Daniel Coldstar #1, Page 3

  Daniel bowed his head, just as Blink had done earlier, saying simply, “Yes, sir.” He scrambled back down the ladder, while the Overseer turned on the other grubs.

  “Back to work!”

  Blink and the others quickly divided themselves up into teams, setting up a skid and passing the debris to each other in a chain like they had done a thousand times before. Alice had smashed out a whole new section of tunnel that extended at least ten paces deeper into the rock face than before, and the debris was considerable.

  As for Alice, he didn’t want to move.

  Daniel jammed two fingers into his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle.

  Alice glanced nonchalantly over at him through the cloud of ancient dust. The enormous animal had taken up his repose on the far side of the heap of rubble, pleased with his work, but now quite tired from all the exertion.

  “Are you going to lie there all day?”

  One of Alice’s ears twitched, as if to say that the thought had crossed his mind.

  Daniel reached into his dugs and pulled out a root. “I have Passava,” he said, waving it.

  Alice’s eyes lit up. Rolling awkwardly onto his feet, he shook the dirt from his body and sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Daniel said, without thinking. He tossed the root over, Alice catching it with one snap of his huge jaws.

  Bless you . . . ?

  The words came out naturally, but Daniel didn’t recognize them. What did “bless you” even mean?

  5

  LIGHTS-OUT

  Then it happened again.

  A couple nights later, back in the Racks, Daniel rolled out a handful of multifaced dice across the dirt floor. At least, the grubs used them as dice; what they were actually used for was anyone’s guess. Eight-sided, twelve-sided, tiny little shapes with markings on them, all a bunch of different colors and as old as the universe. Like all the other little knickknacks and oddities the grubs had found in the trash heaps of the mines, whatever the Overseers had deemed was of no value the grubs had taken for themselves and would trade in the hour the Overseers gave them each night before lights-out.

  Daniel scored a three, a six, a triangle, and—well, who knew what that symbol was supposed to be. Point was, this was a winning throw—

  “Aw, bad luck,” Blink said, reaching out for the pieces.

  Daniel batted his hand away. “Hey, those are mine. It’s the same score you rolled ten minutes ago.”

  “When there was a nine in play. There’s no nine in play now.”

  There wasn’t a score anywhere in the dirt higher than his. How could he have lost? “You’re just making these rules up as you go along,” Daniel said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  Blink tried to sound offended, but it was hard to do when all he did was laugh. “I’m not.”

  And that was when it was Daniel’s turn to sneeze. Loud and dry, it echoed between the Racks—

  Aaahhh-choooo!

  “Bless you,” said Blink, all matter-of-fact.

  He wasn’t alone: every grub within earshot said it, whether in common Koin or some other language, words that were like a gift from a time they were all forced to forget, rising up from the very bottom of their souls and given voice. It was strange, yet comforting and familiar all at once.

  The room went quiet. Daniel and the other grubs eyed one another, hoping someone would remember the source of those words. Whoever each one had learned it from, their hearts quietly ached to be with them again. And for the longest time no one dared break the silence for fear that the warm sensation in their chests would disappear.

  How could two words hold such power—for everyone—yet no one knew why? It didn’t seem to matter what they looked like, what culture they belonged to, or what planet they came from; those two words bound them to each other. They told Daniel that he belonged. Just another forgetful kid, amid a thousand other forgetful kids, trying to figure out how to survive.

  “Ah, this thing is a waste of time,” Nails grumbled, getting up from the bottom bunk nearest to Blink. A mess of interconnected jagged pieces of some unknowable alien artifact jangled between his fingers; a puzzle defying a solution. “I’m either going to trade it or smash it into a thousand pieces. Who wants first dibs?”

  “I’ll smash it,” Blink offered enthusiastically.

  Nails rolled his eyes. “First dibs on trade,” he said.

  “What is it?” asked Daniel.

  “How should I know?”

  “It’s alien poop,” Choky explained, from up on one of the higher bunks. “It’s what came out of their butts.”

