Valmoran Republic, Planet Kronai, Valmar City

  Callum Torion, Representative Arbiter for the Valmoran Republic

  Callum sat stoically in the conference room where he had been tucked away.

  Inside, he seethed.

  The Central Director of Occupation and Education was late. It had taken forever for his AI to hound her into this meeting. All that time and two cancellations later, she was late.

  Quite late.

  He was beginning to suspect the woman had something to hide.

  This visit should have been routine. As the Director of OccEd for the entire Valmoran Republic, the woman should have ordered a root cause analysis as soon as her office delivered the report on Occupational Participation.

  After all, they didn’t have forever to address any systemic issues they uncovered—mating season was just around the corner. Afterward, the whole grand circle of Valmoran life would begin again.

  It meant they had only about five Kronai years before the first children of the next generation—those born at the ‘proper’ time—began to join their society. If they hadn’t addressed any gross inequalities by then, those inherent in the system would persist and fail this upcoming generation, too.

  Callum shook his head, willing his fury to dissipate as the door to the conference room slid open. He stood when the Director entered, and she took a reflexive step back.

  “No need to stand on ceremony. I apologize for my tardiness.” She gave him a wide berth as she skirted the room’s edge and sat on the opposite side of the table.

  He didn’t have to use his empathic senses to know what she was feeling—disgust.

  And now he knew what sort of despicable he was dealing with.

  It was a myth that being born out-of-cycle was contagious, as if touching him would cause her body to revolt against the natural order of things. It wouldn’t—she clearly hadn’t watched the vid where Callum interviewed one of the Republic’s foremost specialists on Valmoran reproduction.

  Ironically, the only difference between out-cycle and in-cycle Valmorans was a higher chance of being God-touched for out-cyclers.

  Either Director Avros was ignorant of the truth, or her prejudice ran too deep for it to matter.

  He also couldn’t call her out on her bigotry. He didn’t want to risk giving away his secret—no one but his ward-sister Zalila knew Callum had been born God-touched.

  His undisclosed ability to sense the emotions of others was quite a boon for a politician, and he concealed his God-touched status like a precious jewel.

  “Representative Arbiter Torion ...” she began, then flicked her eyes to read something on her Hix.

  Her use of the most formal version of his title and name did not surprise him. The woman was being technically respectful while distancing herself from the taint—him—as much as she could.

  It didn’t bother him anymore—he had been dealing with people like her his whole life.

  “... I see you have requested additional investigation. We at OccEd believe you should consider the results in another way. Rather than focusing on isolated pockets of minor inequality which could theoretically still exist in the Republic, we should focus on the overall cycle-over-cycle improvement, which, you may note, was six percent.”

  Her face was blank, but her emotions were loud and clear—superiority, pride, and annoyance.

  Callum wanted to smile in victory.

  He could work with pride.

  “Director Avros, you misunderstand my purpose. I do not mean to diminish your department’s impressive accomplishments over the past cycle. A six percent improvement within a single generation is commendable indeed.

  “My purpose is to partner with your office by providing a platform for amplifying your past and future successes. As I’m sure you are aware, OccEd’s mission aligns seamlessly with my political platform—to strive for a world where the circumstances of one’s birth do not limit the Educational and Occupational opportunities and participation in our Republic. “

  She nodded, leaning closer in her seat.

  “As such, I believe we have an opportunity here. I propose an episode in which I interview you as my guest. We can inform the citizens of the Republic about the successes over the past cycle and your office’s determination to make the next cycle a bigger triumph. We can also cover the actionable steps our citizens can propose to the AI Council to further our mission.”

  At this, Director Avros’ emotions shifted to something akin to greed.

  Callum had learned those driven by pride and ego were often the easiest to work with.

  Director Avros found him distasteful. She resented him for asking her to do additional work.

  But she wanted her moment of fame.

  Callum found her rather horrid, but he wasn’t above using her ego to serve the good of the people.

