Rock Hoppers II - Search

 

    “You got any money to spend or something to trade?  I don’t take too kindly to window shoppers.”

     Old Man Howie rearranges the tools that are displayed in his shop as he watches Ursa and Silas from the side of his eye.  On display in the dimly lit room are screwdrivers, wrenches, nuts, bolts, tarps, scrap metal, other miscellany. 

A chalkboard is mounted on the wall behind the counter.  The black slate is nearly white from incessant drawing and erasing, but Ursa notes that the chalkboard currently displays an approximate depiction of the Meridian Sphere and all its heavenly bodies in orbit.

     “We’re looking for an orbital compass,” Ursa says.  Howie turns his head to squint at the girl in confusion.

     “What makes you think I’d have something like that?  Not that a child like yourself would have fair trade for such a fine gadget.”

     “You misunderstand, or I am being unclear,” she says as Silas inspects a set of cartographer’s tools.  Between an index finger and a thumb he twirls a stick of charcoal encased in flimsy metal.  “Our mom, Lara, lost her orbital compass recently.  I need to track it down for her.”

     “Hmph.  Your mother is a sharp one.  Can’t see how she would have gone and lost an orbital compass.  They’re very hard to come by in this sector, you know.”

     Silas unscrews the lid of a cylindrical tube and peers inside it.  He turns it upside down.  Empty. 

     Ursa shakes her head, her amber braid swaying at her shoulders.

     “My mom didn’t lose her orbital compass,” she retorts, “it was stolen.  I’d simply like to know if you’ve seen it or if someone has come by trying to sell it to you.”

     “Whatever you say, girl,” the old man chuckles.  The chuckle awakens some phlegm in his gullet that he swallows.  He spreads both hands across the grimy surface of the shop’s counter and looks down at the kids from behind the drooping lenses of his glasses. 

“No, I haven’t even laid my eyes on an orbital compass since some traders from Brinnak passed through here, but that’s been over a decade ago.  Now, I did have a metallurgic stabilizer from Ibuk-Ei, but Sheriff Watts purchased it and some other priceless artifacts for a small fortune.”

     Silas lifts a compass from a table and inspects the device.  The red needle within points stoically in one direction before swiveling to another.  It quivers, shakes, and dances frenetically.

     “Where exactly is Ibuk-Ei?” Ursa asks, her eyes scanning the erased and redrawn orbital patterns on the chalkboard behind the counter.  “And what’s a—"

     “Hey Ursa,” Silas interjects, “why don’t we try to buy Mom a compass like this?”

     “And what good what that do?” his sister asks, arms crossed.  She walks to him and snatches the compass from him and holds it on display for him just out of his reach.  “Would you feel comfortable navigating an asteroid with this hunk of junk?”

     “Hey, give it back!”

     Old Man Howie snickers as he observes the dispute.

     “Well what’s the difference between this compass and Mom’s orbital compass?” Silas asks.

     “Didn’t they teach you anything at the academy in Creote?” Ursa asks.

     Silas’s face contorts disdainfully.  A fit rises within him.

     “They were going to, but then we were suddenly stranded on an asteroid belt!”

     Ursa’s haughty disposition simmers.

     “This compass is helpful for someone who has the luxury of walking on a planet,” Ursa says.  “The planet’s metals and other unseen forces cause this red needle to always point northward.  Since it’s consistent, you’re able to venture into unknown territory without fear of getting lost.  However, when you’re not grounded on a planet, the unseen forces of the drifting rocks and their metals pull the needle this way and that, rendering the common compass effectively useless.  Just a novelty.”

     She slams the compass back down on a table next to the charcoal and map case before continuing.

     “Mom’s orbital compass was created by Brinnakians using rare alloys found on their planet.  The bead within the concave bed of an orbital compass will always roll downstream, which in this case refers toward the direction of a heavenly body’s orbit.  The little bead pretends to be a tiny asteroid in the Nomadic Belt and helps you to know how to get back home.  This kind of gadget is rare, valuable, and infinitely useful for explorers such as ourselves, which is why we desperately need to find it.”

