by Anthea Sharp
Tears sprang to Echo’s eyes.
“Why are you not wearing a cast?” she cried.
“Not to worry,” Boomer said, “it will heal on its own. I am being careful when I walk. Best of all, I can still work. I only had to take one day off, so it’s a good thing for small miracles.”
But Echo knew why he wasn’t getting it fixed. He had no bracers to pay a medic.
Before heading out to work the next day, Boomer opened the trunk below his worktable and pulled out her vidscreen Pioneer.
“I kept it, hoping one day you would return,” he said, cheeks dimpling as he handed it to her.
Echo kissed those cheeks and took the device from him, saying, “Thank you.”
As soon as Boomer left, she dressed in a set of his spare clothes and set off to the scrapyard, where she informed the overseer she would take any job he had to offer.
Lucky for her, one of their material handlers had received a promotion the week before, leaving his position open. Echo would be responsible for ensuring chemical materials passed through shakers and mixers. She would also load and unload materials by hand to racks, trays, and pallets. Heavier objects would require machine operation, but they could train her on that.
For this work, she would be paid eleven bracers an hour and could begin the next day.
Echo no longer had an internal data feed in which to check if the wage was fair. All that mattered was that she had paid work that started immediately. She’d work hard and save up to get Boomer the care he needed to repair his foot. Maybe in a couple years, she’d receive a promotion as well.
On her way home from the scrapyard, Echo took a detour to Alley Exchange where she traded her Pioneer for a bottle of painkillers. She’d heard Boomer groaning throughout the night and knew it was important for him to sleep. The pills would help until she could afford to get him proper medical care.
After a month of working at the scrapyard, she received her first paycheck, but her elation was soon dimmed by the fact that eleven bracers an hour didn’t go very far now that there were two bodies to feed. She’d also had to purchase her own hard hat and gear to protect her new flesh and bones. But still she saved. Even a little bit added up over time. She only wished Boomer didn’t have to suffer along the way.
For his part, he returned home with a smile on his lips for her every evening. He’d implored her not to work at the scrapyard, even though they desperately needed the extra bracers.
Echo showed up to work day after day and never once complained. On Sundays, Boomer urged her to get out and enjoy the bazaar and take what little bracers he had left to offer, but she always said the same thing: “I don’t need anything at the bazaar, Boomer. I only need you.” And then she would ensure he kept off his foot for at least one day out of the week.
One evening, Boomer returned home with a full grin on his lips. He’d pulled off his goggles but not his scarf when the words burst from this mouth, “Echo, guess what?”
“I was not gifted with mind reading,” she teased, happy to see his excitement.
Boomer lifted his chest and chuckled.
“In that case, you’ll never guess.”
“Tell me, Boomer.”
He clasped his hands together, the lantern’s light brightening his gaze.
“One of the head engineers from Gere Corps came to see me at work today! He said an alien advisor had recommended hiring me as part of their new advanced AI division. Can you believe it?”
Her jaw hung open. She had no words, which was very unlike her.
“Do you think this was the work of your blue alien friend?” Boomer asked.
“It certainly sounds like it,” Echo said.
She wondered if the blue alien was still at Gere Corps. She wanted to thank her for helping make her wishes and dreams come true.
“Do you know what this means?” Boomer asked, clasping Echo’s hands in his. “With this new job, I can buy us a nice home in sector west with glass windows and electricity. We’ll have our own hovercar and annual stargazing cruises. I can buy you the vidscreen Apollo and a laser harp with lessons.”
“And you can fix your foot,” Echo threw in.
“Yes, and that too,” Boomer chuckled.
“That first,” Echo admonished.
His gaze softened, the laughter vanishing as he stared warmly into her eyes.
“Echo.”
“Boomer.”
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
Dimples appeared in his cheeks as he said, “Are you repeating my words back to me?”
Echo mirrored his smile, love filling every beat of her heart.
