Did she know who he was? Surely she wouldn’t be so kind. But then again, Max had known and still given him shelter. Perhaps it was all a trap. Ato’s head began spinning again. “I’m okay,” he said.
Sarita looked at him doubtfully. “Hmm, we’ll see about that. I’m going to bring you some ration soup. It tastes like liquid towel, but you probably shouldn’t be eating anything too exciting right now anyway. Give everything a chance to settle. Later, if you’re up to it, Max’ll run out and get you something from the bakery, okay?”
Ato nodded. Sarita smiled at him and he realized she did indeed know who he was and didn’t care, or didn’t care enough to judge him for it. Ato breathed a sigh of relief and passed back out.
A plastic bowl full of thick greenish-brown goo was sitting on the bedside table when he woke up. It was lukewarm and Dr. Sarita had been pretty spot-on about the taste, but Ato scarfed it down and immediately wanted more when he was done.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and carefully lifted himself into a sitting position. The room stayed pretty much still. His head throbbed but not unbearably. Alright. What else? His legs seemed undamaged. A few cuts and bruises decorated his pale skin, a little paler now than usual but nothing to be too concerned about. Everything seemed to be in pretty good working order.
He stood and made his way across the room, holding the wall for support.
“Hey there!” Dr. Sarita looked up from a textbook she was reading on the easy chair. “How was the soup?”
“Good.”
Dr. Sarita raised an eyebrow and frowned at him.
“Towelly,” Ato admitted. “But I was hungry.”
“Max should be back any …”
A clanging and the roar of jetboots announced Max’s return from the bakery. He walked in, jetboots in hand, and smiled. “He’s alive!”
“Thanks to you guys,” Ato said, rubbing the stitches on the back of his head.
“Don’t touch ’em,” Dr. Sarita said. “They need to heal.”
“I got dougies,” Max said. Ato had no idea what dougies were, but they turned out to be delicious. Some kind of buttery, doughy amazing thing that seemed to turn to syrup in your mouth and left you with a perfect aftertaste that made you want more and more. So far, Flood City was nothing at all like Ato had expected.
And he loved it.
Dear Max,
It feels so strange to be writing a letter the old old-fashioned way, but I think it’s safer than any kind of transmission. The holowaves are being monitored, from what I hear, and they’re keeping very close track of everything we do. I’ve seen the holographer’s bird, Krestlefax, flapping around the training island the past couple of days, so I wrote this hoping he might get it to you.
The Star Guard transport dropped us off here three days ago. It’s a huge concrete slab floating out in the middle of the ocean. It’s probably only a little smaller than Flood City, but it’s totally flat except for a few bunks and office buildings at the far reaches and some artificial mounds in the training arena.
There’s three different species here at the academy besides us Earthlings. The giant blue guys we see all the time are here of course, the snells. They’re almost completely brain-dead and utterly atrocious with their rudeness and body odor, but otherwise mostly harmless. And stinking Commander Uk-some kind of snell higher-up. He’s one of the little ones though, and he’s absolutely the most inconsiderate, hateful, foulmouthed, temperamental psychopath I have ever met. But we knew that. Fortunately, Uk just stops by to do inspections from time to time, and the main academy commander is another small snell in a hovercraft named Joola who actually seems pretty cool, surprise surprise.
Then there’s the triphenglotts. They’re basically just giant larvae with billions of legs and pincer mouths. They rear up on their hindquarters when they’re angry and their whole front is covered in some kinda ick that I don’t even wanna think about. Probably battery acid. Blegh. They have their own quarters-some kind of cave that leads to an underchamber behind all the other buildings. They do the training exercises with us-some of them even run exercises, yuck-but other than that you don’t see ’em much and there’s rumors going around they have some kinda special role in the Star Guard hierarchy that no one knows about.
