– – – – – – – – – –

  Hoddesdon (England)

  21 October 20XX

  1 day until Ethan’s disappearance

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Rebelling, huh?

  I am sitting in class. In front of me, the teacher is beginning the genetics lesson. With a pointer, he indicates the images produced by an old-fashioned projector: on the whiteboard, there are two chromosomes with certain segments highlighted in a different colour.

  “Last time, we covered crossing over, the exchange of genes between homologous chromosomes,” the teacher summarises. “Are there any questions on the topic?”

  A boy speaks up:

  “Professor… can a second crossing over bring a gene back to the original chromosome?”

  The students chuckle at this odd question. It’s not the first time: Leopold often comes out with these unusual curiosities.

  Anyway, the teacher tries to answer him:

  “The probability is low. Let’s just say it’s impossible.”

  Only half paying attention, I can’t help brooding over what Nate said to me a little while ago, regarding bullies.

  Let’s admit it… I don’t exactly have the right temperament for a big, dramatic rebellion. At least, not the kind of rebellion people usually imagine when it comes to these things. Breaking free from my current circumstances… it’s difficult.

  I’m rather serene as I think it. I accept, without much bitterness, the condition I attribute to myself, as though it couldn’t be otherwise. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m happy about it.

  But don’t overdo it, Ethan, I warn myself. You can’t exactly change overnight. There’s plenty of time ahead for things to take a different turn.

  As the teacher delves into the heart of the lesson, I finally focus on him. Time passes until the bell rings for our break. The students gather their notes while the teacher concludes:

  “All right, everyone, we’ll continue after the interval.”

  I’m tidying up the sheets on my desk when I hear someone call me again:

  “Ethan!”

  Recognising the voice, I turn at once.

  “Lizzie…”

  A pretty girl with large eyes and a long braid smiles at me, standing nearby. Like the other female students, she wears a skirt and a blue ribbon fastened at the collar. Between her fingers, she’s holding a bundle of papers.

  “The notes you lent me,” she says, handing me the documents. “Thanks, I’ve copied them.”

  “Oh…” I say, awkwardly taking the sheets. “You’re welcome.”

  Without another word, her hands clasped behind her back, the girl walks off towards the door. Dazed and a bit flushed, I keep my gaze fixed on her until a voice behind me forces me back to reality:

  “Your eyes are all heart-shaped!”

  Annoyed yet also embarrassed, I turn to the student who spoke to me, a girl with a bob cut and a lively expression.

  “Don’t talk nonsense, Maggie!” I snap, my agitation making my tone harsher.

  “There’s nothing wrong with it!” the girl replies, shifting from a mischievous look to a friendlier one. “She is cute!”

  “Exactly.”

  I say it with an air of nonchalance now. I don’t want it to be obvious how interested I really am in Lizzie.

  “Given my chances of success, there’s no reason for me to dwell on it,” I declare.

  For a moment, Maggie doesn’t know what to say. Then she, too, heads resignedly for the door.

  “As you like… but you do have an odd way of quantifying things.”

  Once again, I find myself staring at someone’s back as they walk away from me. After several seconds of astonishment, all I can think is:

  Everyone’s leaving me speechless today.

  My gaze then drops to the sheets Lizzie brought me. But I’m not really looking at them, lost as I am in my thoughts… and in my emotions. A curious sense of happiness hovers within me. I think that maybe I’ve been of help to her; that maybe, in some way, she noticed me; that maybe…

  I shake my head, to dispel hopes I know are too big to treat as realistic. Deluding myself will only make me feel bad.

  Rather, I should study this stuff too, I reflect, now truly eyeing my notes. But seriously… teaching us how to produce various types of gunpowder… what was going through the teacher’s head when he planned that lesson?

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  ?? ?? ????

  Ethan’s 2nd day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Escorted by the two burly men, it doesn’t take long for Ethan to be led away from Dawn and her brothers. Seeing him vanish beyond one of the hangar’s doors, Antony finally holsters his pistol. Meanwhile, Sergeant Norshman shoots the girl a questioning glance. Rather than suspicion, his light-blue eyes convey puzzlement.