     Old Man Howie chuckles again. 

     “What?  Don’t think that a couple of kids can be explorers?” she asks, challenging him to deride them further.

     He waves a hand in dismissal.

     “It’s nothing like that.  I just wasn’t expecting you to be so knowledgeable, girl.  So why isn’t your mother out here questioning the denizens of Crater’s Bluff?”

     “She and Dad are with Sheldon the herdsman.  Sheriff Watts brought them in for questioning and I’d very much like to surprise her by finding her orbital compass by the time they return to the camper.”

     The old man sighs and rests his chin in his hand.

     “Look kiddo, I don’t know where that compass could have gone.  But ever since I settled in Crater’s Bluff we’ve had an item go missing now and again.  I like to think there isn’t a thief in our midst, though squatters and other suspicious passers-by do come through.  Some of the locals would tell you that the asteroids don’t like for people to dwell on them, so they open up little holes to swallow our valuables once in a while.  Others will tell you that a wandering spirit will steal the item you need most to try to cause you to stray from your path. 

“Regardless of this malarky, take my advice: go to where your mother had the orbital compass last and look for signs.  Leave no stone unturned.  The Nomadic Belt is a strange place, but there’s a logical reason behind this.”

Ursa sighs.

“Fine.  Thanks anyway.  Put that back,” she says to Silas, who has unrolled a sheaf of parchment and pinned it down with small black stones.

Old man Howie comes out from behind the shop’s counter.  Ursa and Silas watch as he stands between them, grabs the parchment and rolls it into a neat scroll, and slides it into the cylindrical tube.  He then hands the tube and the stick of charcoal to Silas.

“Consider it a gift, kiddo.  Wherever you and sister end up traveling today, I need you to keep a detailed map of where you’ve gone.  That way you can navigate home safely without needing a fancy orbital compass.”

Silas beams with excitement.

“Thanks!”  He shakes the tube and listens to the rattling of the parchment as he and Ursa exit the shop and step into the dusty streets of Crater’s Bluff.

***

At a ridge along the rim of the Crater there is a pond.  Its waters are surprisingly clear despite the dust and mud found along the creeks that flow from it.  Just beneath the surface are glittering and fleeting indications of scales from the occasional fish and tadpoles.  The shrubberies and wildflowers are thick and verdant near the pond compared to the arid landscape found elsewhere on the asteroid.

Silas hears the rapids where the creek feeds water and life into the Crater.  He lies on his belly propped up on his elbows with his new parchment spread out on the stone beneath him.  He examines the Crater and its features carefully before making a stroke with his charcoal pencil.

Ursa’s hand feels around the cracks in the ground.  She parts the shrubberies, lifts the small rocks and peers beneath the large ones.  She gazes into the narrow tunnels that critters burrow into.  No sign of the orbital compass.

She sighs.

“It can’t be helped,” she says.  “You’ll have to get in the pond and dive to see if you can find it.  Maybe it rolled into the water while Mom was fishing.”

“Why do I have to get in the water?  I’m busy charting our course.”

Ursa stomps toward Silas and plants her feet next to him.  She points to the opposite end of the Crater where their family’s camper is stationed near town. 

“We can see our camper from here,” she protests.  “There’s no chance that we end up getting lost.  Just take off your shoes and hop in, it won’t take long.”

“I said I’m busy,” Silas insists.  “Old Man Howie says I have to make the map so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Ursa watches Silas at work.  She follows his gaze as he cranes his neck upwards at the asteroids looming overhead.  He carefully carves little representations of these on his map above the black squiggly streams of the creeks. 

He drops the pencil and massages his aching hand before continuing.

“Fine,” Ursa says, allowing a proud little smile despite her stress.  It seems like ages since she’s seen the little guy so happy. “Guess I’ll do it myself.”

