by Maggie Allen
Caleb smiled wickedly. His focus bounced around the four walls, his mind whirring and fracturing, already working out a way.
And the competition began.
It took Caleb about ten minutes to dismantle the bot. He managed to tie its arms with the magnetic string, his fingers working through the plush to find the battery-operated innards. He hadn’t wanted to take it apart, but it kept talking at him, telling him what not to do, and it wasn’t helping him focus at all.
He then began with the scraper. Because, if there was one thing Seraphina and Dad had taught him, it was how to fly.
Seraphina watched Caleb. Her fingers traced the gravity meter at her hip, and she smiled. They couldn’t have picked a better challenge for him. A part of herself was down there, working with him, beside him, egging him on. He must have seen her make her own gravity meter once. Always watching. Asking questions.
She’d built it, not just because of that one place in her Learning Center, but actually because of their dad. He’d vanished when she was eight due to poor gravity coverage in a neighboring colony. His suit was never found. Out of fear of floating away, she’d built her own meter, even though a part of her had wanted to go up after him, to find him after all those years.
“He’s going to do it,” she whispered to her mom.
Her mom said nothing, just squeezed her hand.
She watched Caleb chip away at the gravity paint on the bottom of his cube. She watched him attach the magnetic wires on the walls to look like a ladder. With one hand, he fashioned the building blocks into a belt at his waist.
It was funny to watch him work. He flickered across the box, back and forth and back and forth so many times that Seraphina couldn’t count. Sure, he should have adjusted a few things and maybe done something with the meter they had given him, but he wasn’t her. And she was okay with that.
As the time wore on, she watched him test his device over and over. Each time, he scraped off a little more of the gravity paint until a sizeable section of the rightmost corner of the floor was gone.
On the tenth try, he managed to attach the belt to the magnetic wire stairs and crest the top of the box.
She stood up, a smile on her face, her ears deaf to the announcer saying his name. She turned from the arena and walked to the door.
Never once did she look for Mark.
Caleb and Seraphina stood at the door of their house. It was early, earlier than Caleb had ever woken up in his life. He wanted to hold her hand but didn’t, keeping it firmly pressed against his side. A blue armband wrapped around his right bicep; a pack was secured across his back.
“Ready?” Seraphina asked.
He took a deep breath. Even though he hadn’t won the BFF, even though he’d been disqualified for dismantling the bot, this was a better reward than he’d ever been given before. And at least Mark hadn’t won, either.
Underneath it all, Seraphina knew they didn’t need the competition to do great things. She’d already done one so far. Even though she hated touching people, she grabbed his hand.
Caleb ducked his head and smiled.
“You’ll do fine, I promise,” she said.
Swallowing hard, he nodded. He hadn’t even had to dismantle a bot to leave the house this time. They were letting him go to school. Of course he was nervous.
“And if anyone gives you a hard time,” Seraphina added, “you tell them I’m your sister.” Even though the bruises on her knuckles had faded, she wouldn’t forget. Together they moved toward the door, out into the purple hazy sky of colony M. The freedom of this, Caleb decided, was almost as good as flying.
Where Treasure Drifts in Space
by Jeannie Warner
Jeannie Warner spent her formative years in Southern California and Colorado and is not afraid to abandon the most luxurious environs for a chance to travel anywhere. She has a useless degree in musicology, a checkered career in computer security, and aspirations of world domination. Her writing credits include blogs of random musings and cyber security, thriller novel manuscripts, stories in online magazines, stories in various anthologies, a Mad Scientist’s Journal, several police statements, and a collection of snarky notes to a former upstairs neighbor. She lives in the San Francisco Bay area near several of her best friends whom she refers to as “minions.”
"Blast it, Ollie, don't you have that landing strut bolt out yet?" The voice came from inside the New London’s main cargo bay.
"I'm trying!" Olivia was trying. She was standing on a long, heavy wrench and bouncing a little in the hopes that it might loosen the bolt. "It's rusted on!"
"How can it be rusted? We spend all our time in space!"
