Star stuff, p.22
Star Stuff, page 22
For a long moment—silence.
Then he sent her another message.
She knew she should ignore strangers online. Lots of pervs out there. Terri knew it. Terri had met them. Old men pretending to be kids, prowling, hunting, but she was no easy prey. She knew how to run from them. How to hide. How to vanish even in the bright, crackling white corridors of the online labyrinth.
But this was different.
This was a smiley face made of real skin. And bulging black eyes that stared. Eyes that knew her. Somehow they knew her.
He didn't reply.
Silence.
Only the light of the monitor illuminated her in the dark concrete cell. She stared. His face stared back.
Then went dark.
He was gone.
That was at the first time. And Terri forgot about him.
But another cold day came. Another storm that howled and shook the apartment. Another day of shadows. And he returned to her with searing white light and black eyes darker than the space between stars.
She tried to block him. She hit the button again and again. But it didn't work. Damn these chatrooms! They were always breaking down here on Haven. Even the goddamn internet didn't work on this goddamn planet.
His fleshy face kept staring at her.
A new message came in.
she typed, hammering her keyboard.
The avatar stared at her. It didn't move, but somehow the grin seemed wider to Terri. Revealing toothless gums. Mocking. Pained.
She snorted. Derisive. But her eyes filled with tears.
Because a boy carved my face, she thought.
Because I can't go to school.
Because I'm ugly and a monster with one eye.
Because my mom is never home.
Because my dad is on another planet.
Because he doesn't know I exist.
Because I'm scared.
Because I'm alone.
Because sometimes I want to die.
She thought all those things. But she would not type them. She would not speak of them. Her mother didn't know. Nor would this stranger who had come through the cables of light.
Her heart burst into a gallop. Cold sweat washed over her.
Her webcam, mounted atop her monitor, swiveled on its own. It stared right at her with its single black eye. Perched above the smiley face, the camera seemed like a third eye, round and dark and full of secrets.
Terri screamed, tore the camera off, and hurled it across the room. She slammed her monitor shut, rattling the laptop.
For a moment she sat on her ratty chair, tugging at the upholstery, her heart pounding against her ribs.
The next day she did not open her computer. She bundled up in her atmosuit. She nearly drowned in the baggy outfit, designed to protect the wearer from Haven's shrieking, poisonous air. The elevator creaked, carrying her downstairs, floor after floor of smells and sounds, of cooking cabbage soup, of weeping, of crackling TV sets, of lives wasting away.
We're all prisoners, Terri thought. The grandchildren of colonists with shattered dreams. Trapped in a nightmare.
Terri pulled down her hood, lowered the plastic visor, and snapped it into place. The visor was cracked and dented, and it let in a little air. It was better than nothing. She trudged into the storm.
The chemical stew flew everywhere, the color of old chrome and brown moss on bones. Alpha Centauri was the closest star system to Sol. In the early days of spaceflight, when engines were slow and astronauts cautious, it had made sense to settle this world. Those early visionaries promised a great dome surrounding the colony. They promised terraforming. They promised a new Garden of Eden.
But then the war had come. The marauders had invaded. Terri had only been a baby. She didn't remember. But she still saw the scars of the war everywhere. Ruined buildings. Piles of rubble still waiting to be swept away. Bullet holes everywhere, and bullet casings that rattled and shone when the wind blew. Cemeteries. So many cemeteries clustered between the concrete buildings like mushrooms among damp trees.
My father fought, Terri thought. He's a war hero. He saved humanity. And he's a famous writer now. But he lives on Earth. And he doesn't know I exist. And I don't know how to reach him.
She stared up at the sky. She saw only churning, rumbling, weeping clouds. When she had still gone to school, Terri had learned that there were stars above those clouds. Other worlds than these. Better worlds. A world called Earth, blue and beautiful.
But sometimes it was hard to believe.
Sometimes Terri thought that her father, and maybe Earth itself, was a myth. That she was trapped here forever, a leaf in the storm.
Her legs seemed to move on their own. They took her to Candy Lane, a bright corridor in Haven's murky labyrinth, a marketplace awash with neon lights and decadence. She stood by glass windows, the rain pouring over her atmosuit, and stared into glittering dens. Arcade games that beeped and shone and spilled out treasures. Shelves overflowing with candies. Stores filled with toys and books and maps of the stars. All places beyond her reach, the glass an impenetrable wall.
There was barely money for cabbage soup these days. Sometimes a stick of butter and rasher of bacon. Many days—just white rice, two bowls a day. Day after day of sticky pale mush. They were still waiting for the farming domes. Haven's little terrariums could only grow so much, and the storms ripped through the makeshift greenhouses people erected on their balconies. Supply starships sometimes came in from Earth, but well, you had to be rich to eat a nice apple or tomato, let alone a candy bar. So Terri came to Candy Lane, and she looked, and she dreamed.
"Oi, cyclops!"
