2015 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide Page 7

  “What about my brother?” Ida gestured to Maurice huddled by the base of the kiosk and holding his mask in place. His hood still flopped on his back, his ash blond curls wild on his head. Ida stepped closer to the woman, speaking under her breath so Maurice wouldn’t hear and get even more scared. “His hood has a tear.”

  “Then I guess we better work fast. As long as the warning lights don’t shift to red, he’ll be fine.” Up close, the engineer was even taller than Ida had realized. “I’m Rayna.” She offered Ida her hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Ida.” She shook Rayna’s hand.

  Rayna spotted her necklace, pulling her own out of the neck of her uniform. Hers also had two disks.

  “You two on your own?” she jingled her necklace and gestured with her chin at Ida’s.

  “Yes. Mom three years ago. Dad last month.” Ida looked back at Maurice who started at her with his big blue eyes wide with fear. “We’re alone.”

  When Ida looked back at her, Rayna was watching Maurice. “Not now you aren’t.” She shook her head and turned back to Ida. “We need you. I am going to give you the world’s fastest lesson on how to use this air-seal tool.” She pulled a strange cylinder from her equipment belt. It looked like a cross between a flashlight and a small hand drill. “Then you need to go up the ladder and into that duct.”

  Ida stared up at where Rayna was pointing. Could she back out of this? Maurice would be alone. What if she couldn’t do it? What if she fell?

  “The biggest challenge to fixing a breach like this,” Rayna’s voice pulled her attention back, “is the flexibility of the material. You need to fuse the edges of the tear or patch it if the tear is too big. Everything must be tight, no gaps.”

  Ida nodded.

  “The tool works through a combination of heat and chemical reaction. You have to keep it away from your own air-skin or it will make a new hole where you don’t want one.” Rayna looked back at Maurice. “Get his hood up. It will still help some. One of the staff can keep an eye on him.”

  Ida helped Maurice with his hood and told him she would be back soon. A woman sat with Maurice, whispering something that made him smile, still clutching his mask to his face as he held Pig close.

  Ida practiced on some air-skin scraps, Rayna hovering over her shoulder giving tips. It was harder than it looked. The sealer felt strange and awkward in her hand, but by the time the radio-mask appeared, Ida felt like she was getting the hang of it.

  Rayna had Ida take off her loose clothing, leaving her standing exposed in just the tight protective skin. Rayna dumped everything out of her equipment belt and onto the floor with a huge clatter. She wrapped the belt around Ida’s slim hips, showing her how to stash the tool and the patches.

  Ida swapped her mask for the new one. The air in this mask was crisper than in her mask. Maybe drier? She let her thoughts on the texture of the air distract her as they moved to the bottom of the ladder. Rayna held it steady as Ida climbed. Ida heard a train rush through the station without stopping, felt the metal vibrate as it passed somewhere far below.

  Ida didn’t look down, just up at the next step on the ladder. The new mask had a headlamp that lit her way as she clambered over the ledge and crawled into the narrow dark channel. It quickly got too small to crawl, forcing her to lie flat and pull herself forward with her elbows. Around the first tight turn, the equipment belt got hooked on something. She had to shimmy backwards and roll over to get herself free, before rolling back onto her belly to continue inching forward.

  She almost fell over the edge at the far end of the shaft, surprised by the empty space suddenly gaping ahead. Her gasp had Rayna calling through the radio.

  “Ida?”

  “I found the end of the duct.”

  “There will be a ladder leading down from that end too.”

  “I’ve got it.” Ida found the first rung with her right hand. “Wait. How am I going to turn around?” There was a long pause. Ida stared at the ladder leading down into murky shadows. The headlamp made little impact on the inky blackness. No way she was going down head first. “Should I come back and go in feet first?”

  “No.” Rayna finally replied. “No. I have an idea. Can you lie on your back and reach up? There should be a ladder leading up, too. You can grab a rung above and pull yourself up enough to get your feet on the ladder going down.”

