2015 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide Read online

  “Oh my greatness, look at you Miss Luna,” Mrs. Oakly exclaimed when Luna arrived at the front desk on the seventh floor. “You’ve shot up like a tree frog over the last two years.”

  Mrs. Oakly had grown too. She now resembled a hippo—in both size and color—wearing a platinum blond wig and swimming in a garlic scent. Luna decided not to mention this.

  “Unfortunately,” Mrs. Oakly said, “you just missed your dad. You know, 12:45 lunch.” She tapped her naked wrist. “He didn’t mention you were blessing us with your presence today.”

  “It’s a surprise. I can just wait in his office.”

  Mrs. Oakly ushered Luna into a 10x10 room, stuffed with a metal desk, three chairs, a four-drawer file cabinet and credenza. She waved for Luna to sit at one of the stiff chairs facing her father’s desk. “Mr. Rey was just praising you and your gifted math skills. Something about an A+.” She winked.

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes. He never stops bragging about you. He always says he never has to worry about his baby Luna. So smart and dependable and trustworthy. Sting, on the other hand…” Mrs. Oakly shook her head, clicking her tongue.

  Whoa. Her dad had more faith in her than Sting. Luna squirmed in her chair as thoughts about what she was about to do nagged on her nerves.

  “Alright, Miss Luna, I’ll leave you be.”

  As soon as Mrs. Oakly closed the door, Luna got to work.

  She pulled out two gallon jugs, a hooded raincoat, and a lighter from her backpack. She opened each drawer in the file cabinet, credenza and desk, drowning its contents with water. With hesitation, Luna held the second jug over her dad’s computer. Knowing now that her father trusted her, it tore her insides to think how disappointed he’d be at her for trashing his office. Even if meant saving him from ten years of garbage picking.

  But Luna had to get out of this time warp. She’d go cuckoo if she had to endure this same day yet again. And this plan would only work if she destroyed everything.

  Luna shut her eyes and emptied the jug. The laptop sizzled and popped in protest. She stuffed the empty jugs back in her bag and glanced at the wall clock. 1:05. Plenty of time to wrap this up and leave the scene.

  Luna slipped on the raincoat and slowly climbed onto her father’s swivel chair, arms outstretched to steady herself, and then carefully placed one foot, followed by the other, onto the desk. After pulling the hood tight over her precious afro puffs, she held the lighter underneath the fire sprinkler and flicked the spark wheel to ignite the flame.

  The four-inch blaze rippled and snaked for what felt like forever. Finally, the sprinkler kicked into action. The cap seal burst and water streamed out, spraying Luna in the face.

  She slid off the desk, grabbed her backpack and rushed out the office. Zooming past a confused Mrs. Oakly, she continued on into the hall and into the stairwell. The fire alarm blared. She bounded down the stairs, reaching the fifth floor before it swarmed with evacuees. Smushed within a single-file line, Luna plodded down the steps. With each descended floor, her nerves slightly lessened.

  Sunlight streamed into the dim stairwell once they reached the ground floor. Outside in the humid heat, Luna snaked through the milling crowd, a skip in her step. She’d done it!

  A hand clutched the hood of Luna’s raincoat and spun her around. “Just as I thought,” the security guard said, stroking his ‘stache. “Up to no good.”

  …………………………

  Luna sat on the edge of her brother’s bed, the last place in the world she wanted to be. Today was ‘Day Three’ and her very last chance. If she didn’t get it right, she’d be stuck in this revolving door nightmare for eternity.

  She swatted a pillow at her brother’s snoring head.

  Sting bolted upright. “Get. Out.”

  “What if I told you that right now, I was reliving the same day over and over in a dreamscape?”

  Sting stared blankly at Luna, all eyes, no neck and lanky limbs like a brown tree frog. Without warning, he erupted into a fit of laughter. “You…dreamscape...yeah….right,” he managed between snorts.

  “I bet you twenty bucks, I can predict the future.” Luna held out her hand.

  Sting took hold and shook. “Loser.”

