Cody, Chapter 4 Cody's hand darted out from under the crumpled blanket that served as his makeshift fortress. Clutched in his grip was the toy dragon, Firebelly, its plastic wings slightly chipped from countless flights through the cosmos of his imagination. With a twitch of his wrist, he sent the dragon swooping over the imagined jagged peaks of his bed, its shadow a fleeting warden against unseen perils. He paused, the dragon hovering mid-air, as last night's harsh words echoed in his mind. Damien loomed like a specter, threatening the fragile peace of his room. Cody swallowed hard, his heart pounding not with adventure but with real fear. Despite the gears and wires that whirred in his thoughts, his genius offered no shield against the brute's menace. A sigh escaped him, and the dragon landed softly on the pillow as Cody pushed back the blanket. His feet touched the cold metal floor of his room, sending a shiver up his spine. He stood, all five feet and two inches of wiry resolve wrapped in a too-big t-shirt, his brown hair a wild crown testifying to a restless night. A sharp chime sliced through his thoughts like a knight's sword through silence. Cody's heart thudded, a drumbeat of sudden alertness. He clutched Firebelly tighter, as if the toy could protect him from more than just imaginary foes. "Who's there?" His voice wobbled, betraying the tinge of fear that crept in despite his efforts. The chime insisted, beckoning him to the excavator's control room where a screen awaited, glowing like a beacon in a castle tower. He padded across the cold metal floor, each step a silent echo in the vastness of his makeshift fortress. Up the winding staircase, he climbed with Firebelly as his loyal squire, venturing towards the unknown call that sung out once more, this time with a hint of impatience. "Coming," Cody called, softer now, part of him still tangled in the web of Damien's threats. But curiosity, that relentless whisperer, nudged him forward, urging his steps until he stood before the flickering screen, Firebelly's presence a steadfast comfort in his tightening grip. The screen flickered to life, and Tara's face swam into focus. Her eyes were bright as she leaned in, her short hair framing her features like the dark edges of a solar eclipse. Cody's pulse quickened, not just from his sprint upstairs but from the eager anticipation in Tara's voice. “Aww, you still have Fang,” she said. Cody shook his head. “This is Firebelly, Fang is over there monitoring the life-support system. Tara’s eyes darted over to the diligent dragon, wings folded and standing guard on the life-support panel. "Hey, guess what?" Her words tumbled out in an excited rush. "Your rock sample, it's... it's incredible!" Cody perked up, hope swelling in his chest like a balloon ready to soar. Firebelly's scales seemed to shimmer with shared excitement under his fingers. "Really?" he asked, his voice a mix of wonder and disbelief. "What’s so incredible about it?" "Think big," Tara said, her grin almost too wide for the screen. "Like, FTL travel big. It could be a new fuel source. The scientists here are calling it the holy grail!" "FTL?" Cody's heart danced, thumping against his ribs. Faster than light. That meant exploring the stars, seeing galaxies that twinkled beyond their reach. He had found something amazing, a good mining stake at last. "Hey, you don't look as thrilled as you should." Tara's eyebrows knit together, her excitement waning as she caught the shadow crossing Cody's expression. "Damien," Cody whispered, the name twisting like a knife. He glanced down at Firebelly, the dragon’s plastic eyes staring back, unblinking and brave. "Why did he call?" Tara leaned closer, her voice sharpening with concern. Cody hesitated, his fingers tightening around Firebelly's midsection. "He said if I don’t pay off Dad’s debt, he’ll cut my fingers off." Silence stretched across the void between them, heavy and suffocating. Tara's face paled, her lips pressed into a thin line. Cody wished he could take back the words, swallow them down like bitter space rations. But there they hung, a constellation of fear spelled out between two friends tethered by starlight and secrets. "Cut your fingers off?" Tara's voice cracked, her usual composure slipping like sand through an hourglass. "That's... that's medieval." Cody nodded, a lump forming in his throat. Medieval, like the tales of knights and dragons he loved, where heroes always won. But this was no story, and Cody felt very small, clutching his toy dragon as if he were a knight facing a real beast, with nothing but a child's hope as his shield. "Wait here, I'll be right back," Tara said abruptly, her image freezing for a moment before the screen went blank. Cody's heart hammered