Star stuff, p.15
Star Stuff, page 15
And maybe I'm the last, Rowan thought.
She barely remembered hiding in the caves with her family. This was all there was now. These ducts. This darkness. This dream to maybe someday see another human, the realization that she probably never will. The hunger to somehow survive. The loneliness of the most hated species in the Milky Way, lower than rats.
A human girl. Just a bug to be stomped on.
And so the management of Paradise Lost hired exterminators.
Sometimes they laid down traps with chocolate bars inside. Rowan wasn't foolish enough to fall for that. Sometimes they scattered poisoned fruit. Rowan just kicked them out the vents.
And sometimes, an exterminator would crawl right into the ducts. Most exterminators were too fat and got stuck, but some days you had bad luck. Some days a furry mammoth trunk just kept chasing you.
So Rowan fled, scurrying left and right, up and down, navigating the labyrinth. The ductworks were vast. They spread for many miles through the space station. Rowan had been living here for many years, and she knew every bend, every intersection, every loose duct and tight squeeze. She made her way confidently, sliding down some ducts, climbing others, crawling like a parasite through the veins of a metal giant.
And the exterminator kept following.
"You can't run from me, pest!" He slithered closer, snorting and hissing. "I'm going to make stew from your organs and necklaces from your teeth."
Rowan yowled in frustration. "Shut up, you overgrown pipe cleaner!"
She was getting tired. She had not eaten in a day or two. The kitchens had become unsafe, and traps were everywhere. Rowan's head spun. She was panting, would start slowing down soon. But the exterminator showed no signs of weariness.
Rowan found herself traveling deeper and deeper into the space station, sliding down sloping ducts, plunging through shafts. Heat rose from below, and sweat dampened Rowan's short hair and stung her eyes.
I'm nearing the engine room, she realized.
She had not visited the engine room in a year.
She had dared not.
Not since seeing the strange figure. That rumbling dragon. That ghost trapped inside the flaming jaws.
The girl in the fire.
Rowan shuddered.
A voice boomed above her, echoing through the tunnels.
"I'm going to make a cup from your skull, pest! I'm going to sell your toes and fingers as snacks!"
Rowan slid down the ducts, climbed down the shafts, moving faster and faster.
Until there it was.
Heat and rumbling from below.
She fell through a vent, landed on a metal deck, and coughed.
She was in the engine room. Gears rose around her, churning along the walls. Pipes rattled. Gauges spun. Pistons thrust up and down. And there at the back—the furnace. Dark and cold and black like the skull of a long-dead dragon.
Rowan rose to her feet, shaky, and stumbled a few steps back from the iron beast.
The exterminator dropped from the vent. The alien curled up on the floor in a spiral of fur. Then he rose like a cobra from a basket. Fangs sprouted from his round mouth, and he seemed like some massive arm with many joints, reaching out claws.
"You're mine now, pest."
He slithered closer.
Rowan sneered, grabbed a fallen pipe, and swung it through the air.
"Stand back!"
But the exterminator moved closer. He thrust his jaws toward her, and Rowan swung her pipe, clubbing his head aside. But the thick fur protected him.
Nearby, the furnace began to rumble and puff out smoke.
The alien thrust again, and one of his fangs scratched Rowan's arm.
Blood sprayed.
Rowan screamed and swung her pipe with all her strength. The pipe clanged against the alien teeth, doing them no harm. She might as well be clubbing the teeth of the gears around her.
The furnace grumbled louder. Its barred metal door rattled on its hinges. Heat filled the chamber. Rowan retreated toward the fiery contraption, swinging her pipe before her. She dared to hope the alien would fear the fire. But the exterminator wriggled after her.
"Got you, human," he hissed. "I've exterminated pests all over the galaxy. In the bowels of starships. In the deepest mines. In the tallest skyscrapers. I've killed Orionite slimeballs and Betelgeusian devil-roaches with acid for blood. But no pest is as foul as a human." The jaws widened in a grin, dripping saliva. "I'm going to enjoy this."
Fire roared to life inside the furnace.
The alien leaped toward Rowan.
She stepped back, swung her pipe, and knocked the furnace door open.
The flames blasted like dragonfire, washing over the alien.