  Ida turned over and looked up. The bottom step of another ladder glinted in the beam of her headlamp, leading upwards into more darkness.

  “Yes. I see it. Let me try.” She rested her head against the bottom of the tunnel and reached. It was too far away. Ida carefully shifted further forward until her head was no longer supported. She reached up and her hand came close, but not close enough to wrap her fingers around the rung. “I still can’t reach. How did anyone ever do this?”

  “They didn’t,” Rayna replied. “Before the underground was sealed, there were easier ways to get to that section from the outside. They were never meant to be accessed from inside the station.”

  “Couldn’t I go through the old doors from outside? I have my air-skin.” Ida tipped her head back, letting her headlamp rove the far reaches of the cavernous space. She would have had better luck with her father’s telescope.

  “No.” Rayna sighed. “Great idea, only that would contaminate the whole station.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can you brace your legs and push out further?”

  “Umm...” Ida experimented with her legs, trying to figure out a way to keep herself from sliding all the way out of the duct and into the gloom below. “Maybe?”

  “Keep trying.” This almost a whisper.

  She rolled back onto her stomach to look down the ladder. She could grab the first rung and flip herself over, but she could picture all too easily her back smacking against the ladder, her grip slipping, and falling who knew how far down. She rolled onto her back once more, this time finding some indentations into which she wedged her feet on the sides of the duct.

  And then, without thinking about all the ways it could go wrong, Ida pushed herself back and over the edge until her entire torso was out over the emptiness. She quickly sat up and reached as far as she could.

  She caught the lowest rung above her with her left hand. For a moment Ida just hung there, breathing. Finally she pulled herself up high enough to grab on with her right hand as well and pulled her legs out of the duct to put them on the rung below.

  “Okay. I’m on the ladder.”

  “What?” Rayna barked with a laugh. “How?”

  “If I live through this,” Ida laughed back, “I promise I’ll explain. Now what?”

  “Down the ladder, across the bottom of the air shaft and then back up the ladder to the right.”

  Before Rayna even finished, Ida was moving down the ladder, looking down to shine the headlamp at her feet. She had to jump down to the floor at the bottom. Across the open space she found the ladder on the opposite side easily enough.

  “Rayna, the ladder is too high, I can’t reach.” Ida waited. “Rayna?” The radio remained silent. She pointed her headlamp carefully at the floor around her. The space stretched far beyond the beam of light. Ida tried not to think about getting stuck down here with no food or water as everyone else was forced to evacuate the station. She couldn’t think about Maurice alone, angry red burns branching down from his hairline and across his forehead.

  Ida put her hand on the wall and began to walk along the edge of the space. She almost tripped on something. It was a broken wooden crate that looked like it had been dropped down the shaft.

  It was huge and heavy and awkward as she dragged it into place. Finally she was able to clamber up its side and get onto the ladder.

  Halfway to the top, Ida finally heard Rayna’s voice again.

  “Ida?” Rayna sounded panicked.

  “I’m here.” Ida replied, out of breath from the climb.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. The bottom of th
e ladder was too high. I had to find something to climb on.” She paused to catch her breath. “Where am I going?”

  “At the top of the ladder near the ceiling, you should find a small door.” Rayna’s voice hitched, like maybe she had been crying. “Given the distribution of air degradation reported from this shaft’s sensors, the breach has to be in there somewhere.”

  Getting the door unlatched was easy. Leaning back far enough to pull it open was hard. Then she was half inside a weird little box and looking for the breach.

  It was obvious once she saw it. The panel covering one of the air exchanges with the outside was damaged. The left edge had torn free, the translucent material flapping as air rushed in.

  Ida pulled out the tool. It felt cold and heavy in her hand. She had a moment of panic that she would fumble and the tool would fall all the way back to the floor far below, but then she got it turned around and pointed in the right direction.

  “Remember, let each inch of re-fused material set for at least 90 seconds. That way it won’t pull out as you go.”

  “Okay.” Ida fused the first inch. “Can you keep time for me? I just finished the first inch.”

  “Started.”