Finally, there’s the tarashids. Not sure what to make of these guys. They have a hard armored shell like a tortoise and large beaked heads with buggy eyes on either side. Six great big elephant-size legs extend out to surprisingly agile seven-fingered hands. Or are they seven-toed feet? I don’t know. They seem to be useful for whatever the tarashid needs it to be. Then they have an apparently endless supply of other little clawed arms that show up from within that shell from time to time. They’re quiet creatures, and there’s not very many of them. One appears to be their leader, his name’s Osen and he seems somehow … I don’t know how to explain this … trustworthy. We’ve barely spoken but it’s just something in his eyes, like he’s watching everything going on and taking it all in but always with a little skepticism.
Anyway, I think there’s some issue between the lumbering tarashids and the icky triphenglotts, because there’s always an uneasy kinda feeling in the air when they’re around each other.
Every day an angry clique of Star Guard captains wakes us up at sunrise. Usually it’s one of the blue giants but sometimes it’s a tarashid, which is disorientating cuz they look so weird, or occasionally a triphenglott, which is terrifying because, ew-and they just end up snaking up and down the dorm aisles on all those hideous legs leaving a trail of nasty behind them and bellowing in some clacky bug talk that no one can understand.
Needless to say, it’s no way to greet the day. (See how I make rhymes for you, bro?)
We do exercises all morning. Not just jump squats like in Mr. Arroyo’s class either. These are the kinda calisthenics that make you feel muscles you never knew you had, make your whole body burn and feel broken by the end of the day. They give us some nasty grub for breakfast. (You don’t wanna know. Neither do I, in fact.) Then we have weapons and pilot training all day, which would be pretty cool if it wasn’t for this triphenglott called Ridge Commander Briggus. He’s the chief weapons instructor and I swear it’s like he’s trying to kill us. I shot a slicer yesterday until my fingers were calloused and my arms could barely lift the thing, all because I’d missed the motorized target dummy a few times while it swung back and forth toward me. I know they want us to learn and be proficient little killers, but sheesh! Can a girl catch a break?
This place is weird, Max. It’s so sterile-there’s no smell at all except disinfectant and no colors except gray and I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss your stinky socks, because at least it’s something real, human-home. I guess I must be homesick if I miss your funk already, ugh!
And I get the feeling us Flood City folks are the most unwanted of the pack, even though we’re the most normal looking! (Okay, okay, I know they all think they’re the most normal looking, but still … I think even if I were a triphenglott I’d be repulsed by myself.) Anyway, they all frown at us and are extra hard on us in training. Well … not the tarashids, now that I think about it. They don’t really give us a signal one way or the other. But the blue giants and the triphenglotts are downright rude and sketchy potatoes all day long! (Hahaha you remember how Jasmine used to say “sketchy potatoes” all the time?! Cracking up just thinking ’bout it … but it makes me sad too …)
And … the hardest thing was having to shave my locs. My locs, Max!!! You know how many years I been growing them! That was, like, a piece of my soul and with a quick buzz and unfriendly blue hands holding my head still, they’re gone. I wanted to cry so bad, felt it rising up inside me, but I pushed it away because no way I’m gonna cry in front of everyone on day one of Star Guard Academy, you know? Still … I feel so strange being bald-headed, like a part of me’s missing.
I can’t really describe how hard it was to leave you guys that morning, especially give
n everything that had gone down the night before. I feel like someone carved a hole out of my heart and it’ll never be filled till I’m back in Flood City. Somehow though, through all this, I know I’m doing the right thing.
Love you always.
Give Momz a big hug for me and don’t worry about me! I’m fine! Write whenever you can.
Y
PS: And thanks to Delta for the drawings cuz you know I can’t draw!
Effie Delano was ten years old when the scary men came to her house. It was already a terrible night: the rush of people escaping from the Music Hall, the flashes of light in the sky, and then that explosion that seemed to shake the whole planet. But they’d made it home safely—Effie; her older brother, Dante; little Arthur; and Mom and Dad—and then they’d lit candles and huddled in that flickering pool of light in the kitchen, talking in hushed tones about what had happened. Grandma Betty, who was too old to go out anymore, had listened attentively from her hoverchair in the corner. Then came the tapping at the window, which gave Effie a horrible knot in her tummy because she somehow knew exactly what was about to happen and wanted more than anything not to let Dad get up and see what the noise was. But she didn’t; she kept her mouth shut, and Dad got up and then everything happened so fast.
