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  “What does reboot mean?” Conor asked, also using telepathy.

  “It means that the planet’s inhabitants are relocated or, if no one will take them in, they are exterminated, along with any indigenous animal life deemed to be dangerous,” Kristi answered. “If necessary, specially trained ground assault commandos and combat robots are sent in to make certain that the planet is ready for colonization and mineral extraction. The land is then auctioned off, with the proceeds used to provide bonuses for the commandos and additional revenue for the government, which can be used to increase services or reduce taxes.”

  “What did they decide to do with my planet?” Conor asked.

  “Initially, the Court decided to allow limited development on the uninhabited portions of your planet and to provide your people more time to develop,” Kristi answered. “You were given 50 years to achieve spaceflight and 100 to achieve interstellar spaceflight. But we just found out that the Court has decided to reconsider that decision. It is now going to determine if the reprieve should be rescinded and if a reboot should take place now.”

  “What does that mean?” Conor asked.

  “It means that it is very likely that everyone on your planet is going to be killed,” Kristi answered. “That is why we are going to Rylyn. We are going to try to prevent that from happening.”

  Chapter 10

  LET THE LESSONS BEGIN

  He knew that he was at the right place. A large, blue, number “3” was etched into the wall. But where was the door? As he continued to look for it, Kristi’s voice filled his mind, “There is an entrance pad, chest high to your right. Place the palm of your hand on the pad. The door has been programmed to accept your palm print.”

  Conor placed his hand on the entrance pad. The entire wall vanished. Startled, Conor stumbled backward and almost fell.

  “Please come in,” Kristi continued. “The wall will reform behind you after you step inside.”

  Conor hesitated, one foot in the cargo bay, the other still in the hallway. Leaning forward, he peered into the cargo bay. It was filled with metal crates, most stacked high on top of each other reaching all the way up to the top of the 30-foot high ceiling. Kristi sat on a cushioned chair at the far corner of the bay and was motioning for him to approach.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she spoke out loud.

  “It’s good to see you too,” Conor answered as he walked up to her and gave her a long, warm, loving hug.

  Kristi smiled and returned the hug.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “You can let go now.”

  Conor stepped back and returned her smile. He remembered his real mother and knew that she had loved him with all of her heart. But as far as he was concerned, Kristi would always be his mother.

  “Michael has provided us full use of this cargo bay for your training,” Kristi continued. “There is a surprise waiting for you in one of the crates. Let’s see how long it takes you to find it.”

  Conor moved slowly around the cargo bay, inspecting each crate carefully.

  “This one is different,” he announced. “It is the only one with a perforated lid, suggesting that it is designed to transport living things. And it’s one of the few crates in the entire cargo bay that doesn’t have at least one other crate stacked on top of it. So, if I were to guess, I would guess that this is the one meant for me.”

  “Excellent,” Kristi answered. “You are right. Try to open it. As I said, there is a surprise inside.”

  Knowing that whenever Kristi mentioned a surprise that it usually meant that he was about to undergo some sort of a test, he carefully inspected the crate from front-to-back and then from top-to-bottom. Constructed of a silvery-gray metal alloy, it had several deep scratches on its side; apparently left by a previous occupant who had put up quite a fight before being forced inside.

  “Try to open it,” Kristi repeated.

  Conor looked over to Kristi. The sly grin on her face made him nervous. Turning his attention back to the crate, he reached up and tried to remove its lid. It did not move.

  “It’s too heavy,” Conor blurted out in frustration, giving it another try.

  “Perhaps,” Kristi answered, the inflection in her voice suggesting that there might be another way.

  “Oh, I understand,” Conor said, taking two steps away from the crate. “Okay, here goes.”

  Conor cleared his mind. Focusing on the lid, his eyes darkened and the lid began to rise.

  “Excellent!” Kristi announced. “Now levitate it to the floor. Take your time, don’t let it fall.”

  The lid floated gently to the floor.

  “Excellent!” Kristi repeated. “I can see that you have been practicing.”

  “Thanks,” Conor answered, racing eagerly over to the crate. He stood up on his toes and peered inside. To his surprise, he found himself face-to-face with a tall, muscular man holding a very large, serrated hunting knife in his right hand.

  “I have been looking forward to meeting you,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  The man jumped out of the crate with a strength and dexterity Conor had never seen. Landing knees-first on Conor’s chest, he knocked Conor to the floor, hard. Pinning Conor’s shoulders to the floor, he leaned in close and whispered, “Let the lessons begin.”

  Struggling to free his arms, Conor shouted, “Get off of me!”

  “Make me get off of you,” the man growled, sliding his knife along Conor’s left shoulder, cutting through his shirt and drawing blood. “How do you like that?”

  Conor freed his right arm and punched the man in the stomach as hard as he could.

  “Is that the best you can do?” the man asked, mockingly. “Come on. Use your imagination. I am going to count to three. Unless you free yourself by the time I count to three I am going to take another slice out of your shoulder.”

  Conor’s eyes darkened and the man spiraled up to the cargo bay’s ceiling, spinning around like a top. He was about to let him fall to the floor when Kristi announced in his mind, “You can let him down now. Gently now, we need him in one piece.”

