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  “Hello to you, too, father,” Cris replied. “Yes, she told me.”

  Reinen nodded. “Let’s go into my office.”

  Cris followed his father into a smaller room off to the right. Reinen sat down on a sleek brown couch near the center of the room and gestured for Cris to sit in one of the upholstered chairs across from him. Behind them, a desk was framed by an arched window that stretched nearly the width of the room, looking directly over Lake Tiadon. The sun was beginning its descent, shadows emphasizing the features of the lush landscape.

  “Why the sudden end to my lessons with Marina?” Cris asked as he sat down.

  Reinen’s eyes narrowed the slightest measure. “You’ve already learned enough to guard yourself. There’s nothing further to explore.”

  “Would a little object levitation really hurt anyone?”

  His father leaned forward, stern. “The laws apply to you, too. We’re supposed to be setting an example as leaders.”

  “Right, by supporting the policies that make it illegal to learn about oneself.”

  Reinen grunted. “Maybe you should take the matter up with the Priesthood.”

  Cris was about to brush off the statement, but there was a seriousness in his father’s tone. “What do you mean?”

  “I received a communiqué this afternoon. The Priesthood has requested a meeting with you.”

  Cris froze. “Why?” Stars! Did they find out about my telepathy lessons? His pulse spiked. Marina’s instruction had always stayed within the governing restrictions around telepathy, but if they suspected Cris had crossed the line into telekinesis, there was no telling what the meeting might entail. He gulped.

  “The representative only stated that they want to interview you as soon as possible.” Reinen shook his head. “Whatever it’s regarding, it’s not the kind of attention we need.”

  Cris was well aware how rare it was to be singled out as an individual. The Priesthood of the Cadicle oversaw all Taran affairs, governing even the High Dynasties and their respective corporations that were the pillars for inter-planetary society. The organization served as the critical moderator to regulate the Taran worlds, controlling laws, the flow of information, and the application of new technological advances. Even lending the tiebreaking vote on any matter brought before the six High Dynasties, the Priesthood’s authority was complete and binding. But, given its roots as a formerly theological institution, the Priesthood had been unquestionably viewed as Taran society’s moral compass for generations.

  “Did you set an appointment?” Cris asked, holding his breath that it wouldn’t impact his departure plans.

  “No. They wanted the interview to take place on their island, but I refused. The representative said he’d get back to me with alternate arrangements.”

  Cris let out his breath. No matter now. I’ll be gone by morning. Cris felt his father’s eyes on him and looked up.

  “You’re getting older, Cris. People are beginning to take more of an interest in you.”

  “You mean dynastic heads are trying to marry me off to their daughters. I’m still way too young to have any interest in such matters.”

  His father sighed. “One day soon you will have to.”

  “But not yet.”

  “Cris, I— I just worry about you.”

  Why does he pretend? At least Mother just ignores me. “Is that so? Forgive my incredulous tone, but it’s just that you’ve never expressed much interest in me before.”

  Reinen seemed taken aback, his brow furrowed. “What makes you say that?”

  Cris shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, Cris, if something is bothering you, I want to know about it.”

  Cris sighed. “Now, when you say you worry about me… What do you mean—my political future? My future as the leader of this dynasty and as an executive of SiNavTech?”

  “Well, of course. You seem disinterested.”

  That’s because I am! “What about my feelings as your son?”

  “I always assumed you were content.”

  “Content”… What about feeling loved? “Well, I’m not. I can’t say I ever really was.”

  Reinen was silent for a long time. “I’m sorry.”

  Cris shrugged. No he’s not. He wouldn’t have done anything differently. “No matter now.”

  Reinen’s expression was impassive.

  “I know I’m not the one you wanted to be your successor.” Cris’ words hung in the air.

  Reinen said nothing, but looked down, his face contorted in an attempt to hide his anguish.

  “If there’s nothing more, I’ll return to my studies.”

  There was the slightest shake of Reinen’s head. “No. There’s nothing else.”

  That was your last chance to salvage any of your parental dignity. Without another word, Cris left his father’s office and went directly to his living quarters.

  Cris passed through the lounge area of his suite and stepped onto the generous balcony. A calm breeze ruffled his hair, cooled by the lake below. He breathed in the pure air. For a moment, he felt a twinge of regret. But, he knew staying on Tararia wouldn’t do anyone good.

  The idea of running away from his dynastic life first came to Cris more than two years before. He had been secretly preparing for the past six months, and almost everything was staged. All that remained was getting off the planet.

  Cris returned to his bedroom and activated the touch-surface workstation on his desk. Settling into his chair, he began what had become a routine exercise of hacking into the secure central system for the Sietinen estate. Though not particularly easy, part of Cris’ grooming had involved study of the complex system, so he knew shortcuts through the security blocks.

  Once inside the system, he created an alias under the guise of a high-ranking guard and catalogued it in the central computer. Using the alias, he checked out a transport vessel at a secluded port on the southern side of the Sietinen compound. It would be waiting for him at midnight on the twenty-five hour Tararian clock. He also set up a standard maintenance reboot of the central security system to correspond with his departure. If he timed it right, he could slip out undetected and be well on his way before anyone knew he was gone.

