Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy) by Previn Hudetz Page B

Grace be with you.”
    With that, he turned and followed the commander up into the ship. The ramp closed behind them, lifted into the star-speckled sky, and then suddenly disappeared in a flash of rippling light.
    Mtumba put his hand on Stella's shoulder and spoke. “We'll see him again.”
    “You really think so?” she asked without much hope, but he nodded.
    “Yeah, I do,” he answered softly, hoping he was right about that.
    She smiled and walked inside, Mtumba following behind her.
    Rok continued to stare at the warp's wake in awe.
    “Wow,” he whispered, both fascinated and horrified. To him, it looked like the heavens had just been horribly broken, but beautifully. He wasn't sure if he should cry or cheer, but the feeling of disharmony resonated deeply within him. So he settled on following his friends into the cottage that had been their home for nearly a month. The scent of dinner set his stomach growling, and he needed to eat. The stargazing could wait.
     
     
     
     

10

High Noon
     
    Captain Eli Hawk ducked to avoid being knocked in the head by a worker passing by with a long ladder. His helmet-sized mech-buddy wasn't so lucky though, and got swatted out of the air into the red and white awning of a fruit stand. The airbot tumbled off; his fall broken by a sack of oranges. Eli rushed over and knelt down to check on him, apologizing to the busy fruit vendor who just waved it off, returning to his customers.
    “You okay, Skippy?” Eli whispered, focusing on the little floating airbot. It beeped its distress at him, and then let out a dash of beeps and buzzes, clearly irritated at the worker's insensitivity. Yeah, Skippy was fine.
    Eli stood and took of his cap, running his fingers over his short blonde hair as he took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the busy market street. The short adobe, metal and concrete buildings were offset by the quaintly colorful vendors lining the street, and the gleaming banners and signs littering the spaces on the buildings above.
    Ships passing overhead reminded everyone they were close to the docks, and his clean clothes marked him as an obvious visitor. An older woman shot a scowl at him, but he just smiled and waved, not really concerned with what she thought. He did put his hat back on, though. “C'mere, Skippy. I think you got an antennae twisted there.”
    Skippy sulked in a dip pattern through the air, letting out a small scratchy sound that slid down in pitch. Eli reached over and gritted his teeth, grunting as he bent the antenna back into place. Skippy wobbled backwards, and Eli squinted. It didn't quite look right, and Skippy knew it. He beeped in accusation, and Eli raised his hands defensively.
    “How am I supposed to know how it goes?” Because he built him. Eli laughed. Ever since he'd been a kid he'd always had a knack for machines, and Skippy had been his pet project, so to speak. “Hold on,” he said, opening his bag to search for his tool kit. “It's in here somewhere...”
    “Ahem,” a patrol officer interrupted, scratching a small nose almost lost in his large round face. “Havin' trouble with your bot?” he asked in a full-blown Mayberry, obviously a local.
    Eli smiled at him. “Hello, officer...” he squinted, looking at the holotag on the front of the patrol officer's dusty blue jacket, “...Huckleberry?” The officer's paunch rested over his utility belt, and his left hand sat on his pulse-gun. Eli pursed his lips, looking Huckleberry in the eye. “Just taking care of my buddy, here, sir.”
    “Maybe I can help,” Huckleberry offered with a grin, taking his hand off his gun and stepping forward. “Used to be a bit of a mechanic 'fore they threw me in this uniform.”
    “....Sure,” Eli agreed reluctantly, taking a step back. “But just so you know, he's kinda fussy about who fixes him. Just a head's-up, there.”
    “Tha's okay,” the patrol officer said, his pudgy face spreading into a toothy grin. Well, toothy minus one of