  Time to wrap this up. “Do you think it would be possible for your people to perform the root cause analysis within the next three spans? I would like to work on the script for our interview then.”

  And from Director Avros—excitement.

  “Well, I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem. Is there anything else you need, Representative Torion? Perhaps some refreshment?” Decorum dictated she should have offered this when he first arrived, and she damn well knew it.

  “No, I need to cut our meeting short, I’m afraid. I have an afternoon appointment with High Priest Valtrellin at the Temple.”

  Callum didn’t need to read her emotions to register her shock. Her brain must be struggling to understand why one of the two most influential religious figures in the Republic would deign to meet with someone like him.

  He was surprised she had retained such a prominent position, given her disgust for out-cyclers. She must mask her prejudice well.

  Callum had half a mind to prepare a petition for Director Avros’ position to be put back on the job market. While it wouldn’t cause her to be removed from the role outright, she would need to reapply alongside all other qualified individuals.

  But he wasn’t there yet—as long as she did her job, she could be a secret bigot to her heart’s content.

  He excused himself, keeping his distance from the odious woman, and hurried for the elevators to take him to the street level.

  When he exited the front doors of the building, Callum realized with irritation that he had forgotten to request a magcar.

  He used his Hix to find the nearest single-passenger vehicle. It was a few blocks away, so he followed the indicators his Hix projected across his field of view to head in that direction.

  As he stepped onto the street, he was struck by the early morning bustle. Vendors were already setting up stalls, their wares spilling onto the sidewalks. Indigo banners fluttered overhead, being hoisted into place by workers on ladders.

  The preparations for the Festival of Completion were well underway, despite the early hour.

  Callum felt a twinge of annoyance. This was his second Phase of Completion, though he’d been a child during the first one. Now, as an adult, he felt out of step with the fuss and pageantry. Every festival was a stark reminder of his out-cycler status, even though he now blended in with the current generation.

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  Honestly, he felt far too old for this.

  Most of the new generation eagerly anticipated the seventh phase, the mating season, and tonight was the last hurrah before it began.

  For Callum, it was an unpleasant reminder that he would be expected to take part in this cycle’s mating nonsense.

  As he navigated the growing crowd, a first-generation Valmoran dressed in cybermod fashion bumped into him. The youth’s distinctive full-eye replacement whirred as it adjusted to the real world beyond his Hix overlay.

  “Whoa, your Glitz meter just broke the scale!” the kid exclaimed, his cybernetic eye focusing on Callum. “The stars are totally aligned for you, my friend!”

  Callum managed a polite smile, even as he suppressed a sigh. “That’s an interesting app you’ve got there,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

  Callum’s thoughts drifted as the young man beamed and launched into a detailed explanation of his AR game.

  It never ceased to amaze him how people had forgotten the true purpose of the Hix implant. Invented six generations ago, it revolutionized communication across the Valmoran Republic by providing seamless, real-time written and spoken language translation.

  It was the cornerstone that unified their diverse society, allowing everyone to communicate even without knowing Standard.

  Yet this kid used this miraculous technology for nothing more than frivolous AR games.

  With a few pleasantries, Callum extricated himself from the conversation and continued.

  Foot traffic was busy, as always, on the ground level of Valmar City, and Callum barely noticed the buildings looming overhead on all sides. The entire city was crisscrossed from ground to sky with intricate footbridges and mag tubes for the AI-powered public magcars.

  Everything flowing, like the city itself was a living organism composed of billions of people.

  Unlike some Valmoran homeworlds, where most of the population belonged to a single native subspecies, Planet Kronai was only about half Kronai Valmorans. And in Valmar City, it was more like a third.

  The result was that walking through Valmar City was like walking through a parade, showcasing the wondrous variety of Valmorans. Winged or horned, bulky or lithe, some with four arms—so many fascinating forms.

  With skin tones from basic silver, tan, or deep brown to shades of red, blue, or green, Callum often thought it was like walking through a rainbow of people. He moved through it, though he never felt like part of it.