"I reckon it's the time New London has spent on spaceports, when they hose down the tarmac. Plus space is chock full of corrosion and ice." Jumping down, Olivia tried lying across the bar and lifting her feet up.
"That's very astute, young lady." A deep voice sounded right behind her. She squawked in surprise and fell off the wrench. Looking up from the tarmac, she saw an older man watching her with his hands on his hips. He was heavyset with pale blue eyes in a pale, lined face. He stood fairly straight and tall, which told Olivia he grew up on a planet rather than on a ship or space station. He wore faded brown pants and a long gray jacket, and his knit cap curled over eyebrows that had started to tuft up. “Some people forget and take off right after a cleaning, and space is a cold place.” He offered a hand to help her up.
“Y-yes it is.” Olivia didn’t like being towered over. Although she was small compared to the stranger, she was average in height for her crew. When kids grow up in space, the lack of gravity twists the bones as the muscles develop. Her crewmates, Mattie, Blink, Bongo, and the other crew were all twisty, their shapes dictated by the work they did. Having an adult tower over her brought back recent unpleasant memories of a brush with the group that tried to shut down the Federal Association of Generational Navy or FAGN system. They had wanted to reeducate the youths on the various ships into “more appropriate” jobs like menial labor and office work.
And yet this man met her eyes in a straightforward manner. There wasn’t any condescension, and when she accepted his hand and he helped her to her feet, he smiled as though they had both done the right thing. “Want some help with that wrench? Perhaps my extra weight will do the trick.”
Olivia liked the way he didn’t just rush in and do it for her. She hated that, when people assumed you couldn’t do something, when the truth was you could eventually do it just fine if you were patient. “That’d be okay. Thanks.” She laid hands on the wrench and waited for his as well before they both yanked downward. With four hands, the wrench turned and the bolt loosened with a grinding squeak. Once moving, it took much less effort to finish, and the stranger stepped back to let Olivia do it all. “The New London is a good-looking ship. Decent repairs, clean.”
“Eh, not that clean. But it’ll do,” Olivia said, cocking a tentative smile upward. “What are you doing so far out here, a planet-born fellow like yourself?”
“Well, truth be told, I’m a bit of a treasure seeker these days.” The stranger looked over Olivia’s ship, craning his neck to look where the numbers used to be painted on the dorsal ridges. “This looks to be an old FAGN ship. Model X4-32 Ballistic, right?”
Olivia’s shoulders hunched. “Maybe. I’m not usually the mechanic, but we have a couple crew real sick.”
The stranger’s gaze didn’t miss the reaction. “Oh, I’m not from the Federation, or anything like it.” He spread his hands. “I heard about your program being halted, and I was against it. I hoped to find some of the FAGN ships still operating. I hopped a few freighters on the way to this backwater system, paying my way in work on repairs and updates. I figured there might be a captain willing to hear a proposition I have on a… potentially lucrative venture.”
“What’s your name, then?” Olivia demanded.
“Gold. James Gold,” he offered a slight bow. “Are you the captain?”
Olivia liked that he asked. “No. That’d be Dodger. Captain Dodger.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t ever forget to call him that.”
James smiled. “I will not. I would be obliged for an introduction, though.”
Nodding, Olivia turned to lead him up the ramp into the main hold. “Captain! We got a visitor!”
The owner of the voice that had accused her of being slow with the wrench appeared at the top of the ramp. Captain Dodger stood at Olivia’s height, clad in a worn-looking captain’s jacket. His eyes and hair were dark, his cheek bones were sharp, and his nose was a touch large for his face. Underneath the coat Dodger wore the same overalls as Olivia did—nondescript gray and nigh indestructible. The dark stains on both were a testament to hard work. “Hey now, what’s all this? Who’s he?” He pointed his screwdriver at the newcomer and scowled.
“This is James Gold,” Olivia said. “He has a business proposition.” And with that, she let Dodger take over the conversation. He would, anyway.