A splotch of mud splattered her side. Terri turned to see several boys outside a candy shop. They leaned against the bright storefront, smoking sweetened cigarettes. She remembered them from school. They laughed and spat at her.
He was among them. Rollins. The boy who had carved her face.
Terri turned to walk away. But the boys rushed forward, blocking her passage.
"Oi, we're talking to you!" said Rollins, tall and lanky, his teeth rotten.
Terri tried to shove her way between them. They pushed her back.
"Lemme see your eye."
Another boy grabbed her, ripped off her cheap plastic visor. The storm stung her skin and burned her nostrils. She tried to look away, but the boys held her face. She stared at them defiantly. She saw herself reflected in their goggles. One eye blue and pained. The other eye halving her scar, cloudy and white.
"Aye, I did beautiful work!" Rollins said, tracing his finger along her scar.
The boys laughed. One spat into her blind eye.
"Monster, monster!"
"Cyclops!"
"I'm not a monster!" she said, voice shaking. "I am Terri Emery. My father is Major Marco Emery, a war hero and famous writer, and I'm going to live with him on Earth, and you'll be sorry!"
The boys stared at her silently for a moment—then burst out laughing.
"Your dad?" Rollins said. "He was no soldier. He was just some flea-bitten miner, maybe a syphilitic mercenary, one what banged your mum for the price of a beer. War hero!" He scoffed.
"I reckon she thinks her old man kills monsters!" said another boy.
"Monsters like her!" said another.
Rollins drew his knife. "You recognize this, you little whore? Same blade what took your eye. I'm gonna carve off more of you now. Teach you from lyin' to the Rollins Boys."
"Oi, I thought we was the Candy Lane Boys!" said another. "What on account of us operating here in Candy Lane."
"Rollins Boys!" growled Rollins, largest in the group. "We ain't no fucking candy pansies. Rollins is a name what commands respect, it does."
The other boy spat. "You ain't our leader, Rollins. You're only the biggest cunt."
Rollins shoved the shorter boy. Soon fists were flying. The knife flashed.
Terri used the opportunity to escape. She whipped around the boys and ran through the storm. Behind her, she heard them laughing. Spitting. Calling after her.
"Run run, li'l whore!" Rollins shouted from beyond the storm.
"Run, monster, run!"
"Her dad's a bloomin' war hero. Did you know, boys?"
"Yeah, more like a war hero on the aliens' side! Some one-eyed freak!"
More laughter. She kept running until their voices faded. Until there was nothing but the storm, the concrete walls around her, the tears on her cheeks. Emptiness in her heart.
She returned to her building.
She rose in the clattering elevator.
She heard the men beating their wives. Babies crying. Couples shouting. Smelled the pots of cabbage stew and dirty mattresses. She came home.
Her mother was away. At work again. They said she was a whore, but Terri knew she sold things on the phone, had a real job, and that once Marco Emery had loved her.
I'm the daughter of a hero. Her eyes stung. I'm not a freak.
She returned into her concrete cell.
The walls closed in around her. The darkness enveloped her. The laptop sat on her metal desk. Sleeping. Beckoning.
She turned it on, and the white, good, healing light flowed over her. And her pain faded.
She tapped his avatar. She typed, tears blurring her vision.
She stared in silence.
The monitor seemed to stare back.
Terri took a shaky breath.
Ding.
Incoming message. He had replied.
His avatar grinned at her, lipless, toothless, hairless, like a naked bird with a huge grin and bulging eyes.
Mister Smiley.
Terri frowned. She opened her drawer.
Her usual items were inside. A few Dungeons & Dragons dice. A beloved, dog-eared paperback of The Hobbit. A cast-iron soldier, a broken watch, and a few sand spirals—the little pink seashells from the methane beaches of Haven.
"There's nothing new here, I—"
But then she saw something. A glint of yellow.
She reached deeper, and her hand closed around a round, warm object. She pulled it out.
A plastic yellow smiley face. Dangling on a chain. Smiling up at her.
She looked back at her monitor. Mister Smiley's avatar was watching her.
He sent a message.
Terri typed furiously.
She stared at the round piece of plastic in her hand.
She had always thought his avatar a static image. But now its grin widened, and the black eyes narrowed.
She slammed the laptop shut.
For long hours, she sat in the darkness, rolling her dice over and over. A comforting ritual. Listening to the little clatters on the concrete floor. Not daring to gaze again into the healing light.
It was two a.m. when her mother finally came home. Terri was lying in bed, still awake, staring at the ceiling. She clutched her dice in her fist. She listened to the gas stove, smelled the bowl of cabbage soup, heard the soft weeping. She wanted to go to her mother. To hug her. To seek comfort in a warm embrace and soft words.
But she dared not. Seeing the ghosts in Mother's eyes hurt too much. There were so many memories in those weary eyes. There was the man she loved. Leaving her, flying back to Earth. Sleepless nights by the hospital bed, nursing a daughter with a carved face. Years of toil and sleep deprivation and stormy clouds and the slow weathering of the soul.