  He noticed the absence of children. Most Valmorans wouldn’t even see it—this was all a natural part of the cycle of life. As they neared the end of the Phase of Completion, all the children were grown, ready to enter the next phase of Debauchery.

  But Callum noticed. He always noticed.

  Because he had been one of those strange out-cycler children, moving through a sea of adults who looked at him with surprise. Or, worse, with open disgust. But even when they stayed silent, Callum’s empathy meant he felt their reactions to him.

  He was other to them, less.

  Though he now blended in with the current generation and could be just another part of the crowd, Callum could never shake the feeling that he was outside, watching the world rather than living in it.

  His Hix led him to a busy stairwell, and he descended into the illuminated transport loading zone before being guided to one of many short queues. The woman in front of him was elderly, maybe in her fifth cycle, so when her transport arrived, Callum offered his hand for support as she climbed into the vehicle.

  “Thank you, Representative Torion,” she said as the door slid shut, emotions warm and friendly.

  Not everyone was like Director Avros. In fact, discrimination against out-cyclers was less of a problem with each passing phase.

  But the woman’s kindness wasn’t what surprised him—it was that she had recognized him at all. Sometimes, he forgot how popular his vids had become. He wasn’t used to strangers on the street knowing who he was.

  Then again, she might have been using one of those CelebTracker AR overlays, though it was strange to think of an old woman with a silly app like that.

  It was a shame. The Hix implant was arguably the most vital component of their intergalactic civilization, with the Ansible—which allowed for instantaneous communication across their vast Republic—as a close second.

  Yet, people thought it was for playing music, watching vids, and fanciful AR overlays.

  After Callum’s transport glided into place on the platform, the door slid open, and he stepped inside. Since he had provided his destination—the Temple of the Seven—when he ordered the ride, the autonomous vehicle began navigating the network of mag tubes as soon as the door shut.

  Callum made this trip every month, so he knew he had a few minutes to catch up on work during the ride. He used his Hix to set the side panels to opaque. Watching the vehicle worm through the network, negotiating the shortest path with the rest of the system, was distracting and made him queasy.

  “Transport, let me know when we’re approaching Temple grounds,” he told the vehicle AI.

  A solicitous feminine voice replied, “Certainly, Representative Torion. Is there anything else you require?”

  Callum despised AIs with simulated personalities. It was a tool, not a person. There was a reason sophont-level AIs were a thing of the past. “No, just make the windows transparent when we leave the city. That will be all.”

  He sat back and then checked in with his own AI assistant. “AI, report.”

  Unlike most people, Callum’s AI assistant didn’t have a name or personality patch. Instead, it spoke into his mind with a synthetic tone and didn’t inject any pesky opinions into the conversation.

  “Representative Torion, your only remaining appointment today is at the Temple of the Seven. Besides your monthly meeting, you have accepted an invitation to attend the investiture of Matthai Valtrellin this evening. You have 432 new messages, four of which require your attention.”

  “Send me the ones I need to address personally and a summary of the others. Reply to the others as needed.

  “Send a thank you to Director Avros for meeting with me today, telling her I’m anticipating her root cause analysis. Add a reminder to check for her response—three spans from now.” Not that Callum was worried she wouldn’t follow through—he had her sights set on an interview now, and he’d probably have it within days. “AI, do you have any other updates for me?”

  “I have reports for you on the Valmoran Defense Force, the Peacekeepers, Foreign Trade Agreements, and your public image.”

  “Public image—what’s changed?” Managing his image was one of Callum’s least favorite parts of the job, but it had to be done.

  “A local gossip personality named you among the most eligible unmated males in the capital. This has led to speculation about your apparent lack of participation in the upcoming mating season.”

  Ugh. Callum supposed it was progress that he, an out-cycler, was considered a desirable mate—it was a testament to the progress they had made as a society. But he despised the current state of Valmoran mating rituals almost as much as he hated the bias against out-cyclers.

  “Elaborate.”

  “Some speculate that your lack of participation is a political statement on social hierarchy.”

  True.