“What kinda business?” Dodger demanded, fists on hips. He didn’t offer a hand right away, nor did James.
“Treasure. Well, salvage, at any rate. I have in my possession information about the last known location of the Federation Exploration vessel, Gloriana.”
Olivia’s eyebrows shot up, but it was Dodger who choked with surprise. “The Gloriana? No way. Word is she got caught in the edge of a gravity well near a black hole. That would’ve ripped everything to shreds. I think someone is pulling your leg.”
“Maybe they tried,” James lifted one trouser leg slightly, showing what Olivia hadn’t noticed at first. His ankle was steel; the foot and who knows how much more was robotic. “I’ve got some intel that Gloriana broke free. But it cost her all her fuel, and she’s been caught drifting, orbiting a gas giant in the rings ever since.” His grin showed a few gold teeth. “Do you have any idea of her worth? All those star charts, maps, exploration records, just begging to be harvested and sold?”
Dodger’s eyes already had a shiny look that Olivia had seen before. “So what’s in it for you?” he asked. “What’s your angle?”
“Half of the profits from the sale,” James said promptly. “I have contacts in the mining and metallurgy corps who have said they’ll deal with us for all of the planetary data. The Gloriana’s databanks on that topic alone will be enough for me to retire.”
“One quarter,” Olivia stepped forward again. This was her area, once Dodger looked like he wanted the deal. And by the greedy expression growing in his eyes, he was hooked. “There’s risk involved if she’s anywhere near the gravity well or if that giant has ice rings or risk of radiation. Also fuel and other expenses to run and repair the ship, and manpower. Expenses, ya know.”
James’ eyebrows shot up a little. “One third. You’ll have a harder time selling the data through reputable sources.” He paused. “You say you have some sick crew? What sickness are we talking here?”
It was a reasonable question. “Our engineers Paris and Blink are both recovering from radiation sickness. Their treatment is why we were on that station, getting extra injections. Twenty-nine percent,” Olivia did a little math in her head. “There could be follow-up medical costs if it’s where you say and we have radiation exposure.”
James sighed a little. “Fair point. Twenty-nine percent.” He held his hand out.
“Agreed,” Dodger shook it, then cocked his head. “Olivia, you got all those bolts replaced?”
“Give me a half hour,” Olivia promised. “Mr. Gold, do you have bags?”
“I do,” James nodded. They agreed on a liftoff time in two hours and went their separate ways, Dodger up to the bridge, Olivia back to finish her maintenance, and James to collect his bags.
The first leg of the journey out of the system and through the next took over a week, longer than expected due to repairs and problems with engineering. Dodger muttered daily about slackers, but no one could fault the boys for being laid up.
Mr. Gold, after providing the first of the coordinates, assisted Olivia with maintenance. “The X4-32s are pretty reliable,” he observed, holding a light for Olivia as she compared a printout against a tangle of wires. “And this one looks well-kept.”
“Paris and Blink do a good job,” Olivia smiled. “Hope they’re better soon. How’d you learn ships, being a dirt-licker and all?” She paused, then blushed as she realized how her words sounded. “Sorry. Planet-born. I didn’t mean any—”
“I know the term. I grew up by a shipyard on the ground,” James said. “My first job was helping site cleaning and fetching meals and such. Space has always been my passion.”
“Really? Me, too! Cruise liners, mostly, though. Not these smaller cargo ships—they feel like storage bays with rooms attached. Not that I don’t love the London!”
“Ah, that’s why you’re…” James’ gesture included the length of Olivia. “Basically straight. Gravity.”
The girl shrugged. “I reckon. The others all were born and grew up on ships or orbitals. No regular gravity, no straight bones.” It was an old, well-known problem. Dealing with the misshapen children of space is what had spawned the FAGN program originally. “Everyone’s useful here.”
“Absolutely,” James agreed. “Your job must be charming the station crews.”
Olivia waved a wrench at him. “I do a heck of a lot more than that. It ain’t official, but I’m practically the first mate around here. I can do cargo loads, fuel capacity, and run charts in my head. I’m just doing maintenance because engineering is flat out after their Prussian Blue treatments.” She longed for a proper medi-bot and more modern medicines.
