Stella Magenta Book 1 2.2

A/N: An officer of the NUS Militia has just officially closed Rennedon Repairs to the public, and Skylar has exited the shop and left her father to his thoughts

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest. This weather was unusual for the typical mild falls Ayedia enjoyed. The temperature outside matched her current emotions: icy and bitter. She watched a leaf float from a tree and curl just out of her reach before landing on the grass next to herself.

Skylar was too busy brooding about the unfairness of the entire situation she found herself in to notice the beauty of autumn. She wished she had the type of childhood that allowed her to stop and admire the flowers, leaves, and trees. But ever since she was 12, she had spent her days helping her father in his mechanical shop. Not that she minded— she loved working with machines and learning to take care of airplanes. She had never even considered another career path. She had always dreamed of inheriting Rennedon Repairs and passing it down to her children when she was old enough to retire after decades of serving her community.

Remembering how much the repair shop had meant to her just made her more angry, but try as she might, she couldn't tear her thoughts away from it. Nothing else brought her the same amount of happiness that the shop did, and her other career paths paled in comparison. She knew that she would probably have to accept a job at some sort of factory or farm so that she could help her father with all of the family expenses, but there was nothing about that type of work that seemed appealing to her.

She kicked at a branch as she walked by still childishly relishing in the phrase "It's not fair!" She didn't care how immature it sounded; she hated how three could barge into their shop, brandishing their official military titles, and strip the Rennedons of a family practice for no valid reason.

Skylar turned onto Elm Street, the street where her family had lived for the past 17 years, the only house she had ever called home. All of the houses were completely identical: white trim, pale blue shutters, and light gray front doors. The houses each boasted a unique three-digit numer, the only way to distinguish between the block of houses. The Rennedon's house was number 457, but the '5' had fallen off, leaving only a '4' and a '7' with a suspicious gap in between. Even without the middle digit, Skylar could always identify their house by a small but noticeable indentation in the white trim next to the door. She and Danny had been playing baseball in their front yard when a rogue ball had curved unpredictably and slammed into the door, coming dangerously close to shattering a window.

Naturally, their mother had been furious, and Danny and Skylar had done their best to stay away from her for the rest of the day. They had even tried to repair the dent with a hammer and nails, and unsurprisingly had been unsuccessful.

Years later, the dent was still apparent from across the street, and Skylar could see it from across the street. It served as s a reminder of a time when things were simpler, when her biggest concern was a dent in her front door and not how she would provide for her family.

She crossed the street carefully, looking both ways as always. She didn't want to come to her end because she was struck by a crossing vehicle or pedestrian. Climbing up onto the sidewalk, she climbed the chipped white steps to the front door.

She fumbled in her pocket for her house key and unlocked the door with trembling fingers. "I'm home," she called as she pulled the door shut behind her and slipped her shoes off. The house was eerily quiet, and she stacked her shoes on the shelf before stepping into the kitchen. "Danny? Mom?"

Her eyes fell on her mother, who was sitting at the dining room table looking through a photo album. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her shoulders were shaking. Skylar crossed the room and rested a hand on Mrs. Rennedon's shoulder. "What's wrong?" she asked softly, her stomach sinking as she realized what must have caused her mother's hysteria.

"You know," Mrs. Rennedon sobbed, resting her heads in her arms and letting the photo she had been looking at fall to the ground.

Skylar picked it up and examined it. The photo showed two men wearing attire from almost 100 years ago and were proudly unveiling a sign that read "Rennedon Repairs: Since 3046". Skylar turned it over and saw that it was dated August 30, 3046.

The picture brought a sad smile to her face. She was emotionally exhausted and didn't have the energy to be angry at the NUS anymore. Tears threatened, but she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She refused to let her tears fall now, since she knew that once she released her hurricane of emotions, there would be no way of damming them.

Skylar stumbled and braced herself against the kitchen walls as hot tears spilled out of her eyes and blurred her vision. Just make it to your room, she told herself. Once you make it there, you can let it all out.

She staggered out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs with great assistance from the railing. She fumbled for her doorknob, stepped inside, then slammed the door shut and collapsed on her bed, tears flowing from her eyes.

Her body shook with sobs as she thought about the unfairness of the situation. She would have to give up all of her dreams, and worst of all, she was completely and utterly helpless. She resigned herself to a life of grueling manual labor to provide for her family. She worried that her father would never find a steady job; he would never be content with an office job, but before long he would be too old to do any manual labor.

She took a deep breath, pushing herself into a sitting position. Maybe there was hope after all. Maybe her father would be able to reopen the shop after they made a few changes. Maybe—just maybe—things would get better.

She could hear her father's heavy footsteps as he entered the house and pulled her pillow over her head. She just wanted to drown the world out and to lay here forever. She was exhausted from fighting, and wanted nothing more than to lay in her bed and pretend that this day had never happened.

She could hear her father speaking to her mother downstairs, and even though she didn't want to have to face the world just yet, her curiosity overpowered her desire to stay in bed. She climbed out of her bed and opened her door, peeking into the kitchen.

Her father had braced himself on the counter, looking more exhausted than Skylar had ever seen him. She could only see him from behind, but it was clear from the droop of his shoulders and the way his head hung low that he was as discouraged as she was, if not more.

