The Starchild

by Schuyler Thorpe

  “But not today,” he added conversationally. “I think today was pretty slow, if you ask me.”

  Anasi gave him a playful wink. “Things will pick up, I’m sure of it.” She said in ways of assurance, while punching in something into the terminal console in front of her. A small screen popped up in front of the sky dancer, displaying a complex of scrolling numbers–some of which Bayen understood–the rest, an alien entanglement of gibberish equations.

  “I hope so.” He muttered, otherwise he would soon be forced to give all of his weekly winnings from the Arena to his mother, just to keep the store up and running.

  And how would he be able to fully explain the money? And more importantly, where would that leave him and his growing collection of paintings?

  He needed the extra money to keep up with his deeply seeded interest in his hobby somehow.

  But he would not resort to stealing again. Never. The last time he did, he had gotten caught taking something incredibly petty, and was punished severely for it.

  Bayen had always felt that besides himself, his mother deserved better. And since his father had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, it was up to him to take the reigns of leadership and be the man of household.

  And so far, this little trip was just one such example in his book.

  “22,478 in cred slip earnings and 1,174 in chips.” Anasi announced briskly to him, breaking into the teen’s lapse in attention span. “That’s a total of 23,652, minus the ten percent commission charge of this kiosk.”

  “Right.” Bayen answered quickly, waiting for the total to come up and Anasi to do her thing. The numbers scrolled by and the young woman began to fill the brown pouch accordingly–soft clinking noises could be heard as tiny currency strips hit the bottom and continued on, filling up even after a few minutes.

  Though the time differential lagged in Bayen’s opinion, he didn’t mind the wait.

  Anasi closed the makeshift purse by cinching the string shut and handing him a slip of paper–a uniquely old-fashioned way of saying that he had just been given a receipt.

  “You do know what to do with this, don’t you?” She informed him teasingly, before waving him away so that she could get on with the next proprietor.

  Bayen nodded as he left the vicinity of the transact kiosk and headed for the nearest sky tube terminal. Now he had to go to a verification station on Level 1775–just one level shy of his mom’s store.

  ~19~

  Level 1774.

  I was literally beside myself on my next discovery in line when I finally took the next sky tube car up to this level.

  What caught my attention was the fact that not only was this part of the level enclosed by an overhanging skylight, but it was also unique.

  At first, I couldn’t believe that such an ornamental arrangement was possible, but here it was; tucked away from the main hub of the city itself.

  Kind of like being stuffed and then mounted appropriately for all to see.

  The stone railing still didn’t stop me from leaning over, taking in all the sights and wonders wrought forth by human imagination for my personal enjoyment and pleasure–hinting at things for me to discover and uncover for myself in due time.

  But heady vertigo was something I hadn’t counted on having once I had finally come up for air–my mind grappling with what I had just witnessed with her very own eyes.

  Just up above me, there were various levels of stores, shopping malls, gaming arcades, and of course, residential complexes mixed in. What was even more amazing was that this side of Level 1774 was duplicated on the exact scale on the other side as well–all the way down in the shape of a giant, stretched out cylinder.

  Straining my eyes as far as I could see, the aspect of this cylinder changed subtly in ways alien to my own understanding in order to accommodate modestly sized industrial complexes and open-spaced parks.

  So engrossed in these new discoveries, I failed to register the approach of someone behind me until after the fact–when the person at fault accidentally collided with me.

  Or bumped. It was hard to tell at this point.

  “Sorry.” A soft, voice apologized out of the blue.

  Sorry? I thought with rigid irritation, not liking to be shoved for no apparent reason. If it wasn‘t the guard down at the transit terminal, it was this stupid ass clown!

  I turned around smartly, preparing myself mentally, going through the silent motions of knocking this guy on his butt for being such an inconsiderate prick in disturbing what I had thought so far as to being a nicely guided self-tour of the city.

  But I paused sharply when I saw who I was dealing with.

  The older man in question was about four inches taller–maybe five?–than I was (me being 5’6 and all), and had the most dreamiest brown eyes I ever had the pleasure of gazing into. An almost lucid brown to be sure, but this alone was enough to make me go a little weak in the knees, not to mention his handsomely good looks, the overall nice face, tanned skin and soft freckles, high forehead and framed by long black hair, which reached past his shoulders, ending in a straight up pony-tail.

  Oh my god! I thought fiercely. This guy is absolutely gorgeous! A dreamboat of a hunk!

  But all this changed once the fog of desire had lifted and I remembered once more what I had to do.

  “Uh…hi?” I started out stupidly in a small, wavering voice. But other than that faltered greeting, I was completely unsure if that was the right thing to say–considering how I first wanted to pound him and then ask questions later.

  My fantasy vision readjusted the tattered black trench coat around him absently, then asked, “Are you from around here?”

  As opposed to what’s my sign? I almost blurted out sarcastically, knowing that had to be the lamest pickup line I had ever heard in my entire life.