Ursa unlaces her shoes, removes them, then places them on the ground next to a couple of items that she brought from the camper—a towel and a knife from Brinnak, another treasured item that her mom would be devastated to lose.

She contemplates dipping her toe in the water but decides against it.  Instead, she takes three paces back and gets a running start as she dives into the pond.  The crisp, cool water is as jarring as it is refreshing. 

The bottom of the shallow pond is reached easily. She skates along the bed with her eyes open, her hands outstretched until her lungs feel like they’re going to pop.  She kicks off the stony bed of the pond and launches to the surface. 

Her gasping breaths startle Silas, who diligently resumes his cartography as she dives back into the water.  This process is repeated a few times before Ursa spots something glittering at the bottom of the pond.

She gleefully waves her arms and kicks her legs to lunge toward the object but is disappointed to find that it is not the compass.  Still, she grabs the object and resurfaces.  She holds a crystal that glows a soft blue hue. 

She swims back to her equipment and places it next to her towel.  Just before she gets in the water she notices that the Brinnakian knife is gone.

Her eyes dart around, scouring the ground for the relic, as she calls out.

“Silas!”

“What?” he shouts irritably.

Ursa runs over to her brother, her wet feet splashing loudly upon the stone.

“Did you take the knife?”

“No,” he says warily.  “Why?”

“It’s not where I left it,” she says, running back to her towel, her shoes, and her newly found luminous crystal.  She points at the empty space next to them.  “See?  It was right there!”

Silas rises to his feet and follows her with his map clutched in one hand and his pencil in the other.  He furrows his brow as he inspects the surroundings.

“Are you pulling a prank?” he asks cautiously.  “If you’re trying to get me in trouble—”

“Would you stop?” Ursa asks, a titillating panic rising in her voice.  “You get in enough trouble without my help.”

“I don’t even get why you brought the knife.”

“I brought it because—”

She cuts herself short and her panic subsides like the receding tide. 

“Because whoever took the orbital compass might also be interested in stealing a Brinnakian knife!  We have to start looking.  The thief can’t be far from here.”

The siblings resume their thorough investigation of the area.  Silas runs to the high ground on a crag above the pond then scans the perimeter with a palm held over his eyes to block the starlight from beaming down on his face.  Ursa skips along the water’s edge, checking every crevice and crack for the compass and the knife.

She eventually hypothesizes that the items may have rolled into the waters and were somehow brought to the stream that flows into the Crater, either by some subtle currents in the pond or by the orbital currents that guide the asteroids. 

Ursa follows the creek toward the rapids, eyes fixed beneath the translucent layer of water.  She spots movement at the water’s edge.  Through a crack in the asteroid’s surface, she sees a black mass of scales slithering.

It's hard to tell which way the scaled thing is moving.  She crouches down low and sticks her hand through the hole and shivers as she feels the movement of the scales heading toward the rapids. 

She follows the movement and finds a small hole in the ground.  About a foot below the surface, the slick black scales continue their movement toward the rapids.

“Silas, come here!”

In seconds, the kid is at her side.  She points to the movement of the black scales and they follow in their wake until they find more little holes beneath which the black scales slither.

Finally they find a hole where the pattern is different.  They stand at the edge of the Crater where the rapids feed the water down a pleasant waterfall.  It is here that they find a narrow hole where the scales stop moving toward the Crater.  Instead, they seem to slide downward.  Ursa and Silas butt heads as they each try to get a better view.

“Silas, move!” Ursa says as she shoves his skull out of the way.

“No fair, I want to see too!”

“Just get to work drawing the holes on your map!”

This shuts him up.  Ursa watches as the black scales that are near the surface turn downward and slither down the hole.  She thinks she sees a few webbed feet—or webbed legs?—padding along the walls of the narrow tunnel.  At last, she notices a bend in the black form as the thing changes course again, this time seemingly heading beneath the stream.

