Starbounders (21 page)

It was still twilight, but the automated lampposts all around them began to blink awake. As they'd bounded across the outerverse from planet to planet, Zachary had stopped paying attention to day and night. In space it was hardly an accurate measure of time.

“Missed me already?” Skold emerged from behind a large vessel. He had cleaned himself up since they last saw him, having changed into a gray long-sleeved shirt and rubberized pants. The shockles on his ankles and wrists were long gone.

“We need a ship,” Zachary said, foregoing any small talk.

“And here I thought you came to reminisce about all the good times we had together,” Skold said. He glanced over to the landing pad and spotted the buckler. “Not much trade-in value. What else you got?”

“Access to my planet's galactic bank account,” Ryic said. “And the Klenarog treasury.”

“All right. Now you're talking,” Skold said. “Let me show you some of the new merch.”

He walked them over to a large, glossy ship.

“Oaxo luxury cruiser,” Skold said. “Emperor-sized hyperbolic sleep chambers, automated food materializer. Sail the outerverse in style.”

“We need something with weapons,” Zachary said.

“You planning on starbombing a planet?” Skold asked. “I didn't think the outerverse would corrupt you so fast.”

“We're going back to Indigo 8,” Zachary said. “We have reason to believe Nibiru and his Clipsian armada are planning to attack Earth.”

“You sure you got your facts straight?” Skold asked. “Those charcs aren't exactly known for fighting battles they can't win.”

“We're pretty sure they've found a way to lock down Indigo 8's starship hangar,” Kaylee said. “All of the IPDL's greatest Starbounders will be there for the Octocentennial. They'll have no way of getting back into space. They'll be trapped.”

“Leaving no one to protect Earth or the surrounding solar system?” Skold asked.

“Exactly,” Zachary said.

“Come on, then,” Skold said. “I've got a couple of pitchforks that are perfect for you.”

He led them past the large glass building on the hill.

“Your house looks nearly identical to the Ulam at Indigo 8,” Ryic said. Zachary was thinking the same thing.

“That's because it was the Ulam at Indigo 5,” Skold said. “I forklifted it straight out of the ground.” He gave a nod to a giant spaceship with enormous claws that Zachary had mistaken on first glance for a mountain. “One of my more inspired heists.”

As they passed one of the large windows of the house, Zachary spotted three orange-and-black, one-foot-tall amphibious humanoids with long tails and webbed feet inside. One was pressing its lips up to the glass and blowing. Another was sticking out its tongue. The third was trying to pull the first two away from the window. Zachary remembered seeing the same tail and webbed foot in the glass jar housed within Skold's robotic outer shell. It was hard to believe the cutthroat criminal who had made so many enemies in the outerverse looked like
that
within his carapace. Zachary had seen dogs in his neighborhood that were more intimidating.

“I see you spotted the wife and kids,” Skold said. “You don't think I do all of this just for myself, do you?”

Actually, Zachary did. Skold didn't exactly seem like a family man. But then, he didn't seem like an oversized orange-and-black newt, either.

Skold continued down the other side of the hill to a patch of grass where two used pitchforks were parked.

“You call those perfect?” Zachary asked. “They look like they've been sitting there for years.”

“These are first gen,” Skold said. “Trust me, they don't make 'em like this anymore.”

“Probably with good reason,” Zachary said.

“Said the kid wearing the hundred-and-fifty-year-old warp glove,” Skold replied.

“That's my grandfather's glove you're talking about.”

“Where's that battle-axe you took off with?” Kaylee asked, interrupting them.

“Already sold it,” Skold said. “People like shiny, new things. They don't respect quality.”

Zachary wasn't sure if Skold was being genuine or just a good salesman. Either way, they didn't have time to debate it.

“How much?” Zachary asked.

“For you guys, because we're friends, ten thousand serendibite.”

Zachary knew they were being ripped off, but Ryic didn't bat an eyelash. So neither did he. Skold handed Ryic a small keypad, and after a few finger swipes the ships had been paid for.

Zachary, Kaylee, Ryic, and Quee stood outside the silver trident-shaped pitchforks. They would need to split up into pairs.

“Ryic, you come with me,” Zachary said. “Kaylee, take Quee.” Then he turned and addressed Quee directly. “Unless you want to go your own way from here.”

“I've been going my own way for my entire life,” Quee said. “I'm ready to try something different. Besides, you need me.”

And it seemed that Quee took a certain amount of pride in that.

“Let me give you a few pointers on how to handle those things,” Skold said. “They work a little differently than your average bounder.”

“Look at that,” Kaylee said. “You care about us after all.”

“I just want to make sure you don't crash them into any of my other ships,” Skold said. “Now, there's no autopilot. It's all manual gesture recognition. There's still a standard Kepler cartograph, but you're going to have to hit the entry points on your own. For the command seat, left hand controls steering, right hand controls particle blasters. For the gunner, right hand, debris cannons; left hand, doppelform projectors. Positions can be flipped at any time.”

“Sounds like you stole the instruction manual along with the ship,” Kaylee said.

“It would be irresponsible not to,” Skold replied.

“All right,” Zachary interrupted. “We should probably get going.”

Zachary and Ryic started for one of the ships; Kaylee and Quee went for the other. Skold reached out and stopped Zachary, taking hold of his wrist.

“Listen, kid, if you're going to keep trying to be the hero, you better quit thinking of that glove as your grandfather's, and start thinking of it as your own.”

He let go of Zachary and stepped back.

“And by the way, you're probably going to need fuel, too,” said Skold. “That's going to cost you extra.”

