by Amy DuBoff
Cris pulled the physical currency chips out of his pocket and gave her five credits. Electronic transfers were far more common, but he feared the faked credentials on his alias bank account wouldn’t hold up to thorough scrutiny. As a precaution, he had adopted the practice of using chips instead.
He blew on a piece of leeca to cool it and took a bite—warm and savory with just the right touch of sweetness. It brought him back to his early life, before preparing for his future responsibilities became the sole focus. I did have this as a kid. I guess it wasn’t all bad. “It’s excellent,” he said while still chewing.
“Enjoy,” Roselyn said. “Have fun in Elarine.”
Hah. “Thanks.” He waved goodbye and began wandering back toward the Exler.
Cris finished up the leeca while casually strolling through the port, reflecting on some of the good times from his childhood on Tararia. He wandered by some shops and looked at completely impractical, unnecessary items. As he browsed, he even noticed oversized pulse guns that couldn’t possibly be legal and some openly displayed narcotics. It really is different out here.
With romanticized thoughts of Tararia still floating through his mind, Cris was on his final approach to the Exler when he happened to overhear the Sietinen name mentioned in a conversation. It had been so long since he’d heard the name directly—rather than a generic mention of the Big 6—that it caught him off-guard. He stopped and looked around to identify who was talking. After a moment, he spotted two merchants drinking at a walk-up bar. Curious, Cris walked over so he could hear the details.
“You’re right, the entire government system is corrupt,” the first merchant was saying. “Regardless of what the highest Dynasties like Sietinen and Vaenetri say, the Priesthood runs the show.” He took a sip of a green liquid from his glass. “But it doesn’t matter who’s in charge. Nothing happening in the outside worlds matters to any of them.”
Cris had heard numerous similar conversations over the last year. Each one was a series of unflattering generalizations about the High Dynasties and how no individual could possibly ever care. He was sick of hearing it. We’re not all like that. I’m different. The Priesthood is the real menace, not the Dynasties. He was about to walk away.
“Real conflict is headed our way, but they do nothing,” the other merchant said. “I’ve been to the outermost territories recently. It’s brutal, and it’s only getting worse.”
Cris hung back. That’s new…
“They’re certainly not going to tell us what’s going on out there,” the first merchant agreed. “Meanwhile, countless people are starving and being taxed to death.”
“No shite. All of those purists think alike. It’s about maintaining power and getting richer, not helping people.”
“Thank the stars for the TSS! I hear at least they have the decency to tell their first-year trainees about some of what’s going on in the rest of the galaxy. Give people a chance to get out of whatever hole they were born into.”
“It’s hardly enough. We’re all foked.”
The first merchant gulped the rest of his glass. The second did likewise.
What kind of conflict are they talking about? Cris knew it wasn’t his place to intrude, but he was feeling inspired after his recent reflections on Tararia. He stepped up to the merchants. “The High Dynasties do care about their people. You shouldn’t be so dismissive.”
The merchants stared at him, taken by surprise. Both burst into uproarious laughter.
“How naïve!” the first merchant exclaimed. “Generation after generation it’s always the same shite. They ignore us out here, and that’s never going to change.”
“There is always hope for change,” Cris countered.
The merchant scoffed. “Hope, maybe, but that doesn’t mean it will ever happen. The Dynasties and Priesthood control everything, and we’re nothing to them. You or I can’t do anything about that.” He turned back to his companion with an indifferent smile, shaking his head.
Perhaps there isn’t anything he can do, but I am in a unique position. “Then someone already high up has to bring about change,” Cris said with renewed vigor. “Someone who doesn’t share their predecessors’ ideals.”
The merchants shook their heads, laughed again as they turned to face Cris.
“You’re still here?” the second merchant jeered as his drink was refreshed by the bartender.
The first merchant sighed. “The problem is the people with influence! Everyone has been born into their position, and no one would give that up.”
I would. There have to be others. “The Dynasties are only as powerful as the people let them be.”
“If that’s the case,” said the second merchant, “then the Dynasties are doing a foking good job of keeping the populace placated through lies.”
Some passersby took notice of the debate and stopped to listen.
We don’t lie to anyone. “I’m sure people are told what they need to know.”
The merchant’s expression became completely serious. “What about a war? Is it right to keep the war a secret?”
What war? Cris hesitated. “Someone thinks so.” Have they kept secrets even from me?
The merchant shrugged and waved his hand, brushing Cris off. He tried to crack a smile. “Then what does it matter? Whether it’s the Priesthood or someone new, it’d still come down to one group deciding what others should know.”
Could there really be a conflict going on that I don’t know about? “But what if it really is for the best? Knowledge and power often come with a price. Perhaps it is necessary for a few to bear the burden.”
A murmur of agreement passed through the small crowd watching the discussion.
“What do you know? You’re no one!” The merchant’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Cris.
Cris looked around the crowd. “Everyone can do something.” I might not love politics, but maybe I can do what no one else has been willing to do.
The merchant shook his head. “The Dynasties and the Priesthood have been this way for as far back as anyone can remember. There’s no point in talking about change. Anyone who does would likely end up the same way as the Dainetris Dynasty—ruined and all but forgotten. When it comes to matters of Tararia, civilians have no influence.”