against his ribs, the fear of Damien's threat mingling with the thrill of the discovery. He looked down at Firebelly, its green scales dull under the cabin lights. Cody scrawled a quick note, the pencil stub slipping in his nervous fingers. I've gone to breakfast, leave a message with Firebelly. With a gentle pat on the dragon's head, he propped the note against its fiery wings and placed it in front of the screen. The hum of the spaceship's life support was a lonely sound as Cody descended the metal staircase to the kitchen. The space felt large around him, too quiet without Tara's voice filling it. "Breakfast!" Whiskers seemed to grumble from atop the microwave. The toy dragon's plastic eyes glinted, a fierce golden glare directed at the empty plate beside him. Whiskers belly, rounded and full from many imaginary feasts, gave him the look of a creature that never missed a meal. "Sorry, buddy," Cody said, tapping at his whiskers. "Got caught up with Tara." Cody rummaged through the pantry, his fingers dancing over dusty cans and faded packets. "What about nutrient bars?" he asked, hopeful. "Disgusting," Whiskers seemed to sneer, his big belly rumbling in protest. "Okay, fine," Cody conceded, pulling out a wrinkled package of pancakes that looked as ancient as the stars. "Pancakes it is!" "Better," grumbled Whiskers, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly. Sitting at the metal table, Cody tore open the package, the smell of synthetic maple syrup wafting up. He plopped a pancake onto his plate, its edges crumbling with age. Whiskers watched eagerly, his fabric nostrils flaring as if he could really smell the feast before him. "Here you go," Cody said, breaking off a piece and placing it ceremoniously next to Whiskers. The dragon's eyes gleamed with the promise of food, and for a moment, Cody forgot the weight of debts and threats. But then, Tara's voice crackled from upstairs, shattering the quiet. "Cody?" "Coming!" he shouted, grabbing Whiskers by the tail. The toy dragon squawked, a high-pitched sound only Cody could hear. "Breakfast first!" Whiskers complained, his wings cutting into Cody's tight grip. "No time," Cody insisted, taking the stairs two at a time. Whiskers dangled from his hand, indignant. Rounding the corner, Cody expected Tara's worried face, but instead, a stern-looking Fleet Officer filled the screen. Cody's heart skipped a beat, and Whiskers' complaints faded into silence. The officer's uniform was crisp, the insignia shining like a beacon of authority. Cody's breath caught, the taste of fake maple lingering on his tongue. Whiskers hung limp in his grasp, their game forgotten. The Fleet was here, and suddenly, the cozy kitchen and its ancient pancakes felt galaxies away. Panic surged through Cody's veins like electricity as the Fleet Officer's image glared at him. He didn't hesitate. "It's Fleet, everyone run, hide, Firebelly, get out of there, fly!" he hollered, voice cracking mid-shout. The walls seemed to press in on him, and his heart thudded against his chest—a drum signaling retreat. His legs were a blur as he spun on his heel, sprinting back towards the stairs with Whiskers bouncing wildly in his grip. His mind raced faster than his feet, churning with images of what the Fleet could do if they chose to; Confiscate the rocks, the ship, his future—everything. He ducked behind the corner, squeezing his eyes shut, hoping the shadows would swallow him whole. His breath came in sharp gasps, each one tasting of fear and the stale sugary residue of breakfast. "Whiskers, quiet," he whispered sharply to the dragon, whose hard plastic body twitched in his nervous hands. Then Tara's voice pierced the silence, steady and familiar. "Cody, this is my uncle, I'm on his ship." Cody's mind stuttered, gears grinding to make sense of it. Uncle? Ship? Relief mingled with confusion, but caution kept him hidden. Slowly, he edged Whiskers' snout around the corner, the toy dragon becoming his brave facade. "Uh, Cody isn't here," Cody growled lowly, throwing his voice to sound as fierce as the dragon in his hand might be if it were real and not forged of plastic and paint. The game was on, the same one where his dragons would guard him from nightmares and loneliness. But now, Whiskers stood sentinel against something far more tangible—the intimidating presence of the Fleet. Whiskers' beady eyes peeked around the edge, a silent sentinel in painted bravery. Cody's hand trembled, his voice a hoarse whisper behind the plastic scales. "Go away," he muttered through Whiskers, trying to make his fear sound like dragon fire. On the screen, Tara bit her lip, her eyes flicking to the Fleet Officer. "Sorry Uncle Max," she said, her tone dipped in apology. "Cody can get nervous around Fleet, or