Special Notes: All chapter cover art for any story I write is stock from pixabay. Cody, Chapter 1 Cody Branson's fingers moved with purpose, tracing the cool metal contours of the spaceship's open engine panel. The control room hummed around him, a lullaby of beeps and whirs that had become the soundtrack to his life. At 12, most boys would be grappling with schoolwork or games, but here he was, elbow-deep in circuitry and power cells, the only company being the ship's indifferent AI. "Come on, you stubborn hunk of junk," Cody muttered, his voice echoing slightly off the walls of the cramped space. His hands, smeared with grease, fumbled for the right tool, but it was missing from the usual lineup. Cody's heart drummed faster, frustration bubbling up like a geyser. He couldn't afford delays; not when every second counted towards keeping the ship alive. His gaze darted around, landing on a pile of spare parts strewn across the floor like fallen stars. Improvisation wasn't just a skill; it was a necessity. "Let's make do," he said to himself, a mantra that had seen him through countless repairs. He grabbed a twisted piece of metal, once part of a shelf bracket, now repurposed in his mind as a makeshift wrench. Cody wedged it into the engine's access panel, applying pressure until there was a satisfying click, followed by the reluctant give of a loosened bolt. A small triumph, but his chest swelled with pride. "Bet Dad would've been stuck without this," he whispered, allowing himself the fantasy of impressing his father, Dr. Samuel Branson, who was too often lost in a world of alien life forms and exo-biology. With the persistence of a siege engine battering down castle walls, Cody tackled the rebellious engine. His hands were guided by instinct, each movement deliberate, betraying none of the uncertainty that gnawed at his insides. The control room was his domain, a kingdom of wires and alloys where he reigned supreme. "Almost there," he breathed, the warmth of hope kindling within him despite the chill that always seemed to cling to the spaceship's innards. A spark erupted as two wires danced too close, a bright flare in the dimness. Cody recoiled, hissing through teeth clenched tight enough to crack. He shook his hand, the sting a sharp reminder of the danger threaded through his task. "Nice try," he grumbled, eyeing the engine with renewed determination. "You're not beating me." Rummaging through another pile of potential treasures, Cody's fingers closed around a coil of wire stripped from a redundant console. Twisting it into place, he bridged the gap between connections, a patchwork fix that held promise. "Power on," he commanded, his voice steady, belying the quiver of nerves that tickled his spine. The engine sputtered to life, a cacophony of protests before settling into a rhythmic purr. Cody's eyes lit up, mirroring the flicker of lights that now steadied on the control panels. Success, sweet and simple, filled the room, washing over him like the first rays of dawn chasing away the night. The engine's hum was a whisper of triumph in Cody's ears as his parents bustled around the control room, their excitement for the upcoming mission crackling like static in the air. Dr. Samuel Branson, tall and stern, checked his data pad with furrowed brows, while Dr. Amelia Branson, her red hair a fiery cascade, flitted from console to console, her hands dancing over the controls. "Remember, Cody," Dr. Samuel said, not looking up from his screen, "keep an eye on the oxygen scrubbers. And don't forget about the solar panel alignment." Cody nodded, his small frame swallowed by the enormity of the ship's heart. The list of tasks his father handed him felt like a knight's shield, heavy but protective. Dr. Amelia approached, her smile warm but fleeting like a shooting star. "We won't be gone long, hon," she reassured, pressing a kiss to his forehead that lingered like a promise. "Just keep things running smoothly, okay?" "Got it, Mom," Cody replied, his voice the steady tick of a clock in the quiet room. He watched them go, their shuttle shrinking against the backdrop of stars beyond the viewport. The door sealed with a soft whoosh, leaving Cody alone with the thrumming life of the ship. Determination swelled in Cody's chest, a dragon waking from slumber. He surveyed the control room, eyes tracing the curves and angles of his mechanical kingdom. His fingers itched to dive back into the guts of the ship, to wrestle with the stubborn bolts and whisper encouragement to the weary circuits. He pulled out his own data pad, the screen illuminating his determined face, casting shadows that played like mischievous sprites across the