Every morning was a struggle. A battle of mind over matter—or my head over my pillow. I wanted to sleep in. I wanted my body to rest longer. Years of waking up before dawn had programmed my internal clock and try as I might, I couldn’t beat it.

That morning I lay in bed staring at the rifle mounted on the wall opposite my bed. Warped and melted, it didn’t work. But I kept it. At first I didn’t want to. When I was little, the damn thing terrified me. My father put it on my wall, said it would remind me of bravery… and to never let my guard down.

Now, all it did was remind me how things could go to crap.

I closed my eyes. One last effort to sleep. Five more minutes, that’s all I wanted. Then the smell of fried crelix eggs and fresh oat loaf hit my nose, instantly waking up my stomach. With mind and stomach against me, I gave up any chance of more sleep.

Hurray for another monotonous day of labor. Another day exiled in Brunning. What a dump of a town, if it could even be called a town. The spattering of dusty shanties and barns were more like a half-dead, fully-baked madman’s vision. Except not a madman’s, Brunning was too inhuman to ever be a human contrivance. No, Brunning sprung directly from the minds of the Hibernarii, higher beings that use us lesser humans for their higher purposes that we don’t have a say in. Hurray.

At least the day would end with another chance to see Marigold. If it wasn’t the smell of food that got me out of bed, it was knowing the sooner I got my work done, the sooner I could go see the most beautiful girl in Brunning.

And if Brunning had a population of forty-two million people instead of just forty-two people, Marigold would still be the most beautiful girl.

I threw on my pants and clima-jacket, stepping into my boots as I headed downstairs.

I pounded hard on Jamus’ door on my way to the kitchen. He had the bigger room, but I didn’t care. I don’t sleep on the ground floor. Ever.

Plus, I enjoyed waking him up every morning. My internal clock worked so well… I had to share it with my little brother.

Breakfast was on the table when I walked in. My mother stood by the stove, looking out the window, stirring some more eggs on the stove.

“Morning, Mom.” I sat at the table and grabbed a small bread cake.

“Morning, Xander,” she said, looking out the window into the barely lit brown landscape.

I poured a shot of black coffee. “Eggs are burning.”

“Wha—Oh!” She pulled the pan off the element. She dumped out the pan on a plate and put it on the table next to the first plate she’d made. She set to emptying more of the small, leathery crelix eggs into the still-hot pan.

I eyed the two plates of eggs. Despite the rising morning heat, I preferred hot eggs, but I took the first non-burnt plate. Jamus could have the others.

Mom kept her attention mainly to the window, absently stirring at the eggs. I may not be the most socially observant person, but something was off. Mom never did things ‘absently’.

“Something wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing.” She didn’t even look at me. “Just waiting for your father.”

My father, Absalom Floros, the man who never slept in. The man from whom I’d inherited my internal clock—only his was set on overdrive. By the time I’d wake up he’d already have an hour of actual work done. Even my mother didn’t wake up as early as him. But my father made it a point to also eat breakfast as a family. His absence was atypical.

Jamus emerged into the kitchen, his dirty blond hair standing up in the classic Jamus-half-asleep style. He plopped his boots on the ground and took his seat at the table across from me.

“Morning, princess.”

“Coffee?” Jamus grumbled, holding his head.

“What? Does princess have a headache?” I ruffled his hair and clanked the earthenware coffee pot down next to him. “Hope it’s not… pounding.”

“Jerk.” Jamus glared at me and poured himself a cup. “I was awake before you attacked my door.”

“Right. Early to bed, early to rise. Except princess didn’t go to bed early, did he?”

Jamus shot a look over to Mom. “Suck it, Xander.”

“You kiss Alana with that mouth?”

“Nope, just Marigold.”

My turn to glare. “Watch it, little brother.” I could tease him about his weird girlfriend, but he knew better than to say anything about mine. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a real woman.”

“Whatever. Where’s Dad?” he said around a yawn and poured some goat milk in his coffee.

I shrugged. “Don’t ask me.” I dug into the eggs.“Ask the space chef.” I spat out a chunk of leathery shell. “Not a big fan of the new recipe, Mom.”

