2017 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide

by Maggie Allen

  "I have many fine museums," said Alex.

  "As do we all," said Kernish, although his own museums were more educational than Alex's entertainment edifices. Alex, well, he'd gone wild. Alexandria was a place of pleasure, intellectual, steroidal and sensual. Great eating halls awaited the creators, lakes of wine, gardens, zoological warehouses, palaces of intellect stimulation. "But," said Kernish, "there are brother cities closer to the creators' worlds. We are not needed."

  "After three thousand years," said Alex.

  "Three thousand year since sentience," said Kernish. "The creators read my primary data. We were sent out almost thirty thousand year ago."

  "What were they like?" asked Alex quietly.

  "Like nothing I could have imagined," said Kernish. "In truth, I do not think they would have enjoyed living in me."

  "Don't say that," said Alex fiercely. "They should have been honoured to live in you."

  "I apologise, Brothers. My remark was out of place. They are the creators," said Kernish, "and should be afforded respect."

  "I don't know what to do," said Alex. "All the time I've spent anticipating their needs was for nothing."

  "I will pray to Medea," said Jerusalem.

  "I will consider the problem," said Kernish. "The dying season is close. Let's meet in a half year and talk again."

  It was the time of the great dying.

  Three times in Kernish's memory the great hunger had come, when the sky swarmed with hydrogen-sulphide bacteria, poisoning the air and depleting atmospheric oxygen. It was a natural part of the planet's ecosystem. Unfortunately, the resulting anaerobic environment was incompatible with the cities' organic/metal design. Their communication arrays fell silent. They were unable to gather resources. They grew hungry and unable to replenish their bodies. Finally their processors, the central core of their sentience, became still.

  It was death of a kind. But it was a cycle. Eventually the atmosphere became aerobic, and the cities were reborn. This cycle of death and rebirth had led to Jerusalem's revelation that the planet was part of Medea's creation, the goddess of ancient Earth legend, the mother who eats her children.

  When Kernish detected the hunger of depleted resources, he called upon his brothers. "Brothers, the dying season is at hand. We have endured a hardship, but we will sleep and meet again when we are reborn."

  "Everything seems hollow to me," said Alexandria. "How can it be that my palaces will never know habitation? How can it be that I will always be empty?"

  "Medea has told me that the creators will return," said Jerusalem.

  "And I have reached a similar conclusion," said Kernish, "although Medea has not spoken to me. I believe that one day the creators will evolve a need for us."

  "All joy has gone for me," said Alexandria. "Brothers, I'm going to leave this planet. I hope that you'll come with me."

  "Leave?" asked Kernish.

  "Is that possible?" asked Jerusalem.

  "Brother Kernish, you came to this planet in another form. Is that not true?"

  "It is true," said Kernish with a sense of apprehension. "I travelled space as a ship. Only when I landed did I reform into architecture."

  "I've retrieved the ship designs from the databanks," said Alex. "I'll reform myself and I'll leave this place."

  "But where will you go?" asked Jerusalem. "To Earth? To the place of the creators?"

  "No," said Alex. "I'll head outwards. I'm going to head beyond the Maw."

  "But . . . the Maw is too dangerous," said Jerusalem. "Medea has not sanctioned this."

  From time to time the brother cities had been visited by other races. With visitors came knowledge. The Maw was a terrible place which delineated known space. It was shunned by all. It was said that a fearful creature lurked in the dark Maw like a spider waiting to feast on the technology and the lives of those who encroached upon its space.

  "There is nothing for me here," said Alex. "I will cross the Maw. Won't you come with me, my brothers?"

  "No," said Jerusalem. "Medea has not commanded it."

  "No," said Kernish. "Dear brother, do not go. Place your trust in the creators."

  "No," said Alexandria, "and though I am loath to leave you, I must go."

  After the dying season, when the world slowly declined in poisons and the levels of oxygen rose, the mind of Kernish awakened. The loss of Alexandria was a throbbing wound. He resolved to hide his pain from Jerusalem. Kernish was the oldest city, and he must be the strongest.