“I am. But also, I mean them. I love you, Boomer, and I always will.”
As he leaned forward and kissed her, she thought, What a wonderful gift to be alive.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for reading “Echo,” a Pinocchio inspired sci-fi fairy-tale retelling. I was captivated by “The Adventures of Pinocchio” by Italian author Carlo Collodi, originally published in 1883. I watched the Disney version as a child, but Collodi’s version is unbeatable. Pinocchio was one naughty boy! The moment poor Geppetto made his legs, the puppet was off and running. It took him a long time to get his act together (a long, long time), but he learns many valuable lessons along the way. In many ways, I can relate.
A few of my favorite lessons from Pinocchio are: be mindful of who you keep company with; help others and they will help you in turn; there are no shortcuts, just hard, honest work; and take care of the ones you love. Ultimately, Pinocchio’s story, and Echo’s, is a story of redemption. In the spirit of the original, I brought in a blue alien in place of “the fairy with turquoise hair” (and no name) to turn Echo into a human.
After finishing Once Upon a Star, I highly recommend reading the original “Adventures of Pinocchio,” which can be downloaded free in ebook at most major online book retailers.
If you enjoyed this story, please take a moment to post a review so that other earthlings can discover the anthology.
Thank you for reading “Echo.” (Am I repeating myself again?)
About the Author
Nikki Jefford is a third-generation Alaskan now living in the Pacific Northwest with an out-of-this-world and extremely patient, kind, and generous Frenchman and Cosmo: The Wonder Westie. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys nature walking, motorcycling, and stargazing when the gray cloud coverage happens to clear. Nikki is the author of Stolen Princess, Wolf Hollow Shifters, Aurora Sky: Vampire Hunter, and the Spellbound Trilogy. She also has stories in the Once Upon a Kiss and Once Upon a Quest anthologies.
Discover more of Nikki’s paranormal and fantasy worlds at NikkiJefford.com.
Do you like visuals? Visit Echo’s Once Upon a Star inspiration board on Pinterest.
Deadly Dance - Kasey Mackenzie
By the time I turned 12, I’d danced countless pairs of slippers to shreds thanks to hours of leaping and pirouetting. My grandmother’s jewelry box inspired this passion. Echoing its tiny dancer’s movements made me feel close to Nonna like nothing else could.
Never one to do things by half-measures, Father indulged my enthusiasm by hiring the kingdom’s best instructors. Years of dancing my feet bloody made me the planet’s finest dancer. I might have gained both my deepest desire and fairy tale prince had my story gone the path of expectations. But that all changed when the prince turned out to be a cold and cruel villain…
“Twelve!” snapped the eldest of my undead sisters. “Stop procrastinating and choose tomorrow night’s ballgown!”
I gritted my teeth and wished that my status as only child hadn’t taken a macabre turn. Then again, I wouldn’t be precisely me if it hadn’t. One would be the only Miriana Chastayne, Crown Princess of Zenobayair, and we wouldn’t be choosing the gown in which I would die.
Eleven times the villainous prince trying to steal my throne had murdered and resurrected me, causing one of my state-sanctioned clone
s to be artificially aged to 18. Eleven times we had been around this ugly merry-go-round, leaving eleven undead clone-sisters. I was the twelfth and last living clone. If we lost this year’s challenge and I refused Olbard’s proposal once more, our royal line would die with me.
“What does it matter whether I wear teal or magenta to this stupid ball?” I threw the purloined book about Faerie flora I’d been reading onto the floor, reveling in the loud bang.
Eleven, most delicate of my undead sisters, jumped at the noise. Her face crumpled. She hadn’t taken to being murdered and resurrected by the villainous prince at all well. Ten shot me a look of disgust and guided Eleven across my ridiculously large dressing chamber to escape the coming storm.