Ursa gets an idea.  She springs to her feet and runs down the hill that slopes down into the Crater, staying close to the cliff as she approaches the waterfall.  The stones are damp and slick, but she leaps barefoot in great bounding strides until she reaches the falls.

She feels the water, feels the stone behind it.  She bends down low, searching for more cracks, holes, tunnels, or whatever else she may find. It’s only when she stands on the tips of her toes that her fingers grasp a little ledge.  She hops to the other side of the waterfall where another stone gives her a bit more height.

She sticks her head through the waterfall and finds a tunnel.  It’s just tall enough that she could walk through it in a crouch.  It’s dark within, but the shiny black scales can just be seen in the distance within the tunnel.

“Silas!” she calls, her voice brimming with enthusiasm like an inventor on the verge of a breakthrough.  “Get my things and come down here!”

***

The tunnel is damp, its path winding, its walls slick.  At times Ursa and Silas walk upright.  At others they are forced into a crouch or into a crawl.  Ursa urges Silas to hasten as if to catch up with the slithering creature, though their efforts prove fruitless.  It seems that no matter how quick they are, they are simply out of their element—the tail of the black-scaled creature is always goading them just around the next bend in the path.

Ursa holds the luminous crystal that she found in the pond before them, shedding a thin blue light along their path.

“Ursa, I’m getting scared.”

“Why?  We know the way back.”

“What if the thing we’re chasing is a dragon luring us into its lair.”

“No, it’s much too slender to be a dragon.”

“Okay, but what if it’s a snake?  We could be walking down its throat into its stomach right now and we wouldn’t even know.”

“You’ve been reading too many of Dad’s books. Firstly, this creature has some sort of arms or legs—I saw them with my own eyes. Secondly, if a cunning predator like that lived this close to Crater’s Bluff the townsfolk would have left long ago, or they would have been eradicated and eaten.”

They continue in silence before Silas protests again.

“What makes you think that this creature even has the knife from Brinnak, or even the orbital compass?”

“It’s the only explanation,” Ursa insists.  “I didn’t catch the thing in the act, but it took the bait and it’s the only creature we’ve seen that seems remotely capable of stealing so stealthily.  Also, I saw one of those little tunnels that lead to the surface near the ground where we set our gear—I’m sure this thing has something to do with the missing equipment.”

“I’m scared,” Silas says.  “I want to go home.  I bet Mom and Dad are looking for us by now.”

Ursa pivots and whispers heatedly, “If you want to go home so bad, then turn around and go! You’re not my prisoner.”

But the boy tags along behind his sister nonetheless.

After many long, silent moments of continuing through the tunnel, they see blue light in the distance.  A dull humming emanates from the far end of the tunnel.

They reach an opening that leads to a large, round chamber. Ursa studies the area in wonder, fear, and awe.

Luminous blue crystals seem to sprout from the stone walls.  A large hole spans across the center of the chamber.  The circular walls are dotted with other winding passages like the one in which Ursa and Silas stand, and the walls seem to have some pictographic narrative etched into them between the glowing, humming crystals.

Above this is a concave, dome-like indentation in the ceiling.   The black, scaly creature rests in this dome, its lengthy mass winding around the walls in a dizzying spiral.  Ursa finally sees the head of the serpent at the dome’s crest, though she’s unable to discern if it’s awake or resting.  All along the length of the serpent are leg-like appendages, some of which seem to be webbed.

Silas creeps slowly to stand next to Ursa.  One glimpse of the creature in the dome is all he needs to be convinced.  He tugs on the sleeve of Ursa’s shirt and nods back to the way they came, eyes pleading for his sister to listen to reason.

Instead, she extends her arm and points to an object held in one of the creature’s appendages.  The small item’s steel is coated in a layer of soot and there are numerous buttons, levers, and switches protruding from it.  The missing Brinnakian knife.

Silas inspects the creature and its appendages and whispers as quietly as possible while remaining audible.

“I don’t see the compass.”