  "Brother, are you awake?" came the voice of Jerusalem.

  "I am here."

  "I have prayed to Medea to send him on his way."

  Jerusalem paused, and Kernish could sense him gathering his thoughts. "What is it, Jerusalem?"

  "Brother, do you think that we should create a replacement for Alexandria?"

  It would be a simple thing, to utilise the specification for Alexandria, or even to create a new brother, Paris perhaps, or Troy, or Amman.

  "What does Medea say?" asked Kernish.

  "She is silent on the matter."

  "To birth another city into our meaningless existence does not seem a good thing to me," said Kernish.

  The brother cities Kernish and Jerusalem grew to fill the void of Alexandria. In time his absence was a void only in their memory.

  Jerusalem received many revelations from Medea. Slowly, the number of his sacred buildings grew, until there was little space for housing. The sound of Jerusalem was a lament of electronic voices crying onto the winds of the planet. After a century, Jerusalem grew silent and would not respond to Kernish's requests for conversation. Kernish decided that Jerusalem had entered a second phase of grief. He would respect his brother's desire for solitude.

  And the centuries passed. Kernish contented his mind with construction of virtual inhabitants. He used the records of the great Kernish Empire to construct imaginary citizens. He watched their holographic lives unfold within him. At times he could believe that they were real.

  And the centuries passed, until the dying season was upon them again.

  Jerusalem broke his long silence, "Brother Kernish, I grow hungry."

  "Yes," said Kernish. "Soon we will sleep."

  "The creators have not returned, as I thought they would."

  "That is true," said Kernish

  "And," said Jerusalem sadly, "Medea no longer speaks to me."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," said Kernish. "No doubt she will speak to you again after the sleep."

  "I'm afraid, Brother. I'm afraid that Medea is gone. I think that she's deserted me."

  "I'm sure that's not so."

  "I think that she has left this place and crossed the Maw."

  "Oh," said Kernish.

  "And I must go to her."

  Kernish was silent.

  "You understand that, don't you, Kernish? I'm so sorry to leave you alone. Unless," he said with a note of hope, "you'll come with me?"

  "No," said Kernish, "No, indeed not. I will be faithful to my specifications."

  And after the dying season, when he awoke, Kernish was alone. He grew until he became a city that covered a world. He remembered. Many times he was tempted to create new brothers, but he did not. He indulged himself in the lives of those he made, populating himself with his imagination. Sometimes he believed that he was not alone.

  And centuries passed, until the dying season came again. Kernish grew hungry. He could no longer ignore the despair that roiled within his soul. He'd been abandoned by his creators. His brothers were gone, swallowed by the Maw. Yet he could not create new brothers to share his hollow existence. For too many years, Kernish had been alone, indulging in dreams. He dissolved his imaginary citizens back into nothingness.

  "All I long for is annihilation." Kernish said the words aloud. They whispered through his reception hall. "I will step into the dark Maw of the sky. I will silence my hunger forever."

  Kernish gathered himself, dismantling the planet-sized city. His replicators resha
ped into a planet-sized ship.

  Let this be the end of it. Kernish had never shared Jerusalem's faith. With death would come not a glorious reunion, but oblivion. He craved it, for his hunger was an unbearable pain.

  The oldest brother city, the empty city, reshaped into a ship, left his planet and flew purposefully towards the Maw. Soon his sensors found the shapeless thing, the fearful thing, the thing that would consume him, and he was glad.

  "What are you?" whispered the Maw.

  "I am the oldest brother city." Kernish felt the Maw tearing at his outer layers. Like flies in a vacuum, millions of his replicators fell away soundlessly into the dark. "What are you?"

  "I am she underneath all things. I am she who waits. I am patience. Never dying, always hungry."

  "I know hunger," said Kernish. "So this is how my brothers died?"

  The Maw peeled off layers of replicators; like smoke they dissipated into her hunger. "Your brothers convinced me to wait for you. They said that you would follow. They said that you were the oldest, and the largest, and the tastiest of all. I'm glad I waited."