  “You are disgusting,” Nails shot back. “And you, Blink Darkada, need to stop taking advantage of Daniel just because he can’t remember you’re the biggest cheat in here.” And with that, he stomped off.

  Daniel glowered.

  Blink gave a halfhearted shrug. “I’m sorry.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  For the last few minutes before lights-out, the two boys sat propped up against one of the Racks listening to music. If you could call it that. Gungy Wamp had a whistle. Carved from a bone he’d pulled from a drote carcass way back when. It had four holes and couldn’t hold a tune, but it was the sweetest sound anyone had ever heard. For a few minutes Mymon Ray joined in, drumming on his mess tin. A little kid, maybe six or seven, he beat that thing with such passion, Daniel couldn’t help but smile, not because of any talent (he was terrible), but because of the pure joy on Mymon’s face. In that moment Mymon Ray was free, and so was anyone listening.

  6

  DID SOMEBODY SAY DROTE?

  “Good morning, forty-one eighty-two,” said the Overseer, aiming his spindly finger at Daniel’s head. “Your efforts in the war will be rewarded.”

  That tingling sensation shooting right into his head socket was nowhere near as disorienting now as it was the first time, but it still wasn’t pleasant. Daniel glanced around the staging area while he waited for today’s assignment to load into his mind. The usual thousand or so grubs marshaled the heavy machinery and livestock needed to work the mine as they always did. The chaos actually appeared to have some organization to it that made sense. Huh. He hadn’t noticed that before. Come to think of it, had this Overseer taken a bath or was Daniel just getting used to the stink? Could you get used to something so bad so fast? How long had he been back now anyways? Eight days? Nine?

  Wait a minute. . . .

  “Forty-one eighty-two, get moving. Your bait-box is waiting,” the Overseer snapped. His real voice grunting underneath his helmet’s electronic Koin sounded angrier and far more impatient than the translation suggested.

  “I’m confused, sir,” said Daniel hastily. “Normally I wrangle the Hammertails in the Snake—”

  “Forty-one eighty-two, get moving. Your bait-box is waiting,” the guard repeated, but this time the command was accompanied with the full force of his blast-pike.

  Ssssnappp!

  A sharp jolt of electricity surged into Daniel’s wrist all the way up to his shoulder, leaving a smoldering burn mark on his dugs.

  “Hey!” Daniel yelped, staggering back, rubbing his arm. “It was just a question—”

  Blink, stepping out from his own reskill, grabbed Daniel by the same arm, marching him away from the checkpoint. “I will get him to his assignment, Master Overseer!” he called back over his shoulder.

  Daniel shook him off. “Ouch!”

  “Keep walking,” Blink urged.

  “I just asked a question. That’s all I did.”

  “You don’t ask them any questions, you just say ‘Yes, sir’ and do it. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

  “They changed my job,” Daniel explained as the two of them made their way around the trabasaur pens. “I just got used to the last one.”

  “Job rotation, Dee,” said Blink. “Happens every week.” He put a finger to his head, swirling it around. “Keep us focused on how to perform instead of thinking a
bout how to get out of here.” He glanced back at the checkpoints, making sure the Overseers had forgotten all about Daniel’s minor insubordination. “Just do what they say,” he said, before pushing on into the crowd, leaving Daniel behind.

  Daniel puffed out his cheeks, tension digging into his shoulders. Just when he thought he was getting the hang of this place.

  “I hate drotes!” he called out.

  Blink’s arm rose up from the crowd, and with a simple wave he was gone.

  A horn, deep and thrumming, blew from the far end of the staging post, followed by the deafening rumble of heavy machinery starting up. It wouldn’t be long before it became so loud in here he’d be better off in the Workings.

  Daniel pushed on, skirting around the far end of the corral, where the fence opened up and he could watch the bittersweet ritual of the trabasaurs being prepped for work—well, all except one, an irritable sixteen-ton Hammertail that was refusing to step into his harness.

  Daniel leaned on the fence, trying to get Alice’s attention with a couple of clucks.