walls. The list of repairs unfurled before him, each item a challenge calling his name. Cody's mind whirred, a gear slipping seamlessly into place as he plotted his course. "First, the oxygen scrubbers," he mumbled to himself, the words a spell to summon courage. His hands were sure as he gathered his tools, each one an old friend in his grip. With self-taught skill sharpened by necessity, he set to work, the ship a faithful steed under his watchful care. As he delved into the belly of the spaceship, a toy dragon peeked from the pocket of his jumpsuit, its plastic wings a silent cheer for the boy who fought valiantly against the dragons of malfunction and wear. Cody worked, each repair a testament to his resolve, a fortress built not of stone, but of steel and wire, crafted by the hands of a boy standing brave and alone. He knew the toy dragon was a little kid’s toy, but he hadn’t grown up among other boys, where peer pressure would have pushed him to discard the toy years ago. Cody liked the dragon, it was his imaginary friend and confidant among the loneliness of his parent’s frequent absences. Cody twisted the last bolt into place, his fingers smudged with grease as he stepped back to survey his private corner of the control room. It was a jumbled landscape of mechanical chaos and extraterrestrial geology. Piles of screwdrivers lay entangled with wrenches on a makeshift workbench; spare parts spilled from open drawers like metallic waterfalls. Crates brimming with rocks of all hues—fiery reds from Mars, icy blues from Europa—formed a mosaic of planetary memories beneath the flickering lights. He navigated through the clutter with a dancer's grace, every step measured to avoid knocking over the precarious towers of his interstellar collection. Each rock told a story, a piece of a puzzle that spanned the galaxy. Yet, the most intriguing tales were those woven by Cody's own hands—the tales of machines brought back to life, of systems sustained by the ingenuity of a young engineer. With a determined squint, he eyed the automatic excavation equipment, its dormant form waiting for his command. Adjusting his grip on the drill, Cody set about awakening the machine. His movements were deft, each action deliberate, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. The drilling rig, a hulking beast of pistons and gears, rumbled to life under his touch. He tweaked its settings with the finesse of a maestro conducting an orchestra, coaxing the rhythm of productivity from the inert metal. "Drill true," he whispered, a mantra to steel the rig against the stubborn crust of asteroids. It was a miniature echo of the dragons from stories his parents used to read to him, creatures both fierce and loyal. In the hum of the machinery, there was a dragon's roar, and in the steady burrow of the drill bit, the beat of dragon wings. His toy dragon, now perched atop a pile of manuals, seemed to nod in approval, its tiny form a silent guardian amidst the solitude of space. Cody's hands, though small, were steady and sure—a reflection of a mind far older than his twelve years. As gears turned and drills spun, he stood alone yet unwavering, the boy engineer sculpting order from chaos, one repair at a time. The drill whirred, a high-pitched symphony to Cody's ears. Precision guided him as he calibrated the machine, eyes flicking over the readouts with an artisan’s critique. Each vein of ore had its own signature, a secret code written deep beneath alien surfaces, and Cody translated these hidden messages with the finesse of a seasoned linguist. "Tiny turn here," he murmured, fingers dancing over the controls like a pianist at play. His command was gentle, respectful of the power that lay in his young hands. The excavation equipment, his loyal knights, obeyed without question, plunging into the rock with disciplined fervor. "Steady, steady," Cody coaxed, monitoring the torque levels. The numbers aligned like soldiers in formation, a testament to his meticulousness. Every extracted resource was cataloged, each sample tagged and stored with the care of a jeweler appraising gems. This was not mere routine; it was ritual, a dance of digits and minerals choreographed by the boy who saw beauty in the bones of worlds. Later, nestled in his private chamber of wonders, Cody thumbed through the pages of an engineering tome. Dust motes danced in the slanting light, swirling around his head like tiny planets orbiting a sun of curiosity. His brown eyes devoured diagrams and formulas, hungry for the knowledge they held. A line drawing of a fusion reactor caught his attention, and he traced the intricate pathways with a finger, imagining the flow of energy like