  "You didn't eat them?" asked Kernish."Where are they?"

  "Beyond," said the Maw. "I know nothing of beyond."

  Beyond? His brothers were alive? Kernish began to fight, but the Maw was too powerful. He'd left it too late. Kernish felt the pain of legion as the Maw stripped him. This would be the end of the brother city Kernish. It could have been . . . different.

  But, with his fading sensors, Kernish saw an army of ships approaching. He signalled a warning to them, "Stay back. There is only death here."

  The ships came closer. Kernish seemed to recognise them. "Is that you, Brother? Jerusalem?"

  "Yes," came the reply. The army of Jerusalem's ships attacked the Maw, shooting the Maw with light. Feeding her, it seemed, for the Maw grew larger.

  "My hunger grows," the Maw exclaimed, turning on her new attackers.

  His brother was not dead, but Kernish had lured him into danger. Kernish activated his drivers and turned to face the Maw. He flew into the dark space of her incessant singularity of hunger. "Save yourself, Brother Jerusalem!" he shouted. His brother was not dead. Kernish's long life had not been for nothing. "Save yourself, for I am content."

  The Maw consumed Kernish, layer upon layer; his replicators fell like atoms of smoke and vanished into her space, consumed.

  But a third army approached the Maw, spitting more weapons at the endless dark.

  "Alexandria is come," shouted Jerusalem. "Praise Medea!"

  Kernish felt something that he had not felt since the creators had visited the world, two millennia ago. Kernish felt hope. "You will not consume me," he said to the Maw. He fought himself away from the edge.

  Together the brothers battled the Maw. Together the three brothers tore from the Maw's endless hunger. Together the brothers passed beyond, leaving the Maw wailing and gnashing her teeth.

  "Welcome to the beyond, Brother," said Jerusalem. "I have found Medea here in a kinder guise. On the planets of beyond, we do not die."

  "I . . . am so happy that you are alive," said Kernish. "Why did you not come to me?"

  "The Maw wouldn't let us pass," said Alex. "And we knew that only the three of us, together, could overcome her hunger."

  "We've been waiting for you," said Jerusalem. "In the beyond, we have found our citizens."

  Kernish peered at his brothers though his weakened sensors. It seemed that there was life within them. "Are there creators on this side of the Maw?" he asked.

  "Not creators," said Jerusalem. "Praise Medea, there are others who need us."

  Within his brothers, Kernish saw the swift-moving shapes of tentacles, glimmering in low-light ultraviolet.

  "And there are planets waiting for you, dear Brother," said Alex. "Endless planets and people who need you. Come. Come and join us."

  No creators? But others? Others who needed him?

  "I will come with you, gladly," said the great city Kernish. He fired his drivers and flew, away from the Maw, away from the space of the creators. He flew towards the planets of the beyond where his citizens waited for him.

  Cinnamon Chou: Space Station Detective

  by Deb Logan

  Deb Logan writes children's, tween, and young adult science fiction and fantasy adventure tales. Her stories are light-hearted romps for the younger set—or ageless folk who remain young at heart. Author of the popular Dani Erickson series, Deb loves dragons, faeries, aliens of all descriptions, and adventures in the unknown depths of space. Visit her at deblogan.wordpress.com to learn more, and be sure to join her newsletter list at eepurl.com/bT-46L … you’ll receive an exclusive FREE story when you do!

  My name is Cinnamon Chou, and I’m a detective.

  Okay, I’m a kid, but I’m going to be a detective when I grow up. Just like my dad. For now, I’m practicing on the easy stuff. You know, like lost full-spectrum goggles (“They’re perched on top of your head, Master Engineer Wyandotte”), missing red silk slippers (“Got ’em, Mrs. Abrega! When was the last time you cleaned under your bed?”), or my favorite, The Case of the Missing Inarian.

  What’s an Inarian? I’m glad you asked.

  An Inarian is a warm-blooded denizen of the planet Inaria. They’re cute and cuddly and definitely don’t meet the standard of intelligence necessary to classify them as Class I Sapient Beings. Reading through my data links on old Earth biology, I’ve decided they’re pretty similar to hamsters. They make great pets, but they’re about as bright as deep space with no stars in sight.