  Luna proceeded to share with Sting the upcoming highlights of today’s breakfast: the menu; Mom saying she heard on the news about another dreamscape; Dad’s adamant stance that they weren’t real; and the death of Mom’s prized cuckoo clock at exactly 6:30.

  Together they walked down the hallway, Sting humming, “Mo money,” and into the kitchen. Luna pointed at Sting’s plate of chick’n and waffles as he sat down. He mouthed the words, “Lucky guess.”

  Mom wiggled her rump to the “uh-oh” breakfast tune while pouring coffee into Dad’s cup. “Heard on the news about another dreamscape case.”

  Sting’s fork paused in mid-air, syrup bleeding from his stabbed waffle and chick’n combo.

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

  Luna wiggled her brows at her brother’s scowl.

  Dad moved the conversation from dueling opinions on dreamscapes to Sting’s big weekend game just before the cuckoo bird announced the 6:30 half hour. Luna watched her brother’s jaw drop, followed by his fork, as the poor bird dangled over the edge.

  Sting grabbed Luna’s wrist and yanked her into the living room. “What the…? How did…?”

  For the first time during this instant replay nightmare, Luna was actually enjoying herself. Unfortunately, the savory moment came to a bitter end.

  “Like I said before, I’m stuck in a dreamscape. I have to change the right moment or I’ll never get out.” Luna paused, not wanting to say the words. “Sting, I need your help.”

  She explained how later today their father would uncover fraud at work and with no trial or jury get sentenced to ten years at a work camp for mindlessly chucking Wonder Bread bits out the car window. Finally, reluctantly, she detailed her first two disastrous attempts to change history.

  “Today is my last chance,” Luna said. “Not only to save Dad, but myself.”

  “Figures that this day would all be your fault,” Sting said.

  Luna’s temper raged. How was all this her fault? SAFE’s thief, her father’s addiction and the stupid judge, their combined actions caused this nightmare. It was because of them she was stuck in this rewind-and-repeat. Maybe even forever. Frustration dug under skin. Luna just wanted to move on. Back to a normal day at school, hanging with Ashley, eating chick’n fingers and…

  Oh my greatness. Was it really her fault? She replayed the scene at the courthouse, the words her father had told the judge floating through her head: someone smuggling money at SAFE, creeping traffic, the broken A/C and his daughter’s suspension. Could that be what put her father over the edge? But how could something so trivial, so stupid cause so much trouble?

  …………………………

  Luna and Ashley navigated through the bustling cafeteria before squeezing into an empty space between the jockoids and headbangers. “Can you believe the latest dreamscape happened in Orlando? That’s like around the corner,” Ashley gushed.

  Luna slowly nodded, staring straight ahead. Her soft gaze registered nothing. Not even Tony Perkins digging deep into his ears and sniffing the golden wax on his fingertips could hold her attention. Luna’s mind was fixed somewhere else.

  If Luna was right, all she had to do to escape a lifetime sentence in this dreamscape was to avoid Mrs. Belcher at all costs. How hard could it be to not argue with Ashley? Especially now that Luna was a firm believer in second chances.

  “Earth to Luna,” Ashley said. A series of pokes struck Luna in the face. She turned her attention onto Ashley, who was about to toss another wadded-up piece of napkin. “Where are you?”

  “What were you saying?”

  “Dreamscapes,” Ashley said. “What would you do-over if given the chance?”

  Luna grinned
. The moment had passed. She and her dad were safe! “Anything that put me in Mrs. Belcher’s office. You?”

  A freckle-faced boy wearing a Panthers basketball jersey leaned over Ashley and said, “Only losers believe in dreamscapes.”

  “Says the loser.” Luna smirked, dunking her nugget in BBQ sauce.

  “They are too real,” Ashley said.

  “My cousin’s best friend’s sister’s dentist swore he did a root canal on the last victim,” a kid next to Luna chimed in, running a hand through his dirty blond hair.

  “Keep out of this, greasy-locks,” freckle-faced spat.

  “Dude, harsh.” Greasy-locks pouted. “Anyway, I agree with you. Dreamscapes are bogus.”

  “And you’re an expert because?” Luna said, waving her chick’n finger.

