by Maggie Allen
Her mother wanted to watch the aeronauts, so her father helped her into the Jeep. Lucy drove all three of them to the bluffs. Late it in the evening the wind died down, so only the most skilled aeronauts, those who could handle light winds and five-meter wings without a safety parachute, took to the sky. They parked and watched the flyers surf the currents, spiraling higher and then diving towards the dark water, building speed to swoop up the face of the bluffs and alight on the edge. They watched until her mother tired. They drove home and put her in the daybed in the studio. Her father sat on one side of her, and Lucy sat on the other.
Her mother closed her eyes, her breathing slow and shallow. The hospice bracelet sent telemetry to the hospital. The hospital pinged her father's phone.
Just like the aeronauts, it was like running towards a cliff, faster and faster, until you found yourself alone and unsupported, over the edge with nothing but wide open uncertainty above, below, and ahead.
"Nothing left but the rising," said her mother, barely above a whisper. "Thank you."
"For what, Mom?"
"For being my daughter."
They sat, Lucy and her father, and waited, and after a short while they were the only two in the room.
"What do I do now?" asked Lucy.
"Lucy," said her father, "let's go for a walk."
She nodded, unable to speak. If she were to make a sound, it would be something terrible and unfitting. She held it in, turning away from the pain. Her father took her hand, and they walked back to the bluffs to sit on the sagging bench and figure out what was to come after.
The aeronauts, like dragons, wheeled in the sky, calling to each other.
Her Neosaur, a drab chicken-lizard devoid of any of the form and style she saw in her imagination, hatched. She did not know what had gone wrong. It looked like she felt, sad and gray and tiny. Even after it fledged, it still looked like a feathery, gray lizard with translucent flaps of skin draped between the long fingers of its wings. It cried constantly, so she took to carrying it around. It clung to her clothes, nestled on her chest and nuzzled on her cheek, occasionally nipping at her earlobes. She called the little Neosaur Artemis, after the Greek goddess of the hunt, a completely unfitting name for such a sad little creature.
At breakfast one morning, she placed Artemis on the breakfast table, and the tiny Neosaur plucked at her gray feathers, pulling them out. They stuck to the edges of her tiny toothed mouth. Lucy picked her up, dusting the tiny feathers from her muzzle. Artemis felt heavier, likes she had put on a bit more weight. Given the amount of food she ate, she ought to be. With the tip of her finger, Lucy parted the soft downy feathers and felt the tips of immature pin feathers dotting the Neosaur's body.
Over the next two months, Artemis grew to about two feet tall. Her elegant, raptorian body was covered in sleek, interlocking, fan-shaped feathers in iridescent green, blue, gold, and red. Her coloration had the jewel-like intensity of a hummingbird. The leading edges of her membranous wings were densely layered with tiny, blade-like feathers that she could flex independently. She had a fearsome appearance, but her disposition was gentle. She ate everything. Bugs, lizards, field mice, table scraps, nuts, acorns, and berries went down her gullet with equal enthusiasm. She took to a high protein dog food with gusto, and Lucy’s father complained that she was worse than a teenager.
Artemis refused to be separated from Lucy and followed her around, heeling by instinct. She was smart, at least as smart as a dog, and maybe as smart as those sarcastic gene-crafted parrots at the pet store. She climbed up the rough bark of the live oaks, clinging with the two dagger-like phalanges that did not have wing skin stretched between them, but she would not fly.
It was as if something was holding her down.
Lucy sat next to her father in the school principal's office. Artemis sniffed a potted palm tree in the corner.
"Artemis, no," said Lucy.
Artemis squawked and returned to her side, rubbing her feathered cheek against Lucy’s own.
"Mr. Cardiff," said Principal DeMaria. "Lucy is a wonderful student, but her Neosaur distracts the other students. I can't have it following her around the school all day. It needs to be returned to the pens. Some of the parents are concerned. They don't like their children in the company of a dinosaur."
"Artemis is not a dinosaur. She is a service animal as defined by the Americans with Disabilities Act."