Really, it wouldn’t have made any difference, Effie told herself. She’d told herself the exact same thing each of the seven days that had gone by since that horrible night, and she still didn’t believe it. Now she said it again, to see if maybe it would sound true the second time in a row, but it never did. She was standing in the bakery line. Her hands were shaking, but she couldn’t tell if it was because she was afraid someone would realize what was going on or she was afraid they wouldn’t.
“Ahem.” The older man behind her cleared his throat, and Effie realized the people ahead of her had moved up in line. She skittered forward.
It was just her and Dante left. They’d kept her alive ’cause she was just a pathetic little girl and couldn’t hurt anybody, and Dante had been blind ever since a jetboot racing accident when he was a kid, so the bad men must’ve figured they didn’t have much to worry about from him. In fact, they didn’t seem worried about anything at all. But they needed someone alive to run their errands and another someone alive to keep the first from running off. It was a clever plan, because there was absolutely no way Effie would ever escape without Dante, and he wouldn’t get far wandering the narrow alleyways of Flood City by himself.
“Ahem!” The old man coughed again, and Effie stepped into the open space between her and the next person in line. The smell of freshly baked goods was intoxicating, a painful reminder of freedom.
If you run away, we will kill him, the tall one in robes had said. If you do anything silly or stupid or clever or try any slick moves at all, we will kill him. Effie had nodded, her eyes huge with terror. If I start to feel sick or find any weapons you’ve been hiding or wake up in a bad mood … The man didn’t finish the sentence, he just sliced his finger across his throat and arched his eyebrows. Understood?
Effie had nodded again, wishing the whole thing were just a horrible dream.
Now go get us some more dougies. Those things are delicious.
“How many’ll it be, Effie?” Mr. Sanpedro said.
Effie mumbled something.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Two dozen.”
“Oh my, you guys must have a full house, huh?”
Effie shrugged, unable to look the baker in his eyes. He disappeared into the busted old train car and returned carrying two big paper bags. Their bottom halves were already dark from the heat and grease of the dougies.
“You tell your mom and dad I send my regards, okay, Effie?”
She nodded, taking the bags, looking away.
“Effie?”
She looked up at Mr. Sanpedro, a million different thoughts, prayers, bargains, wishes, fears burning through her eyes.
“Everything alright?”
She nodded. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Sanpedro.” She even smiled at him.
He grinned back at her. “Alright, little one. See you tomorrow.”
Efiie walked away, cringing inside herself.
“What we need,” Get said, slamming his hand on the kitchen table, “is a plan.”
“I’ve got a plan,” growled Sak. “We get out of here now and never come back.”
Tog shook his head. “How do you plan on doing that when the cruiser’s down for the count and under armed surveillance by the Star Guard?”
“We can handle the Star Guard,” Mephim said. Everyone shut up and turned to look at the shadowy corner he’d been lurking in. It was the first time the ArchBaron had spoken all day. “The cruiser is not salvageable, but the escape pods may afford us an opportunity to retreat for the time being. Baron Apix?”
“Hm?” Tog perked up, startled at being addressed with his formal title.
“Can you fix up whatever damage there is to the pods if we get you to them?”
“I don’t see why not. I mean, there’ll be damage, for sure.” The strain was evident in Tog’s voice, but he wasn’t the type to make up a brighter scenario. “But I believe it’s fixable with some tinkering. Thing is, it’ll take some time.”
“How much time?”
“Well, it depends how bad the damage is. Could be a couple of hours.”
The ArchBaron stepped out of the shadows and turned his icy gaze on Sak. “Can we hold off the Star Guard and whatever nuisance the Flood City rebels bring for four hours, Chief Gunner Sak?”