  “She’s our sister, she’s trustworthy,” Samuel assures him.

  “I thought she looked like you,” the sergeant comments. “So that’s how it is… now that we know we’re all decent folk, can we drop the act?”

  “But of course, Gavin,” the young man smiles. “Though frankly, I don’t see how these charades help.”

  “You know the reasons.”

  “But… what?” says Dawn, surprised by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I thought I understood… isn’t he your superior?”

  “Yes, he is… but the charade is in the formality we show in front of outsiders,” Samuel explains, a faintly exasperated smile revealing how little he likes the matter. “It’s widely believed that this gives the impression of a strong hierarchy within the Resistance. Supposedly, it’s meant to intimidate the Republic. But in truth, I’m not sure it really works. The fact is that the respect between superiors and subordinates is much less rigid than we let on.”

  “If you’re done explaining, shall I take you where you need to go? I’ve got work to do, you know!” Norshman says, nodding for them to follow.

  “All right, all right,” Samuel agrees.

  The sergeant runs a hand over his very short grey hair, then slaps his arm heavily against his side and sets off. In this way, he leads the three siblings out of the hangar and along the ship’s corridors.

  Despite her father’s recent capture, Dawn can’t help but be fascinated by her surroundings: she has never been inside an airship so large. The corridors seem endless, forming labyrinths lined with countless airtight doors.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The four take a few flights of stairs, going up several levels. It takes a while, but eventually they arrive at the highest section of the Epos.

  “The velivus?” Norshman suddenly asks.

  “Lost,” Samuel replies.

  “I knew it made it through the battle…”

  “We’ll explain later.”

  They stop in front of a door, and the sergeant knocks.

  “Yes?” someone calls from the other side.

  “Captain, they’re here.”

  “Come in, it’s open.”

  Gavin pushes the door wide, showing the three siblings into a room. In contrast to the corridors they have just passed through, this space features furnishings that are more pleasing to the eye. Nothing special—still quite bare—but the captain seems to have allowed himself a few small luxuries.

  Norshman does not enter. Instead, he closes the door, leaving the siblings inside. There, behind a wooden desk, stands a man dressed in a black uniform. He steps forward to the visitors, a cordial smile on his face.

  “Well done!” he says, a subtle sparkle in his blue eyes. “I’m glad you made it!”

  “Captain… unfortunately, things didn’t all go smoothly,” Antony states, taking a step forward. “Shortly after we reached our father’s fragment, a republican battleship arrived on the scene and attacked us. The cargo was retrieved, but… our father is probably a prisoner now.”

  ???

  “I understand.”

  That is how the captain begins, once Antony and Samuel have finished describing what happened in detail—an account that took quite a while, and one he followed in silence.

  “I… I’m truly sorry.”

  His words, so composed as to seem almost cold, fail to capture the fleeting hint of sadness that briefly appears in his gaze.

  “Cyrus knew the risks, just like I did,” he adds, “but after successfully hiding the cargo, I didn’t think there would be problems in the retrieval.”

  He turns his eyes to Dawn.

  “And of course, I regret that you were caught up in this as well.”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I came out of it okay.”

  “We’ll try to figure out what happened to Cyrus,” the captain assures, his expression growing more serious. “Though there’s something else that troubles me… for instance, how the Republic found out he was there. You mentioned a spy?”

  “Antony believes so, but we can’t say for sure yet,” Samuel interjects.

  “He’s far too suspicious,” his brother declares.

  “What’s his name?” the captain asks.

  The two young men exchange glances. Evidently, they don’t recall it.

  “Ethan,” Dawn supplies. “I can’t remember the surname, though.”

  “He’s locked up, right?” the man muses. “We’ll have the chance to investigate.”

  “Captain,” the girl says. “About my father… what are you going to do?”