"Your daughter is not disabled," said Principal DeMaria, "and service animals are registered."
Lucy's father reached into his briefcase and brought out a manila folder. "I'm sure you will find the paperwork in order. Artemis is registered with the US Service Animal Registry as an emotional support animal. If you have any questions, you can contact my firm." He slid over his business card.
"It’s a bit unorthodox. Service animals are usually dogs."
"The law does not limit the kind of animal. I'll admit there is room for legal interpretations, but interpretations are expensive. I'm sure the school district would prefer to avoid any legal or financial complications that might arise from objections to Artemis."
"I am going to table this decision for the moment. Artemis can stay without a fight, providing she is muzzled…"
"Dad," protested Lucy.
"Loosely," added Mr. DeMaria. "I mean, look at those teeth. And she needs her claws blunted for safety."
"We can work with that," said Mr. Cardiff.
"There is another matter, Mr. Cardiff. It seems that there was an intrusion into Anthrodynamics' computer systems that emanated from this school, coincidentally the same day your daughter was registered in the AP Biology lab. The school board is cooperating in an investigation into the matter. The company has expressed an interest in speaking to your daughter and taking a look at Artemis."
"Why would they want to do that?"
"Dad, I…"
"Not another word," said her father.
"The Bionics programming language used in the Neosaur kit is a truncated version. It is incapable of creating a creature like Artemis. There is the matter of the computer intrusion itself and the potential hazard of a gene-crafted creature of unknown capability. The end-user license agreement for the Neosaur kits gives Bioscholastics a claim on Artemis. It doesn't happen often, but the company could take her away," said Principal DeMaria.
Lucy walked down to the bluffs to watch the aeronauts. Artemis followed and trilled at every new sight and sound. Her father was dealing with her use of Dr. Nelms’ account at Anthrodynamics and was working on an agreement that would let her keep Artemis. Anthrodynamics might settle for access to her DNA and source code. It seemed Artemis' hybrid wing design, particularly the independently moving feathers at the leading edge, had bio-mimetic applications in the aerospace industry worth billions of dollars, and Lucy was the only one with the source code.
If only Artemis would fly.
It was a beautiful, breezy day, the kind the aeronauts favored. She watched them vanish over the edge and then soar skyward, wings spread, stroking the air. They whooped and called to one another. So much joy, she thought, all for one small price of simply falling over the edge.
"You could do that," said Lucy to Artemis. "You have wings. Wouldn't you want to?"
Artemis trilled, an all-purpose response to the sound of Lucy’s voice. The raptor watched the flyers tracking skyward and then preened herself.
Lucy heard a car door close and turned to look. Her father and the Anthrodynamics lawyer walked towards her. Panic surged. What if they were taking Artemis away?
"We have to fly, Artemis."
She stood and walked towards a group of aeronauts eating lunch. Artemis followed. They didn't see her, and she slipped on a wing pack.
"Hey," said an aeronaut.
"Lucy," said her father.
"Run!" said Lucy.
She ran toward the edge. Artemis kept pace, leaning forward, wings half-spread. The aeronaut whose wings she borrowed ran after her, half a step behind. Artem
is dodged towards him, and the man veered away.
"Whoa, you crazy bird," he said. He stopped running and called to her. "You'll kill yourself!"
The ground rushed beneath her feet in a blur of green. She heard her father's faraway voice, and then the ground was gone, lost behind her, and she was over the edge, alone and unsupported.
She fell.
This is what it is to die, she thought: the long pointless plummet of panicked life and then the sudden, just as meaningless, stop.
She swept her arms forward and the aeronaut wings unfurled, catching air, turning her reckless plummet into a glide. She pulled her legs together and arched her back. The wings changed camber, generating lift. She rose and banked towards the cliff. The wind rising off the face of the rock caught her and swept her upwards at dizzying speed.
She rose higher, as if an invisible hand had cradled her body and pulled her skyward. Her heart pounded with fear and joy.
Before you can rise, you have to fall.
She looked over her shoulder.