“Well, I—” Sak started, but Get cut him off: “Of course we could! There’s, what? Six of us. We have weapons, some at least, and we could cause plenty of trouble and keep the blue giants running in circles for …”
“I didn’t ask you,” Mephim seethed. The boy sat back down, his face reddening.
“I believe we could do it for four hours, sir,” Sak said. “But it won’t be easy. And we’ll lose men and empty our resources.”
“Which is to say?”
“We don’t even know how badly the pods are damaged, and until then it’s no use going in only to find out there’s no point anyway.”
“A little reconnaissance, then?” The ArchBaron seemed pleased with this idea.
“Right. We distract the giants for an hour, that shouldn’t be hard, and send the boy—er—young Baron to sneak in, see what the situation is with the pods, and then, if they seem worth the trouble, we go in blasters blazin’ and see what kind of time we can buy for old Tog here to do what he can for the pods, eh?”
“I’ll fix the pods,” Tog snarled. “Don’t you worry about that.”
A tap-tap-tap came at the door and the men all went for their weapons. Sak peeked through the peephole and waved to everyone to relax. “It’s the girl,” he said, unchaining and opening the door. “She’s got the dougies.”
“Thank god!” Get exclaimed. “I love those things!”
The first thing Ato noticed about Flood City was that everyone was a different shade of brown. They’d talked about it up on the Chemical Baron base fleet, but they’d simply said broad things like “the remaining inhabitants of Earth are mainly brown-skinned humans.” Only brown-skinned didn’t really seem to cover it. Instead, Ato found a whole rainbow of variations from light pink like himself (although there weren’t many of those) to Max’s reddish tan, to Dr. Sarita’s slightly darker, umber hue, to Dr. Maceo, whose skin was a rich dark brown.
At first it was confusing: Up on the base fleet, almost everyone was pale like Ato, so it took him a few days to adjust to all the different colors. But now it’d been more than a week since the crash and Ato had started venturing out into Flood City. He was getting the sense that just seeing faces that looked like his would never feel the same again.
“Push down!” Max yelled. Ato was still getting the hang of his jetboots—a pair of Max’s sister Yala’s. He was descending rapidly into a twisted ravine between two apartment buildings and h
e’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed. “You got to pay attention on jetboots, man!” Max warned as Ato accelerated into a sharp upswing. A passing swarm of little kids chuckled wildly at Ato. “It’s not like walking, ’cause everything’s happening much faster. Things’ll sneak up on you in seconds flat and you’ll be toast.”
Ato nodded. “It’s kinda like information overload. All I’ve ever known my whole life has been on the base fleet and then only recently occasional missions to other spots. I never even put my feet on real terrain, I mean something that wasn’t a spacecraft of some kind, until I was eleven.”
Max looked at his new friend. “Wow. I can’t even imagine. I mean, we don’t put our feet down that much, and I suppose we’re a ways over the actual surface of the earth, but still …”
“It’s there.”
“Right. You can sense it. Then again, I’ve never been to space, so, I guess we’re kinda even.”
Ato shrugged. “Space isn’t really all that big a deal. You look out the window and it’s just empty, empty, empty as far as you can see. Maybe there’s a bunch of stars. Maybe a nebula or an asteroid belt somewhere way off, but even that barely breaks up the monotony of it. And the base fleet is huge, you know, but still you feel like it’s this enclosed space that doesn’t grow or change or have any life to it whatsoever.”
They jetted along a larger throughway, ducking between passing families and various Flood City folks finishing their day’s chores. Buildings leaned in odd angles on either side, looking more like spiky still life explosions than anything someone could live in. But laundry hung from metal escape ladders and faces gazed out windows. On one long balcony, folks were gathered around tables laughing and making fun of one another over some kind of game. It was a breezy, warm afternoon. The sky was just turning into that murky red that would soon slide into darkness.
“What you wanna do?” Max asked.
“Race.”
Flood City Page 10