  But his commanding presence dispelled any doubts on his attempts at originality (if that’s what he was trying to accomplish), compelling me to shake my head numbly, finding myself under his spell and my suddenly out of control hormones.

  “No,” I answered in a daze. “I’m from the surface. This is my first time in Stratos City.” Deep down though, I was doing my best to act out the part of being completely composed and normal. But I couldn’t ignore a deeper urge that could take things completely out of context.

  If I had my way of course.

  Down girl! I chided herself in a rush of mixed desire and embarrassment. But the urge to jump him was incredibly overpowering.

  The guy in question just smiled outwardly, and waited until I was able to regain control of the situation.

  Then he said politely: “Welcome, surface dweller,” in genuine warmth and hospitality. “I hope that you enjoy your stay here. But if you’ll excuse me, I am pressed for time as I have errands to run.”

  He passed me quickly in a quiet rush and started up the small staircase, one that would lead to the next level and to another sky tube car.

  I watched him go of course, gross indecision eating away at me from close range. This was the first that I could recall even talking to a guy since what’s his name from four years ago on a trip to Morehead with both Calis and my mother. But even that meeting was all too brief to make a lasting impression on me.

  Much like this guy did as well. Apparently.

  Come on, girl! He’s almost getting away! Why don’t you say something before he vanishes altogether???

  I fidgeted nervously for the first time since coming to the space complex and finally blew my breath out in frustration.

  “Fuck it…” I breathed, before shouting up to him at the top of my lungs.

  “Hey! What’s your name?!?”

  But I had lost my shot. The mystery guy was already gone by the time I started yelling and I felt like a total fruitcake for even asking in the first place.

  I turned around and pounded my fist on top of the top of the railing in sheer disappointment.

  Okay. That first meeting ended better than I half expect
ed. It would have been nice if your mystery guy wasn’t in such a hurry to leave!

  But isn’t that usually how thing always went in your life? They always up and disappear without so much as a warning?

  Looking out at the beautiful vista before me, I nodded with quiet affirmation.

  “Pretty much. And…that’s why you’re still single, girl.” I chided myself lightly. Without humor or my mother’s brand of irony even.

  Taking one last look around, I restarted my tour of the place, taking the same stairwell that the guy in question had used, stepped into the newly arrived sky tube car and went up two levels to 1776. The lift doors opened soundlessly, giving me an unobstructed view on the next line of shops just down below.

  Taking the spiral staircase, I followed it down until the staircase merged flawlessly with a large plaza, with a gigantic holographic advertising board, announcing in a soft woman’s voice of where to find the best deals around, ongoing sales, and other advertising gimmicks. Pictures of the strangest items I had ever seen flashed on the board–some I did eventually recognize (like that hover skimmer for instance)–but others I couldn’t even begin to decipher!

  Glancing around, I saw all sorts of shops, each with its own apparent function and design until my eyes settled upon the first store that caught my eye.

  The establishment in question was small and painted with a gentle sea-blue color scheme with a sectioned walkway leading up to the door. I stepped on the first tile and was startled to discover that it was an audio/visual holographic display, complete with background music. There was a woman speaking as a painting in front of me whirled around in stark relief.

  “This painting is truly a masterpiece in the making as it captures its captive audience with a dazzling array of superb colors and sharp lines at the top as well as the sides. The soft graceful brush strokes are also what gives this unique painting of the Horrel Mountain Pass and the rising sun in the background an indistinguishable allure to the appreciating patron. Due to a limited supply of copies on hand, this one sells for 3,500 credits. Come and get yours today before supplies are really gone!”

  The advertisement faded, leaving me in a bit of a lurch.

  The Horrel Mountain Pass was once a training ground for all beginning auto-frame pilots from long ago. Only recently–from what I knew–had the area been turned into some kind of nature preserve.

  Preserving what, I never found out.

  Looking down, I saw more of the same times obstruct her path and desperately wanted to avoid getting caught off guard by any more arcane advertisements.

  I was on a history excursion, not a shopping spree!

  Spying the retaining wall, I saw that the narrow ledge wouldn’t present too much of a problem, and hopped up on it–giving my sense of self and balance a real workout!

  Steadying myself, I then began to navigate nimbly across, avoiding the tiles before hopping down to what I thought was a safe spot in front of the entrance door, where there was an old-fashioned ‘WELCOME’ mat placed in front of it, with a beautifully hand-crafted placard next to the door; painted with a sense of artistic flourish to signify what the store offered.

  “Fran’s Arts and Crafts Shop?” I read out loud in complete bewilderment for a moment, the concept lost on me. Then I remembered all the times that me and my childhood friends–Paula Livingston and my other friend, Cara Hastings–had spent untold hours with their respective noses buried in coloring books.

  “Oh.” I murmured in sudden realization, finding something which similarly connected to my past after all.

  Then I reached out, grabbed hold of the antique knob and turned–only to be confronted with the realities of a world much different than my own.

  ~20~

  I just about gasped–in fact…I think I just felt my heart leap into my throat–as the light of discovery fell away from my eyes for the first time–and I caught a glimpse of things that I could only dream about back home.