Cris examined the expectant faces in the crowd. “Then the remaining Dynasties have to listen. With their help, the Priesthood could be brought down.”
The merchant recoiled, eyes darting. “Watch what you say—the Priesthood hears everything.”
No wonder the Priesthood has so much control. People shy away at its very mention. “I don’t fear the Priesthood.”
The merchant froze, his gaze fixed on Cris.
Cris looked at the ground. Stars! What am I doing? He glanced up, noticing all the people around him looking on with a mixture of wonder and apprehension. I have to end this. “I’ll be on my way now.” He turned away from the merchant. “Excuse me.” He pushed his way past the onlookers before the merchant could protest. As he retreated, he thought he saw Thom standing in the crowd.
Cris rushed back to the Exler. Is the Priesthood really concealing a war? He went straight to his quarters and sat down on his bunk, his mind spinning. Who is the enemy? Over what? Why would everyone on Tararia keep it from me? Do they even know…? Never before had he heard rumors of a war. The occasional spat, surely, but not a war. He tried to rationalize the claim, but got nowhere. After several minutes, he caught himself. It doesn’t matter. I’m trying to forget that life.
With a deep sigh, Cris forced himself off his bunk. He figured he may as well distract himself by preparing the next route for their upcoming deliveries.
An hour of sporadic work passed in the flight deck. Though some questions still churned in the background, Cris soon felt much more settled. However, he became anxious again when Thom entered, looking concerned.
“What is it, Thom?” Cris asked. He never looks at me like that.
The captain shif
ted uncomfortably on his feet. “I— I was just surprised to hear you say those things at the bar earlier.”
Cris dropped his eyes to the floor, thinking back to the encounter with the merchants. “I’m sorry for my behavior, Thom—” It was so stupid of me to say those things!
Thom shook his head. “You were just speaking your mind.” He took a deep breath. “But, you can’t threaten Tararian authorities like that. People can complain and wish things were different, but what you said about bringing down the Priesthood—that’s just foolish.”
Yet, he must know I’m right—that they’re the root of Tararia’s problems. “I understand.”
“Good.” Thom looked around the small room, not meeting Cris’ eyes. “Now, can we just move on?” Cris nodded, but Thom still looked distraught when he left the room.
Cris’ heart began to race. Something about Thom’s demeanor had changed. Stars, of course! Only someone from a Dynasty would dare speak out against the Priesthood in public… and Thom knows it. Shite.
For two days, he and Thom avoided eye contact, but they eventually returned to their normal routine. Still, the encounter with the merchant had moved Cris, and his subliminal thoughts turned to Tararia. He had the power to make a difference—in a way few others could. However, he couldn’t bring himself to go back. Yet. He wanted no part of the current political system. But, with the right alliances, perhaps things could change one day. For now, there is no place for me there. I still have so much to see.
CHAPTER 6
Cris strolled through the Elarine spaceport, thankful to be on leave from the delivery routine. Even a stopover at Elarine is better than being cooped up on the Exler.
The selection of wares in the shops was limited and bland compared to those in the larger ports, but it passed the time. He wandered from shop to shop, keeping to himself. There were few travelers in the corridors, and most of the shopkeepers seemed disinterested until someone wanted to make a purchase.
As Cris came out of one of the establishments, he was startled to see two men watching him from across the hall. They were dressed entirely in black, with tinted glasses and sleek overcoats that hung to their knees—a stark contrast to the colorful merchants. He tensed. Something about them felt unusual.
He shook off the uneasy feeling and headed down the corridor deeper into the port, wanting to distance himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the men were heading in his direction.
Who could they be? He thought for a moment. Stars! Are they my parent’s detectives? Bomax, I probably gave myself away in that argument during our last stopover at Aldria. Pulse racing, Cris abruptly turned around to hurry back toward the Exler. To his dismay, the men followed.
I can’t let them take me back! Cris broke into a run. He came to the central mall of the port and darted through the crowd, careful to avoid colliding with any of the travelers. When he came to an intersection, he nimbly stepped off to the side and sprinted around a bend in the hall in an attempt to evade the two men. He took a few more turns, but he soon found himself in a dead-end passage. Shite! Where can I go?
Cris halted. He was about to wheel around, but in the stillness noticed the pounding of footsteps right behind him.
Before he could turn, Cris was thrown to the ground, tackled from behind. With his arms pinned to his sides in a horrific embrace, he fell forward. Lurching to the side, his shoulder took the hit to avoid smacking his head on the metal deck plates. He rolled to his stomach, weighted down. Someone was on his back. Cris’ hands found the floor, and he pushed up, throwing all of his weight sideways to flip his assailant to the ground and crush him against the deck plates. The attacker’s grip loosened. Cris jabbed with his elbows and broke free. He scrambled across the hallway.
Cris expected to see one of the two men dressed in black. Instead, he saw a man of average height, robed in brown with his face hidden in the shadow of his hood. Cris recognized the golden symbol hanging from a chain around the man’s neck, marking him as an associate of the Priesthood of the Cadicle. The Priesthood. Cris suddenly remembered the conversation with his father the afternoon before he left Tararia. I never did find out why they wanted to meet with me.
