Chapter One: Eel Fishing

Kieran had never flown before, which was quite strange considering he lived on a starship. But his dad’s ship, Seraph, didn’t fly—she sailed.

Through the wide observation window above the ship’s control console, the sky was beginning to turn pink as the sun rose over the misty, green water of Lake Yarok. Kieran hadn’t been up long, but the groaning of Seraph had woken him before dawn as it usually did on fishing days. He’d wandered up here from his room after getting dressed in his damp clothes from yesterday, including his raggedy boots he’d been too lazy to clean properly before going to bed last night after setting the net.

On his lap sat the ship’s manual, a tattered old tome with spiral binding that was half popped out of the pages. All of the standard systems found in an aquatic series transport ship were in this book, everything from the life support system to the escape shuttle to how the toilets flushed.

Kieran had the manual open to the NexLink terminal section, where he studied a detailed diagram of its components. Each tiny part was visible, and as Kieran turned the page, he found the troubleshooting instructions for the system as well as how to fix various common issues. He just about knew these pages word for word, but he thought it would be a good idea to review them this morning before Dad came up to the bridge. Dad had a strict rule that the terminal was not to be touched, and Kieran didn’t want Dad to suspect he was planning on breaking that rule.  

The net Seraph dragged in her wake had to be nearly full. He could tell by the way the ship moved, heavy and groaning around him, as if she were as tired as he was. He leaned over from where he sat with his feet up on the control console to eye the weight and tension sensors on the net monitor to his left. Sure enough, the sensors’ circular lights had kicked over from green to orange and now stretched into full circles. When the net was full, Kieran always thought the sensors looked like a pair of eyes opened wide with the effort of pulling all that weight.

Above the net sensors, mounted at an angle to optimize viewing from the captain’s chair, was the lifeless rectangular screen of the NexLink terminal. The light labeled “transmitting” on the screen’s frame was likewise dead and dark. The terminal had been disconnected his whole life. Little frayed wires stuck out from the back of the screen like singed hairs of red, white, and yellow. Hairs that were begging to be reattached.

Another groan from Seraph snapped Kieran’s attention back to the task at hand. He closed the thick manual with a thump, then bent his knees so that he could reach the ship’s intercom without taking his feet down from the console. His dad always worked in his study on Friday mornings, pulling together all of the eel orders for the week, so Kieran lifted the audio toggle to that room.

“The net’s full,” Kieran said through a yawn.

“Thanks, Kie. I figured it was about that time. Been up long?” came his dad’s reply. He sounded groggy. Probably hadn’t slept much again. He hadn’t been sleeping well for months, but Kieran didn’t feel too sorry for him. Dad should be losing sleep. He should be doing lots of things, actually.

“Awhile,” Kieran said through tight lips. He silently slid the ship’s manual back into its slot under the control console.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“I had toast.”

“Not enough calories, buddy. Especially when you’re growing by the second. How does it feel to be ten, birthday boy?”

Kieran rolled his eyes. “I won’t be ten until midnight, which is technically tomorrow.”

“12:18 a.m., to be precise. We won’t be able to stay up until then without some proper fuel. I’ll make us a late breakfast after we reel in the catch. Have you seen your sister yet today?”

“No, but I can guess where she is.”

“Mm-hmm. Flying high, most likely. She’ll see us when we get to the main deck. Heading there now.” Before Kieran could lower the audio toggle, Dad added, “Also, get your feet off the console.”

Smug satisfaction filled Kieran’s chest as he looked down at his boots and the sand caked on them. “My feet aren’t on the console.”

Dad sighed. “Take them down, son.”

Kieran grumbled, dropping his heavy boots from the metal surface and leaving a swipe of damp sand where they’d been. “I don’t have the video turned on. You can’t even see me!”

Dad’s chuckle echoed off the scratched and worn interior of the ship. “Fatherhood gave me the power to see through walls.”

Kieran started to roll his eyes again, but then, feeling rather silly, asked softly, “Do you mean it?”

“I’ll never tell.” Kieran could almost hear Dad winking. “And wipe off that sand, please.”

Kieran flipped up the toggle, then begrudgingly rubbed the elbow of his fishing jacket against the sand on the console. The ends of his sleeves came halfway up his forearms, and his jeans had likewise become too short. He was hoping for some new clothes for his birthday, but he wondered if whatever Dad gave him would really qualify as “clothes.” When Kieran had come down to the galley for a glass of water after bedtime a couple of weeks ago, he’d spied Dad hard at work putting pins in some black fabric. But other than reattaching a button—and even that had been dicey—Dad had never sewn a thing.

Mom always made Kieran and Tallulah’s clothes, but she wasn’t here to do so. Not anymore.

He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. He and Tallulah had a plan, and they would stick to it. They had to. The dead transmitting light of the terminal caught his eye again. What color would it be when it finally came to life? He’d find out tonight after Dad was asleep.

With fresh determination driving him, he grabbed his work gloves from the console and left the bridge, heading toward the stern staircase that would lead him to the main deck and the trawl net waiting to be pulled in.