She didn’t respond but instead rushed to the back door behind me.

“Mom?”

She pulled back the curtain on the window next to the door. She held the thick wool in a clenched fist as she peered out the window.

“Mom?”

“Finish eating, boys.” She unclenched the curtain, leaving it open and went back to the stove and to the eggs.

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“Crap,” Jamus whispered and slunk down in his seat.

I craned my neck to “What?”

“Dad’s back.”

“So.”

“Mr. Jans is with him.” Jamus sunk down more, his head barely above the table.

I looked out the window. Sure enough, my father and Sam Jans, Alana’s father, stood just outside the door. Both looked serious, even upset, conversing about something. My father had his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

I shot a glare to Jamus. “What’d you do? How late were you out with Alana?”

“Shhh!” Jamus looked nervously at Mom, making sure she wasn’t listening, and then back to me. “I swear I wasn’t out that late. I came back before you did, Xander.”

I knotted my brow at Jamus and shushed him back. At twenty-one, I was old enough to avoid any curfew, unlike my fifteen year-old brother. Still, my mother, and especially my father, didn’t appreciate their sons sneaking around at night instead resting up for the next day’s work.

Jamus held his hands up in front of him. “I swear. Alana wasn’t even in her room when I went over there. So I came back and went to sleep.”

“Why else would Sam be here?”

“Boys,” Mom said, putting down a plate and pouring some coffee at my father’s place at the table, “finish eating. Breakfast is over. There’s work to do.”

I grabbed another cake before Mom could take away the plate. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I didn’t like being addressed like a child, but I focused on finishing my food. Something in Mom’s tone told me not to press the matter. Jamus didn’t pick up on it though. “But—”

“Jamuson Floros, eat.” That shut my brother up. We all knew on the rare occasions when Mom threw out our full names that the conversation was over.

Seconds later I’d cleared my plate when my father walked into the kitchen. Alone. Jamus looked more than relieved.

“Good morning, Emese.” My father kissed my mother and sat at the head of the table like any other morning. He nodded to my brother and I. “Jamus, Xander.”

“Morning, Dad,” said Jamus through a mouth full of bread.

“Father.” I nodded back. “Productive morning with your friend?”

To my surprise, Mom pursed her lips at me as she sat next to my father. “Let your father eat.”

My father gave me a weak smile and then looked sadly at Jamus, his smile gone. “Some unwelcome news, boys. But that will have to come after we see to the pumps.”

“Exactly.” Mom pulled our dishes away, another non-subtle hint. Mom usually didn’t rush us at breakfast, but there was that tone again. I had no clue what happened last night, but something was clearly bothering Mom. “And you don’t need your father for that job,” she continued, “I’ll clean the dishes. You two get a start.”

I pocketed the last of the bread and stepped outside, the dry heat already rising. “Come on, Jamus.”

“But—”

“Jamuson Floros, go,” said Mom from inside.

I had to laugh when Jamus came running out of the front door and about fell face-first in the dirt while attempting to put on a boot at the same time as closing the door behind him. My brother was a big lanky kid for a fifteen year old. I hate to think that I was anything like that at his age.

“You’re socially retarded, you know that, right?”

“No.” Jamus slipped on his boot. “I know that. I mean… Shut up, Xander.”

“Got your boots on the wrong feet, too. Maybe you’re just plain retarded.”

“Shut up.” Jamus made to push me, but I sidestepped and he fell again with a clumsy thud.

I started to laugh, then heard my parents talking. Something weird happened during the night, something my parents didn’t want us to know about—making my interest immediate.

Jamus stood up. “Xander, I’m—”

I cut him off with a sharp shush. I cupped my ear and pointed at the wall that separated us from our parents. Jamus’s eyes widened. He sneaked up to my side, and we both crouched next to the heavy rock foundation of the house, our heads level with the floor.

“So?” Mom’s voice, slightly muffled by the wooden wall, came through clear enough.