Ursa wonders about this missing piece of the puzzle as well.  She has a hunch, but to follow it she must proceed into the strange lair of this creature.  She rebels against the sickening sinking feeling in her gut, commanding one shaky leg then the next to lead her forward into the chamber.

She feels Silas tug on her shirt sleeve more forcefully than before.  She pulls away and moves forward until she reaches the hole at the center of the chamber.  She looks into the hole.  Beneath her is a long shaft of stone walls that terminates far below.  Beyond this she sees distant asteroids—beyond these the stars and the void of the outer place.

Some primitive instinct within Ursa warns her that the serpent’s eyes have found her.  She creeps away from the hole on all fours, backing into the tunnel’s threshold.  She ventures a glance upward and sees the yellow eyes of the winged salamander gleaming in the dim light.

That primordial part of her brain tells her that her time is up.  She has overextended the bounds of her mortality.  Like a hunter who has ventured too far from camp, like a soldier who has pursued the enemy too far from their comrades, she is completely at the mercy of this hideous creature. 

Worse yet, her little brother, trembling in the recesses of the tunnel, has fallen victim to her folly as well.

The serpent or salamander lowers its head and begins to uncoil from the recesses of the domed ceiling.  It lowers itself until it hovers above the hole, beating its webbed wing-like appendages and sending cold gales through the caverns.

The creature’s mouth opens and a forked tongue slithers between deadly white fangs. 

A distant sound suddenly joins the chorus of the hissing serpent and the humming crystals.  A low, oaken resonance creeps up from the hole at the center of the chamber, like the call of an ancient god awakening from its slumber. 

     The serpent recoils its shape until it hangs over the hole and descends, elongating its form and stretching its webbed appendages as it soars downward.

     “Go back to the camper, Silas!” Ursa urges as she gets a running start.  She leaps across the pit and wraps her arms and legs tightly around the winged salamander as it flies toward its summons.

***

     Stars streak past Ursa’s vision like comets as she holds onto the soaring salamander.  Its serpentine mass rises and falls as it slithers swiftly across the void from one asteroid to the next.  The salamander swoops down to the surface of one space rock and weaves through a narrow mountainous valley, glides above rivers, and speeds through a dark tunnel before entering the void again. 

     In the gaps between the passing asteroids, Ursa catches a glimpse of Agulon in the distance.  The oceanic planet rife with archipelagos and islands seems a distant memory even though she lived there for all her life until a few months ago.  Then the salamander dives downward suddenly and a rush of fear distracts Ursa from her revery.

     Ursa’s chest grows tighter as they bob and weave in and out of the atmospheric pockets that surround the asteroids.  She holds her breath and is unsure about when it’s safe to draw her next one.  Finally, the salamander reaches a forested asteroid where she gasps for air deeply and gratefully.

     A lush thicket surrounds Ursa as her unconventional steed takes her into a sunken valley in the asteroid’s forest.  Eventually the salamander touches down and crawls along the dark grass with its innumerable appendages as it slithers down into a dank, earthen cavern.

     She wonders why she’s not more terrified.  It’s incredibly likely that this creature is taking her to her doom, but if the serpent wanted her dead she would be gone by now.  She would have found the compass in the serpent’s cavern if it hadn’t been taking its findings to stash elsewhere.  And that low, oaken resonance sounded like it could have come from an instrument of some sort.

     Ursa waits patiently as they creep through the dark.  After many long, still moments she sees orange light reflecting off the scales near the serpent’s head.  They round a corner and she sees the orange light emanating from a campfire where the tunnel grows wider and wider.

     Next to the campfire is a log upon which sits a bearded man who wears padded leather armor and a green cloak.  He’s plucking away at a guitar as he tunes it.  The cavern itself is unexpectedly lush—its walls are coated in moss, lichen, and vines.  The ground is covered by a dark carpet of grass and bushes.

