Daniel Coldstar #1

by Stel Pavlou

  Hissss, kthunk, kthunk kthunk!

  The enginoid went to pieces—literally—breaking apart into twenty or thirty individual fragments, each one with a mind of its own. They rolled around Daniel like a school of fish trying to avoid a shark.

  Daniel sidestepped, trying to get out of their way, but blocking the path of one of the smaller ones. It beeped in annoyance before rolling around him.

  “Oh, right . . .”

  Enginoids weren’t one robot; they were a bunch of robots working together—and these ones weren’t sticking around. Reconfiguring themselves back into a single unit, the enginoid was already halfway across the hangar.

  Daniel ran after it. “Where do I go?” he insisted. “What do I do?”

  An almighty rumble erupted near the ceiling. Daniel glanced up to see thick gigantic doors thundering down, releasing tons more garbage down into the hangar all around him. What looked like the front half of an entire ship came crashing down not more than a few paces away.

  “Hey, wait for me!” Daniel cried.

  The enginoid had opened up a compartment in the bulkhead and was getting itself situated inside. The door started to close.

  “Hey!” Daniel jammed his foot in the gap. Not the best idea; he wedged his shoulder in quick before he didn’t have much of a foot left.

  The enginoid extended an arm, but instead of helping out, it poked him in the ribs, trying to get him to leave.

  Angrily, Daniel squeezed through. “What is your problem?” he said, the door hammering shut behind him.

  Despite the fact that the compartment was so snug they were jammed up against each other, cheek to cheek, the enginoid wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  Jink. Jink. Joooom—

  Out in the cargo hold, hazard lights flared, a faint hiss grew into a roar, metal junk slid across the deck, and then—pop!

  The deck opened up, thrusting the pile of trash Daniel had just been in out into the vacuum of a very crowded area of space.

  A planet-sized ball of smog the color of disease sat ringed with trash. In front of it, a hulking great garbage boat slid silently beneath the cargo hold. Daniel could make out the words “beg ration” on its side.

  Daniel turned to the robot. “I could have died out there!”

  Tiny hatches flipped open on each one of the individual units, revealing thirty or so sets of visual sensors, each one scrutinizing him nervously.

  “Yeah, you should feel bad,” said Daniel.

  The trembling hatches snapped shut in unison.

  Out in space, the boat, far from ready for the rain of junk hammering down on it, rolled slowly over, trying to avoid any major damage, but it wasn’t a ship designed for fancy flying.

  “Hold! Hold! Hold!” a tinny voice cried.

  Daniel glanced up at the tiny amplifier buried in a control panel in the ceiling.

  “I got Debriss on comms,” said another over the speaker “They are not happy—”

  Daniel guessed that had to make sense to somebody, just not to him. Pretty soon a whole bunch of voices were arguing with one another—ordinary voices from regular people.

  “Who in the name of Jirrot’s Thistle authorized this dump?” one of them yelled.

  The unnaturally calm response silenced everybody. “We have a schedule to keep. I will not miss this rendezvous.”

  Daniel didn’t recognize the voice, but he sure didn’t trust it. Asking for help would have to wait. He turned to the enginoid. “How long to the next planet?” he asked.

  But the enginoid was busy extending an arm, reaching up to activate one of the controls on the ceiling. The whole compartment shuddered before lurching through a series of shafts. When the door rolled open, a conveyor belt stretched down a long, dark corridor filled with pipes and tubes and the occasional dim light.

  The enginoid shuffled onto the belt, collapsing down into a small misshapen block as it was carried away. With nowhere else to go, Daniel cautiously tagged along. Around the bend, steam vented from the occasional nozzle, making everything slick with moisture.

  “Where are we going?” Daniel asked, even though he knew by now that the enginoid wasn’t about to reply.

  From the depths of another shadowy recess, a door rolled open and out waddled a different type of enginoid. Behind it, a third one slithered down from a hatch in the ceiling. The snakelike oddity gave Daniel the most curious look before coiling itself up and shutting down.