The long furry exterminator burst into flame.
The alien shrieked. A horrible sound. A sound like steam from an overheating pipe. He curled up, but that only made the fire burn brighter. He rolled around, but nothing could exterminate the flames. Finally he rose, a living strand of fire, a torrent of light and heat.
He looked at Rowan from the inferno.
Then the alien squirmed toward a hatch, yanked it opened, and dropped into a churning sea of gears and pistons. The machinery grabbed the alien at once, pulling him down and down into the mechanical depths like a trash compactor. The hatch slammed shut, entombing the mangled corpse in a mechanical underworld.
Rowan spun back toward the furnace.
The fire was burning low now.
Rowan gazed into the flickering flames, mesmerized.
And there she was.
A girl. A girl in the fire.
Rowan's heart thudded. Her limbs shook. But she forced herself to step closer.
The girl in the fire looked at her. A young girl, probably no older than Rowan's thirteen years. Skinny. Her knees skinned. A girl with short black hair and brown eyes. At first, Rowan thought it might just be a mirror. Might just be her own reflection.
But no, the girl in the fire was somebody else. She stood on a beach. Foamy waves whispered behind her. Her bare feet stood on sand.
"Who are you?" Rowan said.
But then the fire died. The furnace became dark and black. Just an old metal skull again. And the girl was gone.
* * * * *
"It's not fair. It's not fair!" Tears burned down Rowan's cheek. "I can't live like this. I can't. I can't …"
She wept in the duct. She couldn't even curl up, just lie down like a corpse.
Below her, she could hear the aliens partying. A band was playing. Dancers were dancing. Aliens drank and feasted and caroused. Through the vent, Rowan could glimpse them. Two blobby aliens trundled through the casino, leaning on each other, drunkenly singing. A gangly bird, ten feet tall, was dipping down to slurp wine from a bucket. Aliens who looked like living instruments performed on stage, plucking stringy membranes on their chests, blowing air through their brass snouts.
Bounty hunters, space truckers, smugglers, pimps, gamblers—they all celebrated the new galactic year. They all came to Paradise Lost, this glittering space station, to enjoy life.
And I'm trapped here, Rowan thought. Trapped in a duct like a goddamn pest!
She let out a howl. She slammed her fist against the duct's metal walls. Nobody heard. And even if they did hear, they'd squeal about humans in the ductworks. They'd call more exterminators. They'd chase her. Hurt her. Try to kill her.
Rowan wept.
It was her fourteenth birthday. And she had never felt more alone.
"I want to see Earth, Fillister," she whispered, holding her pocket watch. "I want to go home. I want to see other humans. I can't do this. I can't live here anymore. Please …"
But when she opened her pocket watch, the mechanical dragonfly just curled up inside. Sleeping. Broken. Silenced.
Rowan lowered her head, bitter tears flowing. Below her, the aliens began singing a drinking song. The voices rose through vents and echoed through the ductworks.
"Find the humans, find the pests, throw them into space! Crush the humans, hurt them all, put them in their place!"
"A good human is a dead human!" somebody trumpeted.
The song rose louder and louder. "Find the humans, find the pests, they only have one use! Grab the humans, grab them all, and hang them from a noose!"
Tears flowing, Rowan crawled away.
Yes, she was just a pest in the ducts. Useless. Worse than useless—a menace.
Maybe thousands of years ago, humans had a planet of their own. Had starships. Had pride. But those days were long gone. And Rowan knew what she must do.
"I'm coming to you, my family," she whispered, and she tasted salty tears.
She crawled through the ductwork, leaving the casino and singing drunkards, and emerged into the engine room.
She stepped toward the furnace.
It rose ahead. As tall as her. A beast with metal bars like fangs. Smoldering. Grumbling. A black metal god.
"Are you there, girl in the fire?" Rowan said. "I know who you are now. I know …" She let out a sob. "You were like me once. A human in the ducts. And you jumped into the fire. So I will join you. I will burn with you. And we'll walk on that beach together, two spirits in the afterlife. And the pain will end."
The furnace door opened—a dragon's jaws ready to blow fire.
The flames roared.
Rowan howled and leaped into the fire.
* * * * *
No fire burned her.