When the man sees the salamander enter the chamber, he places the instrument at his side next to what appears to be a large wooden flute of some sort. He rises to his feet.

     “Greetings, Vudloch, you clandestine rapscallion,” the man says as he pats the head of the serpent.  “What have you brought for me this time?”

     Ursa hears a hissing response from the winged salamander.

     “Oh you’re a shrewd businessman, aren’t you?  Fine, you’ll get yours then I’ll get mine.”

     The man takes a few paces around the dank cavern then kneels next to a cage where he gets a rodent—an opossum? maybe a racoon?—and lobs the furry mass toward Vudloch.  The serpent’s fangs lunge and strike as it swallows the creature whole.  Ursa shudders as she feels the slow-moving lump pass through the creature’s scaly mass beneath her.

     The man stands with his hand outstretched.  The creature passes the Brinnakian knife from the clutch of one appendage to the next until it is handed off to the cloaked man, who takes the gadget to the campfire to inspect it in the blazing light.

     “Great job, Vudloch!  Look at the craftsmanship of the hilt.  Now, if memory serves, we can make the blade reveal itself by pulling and releasing one of these…”

     His voice trails off as he focuses on interacting with the levers, switches, and buttons found on the gadget’s hilt.  Moments pass as the man murmurs to himself and tinkers.  He grows increasingly frustrated as he fails to release the blade from the hilt.  Ursa cringes.  Whoever this snake-charming thief is, it’s embarrassing to be so dense when it comes to interacting with Brinnakian technology. 

     “Hmm, maybe it’s broken,” the man concludes.  “Oh well, it will still sell for a song.”  He walks toward a heavy chest, lifts its lid, then plunks the gadget in the safety of its confines.

     Before the lid slams shut, Ursa says, “Excuse me, but the issue here is not with the tool, but with its wielder.”

     The man is thoroughly perplexed to hear the serpent speaking in the voice of a young girl.  Ursa dismounts from the back of Vudloch and approaches the campfire. 

     “Who are you?” the man asks, his mouth agape with one eyebrow raised.  “How did you get here?”
     “It’s rude to ask someone’s name before introducing yourself,” she says.

     “My humblest apologies.  You may call me Niko,” the snake-charmer says with an artificial grin as he bends into an exaggerated bow. 

“Great.  I’m Ursa.  Give me the knife and I’ll show you how to release its blade.”

     “Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk to strangers?”

     “Yes, and I’ll have to beg her forgiveness later.  But I can’t sit idly by while you mistreat a beautiful artifact like that knife.  Get it from your chest and I’ll show you what I mean.”

     “I am loathe to report that the device is utterly inoperable, but if you insist...”

     He traipses across the chamber to the chest and reaches in to retrieve the knife.

     Vudloch hisses, its pink forked tongue producing a slithering cadence as it slouches through the room and rears its head before Ursa.

     The man places himself between the girl and winged serpent.

     “Relax, Vuddy buddy, relax.  You’ve had your meal already, and you know I can’t condone violence aimed at women or children.  Go lie down.”

     Another slithering, hissing response.

     “Go,” the man insists as he points to the tunnel’s ceiling.  The serpent concedes and crawls among the dirt and the roots protruding from the forest above until it rests in a coil above Ursa and Niko.

      The man opens the chest and begins to rummage through its contents.  Ursa’s eyes wander to the tunnel through which she entered, where she sees two orange orbs reflecting firelight.  She furrows her brow and focuses—just around the bend of the tunnel, her little brother Silas stands, a terrified onlooker.

     Just as Ursa begins to mouth some silent rebuke, Niko lets the lid of the chest slam shut then passes the knife along to Ursa.

     The girl recalibrates her brain, blotting out her concern for Silas as she takes the gadget and begins pressing a sequence of buttons and switches.