Artemis soared. Ungainly on the ground, in flight Artemis was the definition of grace. The Neosaur's wings flexed, fully extended and spangled with reflected sun light. Artemis took the lead and Lucy followed, matching Artemis's wingbeats stroke for stroke. The powerful myoplastic muscles built into the aeronaut's wings augmented her strength. She glanced below. Her father, the Anthrodynamics lawyer, and the aeronauts looked up at her. Artemis let out a wild screech of joy, and Lucy did the same.
Lucy closed her eyes and experienced the rush of the wind and warmth of the sun.
She soared unafraid and un-alone.
Light flashed from their wings as they flew in tandem, one next to the other.
In comparison, leaping from the cliff was easy. Her landing was ungraceful and bruising. She flared her feet dragging along the ground, lift dumped from the wings, and she tumbled. Her father took her up in his arms. Drooping wings dragged the ground behind her.
Artemis alighted next to her.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," she said.
"We'll talk later," said her father.
"First time! That was awesome," said the aeronaut. "Can I have my wings back?"
"Am I going to keep Artemis?"
"Yes," said her father.
Lucy lifted the canvas that shrouded her mother's painting. Sometime between stepping off the cliff and catching the air, she found enough courage to see her mother's last painting.
She saw herself standing at the bluffs, poised to take a step over the edge into the unknown. Her hair and dress billowed into the wind. The sky was thick with sunlit clouds of orange and gold and red. Rays of light from a shrouded sun fanned out across the sky. Dark waves capped with white marched across the ocean surface. A dragon, in the colors of Artemis, rose into the sky, wings outstretched.
"She loves you so much," said her father.
Lucy ran to him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
"I know," said Lucy.
The Fantastic Tale of Miss Arney’s Doubloon
by Zach Shephard
Zach Shephard's fiction has appeared in places like Galaxy's Edge, Intergalactic Medicine Show and the Unidentified Funny Objects anthology series. He likes Halloween and Christmas more than any 34-year-old probably should, and hibernates in the summer to avoid his nemesis, the sun. With enough donuts handy, you can bribe him to do pretty much anything. For a complete bibliography of Zach's stories, check out www.zachshephard.com.
“Let’s go to Miss Arney’s house next!” Jenny said.
Nicole rolled her eyes at her cousin’s suggestion. “Miss Arney doesn’t even give out candy. If we went down Main Street we’d get tons of candy.”
“That’s not how trick-or-treating works,” Jenny said. “Walking past the shops and letting store-owners dump stuff into your bag isn’t fun. You’ve got to go to neighborhoods! To houses! To scary dark doors with spiders guarding the way!” She drew her plastic cutlass and sliced at the air, flipping her pirate-patch over her eye.
None of that sounded any good to Nicole. She just wanted to go home, cuddle up with the dog and play games on her phone. And maybe eat candy—the only good part about Halloween. Even dressing up wasn’t fun, which was why Nicole had thrown together a fortune-teller outfit from her mom’s scarves and jewelry with as little effort as possible.
But of course the other kids would want to do whatever Jenny did. After all, she was the one who’d seen a spaceship the other day—or so she’d claimed. Nicole didn’t believe her for a second. The “spaceship” was probably just a weird-looking cloud. And besides, even if aliens were real, why would they visit a tiny little town like Greensburg? They should be meeting with the President or something. It didn’t make any sense.
As expected, Nicole’s idea to go down Main Street was overruled. The group of fifth-graders, escorted by Li’s parents, made for Miss Arney’s house. They squished together on the tiny porch, kicking aside crisped autumn leaves in the darkness. Jenny rang the bell, and as the door opened, their voices carried through the cool October air:
“Trick or treat!”
Miss Arney, wearing plastic devil-horns and a shiny red cape, smiled with delight.
“Look at all of you! Such lovely costumes.”
She held out a sack. The sack. Everyone knew about the treasures you could get from Miss Arney: she had a great big collection of board games she’d played when she was younger, and every year she’d throw pawns and cards and other bits into her sack for kids to claim. The girls thrust their hands in and fished around. Nicole joined reluctantly, secretly hoping a stray peanut butter cup had made its way into the bag.