rivers of starlight. "Come on, let's figure you out," he whispered to the book, as if the paper and ink could whisper back the secrets of the universe. The toy dragon watched, its painted eyes gleaming with the reflected glow of discovery. Here, amidst the manuals and machinery, Cody found solace in the language of logic and the poetry of physics. "Show me how to fix you," he breathed to the ship that cradled him in its metal embrace. And as he poured over the text, scribbling notes and sketches, the spacecraft seemed to hum in grateful response, its heartbeat syncing with the determined pulse of its youngest caretaker. A screen nearby flickered, running diagnostics that cascaded down in a green waterfall of data. Cody spared it only a glance before returning to the task at hand. This was his world: gears and wires, not genomes and spores. He had no use for the biological scanners that lined the other sides of the ship, machines that sang in frequencies attuned to life forms, their screens often displaying the vibrant intricacies of alien flora. "Biometrics are stable, Cody," the ship's AI intoned, a voice programmed to be nurturing yet falling short in warmth. "Thanks," Cody replied, his focus unwavering. "Keep an eye on the thermals for me, will you?" "Monitoring thermals," the AI confirmed, but Cody was already tuning it out, lost in the labyrinth of circuits before him. His sanctuary was not the bio-labs with their microscopes and petri dishes, it was here, among the quantum processors and power conduits. He looked at the pulsing lights, indicators of life within the ship's veins, and felt a kinship with these flickers and surges. "Useless biology stuff," Cody grumbled as he bypassed a row of unused equipment, relics from his parents' last expedition. It wasn't that he couldn't understand it; he simply found no joy in cells and tissues. What thrilled him were alloys and quantum fields, the tangible constructs of a ship that could soar amongst the stars. "Dragons wouldn't care about plants," he said to himself, thinking of his toy sentinel. "They'd want to know how things work." The dragon seemed to nod from its perch atop a pile of star charts, its presence a silent agreement to his solitary declaration. Alone but undaunted, Cody worked tirelessly, patching up the ship's worn systems with deft fingers and clear resolve. Each repaired conduit, every calibrated sensor, was a testament to his capability. Here, amidst the hum of the engines and the glow of monitors, the young boy stood as the sole guardian of this mechanical beast, navigating a cosmos of challenges with a courage that belied his years. He glanced at the empty chairs where Mom and Dad should've been, picturing their encouraging smiles, their nods that said, "You're getting there, Cody." But the chairs offered no such comfort, just silent echoes of the past. He could almost hear Dad's voice, rich with pride, "That's my boy," or Mom's gentle guidance, "Watch the pressure gauges, love." His chest tightened, the weight of solitude pressing down. He missed their hugs, the way they smelled—like old paper and fresh soil—their laughter mixing with the clinks and clatters of the ship. The dragon toy, now nestled between wrenches and wire spools, caught his eye. Its wings spread wide as if ready to swoop in and chase away the loneliness. Dragons didn't need anyone, did they? "Neither do I," Cody declared, voice echoing defiantly against the walls. The dragon remained motionless, its painted eyes unblinking. It knew better; it had seen him sneak glances at the clock, counting hours till their return. Shaking off the longing, Cody focused on the engine readings. The numbers danced in sequence—a ballet of digits signifying success. He'd done it. The ship purred contentedly, oblivious to the boy's internal battle. "See? I can keep you flying," he said, patting the console affectionately. The ship was his dragon, and he, its valiant knight, warding off the specters of disrepair and chaos with every turn of the screwdriver. In this galaxy of isolation, Cody Branson, the young engineer, proved his mettle time and again. And while his heart yearned for his parents' return, for their words of wisdom and shared excitement over every fixed fuse, he stood steadfast. He kept their vessel, their legacy, alive and well. "Mission accomplished," he muttered to himself, noting the steady beat of the engines like a pulse under his fingertips. But in the quiet after his declaration, in the spaces between the blips and the mechanical breaths, the silence spoke of battles yet to come. And within that silence, the dragon awaited, a guardian to both the boy and his blossoming courage.