  “Can’t we all, anti- and pro-, get along?” Greasy-locks reached out his hand onto Luna’s shoulder, right on top of her afro-puff. Luna shrieked. Her hand jerked. The BBQ dripping chick’n finger shot from her grasp. Even though futile, Luna lunged forward with stretched fingertips, reaching for the somersaulting nugget. It sailed past Ashley’s wide eyes and smacked Tony Perkins square in the forehead.

  Luna scrambled over the table towards Tony, crying “It was an accident!”

  Tony leapt to his feet, sauce sliding down his blushing cheeks. No words could remove the hate in his eyes. Once again, Tony slung a fist full of fries and thanks to stupid self-preservation reflexes, Luna ducked.

  She watched in horror as the scene played out the same: projectile chick’n; chairs skidding; flipped tables; the kitchen lady tossing mock potatoes; and Luna in Principal Belcher’s office.

  Mrs. Belcher’s hands lay folded on top of a thick file on her desk. “I’ve seen—

  “I know what you’re going to say, Principal Belcher,” Luna cut in. “That you’ve seen my face too many times this year, from the ‘good hair’ incident to holding the dissection frogs hostage.”

  Mrs. Belcher tightened her lips.

  “And I get that actions have consequences. More than you’ll ever know,” Luna took a deep breath, “but this wasn’t my fault. Ask Ashley, or the guys sitting next to us. It was an accident. I swear. I tried to tell Tony that, but he wouldn’t listen. Please, please, please don’t suspend me.”

  Mrs. Belcher leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers together. Sweat beaded on Ashley’s forehead. There was nothing left to say. Nothing more she could do. Her fate was in the principal’s hands.

  The silence stretched into eternity. It was impossible to read Belcher’s blank face. She wore the same look whether offering a congratulations or doling out a suspension.

  “Do you know what I’m about to say now?” Mrs. Belcher asked.

  Luna slowly shook her head.

  “Your accurate assessment of the situation appears genuine.” Principal Belcher smirked. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  …………………………

  5:30 p.m. Sting kicked and jabbed, grunted and dodged across the living room, wearing a full-face 3D helmet (promising all five sensory sensations) as he played the latest version of ‘Avatar Mindbender, Kung Fu Yo! Style.’

  Luna paced the knotted carpet, every few seconds peeking through the blinds, hoping, praying their father was on his way home with no…issues.

  Sting sailed in front of Luna with a perfectly pointed toe hi-yah. She snuck another glance out the window. Sting yanked off his mask and cried, “Would you please quit with the peep patrol?”

  A key jingled in the front door. Luna pounced on her father before he could cross the threshold.

  Dad chuckled. “Good to see you, too.”

  Arms still wrapped around his waist, Luna asked, “How was work?”

  Dad’s face flickered with worry, but then quickly recovered. “Eventful.”

  “Let the man breathe, Luna-tic.” Sting peeled his sister off their father.

  “Any cuckoo like incidents after work?” Luna followed her father into the kitchen, Sting in tow.

  Mom was busy conducting a finger-licking taste test, adjusting heat levels with her secret weapon, kimchi, and doing da-butt to the roaring dinner music. “Whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh, oh-oh-oh....”

  “Cuckoo?” Dad pointed at the empty space above the dining table. “Like your mother’s bird?”

  Mom’s bottom bounced off beat, but she continued to stir her cheese-whiz sauce.

  Luna shook her head. “More like airborne bread out the car window.”

  “What has gotten into you, Luna Del Rey?”

  “Just ignore her, Dad,” Sting said. “She forgot her meds.”

  All throughout dinner, Luna’s nerves yo-yoed between hopeful satisfaction and twisted anxiety. She shoveled a forkful of mock lasagna into her mouth, relieved that there had been no suspension, no car crashes, and no security guard. Yet she squirmed in her seat, not fully convinced she was in the clear. And as the minutes kept on ticking into the late night hour, with no “cuc-koo” acknowledgement of the time, she rocked in bed staring into the pitch black nothingness.

  What if she hadn’t changed the right moment? Just because her dad had arrived home with no police sirens and no crusty judge verdicts, Luna didn’t trust what tomorrow morning would bring.