  When the belt had filled up with every type of enginoid imaginable, it conveyed them into a final chamber and rolled the door shut behind them. The air, thick with the reek of acid, burned in Daniel’s throat.

  What was this place? He clambered over to a small hatch and peered through the observation glass. A control booth sat on the other side, with a sign in large lettering that read:

  WARNING, ACID SHOWER, KEEP CLEAR.

  The rumble of liquids priming in the nozzles filled the chamber.

  Daniel pounded on the glass. “Let me out! Somebody help! Let me out of here!”

  At the end of the chamber, one by one, the showerheads began pumping acid, spraying each and every enginoid—

  “Help me! Somebody—!”

  Shoom!

  The hatch rolled open. Without thinking, Daniel leapt out into the booth, collapsing in a heap on the deck, gasping for clean air. “Thank you,” he wheezed. The reply that came back consisted of a series of clicks and tiny grumbles.

  Daniel recognized it as such, but for some reason he could actually understand it.

  His rescuer had said, “Are you mad? You could have gotten yourself killed! How did you end up in there?”

  Daniel sat up, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else in the room. “I didn’t know where I was going,” he explained.

  The disapproving clicks and grumbles that came back in response translated as “Well, aren’t you just a few rungs short on the evolutionary ladder. Your parents must be very proud.”

  Daniel struggled onto his feet. That wasn’t coming from any amplifier. Whoever he was talking to was in the room. But where? “If I knew who my parents were, I’d ask them,” he said. Pipes, grilles, vents, electrical panels—he had to be hiding somewhere.

  “Up here, genius.”

  At the edge of the room, near the ceiling right at the rim of a maintenance shaft, a small, twitching nose poked out, sniffing the air. Glowing light-wire whiskers bristled around its snout. What emerged from the shadows was a rather odd-looking creature that reminded Daniel of a drote in a fur coat.

  Daniel stood his ground. “What are you?” he asked.

  “What am I?” the creature replied. “I’m a rat,” he said. “What else would I be?”

  23

  HEX A. DECIMAL

  “You can speak,” said Daniel, surprised.

  “You understand Mendese,” the rat replied, with suspicion. “No human speaks Mendese.”

  “Mendese?”

  “The anatom language,” the rat explained, darting along a conduit to get a better look at him.

  Daniel didn’t recognize the word. “What’s an anatom?” he asked, putting a little distance between himself and the rat, just in case it decided to attack.

  “What’s an anatom?” said the rat, sounding genuinely shocked. “Where have you been living, under a rock?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “An anatom is—well—like me!” He threw his little paws up in a gesture closely mimicking human exasperation.

  “So you’re an animal?”

  “How dare you! I’m not an animal.”

  “You might want to check a mirror.”

  “I look like an animal. I am not an actual animal, like you.” He rapped his knuckles on one of his shiny back legs. “Look at that. Real titanium. Used to be part of a vacuum cleaner. Not anymore. Do you know any other rats with titanium legs? Thought not. There’s Rattus cyberneticus, and then there’s me, a cut above. The ultimate rat. Pinnacle of rat existence. Without me the universe would cease
to function.”

  “I see,” said Daniel, giving the control booth a little tour. There wasn’t much to it; most of it appeared automated. A series of panels operated the valves, pumping acid into the showers. The corporation that made the acid was very proud of the fact that its product killed 99 percent of all living things; it was printed so many times on the huge tanks, it looked at first like a decorative pattern. “So what do you do that’s so important?”

  “What do I do?”

  “Apart from repeat all my questions.”

  “Repeat all your questions?” The rat pulled himself up onto his hind legs, smoothing down the fur on the top of his head in an effort to make himself more presentable. “Well,” he said, “I’m the, er, ruler of the galaxy, obviously.”

  Daniel had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. At least, as far as he could remember of his life, but he was happy to play along if it got him out of here. “And do you have a name, or should I just call you your majesty?”

  The rat sighed, his ears flopping down. “You don’t believe me.”

  There was the exit. Daniel headed straight for it. “Nope,” he said.