  She took a breath, and after a few beats of silence, “Orion. Cassiopeia. Pegasus.”

  “Ida?”

  “Sorry. My father and I used to look at constellations together on the roof of our building. He taught me to name as many as I can remember when I needed to stay calm.”

  “I haven’t seen the stars in a long time.”

  “It was the only time I liked putting on my air-skin.” Ida closed her eyes, remembering. “As more city lights went out, we just could see more and more stars.”

  “It sounds beautiful.”

  “It was.” Ida squeezed her eyes, trying hold the tears in. “It still is.”

  “Time’s up. You can do the next inch.”

  “Thanks,” she choked out, opening her eyes to a blur of tears. They trailed down her cheeks where she couldn’t reach to wipe them away. They were salty and warm when they reached her tongue. She blinked her eyes clear and fused the next inch. “Restart timer please. Ursa Minor. Ursa Major. Draco. Cygnus...”

  When she finished the last inch, the air pressure dropped and Ida slumped against the side of the chamber. She closed her eyes.

  “It’s done,” she whispered.

  “Good job!” Rayna’s cheerful voice was followed by a flood of shouts. They hurt her ears, but she didn’t care. She had done it. She hadn’t died, Maurice was safe and the station was fixed. Her father would have been so proud.

  Getting back out was easier once she wrangled the broken box across the floor to the first ladder. She took the opportunity at the end of the duct to show Rayna how she had gotten onto the ladder at the other end.

  Down on the floor, Rayna pulled her into a quick hug. Then she took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

  “Well done.” She had a huge grin on her face.

  “Looks like you might have found someone to train,” said a voice over the radio; Ida thought it might have been the stationmaster.

  “We are planning to relocate,” Ida confessed, “if we can just find a train that will take us out to the West City Dome.”

  “I see.” Rayna was interrupted by a long low tone broadcast over the speakers. The amber warning lights went out. She looked up. “That’s the all clear, you don’t need this anymore.” She reached over, pulled off Ida’s mask and handed it back to her.

  “Ida!” The next thing Ida knew, Maurice was throwing himself into her arms and she was kissing his smiling face.

  After Maurice and Pig peppered Ida with questions about her adventure for a few minutes, Rayna interrupted, a serious tone in her voice. “I understand you have your eyes on the West City Dome, but I would like to propose something different.”

  “Okay.” Ida moved to stand beside Maurice, watching Rayna’s face as she held him close.

  “I need an assistant. I can pay you with a combination of station scrip and food.”

  “I’m hungry.” Maurice volunteered. Rayna and Ida both laughed.

  “Someone bring this young man a sandwich.” Rayna called out, to a chorus of more laughter. “Scrip will work at any station and on most trains. If you want to move on in a few months, won’t be anything I can do to stop you.”

  “I understand.” Ida nodded. An adult in station gray brought Maurice a sandwich. As he devoured it, Ida swore she could see him grow. “But Maurice needs a new air-skin. We barely got this on him this morning, even before the hood got torn.”

  “We can take care of that.” Rayna waited patiently.

  “Maurice?” Ida asked, watching him eat. “Should we stay?”

  “This sandwich is good,” he replied around a mouthful of food. “Pig likes it here.”

  “In that case,” Ida turned back to Rayna, “our answer is yes.”

  “One final condition,” replied Rayna. “You owe me some star gazing.”

  “Good thing we kept the telescope.”

  Someone handed Ida a sandwich. It tasted amazing.

  The Doom of Wonder Bread

  Sonja Thomas

  Sonja Thomas, a recovering CPA, writes for children of all ages, from humorous middle grade to young adult fantasy to adult horror. Raised in Central Florida (the wonderful world of Disney, humidity and hurricanes) and transplanted to DC for 11 years (go Nats!), she’s now ‘keeping it weird’ in Portland, OR. To stay sane she dances, doodles and plays with furry, four-legged friends. You may even hear her belt out an awesome Xena yodel. Visit her at www.bysonjathomas.com or follow her on twitter @bysonjathomas.