     “This was crafted in the waning years of the Third Burrow War,” Ursa explains, “when secrecy, duplicity, and treachery could turn the tide of battle.  A stark change of pace from the Second Burrow War in which strategic use of drilling apparati and efficient lava irrigation were the largest factors.  Concealed weaponry became very popular among the spies of the time, which is when gems like these were crafted by artisans like Yorglug Neyormo the Sludge Anvil and—”

     “Forgive the interruption,” Niko says, “but can we skip the history lesson and get on with the demonstration?”

     Ursa snorts and seethes.

     “People like you have no right to possess Brinnakian technology.  Fine.  I’ve already begun the initiation sequence—just to prove it works, observe.”

     She presses one final sequence of buttons and switches and flicks her wrist.  A steel blade slides forth from the hilt.  The blade’s edge burns in hues of red and orange.

     “See?  The heated edge not only makes the knife more deadly,” Ursa says, her eyes alight with academic fervor, “but a covert operative of Brinnak could also use it to slice a hole in the enemy’s fortifications, often allowing infiltration in crucial areas.  The Third Burrow War became a game of anticipating a rival clan’s treachery and trying to thwart it while conducting some schemes of your own.”

     Niko strokes his chin and nods his head as he observes and listens.  Ursa hears a rustling in some nearby bushes and her eyes move to the sound.  Niko sees her seeing this.

     “Pay no mind to the creatures that creep on the earth around here,” he says.  “They’re friendly enough.  Your knowledge of Brinnakian lore is astonishing.  Knowing the history of this device will make it possible to leverage its sale for even more wealth than I’d anticipated!  Please show me the proper initiation sequence that you used.”

     The light fades from Ursa’s eyes and she grimaces at the thief.

“Sure.  I’ll show you how to use the knife, but in exchange I’ll need you to hand over the orbital compass.”

     The man’s eyes narrow and his brow furrows.

     “An orbital what?”

     “Don’t play dumb.  There’s simply no other explanation.  It has to be here in this chest,” she says, pointing to the container with the glowing tip of the knife.  “Your clever serpent-salamander thing stole it from my mother just as it stole the knife from me.  And if I don’t bring her knife and her compass home I’ll never hear the end of it, especially after she finds out that I’ve gone to another asteroid on the back of a disgusting flying serpent.”

     They hear a disdainful hiss from above.

     “She didn’t mean that, Vuddy buddy,” Niko says as he cranes his neck up to the coiled serpent.

     “Yes I did!  I must have a death wish to have leapt on the back of a giant winged salamander to come here and get Mom’s compass back, but here we are.”

     The man looks down at the girl with pity. 

     “You know, I’m going to be losing a lot of money if I part with the orbital compass and the Brinnakian knife out of the goodness of my heart.”

     “But they were never yours to begin with!”

     “That’s not important.  We must have an exchange of some sort.  I wouldn’t harm a woman or a child, it’s true, but I’m under no obligation to take such losses just to appease a girl and her hypothetical mother.  For all I know you’re lying through your teeth.”

     Ursa stands with her arms crossed, not wanting to have only reached an impasse after risking life and limb to get here.  The thief, evidently growing bored, returns to the log by the campfire and picks up his guitar to pluck his way through a tune idly.  She presses the sequence of buttons on the knife’s hilt that cause the blade to cool and retract.

     Just as she is about to concede and place the knife on the chest, Ursa hears the rustling of the bushes again.  This time it’s much closer.  She looks down and finds her frightened brother creeping through the brush.  They make eye contact, each wanting to speak but knowing it is unsafe.  Ursa glares at Silas while he looks at her with an uncharacteristically determined gaze, then continues along his path.

     He’s moving toward the chest.

     Ursa connects the dots.  She places the Brinnakian knife in the chest then walks toward the campfire and sits on a moss-covered rock.  She lets her head rest in the palms of her hands.

     “If you’re not going to give me the compass and the knife, can you at least play a song to pass the time?”

     “Well, I thought you’d never ask.  This is one that I picked up on Ibuk-Ei, the planet of sky islands, before being—well, why I left isn’t important.”