  Alice snorted, stomping his feet and refusing to turn around.

  Acutely aware that the Overseers and the grubs over on the other side of the corral were watching his every move, Daniel signaled to them, Let me try! He lowered his voice. “Alice . . . what’s going on?”

  The animal shook his head from side to side, like he didn’t want to listen.

  Daniel rummaged around in his pockets for his breakfast. A fat, juicy Passava root, oozing with sap. He wafted it around, making sure Alice got a really good sniff of the thing.

  Hesitantly Alice turned around, drool running down his mouth.

  “You want it? Come and get it.” Daniel held it out, waving it a couple of times. “Come on, you big lug!”

  Alice snorted his disapproval again, loud and obnoxious, but he knew a good thing when he saw it. Slowly, he made his way over to Daniel, nuzzling before gently taking the root and chewing on it. Daniel ran his hand down the trabasaur’s muzzle, giving him a good long look in the eye.

  “Good boy,” he said. “What’s going on with you, huh?”

  And then he saw them: bloody puncture wounds running in a line across Alice’s ribs.

  Daniel winced, rage swelling in his belly. “Who did this to you—?”

  “Get away from my Hammertail!” Pinch Servilles demanded, marching across the corral, a barbed whip in his hand. “I have work to do.”

  “He’s hurt,” said Daniel, the anger rising in his throat. He watched the boy approach, his dugs covered in mud, blood dripping from his spurs.

  “He’ll be more than hurt when I’ve finished with him,” Pinch barked, raising his whip. “You’ve made him soft, Coldstar. Now it’s up to me to teach this animal a lesson.”

  Without warning, Pinch swung his arm, striking Alice with a snap! The spurred end of the whip dug into the animal’s flesh, only coming free when he yanked on it.

  Alice cried out in pain, backing up a step or two.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Daniel said, the sound of quiet fury gripping his voice.

  “Oh, go away, Coldstar, this has nothing to do with you.”

  “Touch him again,” Daniel warned.

  “Or what?”

  In one bound, Daniel leapt over the fence, balling his fist, landing it straight in the other grub’s face. Pinch dropped on the spot, blood dripping from a nasty split lip.

  “Get up!” Daniel roared. “Come on!”

  Pinch scrambled back, kicking up dirt, desperately trying to get away.

  Daniel wasn’t about to let him off that easy. Snatching the barbed whip up off the ground, he marched at the boy when—

  Ssssnappp!

  Several blast-pikes jabbed at his back, hurling him across the corral.

  Barely able to see straight, Daniel flailed around in the dirt, unable to get up. Rolling onto his elbows, he clawed his way forward, only to find a pair of Overseer boots blocking his way.

  “Put forty-one eighty-two in the pit,” the Overseer said. “One cycle.”

  Daniel recognized his number right away. He began to panic. “The pit? What pit?”

  Fearing for their own safety, a couple of grubs scrambled into action, dragging Daniel away by his ankles.

  “What pit?” Daniel screamed. “Where are you taking me?!”

  The gate to the corral creaked open, revealing that the entire staging post had ground to a halt to watch him. Silently, the sea of grubs parted for his journey toward an enormous rusty metal hatch sitting on the ground between the dung piles.

  “What is that?” Daniel demanded, trying and failing to get a better look.

  One of the Overseers pointed at it, triggering the lock. The hatch parted, two gigantic doors lifting up to reveal a deep hole dug into the bedrock.

  Daniel struggled to break free, but it was useless. They threw him down into the pit with such force that when he landed the back of his head bounced off the ground.

  Stunned, he gazed up at the grubs gathered around the hatch as they sealed him inside, but he couldn’t make out any of their faces. The blow to the head had been so hard, all he could see were stars.

  7

  THE PIT

  The first hour was the hardest.

  Daniel had a sense of what an hour felt like when the lights were on, but here in absolute darkness time seemed to behave by a different set of rules. And his head . . . boy, it hurt.