"I don't think we'll be able to open our shop again," Skylar could hear her father saying. "Somebody with a lot of power and money wants our shop closed. I'm sure of it. Why else would we be inspected?"

"It could've just been a random check." Mrs. Rennedon reassured him, although her vvoice was shaky. "You have no way to prove that it was a personal attack."

"It was, Ruth. I'm sure of it." Skylar's father had regained his confidence and straightened, beginning to pace. "The way the guards searched every corner. . . they were looking for something, but not something specific. I should've seen this coming. We're starting to compete with some of the bigger businesses, and now we're seen as a threat. There's no way we'll be able to reopen."

"Don't talk like that," Mrs. Rennedon scolded him. "We will be able to get it back, do you hear me? We contribute to our community. There will be people who are upset that we closed. We can fight this, Timothy. We're not powerless."

Skylar's father shook his head . "We won't win. We're completely outmatched. Whoever wants us out of the way clearly has money, and no matter what we try, they'll be able to bribe somebody with authority to stop us."

"Timothy, this company is your dream. It's been in your family for years. It's one of the only things that you're passioante about, and I know that the man I married would never allow his dream to be taken from him. We are going to figure out a way to fight this, no matter what we have to do. We won't give up without a fight."

Skylar had heard enough. She climbed down the stairs and stepped into the kitchen. Skylar's father turned to face her. "Hi, Sky," he said, his eyes big and sad. "How are you? I'm sure this is hard for you."

"I'll be okay," Skylar said, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew that it was a lie. She would never be okay unless her father figured out a way that Rennedon Repairs could reopen. "Are we really going to give up?"

"We don't have a choice." Skylar's father sighed, a long and heavy sigh that made Skylar's heart ache. "Skylar, this shop is my dream. It's the only thing I've ever wanted to do with my life. I would sacrifice almost anything to protect it, but we're fighting a losing battle here. We won't be able to compete with whoever wants us out of the way."

"You're not going to fight?" A tear escaped Skylar's eye, but she brushed it away. She had to confront her father. She couldn't let her emotions control her.

"We don't have a choice." The exhaustion in Mr. Rennedon's voice was obvious.

"Yes you do." Skylar's voice was shaking now, and she turned away so her father couldn't see the tears running down her cheeks. "You can choose to do something besides just give up. Because if this was really important to you, if I was really important to you, you would fight for it." She stormed up the steps to her room and slammed the door behind her, once again throwing herself onto her bed.

Every spark of hope that might have been kindled had been snuffed out. She covered her mouth with a pillow and screamed with all her strength, pouring all her frustration and anger into one scream. She kept screaming until it felt like she had emptied out her insides, like she had poured all of her anger and sadness and indignation into her pillow, and now nothing was left. Without the shop, she was nobody. She was just an undereducated lower-class 15-year-old with a dim future ahead of her.

Once she had fully exerted herself, she staggered into the front room and lowered herself on the couch. Her emptiness had been replaced by a sort of numbness . The only thing she wanted to do with her life was inherit the repair shop and spend her entire life fixing ships and continuing the family tradition. That was her only aspiration in life, the only future she had ever planned for herself. All it took was one visit by the Militia to turn her world upside-down, threaten her family, and rip her future away from her. .

Skylar was so lost in thought she could barely hear her father coming up behind her. She didn't notice him until he sat on the other couch cushion. "I'm not going to lie. This is one of the hardest things that's ever hit me."

Skylar could only nod.

"But we will get through this, Skylar." He gently patted her shoulder. "We'll get up tomorrow and find some odd jobs to pay the bills while we figure out what our next step is. If we have to, we'll move and open a shop somewhere else. We'll hire a lawyer. We'll do whatever we can to get our shop back."

"But what if you're right? What if somebody wants our shop to be closed for good?" Skylar swallowed, a lump forming in her throat.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Mr. Rennedon offered Skylar a slight smile filled with sadness. In that moment, Skylar was convinced that her father would do everything in his power to reopen Rennedon Repairs.He would contemplated the problem for a few days and figure out a rational plan to recover their business. She just had to survive a week or so of working for anyone who would hire her until that happened, and then she could dedicate her time to fixing up the shop so that they could reopen. She told herself that soon, things would be back to normal, and hoped with her entire being that she was right.

"First thing tomorrow, we'll go around looking for some odd jobs and start to brainstorm ways we could reopen our shop. We'll meet up after we've earned enough to live on for a few days and figure out a plan of action. Sound good?"

Skylar nodded. Her father leaned over, squeezed her shoulder, and then stood up. "You should get some rest, Skylar. It's been a long, hard day, and we'll both need our energy for tomorrow."

"I will." Skylar kicked her feet up onto the other cushion and stared up at the white ceiling. She wished that none of this had ever happened, that this was all a bad dream and she could wake up in the morning and realize that none of this was real. Instead, she had to go to bed with the knowledge that when she awoke in the morning, she would have to search for the lowest jobs her town had to offer in the hopes of earning enough to sustain her family.

In many ways, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the NUS had so much power. It wasn't fair that their business had been ripped from them for no valid reason. It wasn't fair that she had to work for her family. But fair or not, she had to continue fighting, even if all of the cards were stacked against her.

And she would keep fighting.