Stitching Snow

Author: R.C. Lewis

Imprint: Hyperion

In-store date: 10/14/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4231-8507-9

Price: $17.99 US / $18.99 CAN

Trim size: 5 ½ x 8 ¼

Page count: 336

Ages: 14–18

Grades: 9–12

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R . C . ll E W I S

HYPERION

NEW YORK

Copyright © 2014 by R.C. Lewis

All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney•Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, NY 10023.

Printed in the United States of America First Edition

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[Insert ILS number]

[Insert type or design info if desired]

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lewis, R. C. (Rachel Christine), 1979–

Stitching Snow / R.C. Lewis.—First edition.

pages cm

Summary: A futuristic retelling of Snow White in which seventeen-year-old Essie, a master at repairing robots and drones on the frozen mining planet Thanda, is pulled into a war by handsome and mysterious Dane after his shuttle crash-lands near her home.

ISBN 978-1-4231-8507-9

[1. Science fi

ction. 2.

Identity—Fiction. 3.

Mines

and

mineral

resources—Fiction. 4. Government, Resistance to—Fiction.

5. Robots—Fiction.

6. Characters in literature—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.L587687Sti 2014

[Fic]—dc23

2013046571

Visit www.un-requiredreading.com

For Paige and MJ,

and everyone else who

defies the odds

1

IT TOOK ME SEVENTEEN

seconds to decide Jarom Thacker’s

reputation as the sharpest fi ghter on Thanda had been exaggerated. At twice my size—and age—he was quick, forcing me to move or risk getting pinned against the cage, but he made a rookie mistake. Like everyone else who came through Mining Settlement Forty-Two, he aimed for my gut. So predictable.

Wouldn’t want to botch the pretty girl’s face, right? Idiot.

I blocked him on the left, but sweat stinging my eyes blinded me to his fi st slamming into my right side. Pain fll ared through my ribs. The fi re spurred me on, and I slipped Thacker’s grip when he grabbed at my arm.

Unlike him, I had no qualms about uglifying him further.

The heel of my palm slammed into his nose with a satisfying crunch despite the cushioning of my shock-fi ber hand-wraps, drawing a chorus of sympathetic grunts from the crowd. He staggered back as the coppery smell of blood wove into the usual stench of the cage.

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

Thacker’s broken nose didn’t stop him. He lunged blindly, grabbing for any part of me he could reach. An easy dodge, and I took the opening to knee his groin. When he doubled over, I kicked his legs from under him. He dropped and I followed, bracing my legs against his while my upper body pinned his shoulders. The shouts surrounding the cage crested as Thacker pushed against the threadbare mat. Before he could throw me off, I grabbed a fi stful of his sweaty hair and slammed his head down.

“Three . . . two . . . one . . .” began Petey. “Fight goes to Forty-Two’s own Essie!”

A mix of cheers and groans met Petey’s announcement.

I liked to think the men in Forty-Two knew better than to bet against me, but it sounded like Thacker’s reputation had tempted more than a few. The free-fll owing jack-ale probably hadn’t helped.

Their problem, not mine.

Once Petey released the gate latch, I swung myself out of the cage and walked straight to one of the washrooms at the back of the tavern. Jeers and shouts followed, but I didn’t listen. Petey would offer another glass of jack-ale on the house to ease the pain, and after sleeping it off, they’d remember why it was better all around if they
didn’t
throw me down a mine shaft.

Same story as last week.

I threw the lock on the washroom door and started patching myself up. Even with a relatively quick match, I never got away clean. The hand-wraps kept me from breaking a fi nger, but they were all the safety equipment we got in cage fi ghts. A gash on my upper arm bled freely, thanks to a loose bit of cage wire. I 2

R.C. ll E WI S

rubbed a sani-swipe over the cut and slapped a smart-plaster on it. It’d probably still leave a scar. Wouldn’t be the fi rst.

Next I checked on my ribs. A nice bruise was gearing up, but nothing felt broken. Not like that time two years ago—one of my more memorable losses. Memorable, except for the part where I’d been knocked out.

Knocked out, helpless in a room full of drunk men.

I splashed icy water on my face, forcing deep breaths to keep both the memory and the panic attack at bay. Nothing had happened. Not then, and not today.

“You should stop, Essie,” I muttered. “You’re not blazing invincible.”

Rational talk wouldn’t change my mind. It never did. The part of me that liked lashing out in the cage, liked taking down men bigger and stronger than I’d ever be . . . that part always won.

Besides, I needed the winnings.

Once I fi nished patching, I settled myself on a stack of old boxes in the corner and pulled a digital slate from my coat pocket. I loaded the latest drone program and let it scroll across the screen before noting a few tweaks I wanted to try. My body relaxed as my mind drifted away into schematics and machine code, logic and order, cause and effect.

When I surfaced, the noise outside the washroom was gone.

Safe to go.

The Station wasn’t empty yet, but the handful of men left were three sniffs from passing out, too far gone to notice me.

By the smell of things, nearly as much jack-ale had been spilled as drunk. Petey looked up from polishing the bar and gave me a nod.

3

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

“There yeh are. Good fi ght, that one. Didn’t expect Thacker to go down so easy.”

“Doubt he expected a girl to give him so much trouble,” I countered.

“We’ll see how long that lasts. Yer reputation’s spreadin’, Essie.”

A reputation wasn’t what I needed—not beyond the one that kept the men in Forty-Two from getting foolish ideas—but there was nothing for it. People would talk.

I tapped the MineNet computer terminal built into the counter, bringing the lights around the touch-panel to life. “My shares?”

Petey logged in and executed the transfer. “There yeh go.

Want to put in an order for anythin’ while yeh’re here? Spare optic lines for the drones, maybe?”

“I’m set with all that. Saving up for some ready-made components so I don’t have to stitch every blazing thing from scratch.

Maybe a new processing module for my computer so I can get some real work done.”

“Well, I’m sure we can’t wait to see what magic yeh weave next once yeh’ve got everything. Might take the sting out for some of the men who lost tonight.”

The frayed edge of my sleeve caught my eye. Maybe I
should
spend a few shares. “A lot of them lost?”

“Fair number thought Thacker’d be a sure thing. Hawkins said you could make it up to them by fi xin’ the transmission on the old pulverizer.”

I grunted. “Aye, well, I assume you reminded him that it’s not my job, and I would sooner bring the sun a sniff closer than 4

R.C. ll E WI S

waste my time on the mining equipment. They have the mech-bots for that.”

“Whatever the mechs are doin’ gives out after a day or two.”

“Fine, I’ll download the specs to one of my drones, see what it comes up with. But you can tell Hawkins to stop thinking he’ll get me to set foot in that mine.”