  As it did every morning, Mom’s wide backside bounced in rhythm to the “Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, oh-no-no” thumping in the kitchen. The R&B bootylicious beat, passed down from her great-great-grandmother, was the secret ingredient to drool-worthy chick’n and waffles. That and kimchi—way premium than tired old hot sauce.

  Luna poured a thick stream of sans-maple syrup into each mock-waffle square, careful not to let any overflow onto her plate and contaminate her chick’n. Her lip curled at her older brother Sting drowning his waffle-chick’n tower in synthetic syrup.

  Technically, everything on his plate was fake, so comingling food groups shouldn’t matter. Chickens, along with all livestock, went extinct eons ago. With all the droughts and ozone pollution, flour had been artificially produced for even longer. Thank greatness for genetically faux foods. Without GFOs, mankind would have been fossil dust like the dinosaurs.

  “Heard on the news about another dreamscape case,” Mom said, pouring coffee into Dad’s cup.

  Dad snorted. “Reliving the same day over and over and over? That mess isn’t real.”

  Luna nodded in agreement. Her best friend Ashley constantly droned on about the supposed do-over opportunities. And Luna always tuned Ashley out. She had as much confidence in dreamscapes as she did Nessie the Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot.

  “My bio teacher says the brain is able to do much more than we think,” Sting said.

  “For those of us that have a brain.” Luna snickered. Sting pulled Luna’s face towards his by her afro puffs, dropped open his jaw and exposed chewed-up waffle and chick’n guts.

  “Ewww!” Luna jerked her head free.

  “Enough.” Mom’s tone shut down Sting’s mush-mouth display. Luna grinned, fluffing her fros back to health.

  Mom settled into the chair next to Dad, her crossed leg bouncing. “Real or not,” she continued, “something’s going on. This is the third person in Florida that’s slipped into a coma for no reason. Man, woman, black, white…don’t matter. On the up, it sure would be jazz to revise history.”

  “I would so reverse global warming extinction,” Sting said. “Always wondered what real chicken tasted like.”

  “Like chick’n.” Luna shrugged.

  Dad shook his head. “There’s no such thing as second chances. What’s—

 
“Done is done,” Luna finished.

  “Exactly.” Dad nodded. Luna beamed.

  “Suck up,” Sting hissed under his breath.

  Resisting the urge to flab jab her brother with her fork, Luna instead dug into the backpack resting at her feet and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper.

  “Guess what, Dad.” She slapped the paper on the table top, her finger tapping the A+. “I ripped my algebra exam.”

  Sting rolled his eyes.

  “Looks like we have two math whizzes in the family,” Mom said. Luna puffed out her chest, glancing at her father.

  He offered her a half smile and clamped a hand on Sting’s shoulder. “Ready for the big game this weekend, champ?”

  Luna deflated in her chair. Why did everything revolve around Sting?

  Sure, he was good at throwing a prolate spheroid shaped ball and could burp half the alphabet without taking a breath, but Sting didn’t give two ribbits about anything besides himself. Luna had been spending one weekend a month for a year removing litter along the new Atlantic Coast twenty minutes from their Maitland home. Sting only volunteered because it was a graduation requirement. Luna couldn’t help that she sucked at sports. Curse her stupid horrendous eye-hand coordination.

  A shrill “cuc-koo, cuc-koo” blasted overhead from Mom’s archaic heirloom clock, announcing that it was 6:30. Luna watched the tiny mechanical bird bounce with each call, but on the last note, instead of retreating back inside its wooden home carved with oversized leaves and squirrels, the cuckoo made a weird popping noise. Luna gasped. Everyone looked up. The bird dangled on the edge of its plank. It had finally had enough.

  Mom jumped from her chair—”No, no, no,”—and caressed the wooden bird.

  Luna remained slumped, arms folded in stubborn self-pity. She never liked that stupid bird, chirping every half hour for as long as she could remember. There was no reason for Mom to freak. Like Dad always said, what’s done was done.