Hoban Washburne hoisted himself up into his tree house, squeezing his skinny, six-year-old frame through the small opening. Well, it wasn't exactly a tree house. Those usually involved real trees. But trees were scarce on Verbena. The Alliance had decided that the tiny frontier planet would make a perfect place for military equipment factories. The resulting pollution meant there wasn't much green to be had. The last time Wash had tried to climb one of the sickly trees, the branch had snapped out from under him, resulting in a broken arm and a very angry mother. His fort was wedged in the corner of a crumbling, abandoned building about five minutes from his house. To get to it, he had to wander down a narrow alley and then climb up a pile of old metal barrels and cinder blocks. It wasn't much to look at, but in young Wash's mind it was a castle.
Once inside, Wash slid a wooden plank over the entrance, hiding it from the view of any random passerby. He'd lie on his back, hands behind his head, and stare up at the sky through a hole in the ceiling. He liked it here. It was quiet. Calm. Not like his house. Things were always loud and hectic there. His father traveled for work and his mother was always worn out. Wash was the youngest but one out of six. He usually had to hide from older brothers who liked to torture him and a sister who used him as a test subject for her frilly make up concoctions. But here, it was just him and the sky. The polluted haze in the air made it nearly impossible to see a thing up there, but Wash would swear that sometimes, when the weather was just so, he could see something blinking at him from above. He wanted to see it – really see it – more than anything.
After staring up at the clouds for a spell, Wash would play with his dinosaurs. The collection, no larger than three or four tiny plastic toys, was his pride and joy. It had started a few years back when his father had started bringing the kids souvenirs home from his trips. They couldn't afford much, so the toys were cheap, but Wash didn't care. He took to them instantly. His father had been so surprised by his reaction, that from then on he made a point to always bring one that was new and different from the rest. The small, brightly colored things entertained Wash for hours. They had names, voices, personalities, and every so often a war might break out. He'd send them on epic journeys across ancient Earth-That-Was until the sun started to set and he had to tuck them away under one of the boards in the corner and scamper home for dinner.
That little fort of his was a sanctuary. Even as the years went by and it became dirtier and more cramped, Wash never gave it up. He could dream in there, all the while staring at the sky. He could think up adventures for the dinos, fume about fights with his family, or – when he got older – even fret about girl troubles. It felt more like home than his actual room. When he finally went off to flight school, leaving that place behind was his biggest regret. But he tried not to let it get to him. He was finally going to go find those blinking lights, after all.
The last time Wash saw that old fort was about a year after he married Zoe. Serenity had job on Verbena and he'd taken the afternoon to go see his folks. After supper, his mother was chewing Zoe's ear off about something. Babies, most likely. So, Wash had gone for a walk on his own. He hadn't really planned on visiting his old haunt, but his feet took him there anyway. He was shocked to find that the entrance looked much like it had decades earlier. A little more run down, but still there. Seems whatever kids had it after him had taken as much of a shine to it as he had. Wash climbed up the rubbish pile and squeezed through the entrance. It was a helluva lot more difficult now he wasn't a skinny little kid anymore. But he managed to get in. Lying down on his back, he looked up at the hole. It was much bigger now and he could see an even larger expanse of that dull, polluted sky. He smiled remembering all the dreams that had passed through his young mind in here. He stuck his hands behind his head. Just you wait, little guy, he thought. You have no idea how good it gets.
A thought struck him then. Surely, there wouldn't be anything left, but he wanted to look anyway. Scooting toward the back corner of the fort, Wash reached into the shadows, running his hand along the floor. Guess it's not here anymo—His hand touched familiar wood. Well, I'll be damned. Eagerly, he tugged on the corner of the plank, coughing as he inhaled the disturbed dust. At this angle, he couldn't see into the gap, but Wash stuck his hand inside. He felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. His hand had lighted on a tiny lump of plastic. Pulling it carefully out of the hole, Wash held it up into the dim evening light. It was a small dinosaur. A stegosaurus to be exact. The paint had faded and had begun to chip and it was covered in a layer of grime. But Wash didn't care. It was just about the finest toy he'd ever seen. He remembered the day his father gave it to him, too. He'd had to explain to his young son that it was an ancient creature from Earth-That-Was. Wash knew now that most of what his father had told him was wrong, but it had captured his young imagination anyway.
Carefully, Wash wiped the toy off on the front of his shirt before tucking it into his pocket. He had bigger, shinier dinos to keep him company these days, but this guy was special. It was almost dark now. He should be getting back to Zoe and his family. He glanced around the fort one last time, a fond smile on his lips. With that, he climbed out and into the alley. As he walked back towards his parent's house, he kept his hands in his pockets, fingers wrapped tightly around the little toy.
