Chet drummed his pen on the sketchpad while the professor at the front of the auditorium droned on. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell what the woman was going on about. Something about the attendance administrator. Yadda yadda yadda. What did he expect from a physics 1 professor? His pen scratched along the paper. Any artist would state what he was doing was nothing more than uninspired dribble. However, after the last few strokes of ink blended into the page and the drawing came into view one would recognize it not as art, but as a blueprint.

The professor paused her speech to tap her clicker and change the projected image on the wall. With a silent “finally” he ripped his phone out of his pocket to type in the code on the wall, his name, and his session number on the class website. With more noise than necessary, Chet scooped up his backpack and sketchbook before stomping out of class.

With his nose between the pages, he shuffled between the last four pages and scanned the drawings. Devices. The first page detailed several rough rectangular prisms with differing proportions. However, by the second page, the components in his mind were starting to take shape.

Strutting out of campus, he made way for one of the pay-to-scoot electrical scooters on the sidewalk and zoomed to the scrapyard. Chet inhaled deeply to let the smell of grease, oxyacetylene, welding fumes, and gasoline fill his lungs.

“Ahh,” Chet’s favorite smell, gasoline. He just couldn’t get enough of it.

The gravel kicked up behind his soles as he sauntered to the metal-barred gate. The dusty watchtower, no taller than the gate, had a sign with the title PIP Basic Metal welded into it.

“Hiya Joe.”

The grime-covered window at the front of the building slid open to reveal a dumpy man with blue overalls and a cap to match. “Evening,” Joe said as he tipped his floppy blue hat before reaching his hand out the window.

After handing his PIP card over and sweating for a minute, the metal gates creaked open to let Chet in. His body shook from excitement as he strolled through the yard to the small machinery section. To those in the know, I.E other electrical engineering enthusiasts, the name of this place was a bit of a misnomer. Sure, there were mounds of basic metals like copper and iron for pennies on the dollar, but the real value came from the treasures scattered about. Why else would the government slap this place with a PIP ID wall?

Backpack in hand, he rummaged through pile after pile until it sagged in his hand and the sun kissed the horizon. After weighing his findings and paying big brother. He returned to the university.

With a tap of a card and the clink-clink of a turnstile, Chet had entered the Yard, named after the sponsor, John T. Yard. Puffing his chest out, Chet maneuvered past a group of pasty boys with their hands stuffed in their pockets and overtightened backpacks to push into the main craft room. After he surveyed the room, he stomped to an open table and anvil in the center, through his things on the table, and plopped down onto the chair. He let the grinding of metal on metal envelop him and ease the tension in his spine.

His phone dinged; Walker texted him asking what he was doing. He replied with his location and how what he was doing. His phone remained silent afterward.

Break over, Chet unzipped his bag, lifted it from the bottom, and shook out the remains onto the table. Scrap metal, of different sizes and shapes, but no smaller than his fingertip and no larger than his arm, were the first to drop. Certain nuts, bolts, and screws joined the pile. He was more careful with some of the more fragile levers, switches, strips, and electrical machinery. Lastly, he pulled out four bulbs, each from a different maker, intensity, and color. Each was carefully wrapped in paper padding. He stood over his pile with his hands on his hips.

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Licking his lips, Chet pulled out the last item. However, this one wasn’t pulled out of a trash heap, but from outer space. It was a tiny metal box, like one people would use for an engagement ring, unlocked it, and stared at the shard within.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he rotated the box. It didn’t flicker, nor did it fade.

It was luminous.

Chet's mind was a tumultuous symphony of ideas. The best way he could have described the feeling to someone else was to compare it to action movies. Specifically fighting movies, like the one about boxing. When the climax occurs and the antagonist is knocked out and hits the mat, you feel like you want to go twelve rounds in the ring with anyone. That’s what he felt right before creating something.

He clicked the box shut. It slid in his grip due to his damp palms. He took a deep breath before he tore his eyes from the box and returned his focus to the workbench.

ɸ

Walker through his nut on Chet.

The metal piece bounced off his broad shoulder to clink against the table Chet leaned over. Chet slammed his arm into the table. “Chill, I’m making shit,” he said after recognizing Walker.

Walker shrugged and pulled a chair from an unoccupied table around them and pulled it over.

“Wait, how did you get in here?” Chet asked.

“I-” There was an implication in that question. You didn’t ask that question when someone wanted to know what the physical process of entering a building. “I swiped my ID.”

“Uh-huh. Same place you got ten kilos of cocaine?”

“Same place I fucked your mom,” Walker retorted before swinging his feet onto the corner of Chet’s workstation and placing his hands behind his head.

Chet frowned, “Does that mean if she gets pregnant, you’re now my dad?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe stepdad. Does your mom have menopause?”

“Bro,” Chet theatrically gagged, “Don’t just drop a dimer on me like that man. I don’t know, and I don’t want to.”

Walker stared at the ceiling, “I don’t go here alright? I’m using my brother’s, he goes here.”

Chet fiddled with the nut in his hands, “Ah, makes sense. Didn’t know you had a brother.”

Walker shrugged “Don’t really talk to him.”

“He do something to scorn you as a child. Steal your food? ” Chet lowered his head to look at Walker through his brows. “Call you mean names?” He finished in a deep voice.

“Nah, he just got to fuck your dad before me.”

“Damn, your family’s full of Neanderthals you know that?”

“You’re telling me if I had a cougar as a mom, you wouldn’t be tempted?” Walker asked, voice full of mirth.

Chet held the nut between his pointer finger and his thumb in one hand and used his other finger to enter and exit it crudely, “Is she… available?”

“She’s dead.” Walker paused, “Probably.”

Walker didn’t know what possessed him to let that slip, but curiously he didn’t mind.

The finger that was once pistoning into the nut stopped mid-thrust, “Actually?”

“Like a squirrel in a toddler’s hands,” Walker replied, gauging Chet’s reaction.

It was Chet’s turn to shrug, “A little necrophilia never hurt anyone.”

Walker chortled. His body contorted at the hip and shook. His laughter echoed in the building. Through tears, he glanced at Chet who gawked at him. “Wasn’t that funny man? I mean, I know I’m hilarious but that particular joke was mid-tier at best.”

Walker waved him off but the comment had set off another round of belly laughter that cascaded into mucus-filled coughs. The walls of his throat tore at his body like sandpaper.

“Damn dude, sucking too much dick?” Chet quipped.

Walker cleared his throat before letting a final laugh out. He knew inside that this was most likely an overreaction, but it felt good to take a load off. Usually, people responded to finding that out about themselves with an “I’m sorry.” That always made him angry even more. Were they sorry? Walker didn’t think so.

After a few more laughs Walker realized at some point Chet had broken down and started laughing as well. Whether it was directed at Walker or the situation he didn’t know.

Chet wiped a tear, “Bro you gotta relax, it still hurts to laugh.”

Walker waved in surrender and took a deep breath.

“You’re in a good mood, win the lottery or something?” Chet asked.

Walker ignored the person that flashed in his mind and instead focused on the other thing. “Yeah, check this out,” Walker pulled out a dime-sized plastic bag,

Chet leaned forward, “Did you figure out what it does?” His voice was barely above a whisper due to excitement.

With a pop, Walker opened the plastic bag and pulled out the Stardust shard within.