  In front of me were carefully placed aisles of items of interest like paint canvases and thread-wheels–nestled amongst the stacks of supplies, art paper, inks, brushes, and story boards.

  I turned and got a real good look at the display window and saw a finished painting depicting a softly rolling green valley, with a small forest, a covered bridge overlooking a gently flowing creek.

  The skies were filled with flying birds against a splendid sunset, giving the glorious piece of artwork a subdued look.

  I almost felt like I was really there in real life, judging by how realistic it appeared to my senses. Shifting focus, I felt my heart skip a beat as I was drawn inexplicitly closer to the sight which had befallen me.

  At the center of the display, stood a female mannequin fully clothed in a rose-colored, satiny dress–rich highlights reflecting nicely from the strategically placed display lights below. Placed next to it were a few paint sets and brushes (with carefully written descriptions of what they were and what they could offer to the potential customer).

  The nicely dressed woman behind the counter looked up behind me, sensing that she had a new customer, but that impression changed in an instant, when she realized that I was just exploring, acting like I had never stepped foot inside a store–or anything else for that matter–in my entire life.

  Of course, that wasn’t too hard to figure out, judging by how I was presently dressed.

  And this surprised her.

  Where did she come from? The lowest levels of the city? She asked herself quietly, while coming over from behind the counter. Her clothes certainly didn’t fit any of the varied clothing that sky dancers like herself wore.

  Overcome with a natural curiosity, the woman decided to see what I was up to; finding me right next to a large rack of canvases, paints, and other supplies–inspecting them with a careful air.

  Maybe I can get away with asking her a few questions as well. The shop keeper thought, seeing a perfect opening. She is certainly a curious little thing though.

  I was too engrossed in what I was doing to even notice that she had left the counter to come over to see what I was up to.

  “Hello there.” The woman said in ways of a pleasant greeting. But her sudden approach and voice scared the crap out of me at that very instant–causing me to jump out of my skin.

  “Fuck!” I swore out of habit, a hand pressed up against my chest in pure fright and surges of adrenaline.

  “Sorry.” The shopkeeper quickly apologized, stepping back a bit. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  It took me a full minute to calm myself down before I turned and looked at the woman in general.

  “That’s okay. I’m just not used to people sneaking up on me. Occupational hazards and all that.” I responded in return.

  The other woman nodded in understanding.

  “You know, I’ve never seen anyone quite like you before.”

  “Really? Is it the hair? Or my mode of dress?” I joked lightly.

  The shopkeeper giggled.

  “A little bit of both. People like you are usually found in the lower levels towards the Core areas and only come up every so often to cause all kinds of trouble for the Business District and its owners. So when I saw you, I automatically assumed that you were one of them.”

  I shook my head for a moment, trying to imagine myself in such a place and coming up with complete blanks.

  “No. Sorry. Not one of them.”

  “Do you have a place of residence?”

  I took that moment to study some of the more interesting items on the placement shelf before me–reaching out to touch a crystal glass brush holder vase that had intricate markings on it.

  “Don’t have one.” I said, before turning my attention towards the shopkeeper in question. I was duly surprised by her choice of attire that was keeping with everyone else that I had run into along the way–since arriving at the space complex a couple hours ago. In her case? A loose-fitting, tie-dyed blouse with beige colored bell bottomed pants and open toed sandals ador
ning her feet.

  I even noticed the purple nail polish on her toes as well.

  But what struck me about the shopkeeper herself was the fact that she suddenly reminded me of my dead grandmother in some of the older video screen shots my mom had from so many years ago.

  The woman had a rather pleasant face, attractive to an outsider to some degree–given the makeup she wore to further enhance and bring out the rich color of her forest green eyes.

  That was the one thing that caught my attention about here and I was a bit taken back and slightly jealous of the fact that she had such beautiful eyes.

  While that was the most interesting facet about her, the rest of the woman was pretty straightforward: Straight brown hair that flowed from the back of her head like a long river of freshly spun silk–tied off in two different places and hanging down past her graceful and slim shoulders.

  “Oh. I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t even know that you were homeless.”

  Her statement caught me completely off guard and I shook my head in strong disagreement.

  “Hardly. I live with my family down on the surface. We have a nice little place out in the Golan Desert.” I said in passing–not realizing I may have committed some major faux pas in doing so.

  The shopkeeper’s response was completely disarming and gentle.

  “Oh, wow. I didn’t even realize that you were a surface dweller. Your kind don’t usually venture up this far into the space complex on an every day basis. In fact, I can’t remember the last time anyone from the surface ever came up here in recent memory. The record of such occurrences is usually a closely guarded secret with the Praetorial Senate. The Ether Net is usually restricted on that account.”

  Knowing my own family history as I did, I can’t say that I was surprised by this news.

  “Usually, that’s because of what happened at the end of the Three Hundred Years War. It brought about a lot of change for everyone and not all of it good.”