Skyward - Claim the Stars

I d taken off my boots so they wouldn t squeak. I d removed my socks so I wouldn t slip. The rock under my feet was comfortably cool as I took another silent step forward.

This deep, the only light came from the faint glow of the worms on the ceiling, feeding off the moisture seeping through cracks. You had to sit for minutes in the darkness for your eyes to adjust to that faint light.

Another quiver in the shadows. There, near those dark lumps that must be enemy fortifications. I froze in a crouch, listening to my enemy scratch the rock as he moved. I imagined a Krell: a terrible alien with red eyes and dark armor.

With a steady hand--agonizingly slow--I raised my rifle to my shoulder, held my breath, and fired.

A squeal of pain was my reward.

Yes!

I patted my wrist, activating my father s light-line. It sprang to life with a reddish-orange glow, blinding me for a moment.

Then I rushed forward to claim my prize: one dead rat, speared straight through.

In the light, shadows I d imagined as enemy fortifications revealed themselves as rocks. My enemy was a plump rat, and my rifle was a makeshift speargun. Nine and a half years had passed since that fateful day when I d climbed to the surface with my father, but my imagination was as strong as ever. It helped relieve the monotony, to pretend I was doing something more exciting than hunting rats.

I held up the dead rodent by its tail. Thus you know the fury of my anger, fell beast.

It turned out that strange little girls grow up to be strange young women. But I figured it was good to practice my taunts for when I really fought the Krell. Gran-Gran taught that a great warrior knew how to make a great boast to drive fear and uncertainty into the hearts of her enemies.

I tucked my prize away into my sack. That was eight so far--not a bad haul. Did I have time to find another?

I glanced at my light-line--the bracelet that housed it had a little clock next to the power indicator. 0900. Probably time to turn back; I couldn t miss too much of the school day.

I slung my sack over my shoulder, picked up my speargun--which I d fashioned from salvaged parts I d found in the caverns--and started the hike homeward. I followed my own hand-drawn maps, which I was constantly updating in a small notebook.

A part of me was sad to have to return, and leave these silent caverns behind. They reminded me of my father. Besides, I liked how . . . empty it all was. Nobody to mock me, nobody to stare, nobody to whisper insults until I was forced to defend my family honor by burying a fist in their stupid face.

I stopped at a familiar intersection where the floor and ceiling gave way to strange metal patterns. Circular designs marked with scientific writing covered both surfaces; I d always thought they must be ancient maps of the galaxy. On the far side of the room, an enormous, ancient tube emerged from the rock--one of many that moved water between the caverns, cleansing it and using it to cool machinery. A seam dripped water into a bucket I d left, and it was half full, so I took a long drink. Cool and refreshing, with a tinge of something metallic.

We didn t know much about the people who had built this machinery. Like the rubble belt, it had been here already when our small fleet crashed on the planet. They d been humans, as the writings on places like this room s ceiling and floor were in human languages. But how distantly related they were to us was a mystery even now. None of them were still around, and the melted patch