  With the final pieces of his departure plan in place, Cris admired one last sunset out his bedroom window. By daybreak, he’d be in space.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was 24:45. The world outside Cris’ window was dark. Only the glow from Tararia’s two moons, Aeris and Denae, illuminated the sky.

  Dressed in plain street clothes, Cris gathered his provisions. Only a select few knew the electronic frequencies needed to illuminate the normally invisible identifying Dynastic Mark on his arm or read his imbedded ID chip, so all he needed to do was blend in. If he looked the part, he could become anyone he wanted.

  Cris was accustomed to slipping out to walk the gardens in the middle of the night, but never had the stakes been so high. They’ll put me on complete lockdown if I’m caught leaving. No second chance.

  He crept from his quarters into the corridor. As a precaution, he reset the door’s electronic lock so there would be no record of what time he left. He peered into the dimmed hallway. Clear. He ventured toward the nearest exit. The security system reboot was still five minutes away, set for 24:50 and scheduled to take twenty minutes. To avoid triggering alarms in the meantime, he used the less monitored servant passageways. He encountered no one, to his relief, and was soon outside.

  Cris broke into a light jog along the main path that ran the length of the mansion. He made it no more than ten meters when he caught sight of a surveillance light. Hide!

  He dove off the path into some bushes. The branches scraped at his bare face and hands, but he found a hollow within the foliage. He quickly retrieved a scrambler from the front pocket of his travel bag and activated the device; it should be enough to throw off the guard’s sensors. He checked the time on his watch: 24:52. It was within the reboot window for the central system. He would be fine as long as he stayed out of sight.

  Cris nearly held his breath as the guard approached. He could make out the armored form through the leaves, made more imposing under the moonlight. The guard was walking slowly, inspecting a handheld. He stopped in front of Cris.

  Stars! Cris’ heart raced. He stayed motionless, barely breathing.

  The guard tapped the screen on his handheld a few times, then muttered something under his breath. After another minute, he continued strolling down the path in the direction Cris had come from.

  Cris breathed a sigh of relief. When the guard was well past, he carefully extracted himself from the bushes and looked around to make sure no other guards were nearby. No one else was in sight. He smoothed his hair and brushed off a couple of leaves that had affixed to his jacket.

  Cris returned to the path and resumed jogging toward the ship port. Excitement welled up in his chest, but he kept it at bay. I’m not free yet.

  He reached the port at 24:57. Half a dozen shuttles occupied a paved area amid the foliage of the grounds. Each craft was approximately six meters long, with streamlined aerodynamics specifically designed for breaking through the planet’s atmosphere.

  Cris was about to enter the port when he spotted a figure in the small shelter used by port attendants during the day. He froze. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone there overnight. His entire plan rested on using an automated kiosk to check out the shuttle under his guard alias. Needing to interact with a person changed everything.

  He bit his lower lip, thinking. I can’t turn back now. Seeing no other option, he strode confidently into the port and headed straight for the kiosk. He kept his face oriented away from the shelter.

  The kiosk was dangerously close to the building, a
nd it didn’t take long for the attendant to rouse.

  “What may I do for you?” the attendant asked.

  Cris kept his head turned to the side so the attendant couldn’t see his face. I have every reason to be here. I’m in control. “Official business,” he said, faking a deeper voice. “You can verify my credentials on your own screen.”

  The attendant crossed his arms. “I’d like to see some ID.”

  Don’t panic. Cris continued walking toward the kiosk with feigned assurance. “And I’d like to report you to your supervisor for impeding an official investigation. I don’t think you want that on your performance record so close to review time.”

  “Your ID, sir,” the attendant requested again.

  Cris reached the kiosk. “I’ll get it, hold it.” Before the attendant could protest, Cris brought up his shuttle reservation in a few quick taps. He entered the access key for his guard alias. “There, satisfied?”

  The attendant glanced at the authorization on the screen inside the shelter. “It checks out.” He seemed unsure.

  “So, do I need to have that chat with your supervisor?” Cris turned toward his assigned shuttle.

  “No, sir,” the attendant said. “Have a good night.”

  Cris let out a slow breath as he set off toward his shuttle. We really need better security.

  The assigned shuttle was at the end of the row. Cris went to the far side of his craft and entered his specified passcode to open the main door. Once inside, he stowed his pack in a cargo area behind the eight passenger seats in the main cabin.

  Cris moved to the cockpit to initiate the startup sequence. The touchscreen controls and holographic interfaces cast a cool glow in the cockpit. As the system ran its automated check, Cris strapped into the pilot’s chair. He suppressed another wave of excitement.

  When the shuttle was ready, Cris deftly lifted the vessel off the ground and launched it into space. Flight lessons had always been his favorite. He savored the exhilaration as the engine surged, feeling the power through the low vibrations in the controls. The muted rumble intensified as he pointed the vessel upward, locking in his destination. As he gained elevation, he became just one of many ships scattered throughout the night sky.