  The rat called after him, the seriousness in his voice something Daniel hadn’t heard before now. “My name is Hex A. Decimal, and I am one hundred and sixty-seven years old,” the rat proclaimed proudly, his whiskers twinkling. “For every star that has a planet, I’ve been to nearly all of them. I’ve met Kakaridans as tall as trees, and seen Tantaurees leap a hundred paces on worlds where you would barely be able to walk. I have seen many things, human, and I know a stowaway when I see one.”

  Daniel stood frozen in his tracks. What could he possibly say to that? He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. Thinking quickly, he tried to sound confident when he said over his shoulder, “How do you know I don’t work here?”

  “Because I work here.” Good point.

  “Not as many Xenopsylla cheopis on me as you assumed, eh, human?”

  “Xenop-what?”

  “Fleas,” proudly explained the rat. “I don’t have any.”

  Everybody in the mines caught fleas at one time or another. It was just part of life. Daniel wasn’t sure he understood why this rat was so pleased by the fact he’d managed to lose a few.

  Jumping down from the conduit, the rat scurried around in front him, blocking his exit. “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” he said, his face hard and serious, which was an impressive feat for a fur-covered rodent. “The truth, human, before I alert the securities.”

  Enough games. Standing his ground, Daniel looked the rat right in the eye. “My name is Daniel Coldstar,” he said between gritted teeth. “I am a fugitive from the relic mines. I have lived under the boot of the Overseers my entire life. I will not go back—and I will defend myself.”

  Pulling his arm back, Daniel created the first whisper of a luminous vortex shield, lighting up the eyes of the rat.

  For his part, Hex A. Decimal’s mouth hung open as he caught sight for the very first time of the silver relic pinned to Daniel’s chest.

  Mustering all the shock and awe that a rodent’s face was capable of, he returned Daniel’s gaze.

  “An Aegis?” said Hex. “You’re a Truth Seeker!”

  24

  STAR CHARTS OF THE WAKEENEE

  Just the sound of the name Truth Seeker had Daniel’s attention. The reverence it brought to the rodent’s face, however? Now that really had his skin prickling.

  Whoever these Truth Seekers were, they clearly held powerful significance. Daniel hadn’t made any promises when he’d left that he would find help and free everyone from the mines, but maybe these Truth Seekers could make it happen.

  Hex edged closer, showing far more respect toward Daniel now. “Are you on a secret mission?”

  Daniel lowered his arm, letting the shield evaporate, but kept his mouth shut. If passing himself off as one of these Truth Seekers was going to get him the help he needed, he was happy to do it, but the surest way to let this rat know that he didn’t know what the heck he was talking about was to open his mouth.

  “You’re a long way from home, Truth Seeker,” said the rat, running circles around him, inspecting Daniel from top to bottom. “You’re on your own out here.”

  “I don’t even know where here is,” said Daniel.

  “Where are you trying to get to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Prodding him with a steel claw, the rat said, “You know, I’d assumed you Truth Seekers were a little more on top of things. But then again, I’ve never seen one up close. I didn’t know you were all so young. What are you, like, twelve?”

  “Stop it!” Daniel slapped his paw away. “I am not twelve years old!” Any idiot could see that, except this rat, it seemed.

  “Then how old you are?”

  “Older than twelve.”

  “By how much?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “About a week?”

  “More than a week.”

  “Don’t know where you are. Don’t know where you’re going. Don’t know how old you are—”

  “Because of this!” Daniel snapped, angrily exposing the socket buried in his temple. “They wiped my memory. All our memories. I think it’s malfunctioning. Some of it’s coming back—just bits and pieces.”

  Watching Daniel’s skin slowly peel away from the embedded device, the baffled rodent jumped up onto his shoulder for a closer inspection, his light-wire whiskers tickling the boy’s ear.

  “Well, that’s a first,” the rodent replied, completely baffled. “I’ve never seen a human with one before. You and I aren’t so different after all.” Hex leapt onto the nearest pipe running along the wall at eye level, parting the fur behind one of his ears, exposing a socket no wider than a pinkie finger buried in his head. “See? It’s a Z eighty-two. Latest model,” the rat bragged. “They put them on the likes of me. Not a human.”