Seeing this pain in Mother scared her, so Terri remained in bed, and she stared into darkness while in the other room her mother softly cried.
Finally Terri slept, and when she woke up, Mother was already gone, and Terri rolled her dice for a while, then pulled on her atmosuit.
She was afraid of going out. Afraid of the storm and the oily black birds that cawed in the clouds. Afraid of the boys. Afraid of getting lost in the labyrinth of alleyways like she did every night in her dreams.
But she was also afraid of this apartment.
Afraid of what lived inside her computer.
I'm not brave like you, Dad, she thought. I'm always scared.
She walked down the streets, hunched over in the storm. Beggars lay around her, some not even wearing atmosuits, their skin like threadbare cotton, their rawboned hands reaching out for coins. The concrete buildings loomed at her sides, trapping the wind.
Candy Lane shone ahead, a single bright road in the charcoal labyrinth. A place of wonders and dangers. The promised land.
She was dumb to come here. She cursed herself. Her knees kept shaking.
But she walked onward.
Because her father was a hero. Her father had fought the scum, the centipedes from deep space, and had slain their emperor. Her father had battled the marauders here on Haven, killing the giant alien spiders. Her father had faced down the grays, invaders from the future, saving the world from their claws. She had never met him, but one thing Terri knew. Her father would not be afraid of some truant schoolboys.
She took another step. She entered the light.
Take me to Candy Lane, he had said. You have a piece of my soul.
She felt him in her pocket. Round, smooth plastic. A yellow smiley face. Her guardian angel. Hand in pocket, she wrapped her fingers around him.
The shops lined up at her sides. Calliope music played, tempting, teasing. Even through the storm, even through the plastic visor, she could smell popcorn, hot dogs, candies, all the treats Terri could never afford. She walked by ice cream parlors where youths from finer neighborhoods drank milkshakes. She gazed in wonder through glass panes at the arcade games. At the shops that sold dresses so much prettier than her ratty old jeans and hoodies.
Buy something.
The voice spoke in her head. No, not just in her head—a voice that thrummed through her entire body, vibrating, tantalizing.
"I don't have money," she muttered.
I am with you, little doe. I am your guardian angel.
She felt something cold in her hand. She pulled her hand out of her pocket. Inside glinted a silver coin.
Terri frowned. How did that coin get into her pocket? Had her mother slipped it in? Perhaps a forgotten treasure from last winter, hiding away in her pocket through months of heat and rain?
Buy something. Feast upon life. Smile.
The voice again. Barely audible. Only a hint of a voice, an echo, vibrating through her bones.
She stepped into a candy shop.
Everyone inside turned to stare. Rich families from the suburbs. They wore skintight, modern atmosuits with bright colors and bubble helmets. Next to them, Terri looked like a hobo in an oversized trash bag.
But she had a silver coin in her palm. She had a guardian angel.
Her legs trembled as she browsed, moving between shelves of goodness. So many candies! Each one calling to her, tickling her nostrils. Clusters of pecans drizzled with caramel and chocolate. Almonds coated with vanilla. Licorice in every shape and color. Turkish delight dusted with sugar.
She chose a chocolate bar. A simple square, divided into cubes. Classic. Elegant. Wonderful. She paid for her prize, and gently, she tucked the chocolate bar into her pocket. It felt like stashing a holy relic.
Her fingers brushed against the plastic face. She pulled it out from her pocket. The round, yellow face smiled up at her.
The plastic mouth opened. Another coin emerged from inside.
Terri stuffed the token back into her pocket. It scared her. The pinprick eyes seemed to stare into her. The smile to mock her.
But she had another coin.
She took it to the arcade.
She played a game. A single game. She controlled a pixelated gorilla who had to climb the Empire State Building and dodge airplanes.
Within only a few moments, the planes shot her dead. Her gorilla fell. The game ended. And she felt the weight of more coins in her pocket.
She slipped another coin into the machine, and it came back to life.
She kept playing. Only this time the gorilla had a strange face. A smiley face. The grin insane. And the airplanes had strange faces, always shifting, changing, turning from dogs to snails to mollusks and dogs again, and sometimes they were caterpillars with many legs. The gorilla turned toward Terri, smiled at her through the monitor.
It spoke in a robotic voice. "Mister Smiley wants you to smile."
Terri's heart almost stopped.
She ran.
She left the arcade, drenched in cold sweat.
They were there. Waiting for her outside.
The Candy Lane Boys.
"Oi, the cyclops is back for more, eh?" roared Rollins, ringleader of the gang.
They were leaning against a fence, brazenly exposing their faces to the chemical wind. Rollins was twirling a butterfly knife. Another boy carried a baseball bat studded with nails. Terri had seen that boy use his bat before, bashing stray cats.