any strangers, you'll have to talk to his dragons." A man's face replaced Tara's on the screen—Uncle Max, with a uniform that spoke of stars and orders. His nod was slow, heavy like an asteroid tumbling through space. He didn't laugh or frown; he just understood, eyes soft as moonlight. "Space gets big sometimes," Uncle Max murmured, more to himself than to Cody's dragon. "Too big for just one person, or one kid." His words floated through the control room, and into Cody's hidden corner. They wrapped around him like a blanket, warm and scratchy. Uncle Max knew things, saw things—the empty places where only stars and silence lived. "Dragons, huh?" Uncle Max continued, his voice reaching through the video link. "I've seen a few in my day." Cody squeezed Whiskers tighter, his heart thudding against ribs that felt too much like a birdcage. But there was comfort in those words, in knowing someone out there got it—the loneliness, the vastness, the quiet so loud it screamed. "Do your dragons fly?" Uncle Max asked, a hint of a game in his voice. "Only when no one's looking," Cody answered through Whiskers, his voice less shaky now. "Ah," said Uncle Max, a smile tugging at his lips. "The best kind of dragons." Uncle Max's stern face softened as he leaned closer to the screen, his gaze dropping to the small, scaly figure of Firebelly seated authoritatively before the camera. "So, are you in charge?" he asked, a playful note threading through his voice. "Firebelly is the Captain," Whiskers growled from Cody's clenched fist, the dragon's plastic wings trembling slightly with each word. A knowing nod came from Uncle Max. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, hinting at a smile that had battled countless cosmic storms. "Well, my niece, Tara, says you're having some problems with a merchant by the name of Damien," he intoned, the playfulness gone as though sucked out by an airlock, replaced by a gravity that tugged at Cody's insides. "I can help you with that." Whiskers' belly brushed against the screen, his tiny wings flapping in a mechanical semblance of life. "How?" he grumbled, the movement making his voice seem to come from the dragon's mouth. Cody peeked around the corner, holding his breath. Max's voice was steady, like the hum of engines deep within the spaceship's belly. "The rock sample you sent to Tara has energy levels off the charts," he explained, his face serious as the stars outside the porthole. "Damien doesn’t want your owed debt, he wants that asteroid, but I can deal with him." Cody squeezed Whiskers tighter, the toy's scaly texture pressing into his palm. His heart drummed a fast beat, like laser fire in an arcade game. "However, there will be others coming for your claim as well." Max's gaze was piercing, even through the screen. "I've deployed two destroyers; they will be there in eight weeks." "Destroyers..." Cody whispered to himself, imagining great metal dragons soaring through space, their bellies full of fire and soldiers. "Until then, you need to bunker down," Max continued. "You're in an MR-5 Mining Rig. That thing has collision armor that will keep you safe. Just don't leave that asteroid, or it could be claimed you abandoned your mining claim." Cody's fingers twitched, and Whiskers bobbed along, pretending to ponder deeply. Cody imagined his toy dragon donning an invisible helmet, ready for a siege. He let out a silent nod because some words were too heavy for a boy who still played with dragons. Cody's hand made Whiskers nod, the dragon's wings flared with an air of seriousness. "We can do that," he said through Whiskers, his voice a mix of determination and the faint tremble of fear. The toy's painted eyes seemed to harden like a knight bracing for battle. Uncle Max's image on the screen, stern and solid as the hull of a ship, nodded back. "We'll be there in eight weeks, just hold on to that asteroid." Cody sat on the stair, pulling his knees up to his chest, and wrapping his arms around them. Whiskers sat perched on one knee, a guardian in a cosmos full of shadows and whispers of danger. The room felt smaller, the universe larger, and Cody's heart thudded against his ribs like the echo of distant thrusters. "Eight weeks," Cody repeated to himself, his gaze drifting toward the porthole where stars blinked like the eyes of watchful dragons. Eight weeks in a castle of steel, with only his dragons to keep him company. Cody reached out, tracing the cold glass with a fingertip, drawing an invisible shield around his tiny world. The weight of the situation settled on his shoulders, but he couldn't let it crush him. Not when Whiskers, Firebelly, and the rest of his silent friends were counting on him. They would stand guard together, sentinels facing the void.