  He listened to the trabasaurs come and go, and the clank of Overseer boots marching overhead. He heard the distant voices of grubs doing as they were ordered.

  At first he held on to the hope that they might change their mind and let him out, but that soon passed. Then he thought maybe he could find a way out of here; they hadn’t taken his tool belt, after all, so maybe there was a chance. But a bumbling trip around the pit, scooting through the filth, seeing with his fingers, soon put an end to that idea.

  He was alone with only his thoughts for company.

  Daniel found a corner where he could rest and slid to the ground, hugging his knees. Maybe he was the lucky one? After all, there weren’t any Overseers down here. Though the animal dung smelled pretty bad.

  He closed his eyes, trying to relax. It didn’t help. The same question kept rolling around in his brain: was it worth it?

  Socking Pinch Servilles right in the jaw sure had made him feel a whole lot better, but it hadn’t really changed anything. The Overseers didn’t seem to care what that coward did to the animals.

  Daniel sat slumped in the dark, with nothing to do but wait. . . .

  “Ouch!”

  Daniel had nodded off, slamming his head against the wall when he woke. How long had he been out?

  He glanced up at the ceiling and toward the pit’s only exit. Not that he could see it, but he could hear that something had changed. What happened to all the noise? The crushers had fallen silent. The heavy motors weren’t rumbling. Where were the grubs? Nothing but a deathly silence hung over the staging post—

  Slowly pulling himself to his feet, Daniel called out, “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  “Anyone there?” he asked, which was pointless because he knew there wasn’t. They must have all gone back to the Racks for the night.

  What the heck was he going to do now? There had to be some way to keep himself entertained.

  He paced. He made up songs. He threw rocks at the walls, then threw rocks at the corners, getting them to skip back and forth between the walls a couple of times. He balanced rocks on his head. On his nose. He wasn’t quite sure at what point he just sat there carving deep grooves into the ground, or when he had decided to turn around and start carving his name into the wall in huge letters, starting off with a triangular-shaped D. He could only guess at how spectacular it was going to look when he was finished.

  Shhhwooooommmm . . .

  What was that? The GoLoader! Were they coming back for him?

  He jumped up. “Hey! Did you forget
about me?”

  Yes, yes! He could hear the trudge of a thousand pairs of boots disembarking. The grubs were back, but they were so noisy they were never going to hear him.

  He lobbed a stone at the metal plate ceiling—

  Dooonnnnggg!

  Not bad. Sounded like a huge bell. He did it again.

  Dooonnnnggg!

  That should get their attention.

  Dooonnnnggg!

  A tiny hatch in the ceiling suddenly snapped back. Daniel stood directly under the light, but it was so bright he threw an arm over his eyes.

  Staring down at him was an Overseer. “You will cease immediately,” the Overseer commanded.

  “Uhh . . . can I come out now?” Daniel pleaded.

  The hatch snapped shut in response.

  “Guess not . . .”

  What he didn’t expect was for the hatch to fly open again just moments later, and for a Passava root to come bouncing off his head.

  He glanced up, his eyes still not fully adjusted, but he could tell just by the silhouette that this wasn’t anybody that he knew. “Who’s there? Who are you?”

  “It’s me,” the figure whispered.

  Great help. “Me who?”

  “I thought you were gone,” the figure said. “They said you were disappeared. I said more likely you’d escaped and were planning on rescuing us.”

  What was it about this person’s voice that was so different from any of the other grubs? “Well, I’m back,” said Daniel.

  “Why are you in the dark?”

  “Uhh . . . I like it?”

  “Use your F-light!” the figure urged, pointing to the small device hanging from his belt.

  Unsure what an F-light even was, Daniel carefully unclipped it from his belt and warily pulled the trigger. A tiny orb no bigger than a bug shot up into the air, flared brightly, and began floating above his head.

  Daniel rolled his eyes, frustrated. He could have done this hours ago!

  The light was pretty weak, but it lit up the entire pit and, more importantly, let him see who it was he was talking to.

  His mouth hung open when he did. “Wh . . . what are you?”