eating room. It lacked warmth, life. The walls, floor, and tables were white, and the counter was silver. The fact that everyone wore similar clothes didn’t help to make the environment any more hospitable. Apprentices were coming in and lining up before the counter. She wasn’t sure if they were called apprentices, but didn’t know what else to call them—and herself.

  Lining up, Saytera was aware of every muscle in her body, not in a good way, as in being grounded, but rather as if she were trying to prevent a wrong movement. She looked at the others to see what they did, got food on a tray, and sat by herself on a table far from the counter. Older people, in entirely blue uniforms, sat together at another table. She figured they were the teachers. There were fewer people than she would have expected, as some tables were half empty and others were empty, so that there were only about fifty students.

  The woman, Kia, approached her. “Feeling better today?”

  Saytera smiled. “For sure.”

  “You’ll just get in the classes with everybody. If you’re not sure where to go, just ask any other cadet around you. This morning it’s shooting.” She tapped Saytera’s back. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Follow the crowd. Cadets. Fine. It shouldn’t be too hard.

  The shooting arena was a giant room with booths from where one could shoot round targets far away. There were only five booths, though, and several seats, in a semicircular area around a podium. Since everyone else was sitting, Saytera did the same.

  A bearded man in blue uniform walked to the podium.

  “Saytera,” he said in a thick voice, as if he were annoyed.

  The word startled her, as it sounded as if she’d done something wrong, when she’d just gotten there.

  “Yes?” her voice came out thinner and higher than she’d expected, and a few sniggers didn’t help her feel any more comfortable.

  “Come, come,” he said. Saytera got up and walked to the middle. The man continued, “This is the most important class you’ll have. Can you tell me why?”

  Some of the words she’d heard on the islands came back to her. “If you’re going to shoot, shoot right, or else you’ll alert your enemy.”

  The man pointed to her and turned to the class. “See? Now that’s a good answer.” He turned to her. “Alert your enemy. That’s interesting. So how do you avoid it?”

  A lot of her stress was gone now that she’d gotten an answer right. “By only shooting when you have good aim.”

  The teacher seemed satisfied, then asked, “What if you can’t get a good aim?”

  She tried to remember a little of her haphazard lessons. “You do the best you can and take cover.”

  “Impressive. Where do you come from?”

  Saytera’s stomach sank. What was she supposed to say? “My… village.” Her voice had never been so thin and high.

  “All right. Somehow you got a good basis in your… village.” He made a high voice.

  The class burst out laughing.

  Saytera took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The man walked to the first booth. “Come. Let’s see what you can do.”

  “I’ve never used a pistol before.” This time Saytera’s voice had been firm. She wasn’t going to be afraid of rude people.

  The man put a pistol in her hand. “That’s what you’re here for: to learn.” He pointed to the circle far away, “Point there,” then he touched the weapon, which had a little button close to the handle. “Then press here. Hold it with one hand only.”

  Saytera took the pistol. Focus. The secret was to focus. She made sure to hold the pistol at a comfortable enough distance not to strain her arm and to make sure its angle was towards the target. Hopefully she wouldn’t make too much of a fool of herself. Saytera held her breath and pressed the button. Nothing happened. She pressed again, this time harder. Something was amiss. She felt all eyes on her and it was as if the air were compressing her body. But she was doing it correctly. She looked at the pistol again. She had seen pictures of pistols, she knew what they could do. This one felt as if it were dead,
though. She angled the pistol toward her to figure out why it wasn’t working, when a strong hand took the pistol from her.

  “Wow, wow, wow,” the man said. “No need for drastic measures. Not being able to shoot is no reason for suicide.”

  The students burst out laughing again.

  Saytera stared at him. “I wasn’t going to shoot my face, and this thing’s clearly defective.”

  “Nonsense.” The man pointed to the target and pressed the button. Nothing.

  He put the pistol aside, took a new one, and aimed at the target. A burst of energy came out of it and hit the outer rim of the circle. It was some kind of sensitive surface. The outer circle lit up for a few seconds, until the man pressed a button on the booth and the light faded. Seeing that his aim sucked gave Saytera some satisfaction.

  He passed the new pistol to Saytera. “There. This one works.”

  Saytera focused, calm with the knowledge that getting a better shot than the man wouldn’t be hard. She held her breath and pressed the button. Nothing happened again. The teacher tore the pistol from her hand and tried to shoot. Nothing happened.

  He glared at her. “Twice now. If you keep ruining our pistols there won’t be any left.”

  This was unfair. She hadn’t done anything.

  “I won’t,” she said, then turned around and left the room, under the looks and laughs of her so-called colleagues. All she wanted was to leave all of that behind, that stupid teacher, those stupid cadets, that stupid place. She was better than that. She just needed some time alone, some time to collect her thoughts, quiet down her anger. Halfway to her bedroom, the lights in the hallway went out.

  Dess had never been to The Blue Aquarium, or to any restaurant for that matter, since… It hurt to think about it. There he was, with his best friend, ready to eat a decent meal after a long time. Still shaken by his experience on the planet, he needed to relax, celebrate. He’d spent so long in his simulator, and yet, he had to forgo most of his training, he had to fight acquired instincts, as beating the winds on the planet proved to be quite different from what a machine could mimic.

  So long he’d spent in that silly simulation, only now to discover that most of it meant nothing. He’d considered telling someone that the simulator was faulty, but then, perhaps winds were just unpredictable, and then, perhaps some things were only ever understood with experience. He had some experience, and was glad he’d come back alive, a lot more relieved than he’d expected, when he thought the job was going to be an easy-peasy in-and-out flight. A lot of what he’d learned was plain wrong, and somehow that idea shook him to the core. And that’s why he wanted to celebrate with Marcus.

  A quick look at the menu told him that most of the dishes were made with cricket base. Most of them, not all.