She landed on sand.
She rolled, got sand in her mouth and eyes, and coughed.
"Holy shit balls!" rose a voice. "Where the bloody hell did you come from? That tree just coughed you up like a goddamn glob of snot."
Rowan coughed again and blinked rapidly, clearing sand from her eyes. Who was speaking? She struggled to her feet, tried to see, but her eyes still stung. She blinked again, coughed some more.
The voice rose again.
"Oh, gods, stop coughin'! You sound like a mule with consumption, you do. You better not infect me with any miasma. If you get me sick, I'll clobber ya' right back into that tree. Don't try me! I can fight. I can kick your ass so hard it'll spin around to your crotch."
Rowan groaned. "Ugh, stop talking! I just got sand in my mouth. I'm not infected."
She blinked again, clearing out more grains of sand, and finally saw the person before her.
Rowan gasped.
It was her. The girl in the fire.
Except there was no fire now. They stood on a beach. An actual beach! Actual outdoors!
Rowan inhaled deeply. The scent of salt filled her nostrils, and a breeze ruffled her hair. She had never actually been outdoors. But instantly, she realized how pure this air was, how soothing the breeze, how wonderful the sunlight.
This is how humans are meant to live, she thought.
Was this a dream? Or was this some strange realm inside the furnace, perhaps a holographic chamber?
Rowan spun around. But the furnace was gone. Instead, she saw a tall, twisting tree with a hole in the trunk. A hole just large enough for a girl to hide in.
"What the abyss is wrong with ya'?" said the girl on the beach. "Are you a halfwit? You're gaping 'round like a village idiot. Look at me! Did your mom drop ya' on your head as a baby?"
Rowan looked back at the girl. It was definitely her. The girl from the furnace.
We're so similar, Rowan thought. We could be sisters.
They were both short and skinny. Rowan had once measured herself with a piece of string, and she only stood four-foot-something, maybe due to malnutrition. The girl on the beach was just as small. Rowan had short brown hair, which she cut herself with a knife. The girl on the beach had short black hair. It seemed just as messy. Rowan had naturally olive-toned skin. This girl had skin bronzed by the sun. Rowan just wore a crude dress she had sewn from a blanket. The girl on the beach wore a burlap sack.
"Who are you?" Rowan said. "Where am I?"
The girl snorted. "You asking me? Bitch, you just hopped out of a tree. Who the hell are you?"
Rowan blinked, tilted her head, looked at the tree, then back at the girl.
"I'm Rowan," she said. "Rowan Emery."
The young girl grinned and stretched out a hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rowan Rowan Emery! I'm Erry. Erry Docker, esquire, at your service."
Rowan shook her hand. "Where am I, Erry?" She looked around her at the beach. "Is this …" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Is this Earth?"
The girl tilted her head. "Earth? What the hell is Earth? You, my strange friend, are in the lovely land of Requiem! Come for the beautiful beaches! Stay because a dragon bit your legs off."
Rowan frowned. "This is all very weird."
"You're telling me," Erry said. "Nobody will ever believe this. Since I was just a pipsqueak twelve-year-old, I've been telling people about the girl in the tree. They always laughed. Girls hiding in tree trunks? Oh, Erry, that stupid orphan, she's finally gone crazy! Makin' up imaginary friends who live in trees, she is." Erry's eyes softened, and a tear flowed down her cheek. "But I knew you was real. And that you'd come to me someday."
Suddenly Erry let out a huge sob, then stepped forward and pulled Rowan into a crushing hug.
They stood for a long while on the beach, embracing.
* * * * *
They walked along the beach, the wind in their hair, talking.
Rowan spoke about her life. About dim memories from being only two years old, living with a loving family in a crystal cave. About aliens arriving from another world, hunting humans, killing everyone but Rowan. About flying into space with a robot who hid inside a pocket watch, winding up in a space station, and growing up in the ducts.
"This is my first time outside Paradise Lost in twelve years," Rowan said. "It's so wonderful! To breathe fresh air. To feel sand beneath my feet. To talk to another human." She sighed. "I still don't understand how this is possible. How an entire world exists inside a furnace. I'm still not sure this is real, that I won't soon wake up back in the ducts. I—ow! You slapped me!"