  The acceleration of the vessel slowed as the sky turned from deep blue to black. Cris felt the artificial gravity automatically activate when the shuttle achieved orbit, settling his stomach.

  I’m actually leaving Tararia. He relaxed just enough to smile. But I still have a long way to go.

  Cris passed through one of the gates in the planetary shield and followed the course to the primary space station orbiting the planet. He sent a preset message requesting docking clearance. An affirmative response came immediately, and control of the shuttle was handed over to remote operators at the station.

  Once the remote pilot took over, Cris allowed himself time to admire Tararia from above. It’s so beautiful from space—so peaceful. Sieten was a mere speck of light on the western edge of the massive Third Region in the northern hemisphere, with the smaller Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Regions below it to the south. Across the sea to the west, he could see the edge of the crescent-shaped Second Region and the First Region to its south. In the sea between the Third and First regions was an island Cris knew to be the seat of the Priesthood. From space it seemed very small for someplace so important.

  His shuttle was drawn into docking position and clamps locked onto the hull. Apprehension replaced his excitement as the small vessel shuddered under the docking clamps. It was the first time Cris had ever been off-world on his own, and preparing for such an adventure was never part of his lessons. He set his jaw, determined to not let nerves get the better of him. I need to find a ship.

  Cris gathered his pack and made his way down the gangway into the space station. He was struck by the metallic quality of the filtered air, a harsh contrast to the fresh breeze off the lake. The foreign feeling of the station was heightened by an intense energy permeating the structure, felt both in the air and through the metal deck plates underfoot. The sub-audible hum of motors and electricity felt oppressive at first, but he centered himself and soon let the vibrations wash over him. He moved from the gangway into the main corridor of the concourse, where smooth metal walls arched overhead toward the center of a massive ring. Gangways stretched out to ships along the perimeter, and several broad concourses branched out to other rings with even more ships. Cris admired the sweeping metal forms through windows overhead and along the sides of the passageway. Even more wondrous was the blackness of space beyond, with dazzling stars holding untold possibilities.

  The space station was more populated than Cris had anticipated for the late hour, but he had to remind himself that space travel didn’t follow the same schedule as his home time zone. People moved about their business in the corridor, paying no attention to Cris as he eased into the flow of the foot traffic. Everyone was moving quickly, and where there were no openings in the crowd, someone would shove their way through. Cris found himself jostled as he tried to navigate the steady stream of travelers.

  Just as he was starting to get comfortable, he was pushed from behind. His bag came loose from his shoulder and almost fell to the floor. He took a few rapid steps to regain his balance, eventually catching himself on the wall of the corridor. He looked around.

  A large man with cropped, thinning hair and a dingy jacket was cutting his way through the mass. Others stepped to the side to make way without missing a step. It was orchestrated chaos, and everyone but Cris knew the rhythm.

  Cris pressed his back against the wall, trying to get his bearings again. A couple of people glanced over at Cris, but he may as well have been a decorative plant based on their reactions. He took a deep breath. Don’t fight the crowd.

  With an assertive stride, Cris reentered the stream of travelers. He had two more near-collisions but managed to avoid any further incidents. Following overhead signs, he made his way to the nearest directory where he could access the status of all ships at the port.

  The directory was located in a bay off the central corridor. It was surrounded by an even denser throng of travelers. Cris spotted what looked to be a queue and took his place in the group. After several minutes, he noticed that people kept cutting in to take an open station when one became available. His face flushed with frustration. They have no sense of order.

  Another person pushed ahead to grab a terminal at the directory, knocking Cris to the side. Cris tightened his grip on the bag over his shoulder. I guess I need to act like them.

  A moment later, when a woman tried to push past Cris, he firmly held his place. The woman relaxed and waited behind him.

  Cris took the next available terminal. He pulled up the transport directory, first looking over the outbound passenger transports. There were over a dozen cruisers to choose from, ranging from economical to luxurious. However, those would certainly be the first place anyone would look for him. Cris closed out of the list. That left the cargo freighters, and he found there were at least six times as many of those. Far too many choices. He filtered out all of the ships with large-volume, hazardous, or unregistered cargo. After discounting any with scheduled departures in more than one hour, only two potentials remained. I should check them out in person before making a final selection. He made a mental note of the docking coordinates for the two ships and cleared his search on the terminal, moving aside as someone lunged forward to use it.

  Cris returned to the central corridor and made his way toward the docking location of the first ship. As he approached, he immediately felt uneasy, an instinct which Sedric and Marina always encouraged him to heed. Some members of the ship’s crew were standing near the entrance to the gangway. They watched him pass, a touch of malice in their gaze. He moved on.

  The second ship looked far more promising. Only a single man was near the entrance gangway, working on a tablet. He looked to be about sixty-years-old, and was somewhat grizzled. Attached to his belt was a red and white badge with his credentials, marking him as the ship’s captain. Cris stood back and watched as another man exited the ship and engaged in conversation. What are they talking about?