One narrowed her emerald eyes and advanced, the face that was identical to mine so coldly inhuman it made me shiver. She’d been the first murdered and the longest undead. The one who now fought the hardest to make me bow to his wishes: ironic because her refusal of his proposal was the only reason the rest of us existed.
“This stupid ball marks the 11th anniversary of our 18th birthday.” Anniversaries were all they’d ever have, considering I was the only one who could physically age. “If you do not make the correct choice, you will join our undead sisterhood. The last of the spares, meaning Father’s line dies with you.”
I shivered at the reminder. Not even our kingdom’s worst civil war had seen an Heir’s entire line of clones wiped out before the next generation could be conceived. Olbard had accomplished what millennia of history had not.
Nonna had often said that desperate times called for even more desperate measures. We were so far past the point of desperation that I’d browbeaten Father into letting me choose this year’s champion. It was a sign of his own desperation that he’d agreed. My best hope for success was if these undead clone-sisters—and their inhuman puppet master—continued to underestimate me.
“Fine!” I threw up my hands dramatically. “If tomorrow brings ruin to the Chastayne line, let me meet it looking my best. The teal gown it will be!”
One nodded to the maids responsible for maintaining my wardrobe and replacing the dozens of slippers that I—that we—had danced our way through over the years. It took two of them to draw out the heavy teal-and-silver ballgown from the rack of stunningly-bejeweled material so we could regard it more closely. Twelve gowns had been created for this year’s ball, each more magnificent than the last. One would claim the magenta now that I’d made my choice, with our sisters making their selections in the order they’d been created—and then murdered. Eleven would accept whatever dress was left without complaint, as was her wont.
Each of us carried the memories of those who had come before, which explained Eleven’s meekness all too well. Memories of ten murders, each more violent than the last, had taken a toll upon her psyche after she herself had been murdered. Who knew what a mess I’d become if I shared her fate?
I gritted my teeth. No, I refused to fall victim to this challenge system forced on us to avoid a war we could not win, given Olbard’s godlike powers and undead minions. But unlike these other clones—and our original sister—I would not wait for some fairy tale prince to rescue me. Memories of eleven deadly dances and my training to someday lead our kingdom had inspired me to take matters into my own hands.
Dancing hadn’t been my only childhood lessons. Merely the most enjoyable.
I would wear this ballgown to my triumph rather than murder; aided by the soldier my father had declared would never be a fitting suitor. Nonna’s bloodline would not die with me. Like her tiny dancer, I would twirl my way to victory on the dance floor—and then I would kill the man who’d already murdered me eleven times.
One shepherded our sisters out of my chambers and into the larger suite they shared across the hall. The better to keep an eye on me. That thought had me changing into something comfortable and stomping into my studio down the hall. A sigh escaped my lips as I shut the door. Only here could I truly be myself.
Three of the four walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and the ceiling was mirrored as well. The fourth wall had been decorated with posters from my favorite ballets, musicals, operas, and dance performances. The floor was fashioned from the latest liquid-absorbing material used in the planet’s best dance studios, and the wall opposite the door possessed a wooden barre running along its length.
“Cimorene, please play Unchained Melody.”
The melodious voice of my computerized assistant, named after my favorite storybook princess who had also been determined to save herself, rang out into the empty room. “Of course, Your Highness. Shall I record your session?”
“No, thank you. I merely wish to burn some energy before bed.”
“Excellent. Enjoy your dance.”
Nonna had taught me to always use my best manners, even with computers. “Thank you, Cimorene. That will be all.”
The stirring chords of my favorite song filtered into the room. My breath caught as a wave of longing for my grandmother struck. This had been her favorite song before it became mine. The song that her father selected for the jewelry box commissioned for her 16th birthday. The jewelry box she’d gifted me upon my own 16th birthday, just a few months before she died. Two years before Olbard began making this date one reoccurring nightmare.
I blinked back angry tears and shoved his image away. This was my song—mine and Nonna’s—and I wouldn’t let him steal this like he’d stolen so many other things. My body began swaying to the music as I let its chords wash away all thoughts of him.