  “I won’t hide that the situation is… complicated,” he replies. “We’ll need time to figure out our next steps.”

  “However, please keep me in mind,” she requests. “I want to take part in the search.”

  “Dawn,” Antony cuts in. “Leave this to those who are more experienced…”

  “And I should just stand by and do nothing?” the girl retorts. “You can’t say I’m clueless. I can—and above all, I want to—do something.”

  “It’s premature to discuss that,” the captain states, revealing nothing more. “We’ll come back to it when we have a firmer basis to work from.”

  Dawn bites her lip, but nods slightly. Antony and Samuel exchange glances—one looking troubled, the other concerned.

  “Now then…” the captain adds, his tone suddenly more stern. “The cargo… it’s in there, right?”

  Antony immediately realises he’s referring to the suitcase his father entrusted to him, which he hasn’t parted with until now. He nods, bringing it to the desk. He opens it so that only the captain can see the contents.

  The man examines whatever is inside, his expression unreadable. Then he stretches out a hand and closes the suitcase again.

  “Very good,” he says quietly, so that only Antony can hear. “I’ll have it taken to the philosophers at once. Perhaps we’ll soon be able to begin the recovery operation.”

  “The recovery of… what?” the young man asks, lowering his own voice.

  The captain hesitates for a moment, as if uncertain whether to answer at all. Then he seems to decide, though only a murmur escapes his lips:

  “… of Energheia.”

  ???

  With a grim look on my face, I look around the small cell where I’m imprisoned. I’m somewhere in the lower part of the vessel called Epos. A wide corridor runs along here, lined with prisoners’ quarters.

  A faint draught flows through the passage: it’s cold, and somehow it doesn’t seem to properly satisfy my lungs. In fact, ever since I first experienced zero gravity, I’ve felt as though breathing has become more difficult.

  The cell’s walls are metal, and the side facing the corridor is barred. Inside, there’s only a bunk. As in much of the ship, the light comes from tubes similar to neon lamps. The harsh white glow they produce is unpleasant, contributing to making the atmosphere drearier. The fact that the place is at least fairly clean doesn’t help much.

  I’m sitting on the bunk, attached to the wall by hinges and a couple of chains. I’ve been here for a while now, and as the minutes pass, my thoughts have grown steadily darker. At last, I can’t stand it anymore.

  This won’t do. Right now, it’s best to wait and see how things turn out. And in the meantime…

  I have a number of unresolved thoughts. First and foremost, figuring out where I am.

  I need to be sure of where I’ve ended up. The future? Another planet? No… ever since I arrived on Tersain, I’ve had a strange feeling… as if this place were even more alien than that.

  That sense has never gone away. I’m getting used to it, but from that moment I became aware of it—shortly after waking up at Dawn’s house—it hasn’t left me for a single moment. And in these moments of quiet, it becomes clearer, whispering to me that something doesn’t add up, beyond the obvious absurdities I can already see.

  I really can’t figure out what such an intuition stems from. Yet… I feel that none of my current guesses about what this place might be are correct.

  I pride myself on having a decent imagination and a knack for logical explanations of mysterious phenomena. This time, though, I’m facing a situation far too absurd for me.

  I lack a starting point… a solid, familiar base on which to build my speculations.

  “Hey, don’t you talk at all?”

  That sudden remark distracts me from my thoughts. It came from a young man outside the cell—a guy who’s been quiet so far, sitting with his back against the wall. From my position, I can see only a tanned arm and a glimpse of unruly black hair. Though no one’s mentioned it, I’ve gathered that he’s serving as a warder.

  “Well?”

  A boyish face peers inside the cell, meeting my gaze. Two dark, deep eyes stare at me. He must be a few years younger than I am.

  “They say you’re a spy,” declares the warder. “Is that true?”

  As if answering you would change anyone’s mind.

  Still, I shake my head.

  “Not that I’d expect you to tell the truth if you really are a spy,” the boy outside the cell remarks. “But I have to admit, you sure don’t look like one.”