She got her fingers around something that was almost the right shape and pulled it out. It wasn’t a peanut butter cup—just a dumb coaster or something. She dropped it into her bag without giving it a second look.
Everyone thanked Miss Arney (even Nicole, who didn’t forget her manners despite her disappointment) and shuffled down the sidewalk.
“What’d you get?” Jenny asked.
“Nothing cool.”
“I got a dragon! Isn’t it awesome?” Jenny showed the figurine.
“Sure. When can we go home?”
“It’s Halloween, ’Cole! Aren’t you having fun?”
How was this fun? Things were so much better inside. Leave the trick-or-treating, softball and camping to Jenny.
“Okay,” Jenny said, flipping her patch over her eye. “If ye won’t be havin’ any fun here, we’ll try the high seas!” She grabbed Nicole’s hand.
“What are you—”
Jenny yanked them behind a bush when Li’s parents weren’t looking. She peeked down the sidewalk.
“Those scurvy dogs won’t even know we’re gone. Come on!”
Jenny pulled Nicole through a dark yard, across a street and into a field. They stopped in the middle, breathing heavily. Between moon-silvered cloud streaks, the stars shone brightly.
“We’re going to get in trouble,” Nicole said.
“Good! Pirates live for trouble. Now show us yer booty, sailor.” Jenny took the dragon figurine from her bag and made some dragon noises, which sounded to Nicole like a chicken auditioning for the opera.
Nicole pulled out the item she’d gotten from Miss Arney. The golden disc was about the size of her palm and half an inch thick.
“Yar!” Jenny said. “It be a doubloon!”
“It’s way too big for a doubloon.”
Jenny’s posture slumped in overdramatic fashion. “Use your imagination, dorkbutt. Tonight I’m a pirate, and that’s a doubloon. And you! You’re not a fortune-teller—you’re Lady Dracona, the gypsy queen cursed by Baron McSnotfart to transform into a dragon whenever you’re mad!” She swung the figurine through the air, making more noises. “Here—try it out.” Jenny gave Nicole the figurine and accepted the doubloon in exchange.
Nicole examined the dragon, but its details were lost in the dark. A moment later a golden light covered it.
“Whoa!” Jenny said. “Check it out!”
The doubloon glowed in her palms. The girls huddled over it, staring into its translucent surface. Its guts were full of circuitry, and on the surface was an animation of a twisty ladder.
“That ladder must lead to treasure,” Jenny said.
“It’s not a ladder. It’s one of those DNA things. And where’d it come from, anyway?”
“I flicked this switch on the back and everything lit up. This is the coolest thing anyone has ever gotten from Miss Arney.”
Jenny ran circles through the field, swinging the coin high and low like a ship atop stormy waves. Nicole sighed and pocketed her dragon, wishing her dad hadn’t made her leave her phone with Li’s parents.
She watched Jenny play, wondering when her cousin would get bored so they could leave. As the glowing doubloon swept through the field, Nicole noticed something in the background.
“Jenny,” she whispered, “come here.”
“What be the problem, Lady Dracona?”
“Shh! Does that bush look weird to you?” She pointed at a large, distant shape.
Jenny lifted her patch and squinted into the darkness. She shrugged.
“I don’t—wait! Did it just move?”
The girls stared. Was the bush growing? Swelling like a balloon? No—it was just the wind pushing things around. Except there was no wind.
Nicole focused on the stars behind the bush. One by one, they were covered by the expanding shape.
“Turn the doubloon off. I can’t see with the light in my face.”
Jenny flicked the switch. Right away Nicole noticed two dim lights hanging high in the bush, like reflective purple marbles.
The lights blinked.
The girls squealed. The bush expanded into a huge shape, blotting out more stars. There was a screech that put Jenny’s dragon noises to shame, followed by a loud beating of wings. The girls ran in the opposite direction.
“What the heck is that?” Nicole asked.