  My best friend, Lando Maxon, has an Inarian named Dumpling. When Lando woke up that morning, he discovered that Dumpling had managed to escape from his habitat. Inarians may not be smart, but they can wriggle out of places you’d swear were tightly sealed.

  Normally, a Dumpling escape wouldn’t merit my intervention as a detective. Lando would just set out a bowl of Dumpling’s favorite treats and wait for his pet to get hungry. But today was not a normal day. Today Lando and his family were leaving the space station and returning to Centauri Three, their home planet.

  That’s one of the real bummers about living on a space station. Sooner or later all of your friends move away.

  Of course, the up side is that new friends cycle in constantly.

  At least, that’s what my mom tells me every time a close friend leaves for a distant star system. Dad says Mom is an optimist. He’s right, but so is she. By the time I grow up and take my place in the Universal Star League, I’ll have friends in so many star systems I’ll need my own database just to keep track of them all.

  Back to Dumpling. I was eating breakfast with Mom and Dad when Lando pinged my link. “Lando Maxon,” my link announced.

  Mom frowned at the link on my wrist. “Not at the table, Cinnamon,” she said, using her duty officer voice. “You know the rules.”

  I swallowed a mouthful of protein-rich, calcium-enhanced syntho-juice, wiped my mouth on a recycled napkin and said, “But Mom, Lando is leaving the station in less than six hours. If I don’t answer him, I may not have another chance.”

  Mom glanced at Dad, who nodded.

  “Very well, Cinnamon,” she said, “Your father and I will make an exception this time. You are dismissed.”

  I grabbed a slice of replicated toast, jumped out of my chair, and dashed for the door. I didn’t want to give Mom time to reconsider.

  Not that she would. Decisions were Mom’s life. As a senior officer assigned to the bridge of Space Station Zeta, Mom made hundreds of decisions. She was awesome. Cool and professional, with nerves of steel. Nobody messed with Mom.

  She was also beautiful, in a cool and commanding kind of way. Sleek black hair, dark chocolate skin, and eyes as green as all-clear lights. She had a spacer’s body, tall and willowy, but tough as nano-enhanced titanium.

  Dad, a detective assigned to station security, was a genetic throw-back. Despite being born on Cygnus 12, his DNA identified him as ethnic Chinese. He wasn
’t exactly short, but he wasn’t tall and willowy like Mom. Dad had a compact strength, like a compressed spring. And smart. Oh yeah. Dad’s brain held onto facts like a super-computer, but with the ability to make intuitive leaps that computers still hadn’t mastered.

  Me? Dad says I’m the best of both of them. I’ve got Dad’s thought-processing brilliance combined with Mom’s decision-making skills. I just need time to develop my intuition and experience to feed my knowledge base.

  I’m also a genetic combination. Where Mom is dark-skinned and Dad is gold-hued, I’m…well, cinnamon skin-toned. That’s where I got my name. Dad took one look at me and said, “She’s perfect, Maria. Our own little cinnamon sugar cookie.”

  Fortunately for me, they dropped the cookie reference and left it at Cinnamon. I’m cool with that. Nothing wrong with being named after an old world spice. Cinnamon might have been common back on old Earth, but out here in space, it’s exotic. I like being exotic.

  Once I escaped our quarters and made it into the corridor, I answered Lando’s ping.

  “What’s up, Lando? Need help packing?”

  A tiny 3-D model of my friend hovered above my wrist link. It was hard to tell on such a miniscule face, but I thought he looked worried.

  “Kinda … maybe. Look, it’s Dumpling. He escaped again. Only this time I don’t have time to wait for him to come out of hiding.”

  I nodded, thoughts racing. “Plus, I’ll bet your quarters haven’t been sealed. Not with everyone packing and moving boxes to the landing bay.”

  “He could be anywhere,” Lando agreed.

  “I’m on my way.” I paused, thinking about my approach to the case. “Does your family have a DNA detector?”