  Marcus pointed to something. “Hey, check it out. We could have real squid, no idea what the difference it is from regular squid, for two thousand shells. Want to splurge?”

  Dess laughed. Should he tell him what the difference was? Then something else hit him. “I guess it’s not just water we’ll be bringing.”

  Marcus cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Where do you think the squid comes from?”

  His friend frowned. “You think?”

  Dess was pretty sure. His thoughts were interrupted by a man in the elegant council suit walking in the restaurant, scanning the tables with a murderous glare.

  “Marcus,” Dess whispered. “Your father’s here.”

  His friend’s body tensed right away. Counsellor Okonjo was a tall and large man, skin just a bit darker than his son’s, hair cropped so short one couldn’t see his curls.

  He addressed Dess. “What do you think you’re doing with my son?” He didn’t yell but that was probably just so as not to cause a scene in public.

  Dess ran his right hand through his hair, displaying all his rings. “We were about to order dinner. Want to join us?”

  Marcus got up. “Dad, can we talk outside?”

  Counsellor Okonjo followed his son, but not before shooting some death glares at Dess.

  Marcus would probably go back to the army. It would be sad to lose his friend as a partner, but despite Okonjo’s influence, Dess wasn’t worried. He knew two things: One; Sapphirlune depended on the work of independent traders for survival—and for fancy items on a restaurant menu. Two; very few people were capable of flying in and out of Mainland’s atmosphere, collecting water or whatever they wanted, and coming back alive. It meant Marcus’s father couldn’t make Dess lose his job. Yes, Dess had been lulled by a false sense of security before, thinking that being the best in the academy was some kind of security. Still, this, this was different. He even wondered whether they’d failed him on purpose.

  Marcus walked back in and sat. “Don’t worry, everything is fine.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We continue doing what we were doing, and my father continues to be angry and not accept me at home.”

  “You need to talk to him.”

  Marcus shook his head. “He’ll understand. There’s honor in being a cog in a big machine, of course. But there can be much more when you can operate on your own. I’m sure eventually I’ll make him proud.”

  Yeah. Maybe they’d bring a giant squid or something. But that was not what he said. He tapped Marcus’s shoulder. “You will.”

  There was no way Saytera would find her room in that dark hallway. She considered going back to the dining hall, which had natural light, but she heard voices from that direction.

  Someone—it sounded like the shooting teacher—was telling the students to stay calm and together, or something. So they feared an attack. Could Lunars get here, though? Her heart then tugged, thinking about Terens, which was much more likely. Could someone have found her?

  All she could do was listen. If anyone was after her, she’d better not join large groups, even if she hated every single one of them. That wasn’t a good thought. She couldn’t give a crowd a hateful sniggering face. It was just some of them. Her mental talk didn’t soothe the rage bubbling up inside her. Islanders had techniques to channel anger, but she didn’t want to call even more attention to herself by yelling alone or kicking piles of sand. Not to mention that there wasn’t any sand there. Was she just going to leave that anger there, eating her body, sticking to her energy? Perhaps later, when the light came back, she could punch her mattress. One advantage of having a room for herself.

  A faint light at the end of the hall called her attention. So there was another room with windows. The structure was underground, for good reasons, of course, but they probably had small buildings from where they carved windows. She didn’t know why they didn’t have any kind of natural light in the bedrooms, though. It felt so weird.

  As she approached the light, she saw that it was coming from large glass doors. Saytera pushed them open, and was faced with a gigantic hangar with some thirty ships. It smelled—or felt—old, stagnated, lifeless. Still, the place had windows and didn’t have anyone, and that was what she needed to get her thoughts together.

  That until a yell startled her, “What are you doing here?”

  There was an old man, wearing grey clothes, hair unkempt, bulging eyes, staring at her.

  Saytera wasn’t sure if yelling was a normal way to ask a question. Either way, she decided to tell the truth. “I was taking a break. Electricity’s down and there was light here.”

  He gestured frantically for Saytera to come behind a ship, away from the door. “Hide. Hide. They are coming.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  He widened his eyes. “The Lunars. They want the planet, they want the planet!”

  10

  Friends

  As far as Saytera knew, the danger was mostly on the shore, where she’d been attacked—not by Lunars, but by Terens. The man’s attitude was so excessive that it brought a smile on her face, but he had a point. “Let’s hide, then.”

  Saytera spent the next
few hours inside a broken ship listening to incongruent rambling about the war and the Battle of Stars. The old man had been in it and survived. She’d always heard that the entire Mainland fleet had perished. And indeed almost everybody had died, as he recounted the loss of friends. His narrative wasn’t easy to follow, jumping up and down in time, but she listened.

  The man’s name was Nick. After a while, he got up and told her the names of some of the spaceship models. Saytera understood that his job was to fix the ships, except that since there had been no importation for years, the solution had been to take functioning parts from one ship to the other, to the point that what had been left there were just empty carcasses that would never fly again. As he explained for the third time how the war had impacted importation, that dreadful wailing sounded again. How could anyone live with that?

  “What’s this?”

  Nick put his hands on his ears “They want to kill us, kill us. Heart attack. It’s lunch, girl!”

  The heart attack thing was a good point. It also meant electricity had returned, unless it worked on a separate system than the lights. Saytera was hungry, but wasn’t looking forward to seeing her lovely colleagues. Nick’s nonsensical rambling had calmed her down, though. Here, in this horrible place, she had security, food, and shelter. All she had to do was hang on tight enough for Yansin to get her back. And hanging tight enough meant doing what they’d told her to do, which meant following the crowd—at least for now.

  Saytera ate alone again, but this time she wasn’t feeling guilty for not being friendly and she didn’t think she was missing anything by not sitting with those people. The food was dreadful, but it was food.