Hana Hsu and the Ghost Crab Nation - Hardcover

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Sylvia Liu grew up with books and daydreams in Caracas, Venezuela. Once an environmental attorney protecting the oceans, she now spins stories for children, inspired by high tech, ghost crabs, and strong girls. Sylvia lives in Virginia with her family and a very fluffy cat. Find Sylvia on Twitter @artsylliu.

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Hana was late—­and nowhere she was supposed to be.

She hurried through the junkyard, sidestepping the pits and sharp edges of scrap plastic and tire rims. She wrinkled her nose at the sour rot and waved away the cyber flies. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning past the scavenger kids picking through the trash, on the lookout for her own prize.

She was here for a reason—­she had to find the perfect piece for the pigeon automaton she was making for Lin. A few hours from now, her older sister would get meshed at the Enmesh Day Ceremony. Like all thirteen-­year-­olds, Lin would join the world of adults—­her neural implants would activate, and her brain would be connected to the multiweb, online at all times.

The moment that happened, everything would change. Hana would be left behind. Until it was her turn to be meshed a year from now, Hana wouldn’t be able to compete with Lin’s meshed friends, and she just knew Linwould forget about her. She already kind of had.

The last time Hana and Lin had made bird bots together was when Ba was alive. They both used to tuck notes with their wishes inside the metal bellies and clever trapdoors, but now only Hana sent the bots to the wind, rattling off to who-­knew-­where, Lin too busy to bother with such “childish” things. It was Ba who’d always insisted on adding a pièce de résistance, the finishing touch that showed a bot was made with love.

That was what she was looking for—­a special piece for Lin’s present. Finishing the bot for Lin was the best chance to reach her sister and hold on to what they had together.

At the top of a trash pile, Hana wiped her brow. The Atlantic breeze brought a welcome scent of salt air. A car buzzed overhead, flying toward City Center in the distance. Hana’s heart made like a hummingbird at the sight of the gleaming buildings and hovercars swarming like glittery insects. In a few hours, she’d be there in the thick of the excitement, watching her sister get meshed and enjoying her own Start-­Up festivities.

Her comm vibrated and rang.

Aiya. It was Ma’s ringtone, an oldie techno song from the 2020s. She didn’t need to hear Ma say, Hana Hsu, get home right this instant, so she swiped it off. Since Ba died a year ago, Ma had thrown herself into her genetic research, a rocket shooting to the stars while burning Hana to cinders in her wake. And now Ma expected her to jump at her call? No thanks. Besides, she’d be home soon, so there was nothing for Ma to worry about.

A glint in the trash caught her eye. Hana scrambled down to it. Peeking from the rubble was a small, round item with gears and hands, an antique watch like the ones Ba used to collect.

It was perfect—­as if Ba had reached across from the other side to give her a gift on this special day.

Hana reached for the treasure.

A hand darted across her view and snatched it away.

“Hey.” She looked up and her stomach clenched.

The girl towering over her was solidly built, with almost-­white, spiky hair and ice-­blue eyes. She wore agrimy tank top, cargo pants, and scuffed-­up boots. An octopus tattoo crawled up her left arm and a crab was inked on her right wrist. The scavenger kids at the junkyard had never bothered her before, treating her like an eccentric visitor. Why, of all days, did she have to be picked on today?

Hana decided she couldn’t show any fear. “I saw it first.”

“Too bad, cuz I got it first.” The girl dangled the watch from its cracked band and inspected it with a smug smile. She looked a few years older than Hana, maybe fifteen or so.

Hana’s heart thumped, but she glared at the girl. There was no way she was going home without the watch. “Why do you want it? I thought y’all only want pricey things like nickel and tin.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “A Vista Vap telling me what I want? That’s rich.”

Hana prickled at the slur but swallowed a retort. No point in getting her butt kicked today. “I’m sorry. I was curious.”

“Curious? Haven’t you heard curiosity killed the crow?” The girl pocketed the watch.

Hana’s heart sank. She didn’t have time to find another part, and she really had to get back home.

The girl narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing in the Bottoms?” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “The Dump’s no place for a nice girl from the Vistas.”

Nice girl? Hana ignored the jibe. “I make things. Auto­matons.”

“Like robots?”

“Not really. They’re mechanical, like wind-­up toys,” Hana said. “I mean, they’re not toys.”

“How can you have bots without a power source?”

This girl actually seemed curious. She couldn’t be allthat bad if she was interested in automatons. Hana reached into her messenger bag and pulled out her almost-­finished bird. “I call them bots for short, but they’re not really robots. See? It works with springs and gears.”

The girl tossed her a sharp look. “I’ve seen those before.” She reached for it. “Let me see that.”

Hana clutched the bot close. What had she been thinking, showing this girl her bird? This wasn’t one that Hana planned to share with others—­this was for Lin. And even the ones she sent out in the world weren’t meant for this girl, either. She’d had some silly idea a kindred soul would find her notes, but this was no such person. This was a tattooed stranger who looked like she beat up people for fun.

The girl’s eyes flitted from the automaton to Hana. “Getting jacked tonight?”

“Jacked?”

“You know, brain-­jacked? Meshed?”

“Not this year. I’m only twelve.” Hana couldn’t wait to be meshed, to be like her sister and Ma, though the girl’s junkyard slang made it sound less appealing. “But I’m a Start-­Up,” she added, unable to hide the pride in her voice.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Careful with that.”

“What do you mean?” Being a Start-­Up was an honor.

The girl shrugged. “Not everything’s what it seems.”

Hana frowned. She’d never met anyone who hadn’t wanted to join the elite Start-­Up program. But this girl wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. She drew herself up and held out her hand. “May I have the watch?”

The girl’s ice eyes bore into hers, and she broke into a grin. “All right.” As she reached into her pocket, the girl’s gaze blanked out—­the telltale sign of an incoming call on her neural network. She scanned the horizon warily. “You better get out of here. It’s not safe.”

A piercing whistle rang out.

“Jing Za!” a boy with matted brown hair yelled as he ran by.

“Huaidan!” the girl cursed.

Other scavengers grabbed their packs and scattered.

A junkyard sweep by the Jing Za, the private security guards of the I Ching Corporation. Gut-cramping fear twisted Hana’s stomach. Scavengers weren’t technically allowed to scrounge at corporate-­owned junkyards, but she’d never heard of them enforcing the rules. She’d never once seen a member of the Jing Za here.

The girl took off.

Hana stared for a moment and chased after her—­better to stick with someone who knew what to do.

They scrabbled over faded plastics, their feet skittering over...