     Niko’s fingers sweep and pluck a melancholy melody.  He begins to sing in a language that Ursa doesn’t recognize.

     Out of the side of her eyes she checks on her brother.  Silas stands just beyond the light of the campfire.  She squints and identifies the form of the orbital compass, the knife’s hilt, and a third object that she doesn’t recognize. 

     “You require an exchange of some sort, right Niko?” Silas asks as he steps forth from the darkness.

     The snake-charming thief is perplexed once more, the frets of his guitar ringing as his grip loosens on the neck.

     “What the—another child?  How did you get that?”

     Ursa sees the unidentified object shining in the orange light emanating from the campfire.  It looks like the head of trident, though it’s crafted from a green metal whose hue is like the waters of the deep sea.  An ephemeral network of esoteric circuitry is laced through the device’s surface.

     As Niko rises to his feet, Silas runs to Ursa and slaps the knife’s hilt in her palm. 

     “Open it, now,” he says. Then he turns to Niko.  “That’s not important.  What’s important is that you let us have the orbital compass, the Brinnakian knife, and that you order your serpent to take us back home.  I’m sure this circuit thruster from Ibuk-Ei is way more expensive than these relics from the dying planet.”

     Ursa presses buttons and flicks switches diligently as she wonders where he picked up this knowledge about Ibuk-Eian technology.

     Niko’s eyes darken as he grimaces.  He steps toward them, then chuckles.  “What am I getting so worked up about?  Nothing has changed.  You two have no way of getting off of this asteroid, so your threats are empty.  Now let me get back to my—”

     Ursa flicks her wrist and unleashes the red-orange glowing blade.  Silas places the circuit thruster on the ground, takes the knife from Ursa, then bends down, holding the galvanized blade mere inches from the invaluable trident-shaped treasure.

     “Wait a minute!” Niko says.  “We can work something out.”

***

     Riding on the back of Vudloch is far less tumultuous with Niko directing the creature.  Silas sits behind Ursa with his hands at her waist for some sense of security.  As they pass by one asteroid and the next, they get brief glimpses of the other heavenly bodies in orbit in the Meridian Sphere.

     “Look, Silas!” Ursa shouts gleefully as they get a view of a scorched black and red planet in the distance.  The orbital compass indicates that the Nomadic Belt is heading toward the ruined planet.  “Can you tell me what planet that is?”

     He squints and ponders, then exclaims, “Brinnak!”

     “That’s right!  Mom is going to be so thrilled when the Nomadic Belt passes by Brinnak.  I bet she’ll find a way to go down to the surface.”

     They continue speculating about their future endeavors among the stars, asteroids, and planets as they approach Crater’s Bluff.

     The giant winged salamander descends in slow spirals as they approach the watering hole at the edge of the Crater.

     “This is as far as I go,” Niko announces.  “I’ve broken many oaths with the sheriff of Crater’s Bluff.  He’ll have me in chains if he sees the likes of me.  Now begone, merry young swindlers.”

     Ursa and Silas slide off the back of Vudloch.  The girl pats the salamander’s head, who nuzzles against her affectionately, before Niko and Vudloch take to the stars again.

     “If we hurry, we might make it home before Mom and Dad notice we’re gone,” Silas says hopefully.

     They turn to run down the slopes and switchbacks toward the camper when they see their mother at the pond with a fishing pole.  Her copper-colored curls bob in the orbital breeze as her face turns toward them. 

     For a moment, Ursa thinks her mother is going to erupt as her face glowers, positively overflowing with anger and reproach.  The kids balk but approach her anyway.

     “We’re sorry, Mom—”

     “I didn’t mean to—”

     Before they can finish articulating their apologies, their mom has dropped the fishing pole and run to them.  She embraces Ursa and Silas in a painful, crushing hug, which they reciprocate with all the strength they can muster.  She kisses the tops of their heads.

     “Don’t you ever leave me like that again,” she says warmly.