E
ven though Zachary had logged some fly time on the way to Tenretni, piloting a buckler hardly compared to manning the controls of a pitchfork. It was kind of like learning to ride a motorcycle by practicing on your kid sister's trike. The snaillike pace of the buckler hadn't come close to preparing him for the whiplash speed of the ship he was now steering through the far reaches of space. Zachary's pitchfork whizzed ahead as he avoided the small planetoids drifting around a dwarf star that glowed dimly near the entrance to the fold.

Zachary was strapped into the command seat; Ryic was in the gunner's. They were able to communicate via short-range lang-links built into each cockpit.

“How's it hanging down there?” Zachary asked.

“Zachary, don't you know by now that in space there is no gravity? It is impossible for anything to hang. Things merely float.”

“We're really going to have to work on your American slang,” Zachary said.

Looking up through the cockpit window, he could see Kaylee piloting the other pitchfork. From Zachary's perspective, she was flying upside down, but here in the outerverse, where there was no top or bottom, Kaylee could have said the same thing about Zachary.

“What's our ETA to the next fold?” Zachary asked.

“Less than five minutes,” Kaylee replied, her voice coming through the lang-link's speakers.

Zachary was eager to make this final bound. It would take them back to his own solar system, where he longed to see the distinct yellow light of the sun. His sun.

Zachary rotated his hands swiftly before the gesture-recognition sensor, sending his ship banking, avoiding contact with the hurtling space debris surrounding the dwarf star.

“According to that Clipsian scouting beacon, Nibiru's arrival outside Indigo 8 is imminent,” Quee said over the lang-link. “By now, they will have already entered the solar system.”

“Maybe we should find the nearest IPDL base,” Ryic suggested. “See if we can't get some backup before making the jump.”

“We don't have time,” countered Kaylee.

“Facing an entire armada on our own?” Ryic asked. “It's just too big for us.”

For a moment Zachary thought about agreeing. But then he gazed down at his grandfather's warp glove. He thought about what Skold had told him before they left Cratonis, about how this was no longer his grandfather's warp glove but his. It was true. It was time to forge his own legacy. He might not ever be as great as all the Nights who came before him, brilliant like his grandfather, or bold like his brother. But he could still become a hero. Or at least try.

“I'm not going to let Earth become another destroyed planet in the Outerverse Memorial. We can take them. Together,” he said. “Star-bound and ready.”

Kaylee's voice came over the lang-link next. “Starbound and ready,” she echoed.

Then there was a pause.

“Ryic, we're waiting on you, buddy,” Zachary said.

“Star-bound and ready,” Ryic said. “Although to be completely honest, I'm feeling more star-sick and ill-prepared.”

“We all are,” Zachary said, “but it's game on.”

He steered his pitchfork into the space fold as the ship bounded for home.

The two pitchforks emerged on the far side of Jupiter's orbit. Quee was right. The fleet of Clipsian attack ships—slicers and urchins—had arrived ahead of them. Hundreds were approaching Earth in the distance. Hundreds more were closing in on the Callisto Space Station, where the squadron of five IPDL pitchforks was still patrolling its perimeter.

“
This
was your plan?” Ryic asked. “Two against a thousand?”

“I never said it was a good one,” Zachary replied.

“Well, if you want me to open Indigo 8's starship-hangar doors, I'm going to need access to Cerebella's mainframe,” Quee said.

Zachary remembered what his lensicon had told him last time.

“Callisto handles all data storage and processing for Cerebella. Would you be able to override the virus from there?”

“If that's the closest I can get, I'll make it work,” Quee said.

“Assuming those slicers and urchins don't blast Callisto out of the solar system first,” Kaylee said.

Zachary looked ahead and saw that it was going to be a race to get to the Callisto space station. He steered his pitchfork straight for it. Kaylee was right behind him.

“I can't find the command to arm the cloaking shields,” Ryic said.

Zachary typed in the air before him, and a message appeared on the cockpit window in response: THIS MODEL DOES NOT COME EQUIPPED WITH ANY STEALTH TECHNOLOGY.

“Skold!” Zachary cursed under his breath.

There was nothing they could do about the pitchfork's shortcomings now.

“We're either going to have to outrun those Clipsian ships or face them head-on,” said Zachary.

“I vote for option one,” Ryic replied.

Zachary would have accelerated if the ship could have gone any faster, but it had already reached its peak velocity. He kept the pitchfork going in the straightest possible line, knowing that any deviation would decrease the ship's speed and delay their arrival at the space station. Though they were closing the gap with the slicers and urchins up ahead, it was becoming increasingly apparent that they were going to have to engage them in battle.

“There's no way we're going to make it there first,” Zachary said.

“Well, at least we won't have to fight them alone,” Kaylee said.

The squadron of IPDL pitchforks held their position even as the enemy continued its approach. The pitchforks were like a cavalry waiting to charge. That's what Zachary was hoping anyway. Because otherwise they were about to get slaughtered. Just when Zachary was sure he was going to see his allies destroyed, the five ships launched a synchronized attack of particle blasts and cannon debris at the slicers. A dozen of them were instantly obliterated. But the IPDL victory was short-lived. A second wave of Clipsian slicer ships swarmed the squadron like angry bees. Only instead of stingers, they used their razor-sharp blades to gash the trident-shaped spacecraft. Even with their silver-hued, reinforced hulls, the IPDL ships were diced to shreds. Two giant urchins swept in, magnetically pulling what was left of the pitchforks toward their spike-covered exteriors. The ships were skewered, punctured with so many holes that they crumbled apart.

“Okay, so maybe we will have to fight them alone,” Kaylee said.