  …………………………

  Luna woke to the smell of rubbing alcohol and a repetitive beep…beep…beep.

  “My baby’s back!” Mom cried, smothering Luna in moist kisses.

  “Where am I?” Luna croaked. She pushed herself up into a sitting position in an unfamiliar bed, her body cocooned in starched white sheets. Colorful bouquets, cards and balloons decorated a side table. A green line of mountain peaks and valleys ran across a heart monitor screen, next to an IV bag hooked into Luna’s arm.

  “Welcome back, Luna-tic.” Light streaming through the blinds danced across Sting’s grinning face.

  Dad rose from his chair and shuffled over to the hospital bed. He grabbed Luna’s hand. “You were in a coma.”

  “How long?” Luna asked, even though she already had a clue.

  “Three days,” Dad whispered. “I was so afraid…”

  “What’s done is done.” Luna squeezed his hand. “All that matters is what we do today.”

  He squeezed her hand back. “Thank greatness for second chances.”

  Luna grinned. “You have no idea.”

  Lobstersaurus

  Eric James Stone

  A Nebula Award winner and Hugo nominee, Eric James Stone has been published in Year’s Best SF, Analog, and elsewhere. His first novel, Unforgettable, is forthcoming from Baen Books. Eric is a Writers of the Future winner, graduate of Orson Scott Card’s writing workshop, and assistant editor at Intergalactic Medicine Show. Eric lives in Utah. His website is www.ericjamesstone.com.

  The only predator that poses a significant danger for colonists is Species C-3506, a well-armored hexapod ranging up to five meters in height and up to nine meters in length and massing up to twelve metric tons. The pincers on its two arms are strong enough to crack the shells of most smaller species, after which the sharp-toothed, beak-like mouth is capable of shredding the flesh into chunks it can swallow.

  —Pre-colonization survey report

  …………………………

  The dead lobstersaurus, sprawled in the remains of the tomato patch, blocked the sunlight that usually streamed into the kitchen through the diamondglass wall in the mornings. Over the rim of her glass of orange juice, eight-year-old Esperanza Vega peered at the giant creature her father killed during the night. A cluster of black eyes on the side of its head seemed to stare unblinkingly back at her. The lower part of its head was gone, but its top beak still displayed a row of jagged green teeth.

  “Stop looking at it, Espe,” Mamá said.

  Esperanza jerked her eyes away.

  Mamá frowned at Papá. “I want that thing moved before lunch today. It makes me lose my appetite.”

  Papá reached his for
k over to Mamá’s plate, speared a pancake, and plopped it onto his own plate. “More for me, I guess.”

  “Rico, I mean it,” Mamá said.

  “Jack Sanders said he’d fly his tractor over this afternoon to help haul it away,” Papá said.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Esperanza thought she saw something moving outside. She looked back at the lobstersaurus. A tiny piece of sun had risen over the top of its shell.

  Papá continued, “I suppose if I sliced it in two, our tractor could handle it. But if I had anything that could cut through that shell, I—”

  One of the lobstersaurus’s legs wiggled, and Esperanza shrieked and dropped her glass. Orange juice spilled across the white tablecloth.

  “Espe!” Mamá scolded.

  “It’s still alive,” Esperanza said. “It’s moving.”

  Her parents turned their heads to follow her gaze.

  For a few seconds, the lobstersaurus lay still. Then the same leg wiggled again.

  “Postmortem reflex,” Papá said. “Sometimes nerve signals still go to the muscles after something’s dead.”

  The leg started shaking.

  “You’re sure it’s dead?” Mamá said.

  “A pound of blastique blew up in its mouth,” Papá said. “It wasn’t easy to kill, but it’s dead.”

  Espe remembered something she had read in her science studies. “Some dinosaurs on Earth had nerve clusters near their tails. Maybe lobstersauruses have an extra brain not in their heads.”

  Papá smiled. “A good theory, mija. But it is not true. The survey robots took scans of the lobstersauruses long ago. They have only one brain – larger than most dinosaurs’, but only one, in the head.”