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur as I whirled and leapt. Cimorene played several different versions of Unchained Melody in a soothing loop until my rage faded enough that I requested my most eclectic playlist. My body cycled through various dance styles: ballet, salsa, jazz, reggaeton, ancient hip-hop, modern hip-hop; and then when my favorite song rang out one final time, I moved on to freestyle. I ended with a dramatic flourish, arms raised and sides heaving from exertion. Sweat poured down my body in rivulets that dripped upon the floor only to be absorbed by the flooring. My clothes, unfortunately, were incapable of a similar feat. I opened my lips to request a towel from Cimorene—only to have a thick, absorbent scrap of material pressed into my hands.
Muscle memory had the towel swiping sweat from my head and neck before my tired brain caught up. I jerked my gaze to the imposing figure who had appeared as if from thin air. Only one creature could sneak past the palace’s security measures so effortlessly. The cold and cruel prince I ached to murder.
Amusement flared in his eyes as he plucked that defiant sentiment from my surface thoughts, which had been intentional. Safer by far to not give him an excuse to dig deeper.
“There is no need for such gruesome thoughts, my sweet. If only you would be reasonable.”
He gave a charming smile that lit his cerulean eyes and made his gorgeous face seem even more beautiful. Expensive teal silk set off his eyes and long black hair to perfection. An ornate cuff of pure silver wrapped around his left arm and one of gold around the right. Vibrant jewels adorned his fingers and the heavy gold coronet upon his brow. The perfect peacock of a prince, and it was all a farce.
The cuffs were the one item he never went without, and the book I’d so recently thrown in a snit had confirmed my suspicions. Olbard didn’t know it yet, but that knowledge would be the key to his demise. For now, I forced my hands to continue sopping sweat and murmured a request for Cimorene to provide refreshments. Nonna’s insistence on maintaining impeccable manners unfortunately extended even to enemies.
But only until their defeat.
A compartment opened in the nearest wall, and a delicate table and chairs slid across the floor. Bottles of fine wine and water chilled in an ice bucket, and decadent finger sandwiches and pastries surrounded the bucket. Cimorene slipped inside her disturbingly human avatar to exit the compartment and offer a heavily-embroidered robe that would make me more presentable.
Olbard gallantl
y pulled out a chair, and I sank down with a sigh. The robe concealed the shreds of fabric covering my feet, but I could tell by the throbbing that I’d ruined yet another pair. Cimorene began serving sandwiches, pastries, wine for him, and water for me. He flashed another brilliant smile, echoing my thanks even though he knew she wasn’t human. No thoughts for him to steal.
I gulped ounces of ice-cold water before speaking. “Why have you disturbed my privacy on my last night alive?”
His lips twisted in a wistful smile that, from anyone else, might have garnered sympathy. I knew all too well how artificial any display of emotion from him would be. “Couldn’t it just be that I longed for the companionship of my one true love?”
Laughter burst from my lips. Rather than offend him, however, it inspired his own laugh.
“Perhaps I laid it on a little thick there. Very well, Miriana, let us cut to the chase. One quirk you have demonstrated across your various incarnations has been forthrightness. I do find that refreshing.”
He waited until we’d both nibbled several bites like the civilized royalty we pretended to be before finally cutting to the chase. “Tomorrow marks your birthday once again, my sweet, and I would so detest it to be your last. Why do you persist in this infernal stubbornness?”
I finished a dainty bite of éclair and dabbed away crumbs with a napkin. “Perhaps for the same reason you persist in stealing things that don’t belong to you. Kingdoms. Lives. Powers.”
His lips bared in a savage smile. “Someone has been talking out of turn, I see.”
“If you mean that I’m aware you stole your necromantic abilities from the king whose realm you hijacked through the same treachery you now work inside my own realm, you needn’t fear someone betrayed you. I have many sources.”