  “You still haven’t told me what an anatom is,” said Daniel.

  “Engineered servants. Part living being, part machine.”

  “I am human,” Daniel protested.

  “Are you sure about that—?”

  Suddenly they both heard the loud clanking of boots on the deck outside the door.

  “I wouldn’t be around when he gets here, if I were you,” Hex suggested, scampering from pipe to conduit on his way back up to the maintenance shaft. “They don’t like Truth Seekers on this ship. Bad for business.”

  Daniel rushed over to the door, activating the lock controls.

  “Hey, who’s in there?” a muffled voice complained from outside, pounding on the door. “Open up!”

  Daniel backed away, praying it didn’t fly open.

  The rat put his steely finger up to his mouth, making a shushing sign. Then he whispered, “It’s on a time release. It’s a safety thing; vent the gases. Anyway, nice meeting you—”

  Wait! Daniel silently mouthed. No matter where he looked, there really was nowhere else to go except back into the acid shower. He looked at Hex while raising his hands up to his shoulders as if to say, “Where do I go?”

  The rat loitered at the entrance to the maintenance shaft, a slow thought drifting across his artificial eyes. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  Exasperated, Daniel said, “What kind of deal?”

  “I know ways of getting around this ship that’ll keep you hidden for months,” he said, cleaning his fur. “Just promise to take me with you when you get to where you’re going.”

  Daniel didn’t see that as much of an issue at all. So this rat wanted to tag along? Who cares? “Fine!” he said, shrugging.

  Hex nodded, satisfied. “Well, get climbing, genius. It’s this way into the maintenance tunnels. I just hope you fit.”

  Over at the door, the control panel began chirping out a stream of beeps—maybe the timer was up, or maybe the crewman outside had set off the override. Either way, Daniel was gone. Scrambling up the conduit, he shimmied i
nto the maintenance tunnel, headfirst, pulling his feet through just in time.

  The hatch slammed shut just as the door to the booth rolled open.

  Hex put a tiny steel claw to his mouth, warning Daniel to stay quiet.

  Together they listened to the operator storming inside.

  “Ugh, cheese on rice . . .” the operator grumbled. A moment later, the click of a comm channel opening. “WaKeenee tower? Shutting down number three. Looks like an enginoid bailed on its shower. Got an open hatch and acid everywhere. I’ll be back in ten, let me suit up.”

  Making extra sure that the operator was actually gone, Hex nodded for Daniel to follow. “Come on.”

  Daniel crawled after him as fast as he could manage, even though the narrow shaft barely gave him room enough to move his shoulders. At every intersection, the rat would keep scampering ahead to make sure the coast was clear before leading him off in another direction. It took forever.

  “You know, you might not be twelve,” the rat mused. “If you’re not using standard galactic time. If you were from Tantara, that planet takes so long to roll around its sun, you’d be three. Skepsis moves so fast you’d be one hundred and eight. I’ve met enough humans in my time to know that in galactic standard time, you look twelve. I say stick with twelve until we find out otherwise.”

  “Okay! I don’t really care! Can we just get some fresh air, I’m dying back here.”

  Hex refused. “Can’t risk it,” he said. “The WaKeenee is very small for a merchant vessel,” the rodent explained over and over. “She’s just a hundred and twenty-eight miles long, fifteen miles deep and only has a little under three thousand decks.”

  That sounded like a lot of space to hide in to Daniel. “What about the crew?”

  “A crew of seventy, so you’re bound to run into somebody. You know what I’m saying?”

  Daniel had no idea what he was saying; his estimates sounded way off, but what did he know? “Okay, I’ll stay out of sight. What about the cargo?” he asked with a grunt. His elbows were sore and his back ached. They had to stop sooner or later.

  “What about it?”

  “I hid in a GoLoader, filled with armor—relic armor. When I woke up, all the cars were gone. I was in a junk pile,” Daniel explained.