The older man looked abashed. “I apologize. No, truly I do.” He turned back to studying the circuitry. “And I think I see the problem. You have two connectors here that are hot. I think there’s a short. When they expand, they—”
“They move away and lose their connection!” Olivia cut in. “Of course! How could I have missed it?”
“Generally touching wiring isn’t a good idea,” James said, “but if the casing is warm, it’s a quick help for diagnosis.” He looked down at the fair-haired girl beside him. “You’re not what I expected to find out here.”
Olivia looked up. “How do you mean?”
James cleared his throat. “Well, just the whole FAGN program getting shut down. The rebel ships and all that have a certain rep.” He grinned. “But you’re a bright young thing. What are you, 14? You remind me of me at your age. Capable. Confident. Not at all what the Federation put out that you lot are like. That’ll teach me to jump to conclusions, eh?”
“I reckon so!” Olivia grinned back.
Over the loudspeaker just above the engine core came Dodger’s voice. “Olivia, you done? I need you up here on the bridge.”
James said, “You go on. I’ll replace this fuse. Like I said, I’m glad for the partnership, and I am looking forward to spending the loot; helping out is a simple way I can say thanks.”
“Thanks back!” Olivia handed over the wrench and waved before ducking through the iris out of the engine room. She cast a couple glances back, but James seemed intent on the aid he’d promised.
Up on the bridge, Dodger had pushed aside the various storage and learning chips that normally littered the nav comp and was hunched over it. He looked up and beckoned Olivia over. “This is going to take some fancy flying. According to the charts your Mr. Gold gave us, we’re going to be orbiting a gas giant, searching through heavy ice rings. The notes say there’s no clear line of sight on the Gloriana to make it show up in infrared, so the approach is going to be tricky.” He indicated the rings displayed on the screen. “I’m concerned about our Reaction Control System. Ever since Mouse tried to dock us with that orbital station like a blind minnow humping a whale…”
“Hey now,” Olivia protested, “you told him that he could dock us the next time his turn came up.”
“Mouse don’t practice the sims the way you do,” Dodger grow
led. “He don’t get to try again until he do. But the verniers on the RCS ain’t firing perfect.” He looked at her. “An’ the whole cargo bay smells just a little like pee. Makes me nervous.”
“Do you think we’ve got a hydrazine leak?” Olivia asked. The FAGN’s thrusters ran on hydrazine, and when things went wrong you could smell the ammonia in the fuel. Right before you died, if it was strong enough.
Dodger nodded. “I wish Paris and Blink weren’t sick.”
“Me too,” said Olivia. “I’ll see what James and I can find.”
Dodger nodded and drummed his fingers on the console. Finally, “Do you trust him?”
“I trust our crew,” Olivia said slowly. “And haven’t we proved the clever ones all along?” She took a breath and tried to focus on the good. “Those charts, that’s real money if sold to the right folks. That’s enough for a medi-bot for the sick bay. And food that comes in something besides blocks.”
Dodger preened, fingering the lapels of his Captain’s coat. “And a new uniform. Maybe ion thrusters to replace them verniers. Right. I’ll chart us a course through the rocks.”
Olivia saluted and headed back down into the engine room.
James was gone by the time she returned to the engine room, but the wiring was tucked away, and things were humming along with the engine’s heartbeat. She sniffed the air once but couldn’t smell ammonia. Her toolbox sat open, and she packed it up before heading down to the hydrazine tanks.
Olivia spent the next few hours sniffing along the wires and thin tubes that led to the verniers. She found signs of wear, and she made careful notes in the ship’s log so that Paris could check her work when he was well.
Dodger’s voice came over the ship’s loudspeaker. “James Gold to the bridge! We’re approaching the gas giant!” Olivia sat back on her heels, wiping her hands on a rag. Looking up, she saw James leave his
cabin and climb the metal stairs to the bridge.