  Thanks a bunch…

  “What’s your name? Or what do you pretend it is?”

  “Ethan.”

  “At last, I get to hear your voice!” exclaims the kid. “My name’s Jim. I have to keep an eye on you.”

  “I figured as much.”

  Silence falls. After a few seconds, Jim glances away again. Despite the chilly temperature, he’s only wearing a tank top, and I note absently that he’s lean and clearly tougher than me, even though he’s only just around puberty.

  No wonder he’s here guarding prisoners.

  A bit more time passes before Jim speaks up again.

  “Bah!” he snorts.

  I hear him rummaging with something. Curious, I lean forward slightly to see what he’s doing. The kid is holding one of those oddly designed pistols I’ve seen people around here carry. For some reason, Jim is wrapping part of it in a cloth; apparently, he’s following some logic that escapes me.

  He looks my way.

  “Hmm… what are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m trying to stop too much powder from coming out when I use it,” Jim replies, raising the pistol. “Every time I practise, my hands end up covered in ash or whatever it is.”

  “But… um… which gunpowder are you using?”

  It’s not necessarily the same stuff I know. In chemistry labs, a teacher with questionable safety standards explained to my class the composition of various explosive powders; still, it’s obvious that Tersain’s technology is a bit different from “Earth’s.”

  “The usual, right?” Jim answers.

  “Potassium nitrate, charcoal, and sulphur?”

  “Err… you mean nitron, charcoal, and sulphur?”

  Nitron… It sounds like a Greek word. I can’t be sure it corresponds to potassium nitrate, but I guess it’s the same thing. Anyway, it looks like they’re using a more old-fashioned gunpowder than what’s common on Earth.

  “Have you tried smokeless powder?” I go on to ask.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s still gunpowder, but when it burns, it creates less dirt. One way to make it is… wait, let me remember… you need nitrocellulose, ether, and alcohol.”

  “Mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim says. “Those are the words natural philosophers use. Are you messing with me?”

  “No… but let’s just drop it,” I cut short, shaking my head.

  Why did I even mention that stuff? Speaking in a strange way will only make my situation worse.

  A siren blares along the corridor for a couple of seconds. At its sound, Jim puts his pistol away and grabs hold of a pipe running along the nearby wall. Maybe a minute passes, then the siren sounds again.

  Suddenly, I feel a strange sensation in my stomach. Right after that, my body lifts off the bunk, deprived of all weight.

  “What the hell…?”

  “What’s wrong?” Jim says. “Ah, right… you don’t know the signal.”

  “What signal?” I ask anxiously, clutching one of the bunk’s chains so I won’t float away.

  “When that siren goes off, it means we’re about to switch off a magnekinítiras. It’s just a warning: as soon as you hear it, hold on to something before the second blast. Then…”

  The siren echoes again.

  “… at the third signal, brace yourself for the return of your weight. At the fourth signal, we’ll power up another magnekinítiras.”

  I’m not sure I understood everything, but I figure I should get back onto the bunk.

  Using the chains for grip, I sit down again. I hear the siren a fourth time, and then gravity returns. I feel a lurch in my guts as my body is pulled down, holding me firmly against the makeshift bed.

  I exhale, shaking my head. These are definitely not the sort of sensations I’m used to.

  “What… what’s a magneki… what did you call it?”

  “The magnekinítiras? What do you mean, by ‘what is it’?”

  Jim looks puzzled, but after a moment seems to realise something and taps his fist against his palm.

  “I get it… you’re a foreigner, right? I thought your accent sounded odd.”

  “Let’s say that’s the case,” I nod. “So, what is this thing?”

  “It’s the magnetism generator on the airship,” the boy explains, putting back on a strange white head covering that had flown off when gravity was gone. “It’s what lets us walk as if we were on a fragment.”

  “You know, Jim? I’d really like you to tell me about a couple of… things. I want to understand why you start floating when you move away from the islands.”

  ahead of Royal Road?

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  See you in the next chapter!

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