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“Claim the stars, Spensa,” he said.
I kind of liked her, even if her daughter was a creature of distilled darkness, worthy only of being slain so her corpse could be used to make potions.
“Claim the stars, Spensa,” I whispered. I had to try.
“The most wonderful sound ever is the lamentations of my enemies, screaming my name toward the heavens with ragged, dying voices.” The girl looked at me, cocking her head. “Well bless your stars.”
“Skyward Flight,” I said. “Skyward Flight,” Jerkface said, jumping on the name. “Roll call and confirmation of readiness, in order of dashboard ship identification!”
“What are you?” I asked softly. My stomach growled. “And, equally importantly,” I added, “are you edible?”
“Those rats,” I said, “shall soon know the wrath of my hunger, dispensed through tiny coils of justice.” I smiled, then realized I was talking to a weird cave slug, which was a new low even for me.
“So . . .,” I said. “You’re saying that by the end of our training, you expect us to be able to use grappling hooks made of energy to smash our enemies with flaming chunks of space debris?” “Yes.” “That . . .,” I whispered, “that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Well?” I asked Doomslug the Destroyer. “Think it will work?”
“My designation is MB-1021, robotic ship integration,” the ship said. It didn’t just talk—it seemed to have trouble stopping.
“Then why do you have guns?” “For shooting large and dangerous beasts who might be threatening my fungus specimens,” M-Bot said. “Obviously.” “That’s stupid.” “I am a machine, and my conclusions are therefore logical—while yours are biased by organic irrationality.” He made a few lights on his dash blink. “That is a clever way of saying you are the stupid one, in case you—” “I understood,” I said. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome!”
He took a deep breath, then grabbed his jumpsuit. “You do realize that you’re the weirdest friend I’ve ever had.” “Oh, come on. Let’s not pretend you have other friends.” “Strange,” he said, “that my parents never managed to give me a sibling—but I still somehow ended up with a sister who gets me into trouble all the time.”
“I’ll be back tonight,” I promised. “I see. Could you come to the cockpit so we can speak in private?” I looked at the ship, frowning. “I don’t want to explain in public why I like you better than the engineer,” M-Bot added. “If he heard me go on—at length—regarding his irresolvable flaws, he might feel belittled or despondent.” “Well, that part is going to be lovely,” Rig said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe we can find a way to shut off the personality.”
“Hello?” M-Bot said. “Spensa? Are you dead?” “Maybe.” “Oooh. Like the cat!” “. . . What?” “I’m not sure, honestly,” M-Bot said. “But logically, if you’re speaking to me then possibility has collapsed in our favor. Hurray!”
“Sometimes, the answers we need don’t match the questions we’re asking.” He looked up at me. “And sometimes, the coward makes fools of wiser men.”
“It has always seemed to me,” she said, “that a coward is a person who cares more about what people say than about what is right. Bravery isn’t about what people call you, Spensa. It’s about who you know yourself to be.”
Legacy, memories of the past, can serve us well. But we cannot let them define us. When heritage becomes a box instead of an inspiration, it has gone too far.”
“People need stories, child. They bring us hope, and that hope is real. If that’s the case, then what does it matter whether the people in them actually lived?”
We must not cower in the dark because we’re afraid of the spark within us. The answer is not to put out the spark, but to learn to control it.”
“A man who speaks his mind,” Kimmalyn said solemnly, “is a man with a mind to speak of.”
Then I hit the overburn, launching upward. Claim the stars.