Erry grinned. "Did it hurt?"
Rowan touched her cheek and took a step back. "Yes!"
The urchin's grin widened. "Good. So this definitely ain't no dream."
Rowan sighed. "You're a bit crazy, aren't you?"
"Sure am!" Erry gave a little bow. "Craziest girl in Requiem. Everyone else is scared of me. They think I'm a wild animal. They say my mom was just a cheap whore who died from bugs in her crotch. That my dad was some drunken sailor from overseas who ain't never comin' back. Erry the dock rat, they call me, on account of me hanging out on the docks a lot, picking pockets and stealing food. Some people say I'm a whore too. But I'm not." Erry's eyes reddened, and she clenched her fists. "I'm not."
Rowan held her hand. "What happened to your parents?"
They kept walking along the beach, and Erry spoke for a long while. About a childhood in a brothel, hiding behind a bed while her mother entertained clients. About the illness that took her mother—bad ghosts in her blood, the healers said. About a father who would someday return, who would love Erry, who would take her to a distant kingdom of wonders.
"I sometimes catch crabs to survive," Erry said. "Sometimes dead fish wash ashore and they're not too rotten, and I can eat 'em and only sometimes get the shits. There's a cave for when it rains, if you don't mind fighting off the wild animals. Could be worse, I suppose. But …" She sighed and looked up at the sky. "Often I wish I could fly away."
"Me too," Rowan said softly. "Many times, I wished I had a spaceship so I could fly among the stars."
"I don't understand half these thigs you talk about." Erry tilted her head. "What's a spaceship? Is that like a dragon?"
"A dragon?" Rowan said. "But dragons aren't real."
Erry snorted. "Well, try telling them that."
And then Rowan heard it. A grumbling above. A beating of wings. The sea stirred and sand rose in clouds. Rowan looked skyward, gasped, and tightened her grip on Erry's hand.
Dragons.
Dragons flew above.
Rowan could barely believe her own eyes.
Leathern wings beat the air, blowing wind across the beach, ruffling Rowan's hair, and filling her nostrils with a scent like engine oil and wet metal. Scaly tails undulated. Reptilian heads thrust forward like figureheads on starship prows, covered in spikes and horns. One dragon opened its jaws, bellowed, and unleashed a torrent of flame. The heat bathed Rowan even down here.
The dragons glided onward, grunting and chinking, until they became only specks on the horizon.
"Beautiful," Rowan whispered. "They're so beautiful."
Erry snorted. "Eh. They're nitwits. I know 'em. Guards at a nearby castle. One of them once slapped me for stealing a loaf of bread. Even though I just stole it to survive! Well, and to feed some stray cats."
Rowan looked back at the girl, frowning. "A dragon slapped you."
Erry looked at her cockeyed, then burst out laughing. Her laughter seized her, and she fell onto the sand and rolled around, clutching her belly.
Rowan placed her hands on her hips. "What?"
"A dragon didn't slap me, you ninny! A man did. It was when the guards were in human form."
"What are you talking about?" Rowan said.
Erry stood back up and rolled her eyes. "You know! Their human forms. What, you've never turned into a dragon before?"
"Um … no?"
Erry blinked at her, and all amusement left her face. "Wait." She held Rowan's hands. "Are you telling me . . . wherever you come from, people can't turn into dragons?"
"Where I come from we don't even have people," Rowan said. "Let alone dragons. There's only me. I had Fillister once with me. But he broke." She frowned. "Erry, are you telling me you can turn into a dragon?"
"Well, obviously." Erry laughed. "Of course I can! Not that it's legal or anything. Not for a civilian. But sometimes at night …" She sighed and gazed at the sea, and her voice softened. "Sometimes a girl can't help myself."
"Show me." Rowan grabbed her new friend's shoulders. "Show me now!"
Erry rolled her eyes even harder. "Yes, because I'd love to find myself hanging from a noose. Dammit, Row, aren't you listening? This ain't the golden age of Requiem no more. House Aeternum fell. The days of the kings are gone. Now Frey the Usurper, that codpiece with eyes, rules the realm. Only his nitwit soldiers are allowed to become dragons."