“Not exactly.” My father assumed a tired, short tone. “Emese, Xander might be grown, but Jamus is just a boy. They’re good boys. I don’t want them upset—”

“That’s why I sent them out.”

A mischievous grin plastered on his dusty face, Jamus gave me two big thumbs up. I pushed him and he fell on his butt. “Shh” I mouthed.

My father let out a deep breath. “Emese, somethings are too ugly to know, I’m not sure even you would want to know.”

The sharp sound of a metal plate striking the table made Jamus and I jump.

“Absolom, you will not spare me the unpleasantries.” Mom’s angry voice came through the wall loud and clear. “I’ve been on this forsaken planet for the last fifteen years, I left a life infinitely more comfortable and safe. I could have stayed and kept Xander with me. But, no, we left all of that behind and I did it for you, Absolom. So when it comes to anything that happens here. I, above any other person, have the right to know.”

A look of shock stretched across Jamus’s face. I’m sure my own face mirrored his expression. Mom was strong, but the quiet kind of strong. She never raised her voice, she never contradicted my father, and she never complained. This was the first time I’d ever heard her do all three.

My father sighed. “You’re right, Emese.”

“Of course I’m right. Now tell me what happened. Did you find Alana?”

Jamus and I scowled at each other. Alana? Jamus mouthed. I shrugged. He shrugged back. What did Alana Jans have to do with anything? I’d hoped it was something more exciting, like the Hibernians finally calling us back to Tatmus Delta, away from Brunning. Instead my father was being secretive about Jamus’s annoying girlfriend? Of course Jamus cared, but I didn’t. What a waste of time. I stood and hooked my thumb toward the field. Let’s go, I mouthed.

Jamus, still listening, shook his head.

His eyes went wide and he fell back on his butt. He didn’t even bother trying to get back up. He just sat there, his face pale, his eyes empty. She’s dead, Jamus mouthed.

What? I squatted again, my ear pressed to the warm wall.

“How can you be sure?” Mom’s hushed voice barely came through the wall.

“Trust me, Emese. When we found her dog ripped in half… Sam says that thing never left Alana’s side. Then the blood… so much blood.”

“By Yuan’s light. What did Tama do when you and Sam brought the girl back?”

“Emese, you’re not listening. Something butchered that girl, tore her to bits. There wasn’t enough of her to bring back.”

Jamus doubled over and retched into the dusty dirt. I didn’t know what to do or say. I held his shoulders to support him, but listened on to the conversation.

“Poor Tama. She’s never been happy here… but now without her daughter… Poor Tama.”

Poor Jamus. Surely my parents knew the impact this would have on their son.

“Poor Sam, I say. He was the one that followed the blood trail to its end, where they killed her. But enough, I’m going to help the boys with the pumps.” Jamus and I should have got up and ran to the field as soon as we heard the chair pushed away from the table, but we didn’t.

“Who?”

“The boys,” said my father from the other side of the door.

“No, Absolom. You said they killed her. Who are they? Who killed Alana?”

“Oh.” My father said with the door half open. “Spiders.”

“They’re back? But how? I thought we—”

“I know. Me too. But there’s no mistake. It was spiders.”

Spiders. In the morning heat I suddenly had cold sweats. Spiders. That word literally knocked me on my own butt, my hand landing in Jamus’ vomit. Suddenly I was six again, slipping in spider gore, watching, helpless, as Marie Suiza screamed and disappeared into the dark.

My body shook as I fought down my own urge to be sick.

“Xander, Jamus.” My father nodded to us as he shut the door behind him. “Enough sitting around. You should have been out to the pumps.” He looked to the red sun rising on the western horizon. “Daylight’s a burning.” He always said those words. Everyday. He liked being clever, rolling the shortness of daylight and its intensity into one phrase. Usually he would laugh after he said it.

My father liked to laugh, he liked to see others happy and, like everything else he did, he put all of his energy into it. Today, looking at his two sons, sitting in the dust—Jamus wiping sick off his paled face, me trembling, terrified—my father took in a deep breath. No anger at catching us eavesdropping. No attempt at humor. No, nothing but tired and worry. He shook his head and went on his way.