As the Priest recovered on the floor, the two black-clad men emerged from around a bend in the hall. There was a hint of shock on their otherwise stoic faces.
Cris was about to address the men when the Priest leaped to his feet. He pulled out a pulse gun from underneath his robe. “Give me all your valuables.”
Trembling and sore, Cris grabbed ten credit chips from his pocket and threw them on the ground. “I have nothing else.” It was the truth. His heart pounded in his ears. Why would a member of the Priesthood be mugging people at a spaceport?
“Hand over everything you have or die,” the Priest threatened.
Cris looked more closely at the figure and caught a brief glimpse of piercing red-brown eyes under the hood. The eyes contained such intense sadness that Cris felt a twinge of sorrow, despite his peril. But, the gaze was also one of complete fear. The gun hummed as it began to charge.
Cris looked back toward the two other men, but they remained at the end of the hall. He was on his own.
The Priest murmured something that Cris couldn’t quite make out. He pointed the gun toward Cris’ chest.
“No!” Cris held up his hands. There’s no escape. He felt dizzy, a buzzing in his head. I don’t want to die.
Undeterred, the robed figure fired.
It should have only taken an infinitesimal moment for the shot to reach him, but the beam halted just beyond the muzzle of the gun. There was no perceivable motion. Cris looked around, seeing the Priest holding the gun and the two people in black observing from a distance. The moment continued. I can get away. Cris dove to the side, but didn’t fully feel the movement. He was in midair, falling, but he didn’t feel connected to himself. Nothing stirred around him. He blinked.
Cris hit the ground hard. There was a flash as the pulse beam struck the empty wall.
The Priest spun to face him, mystified.
Cris could barely breathe. He felt charged, as if filled with electricity. He looked around with wonder—he was in a different place than he had been a moment sooner. What’s going on…? He shoved his confusion aside as he saw the Priest raising his weapon once more. This isn’t a mugging—it’s an assassination! “Stop!”
As the Priest was about to fire again, Cris held up his hand in what he thought to be a futile act of protection. However, the motion threw the Priest against the wall with tremendous force, and he slid into a crumpled heap on the floor.
Cris scrambled to his feet. Did I just do that? How…? He turned to the men in black who were still standing motionless at the end of the hall. “Who are you?” he stammered.
Without responding, one of the men walked over to the brown mound on the floor and nudged the Priest with his foot. Cris got a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that the Priest was dead, but then saw that he had responded to the nudge. The man backed away, giving the Priest some room.
The robed figure rose unsteadily and looked around, dazed from the impact with the wall. When he caught sight of Cris, he backed away, terror evident in his trembling movement. After a moment, he noticed the two men in black clothing and he froze, apparently recognizing them. His eyes darted between Cris and the men. He said something to Cris, but Cris didn’t understand the language. With one more glance at the two black-clad men, the Priest passed them and fled down the hall. He didn’t look back.
The man who had nudged the Priest bent down to pick up the pulse gun from the floor. He placed it inside his coat and turned toward Cris.
“Who are you?” Cris repeated. He couldn’t stop shaking. He took an unsteady breath. Why didn’t they help me? He looked the two men over. They appeared to be wary of Cris, but that was understandable after what he had just done. Stars! What do I do? I can’t outrun them. He took another breath. “Why were you following me?”
> “Are you Cristoph Sietinen-Talsari?” the man finally asked.
“That depends. Are you here to kill me, too?”
The two men exchanged looks. “No, we’re not here to harm you,” the second man said.
“Did my parents send you to find me?”
“Have you ever done that before?” the first man asked, ignoring his question.
Cris was about to make an indignant remark, but stopped himself. “No.” He looked down. “I don’t even know what ‘that’ was.” What’s happening to me?
“No, your parents didn’t send us,” the other man said after a slight pause, coming to join his colleague. “If you come with us, we can explain everything.”
Cris shook his head, finding it increasingly difficult to remain calm. “After what just happened, I’m not in the mood for vague answers. And I’m not going anywhere with people who stood by and did nothing while someone attacked me! Who are you and why are you here?”
The first man nodded to the second. They each pressed their jacket lapel, which activated a projection of their credentials.
Cris examined the holographic images hovering in front of him. His eyes widened. The TSS!
“I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to intervene in matters regarding the Priesthood. We’re with the Tararian Selective Service,” the first man said. “I’m Agent Jarek and this is Agent Dodes.” He gestured to his partner and then deactivated his ID.
The Priesthood is so powerful that not even the TSS will stand up to them. Cris crossed his arms. “What do you want?”
“The TSS is here on our own accord,” Jarek continued. “We were deployed to your family’s estate on Tararia to speak with you, only to find that you were missing. Your parents probably have their own people looking for you, but it looks like we found you first. Just in time, it seems—especially considering what you just pulled off without any proper training in telekinesis.”
Cris swallowed hard. “And what was ‘it’? I have no idea how…” What if I can’t control it? I could hurt someone—Thom, myself… And why does the Priesthood want me dead? Everything was going great. I fit in, I was normal…