  “Others speculate you medically cannot take part since you were born out-of-cycle.”

  False and grossly misinformed.

  “Still others interpret your lack of participation as a rejection of sacred Valmoran tradition.”

  That was somewhat true, but politically problematic.

  Huh. Who knew not wanting to throw a fancy party to find a mate would cause a political uproar? Ridiculous.

  But however pointless and backward Callum found the mating festivities of the Valmoran elite, he also couldn’t afford to let the speculation continue unchecked. He just wasn’t sure how to navigate this particular issue. He’d spent years walking a tightrope with his public image, and would need to do so with this, as well.

  The transport came to a halt, but the windows were still opaque, so they must not have reached the grounds of the Temple. “Transport, why have we stopped?”

  The AI answered in a cheerful voice. “Heavy traffic, sir.”

  That wasn’t something to be cheerful about. “AI—set windows to transparent.” Everywhere Callum looked, he saw vehicles queued up as far as the eye could see.

  “Transport queues began forming yesterday around the Temple grounds in anticipation of the investiture ceremony,” the AI chirped.

  “But they’re huge! Transport, how long is this line?” Callum imagined what the Temple must look like today—a massive swarm of vehicles closing in from all sides on a perfect green circle.

  “Estimated time to the front of the traffic queue—two hours and fifteen minutes.”

  At this moment, he again wished he had somehow gotten out of today’s meeting. Still, the Vatrellins had extended him a personal invitation to the ordination, which would begin shortly after.

  He looked out at the congested traffic and groaned.

  In the end, his AI delivered a solution.

  “Your invitation to the ceremony today came with approval to use the priority gate. I will direct the vehicle to take us there.”

  Good. He wasn’t above waiting in a line like everyone else, but also hadn’t planned on it today, so he might have missed his meeting with the High Priest. Of course, this problem could have been avoided if he allowed his AI more autonomy, but Callum would never be comfortable with that. It was crazy how much other people allowed a mere thing to control their lives.

  Fortunately, he always left early, or he would never have made it on time.

  And to think, he might have shown up late for a private introduction to the esteemed Matthai Valtrellin, the fancy man at the center of all the fuss. That would not have been an auspicious start to their working relationship.

  He reminded himself he needed to be diplomatic today. Just because he thought Matthai was an elitist and an incredible hypocrite for enforcing the ‘no touching’ rule on everyone around him didn’t mean he could afford to let him know.

  If he could work with a bigot like Director Avros, he could handle a snob like Matthai Valtrellin.

  As the transport worked its way to the front of the queue, Callum marveled again at the stark contrast between the Temple grounds and the rest of the world.

  Most of Kronai was consumed with trying to squeeze in more people; the Temple’s open lands seemed vast and wasteful, with meandering paths through open fields, beds of flowers, and patches of fresh fruits and vegetables.

  Emerging into this from the city left one feeling vertigo at the sudden expanse.

  Callum looked out over the inviting grounds, unusually populated with throngs of revelers. So lush, so welcoming. There were smiling priests everywhere he looked, ready to guide pilgrims to where they needed to go.

  But he knew the truth—the hospitable display was yet another component of the stronghold that was the Temple of the Seven.

  Every Temple was the same, on every Valmoran homeworld—a shining, walled monstrosity with seven gleaming towers surrounded by expansive gardens.

  But few knew, or even cared, that in contrast to what was above ground, a network of defensive tunnels—accessible only to the guardians of the Temple—wove through the ground underneath. It was no coincidence there were no tall trees, no buildings to use as cover.

  And those smiling priests? Each could disarm and incapacitate a person before they had time to blink.

  Anyone approaching would be known to the Temple guardians well before they reached the walls, and if they were not welcome, they would never reach the gates. No one was privy to this or cared, because no one ever attacked the precious Temples. Who would want to? Who would dare?

  The Temple may have looked like a paradise, but Callum could see the terrifying fortress behind its beauty.

  A fortress designed not only to protect the sacred Obelisk but also to conceal its secrets.