  “Not bad,” the man stated, floating to the floor. “Now, wipe that silly, childish grin off of your face. If this had been a real fight, you would be dead. You have much to learn.”

  Conor tried his best to stop grinning as Kristi walked over, carrying a medical kit in her left hand.

  “Allow me to introduce you,” Kristi announced out loud as she applied a sealant to Conor’s shoulder wound. “Conor, this is Alex Kilgoramond. Although Alex and I don’t see eye-to-eye on some things, his survival skills are without peer. He is resourceful, adaptable, and cunning. He knows how to use his fists, no one is better with a knife, and he can burn the wings off of a fly from across a room with a laser pistol. He is also a cold-blooded killer. He is, in short, someone that you want on your side during a fight. Pay very close attention to everything that he is about to teach you. Your life, as well as all of our lives, may depend on it.”

  “Who’s cold-blooded?” Alex asked defensively. “I have never killed anyone who did not deserve it. I sleep well at night. Better than most.”

  “That is what scares me,” Kristi answered. “But we can debate your lack of morality later. We have a job to do.”

  Alex turned his attention to Conor.

  “He is much older-looking than I had imagined,” he stated, inspecting Conor from head-to-toe. “I was expecting a child, not a young man.”

  “He matures more rapidly than most,” Kristi answered.

  “I hope that he learns more rapidly than most,” Alex stated as he moved closer to Conor.

  “What?” Conor asked as Alex stared at him intently.

  “What am I going to do next?” Alex asked.

  “I have no idea,” Conor answered.

  “Kristi tells me that you have exceptionally well-developed senses,” Alex stated, raising his right hand and pointing his right index finger at Conor’s face. “It’s my job to teach you how to use
them. You start by reading faces. You can tell a lot from facial expressions. If you know what to look for, you can tell if a person is happy, sad, angry, surprised, disgusted, aroused, confused, or scared. You can also tell if they are lying, trying to hide something, feel contempt, love, or desire. All of these traits are useful things to know in predicting their actions. Then, watch their body language. You can tell a lot by the positioning of the head, shoulders, and feet. Liars, for example, tend to look away when they are not telling the truth, some bite their lips, and others shift their bodies so that they are not lined up directly with the person they are talking to. Also, use your nose. Kristi tells me that your sense of smell is as good as mine, maybe even better. We shall see about that. My people have a very keen sense of smell. You can tell a lot about a person by the subtle changes in their body odor. The key thing to remember right now is that, as a general rule, the vast majority of people are very predictable. Most of them wear their emotions on the outside and are ruled by them. No self-control. None whatsoever. Once you learn how, you will be able to anticipate almost every move a humanoid is going to make just by watching for subtle changes in their body odor, facial expression, and body language. Non-humanoids are harder to read. But you will learn. It is just a matter of time.”

  “Time is a commodity that is in short supply,” Kristi interrupted.

  “Then, we had better get started,” Alex answered.

  Michael lowered the computer’s volume. Brandix was yelling at him at the top of his lungs.

  “Calm down,” Michael pleaded, trying to look as innocent as possible. “I know that I didn’t consult with you, but I thought that Conor could help.”

  “You idiot!” Brandix shouted. “Are you out of your mind? You should be fired for what you have done. Maybe even imprisoned! This is insane! Absolutely insane! You reported him dead!”

  “Actually,” Michael stated calmly. “I reported him missing and presumed dead. Technically speaking, I never reported him as being dead.”

  “Semantics!” Brandix screamed. “You knew that the implant was alive and you did not report it! You insubordinate …”

  Dee Sanders appeared from out of nowhere, reached for the computer’s mute button, and killed the sound. Michael watched as the two of them argued. Brandix was furious and looked like he wanted to kill someone. He stormed out of the room, slamming a door behind him. Dee was left standing alone, her face etched in a deep scowl as she turned the sound back on.

  “It’s a good thing that this is a secure channel,” she stated, a look of helplessness spreading across her face. “I have never seen him that mad. If that went public, we would all be in a whole lot of trouble.”

  “I made the right decision,” Michael explained. “Conor is living proof that these people deserve a second chance at membership. He is very civilized. Just wait until you meet him.”

  “You should have consulted Brandix first,” Dee interrupted, her voice scolding him like a child. “He is your sponsor and when you mess up it makes him look bad. Not to mention how it makes me look. I’m the one who talked him into nominating you for the Court vacancy, remember? How do you think this makes me look? If word gets out that you hid the implant there is no way that you can be elected to the Court. Just think of all the lawsuits by those who have invested in speculative land futures.”

  “Sorry,” Michael answered, trying his best to make it sound as if he really was sorry. “You are right, of course. I should have cleared this with him and with you. But it’s too late now. We are on our way.”

  “I will see what I can do to clean up this mess,” she answered, with a loud, prolonged sigh. “We can create an identity for him. It will cost a lot of credits, but we have done it before. Dee out.”

  The computer screen went blank.

  Michael smiled.

  Chapter 11

  PREPARATIONS

  Conor buried his head in the palms of his hands. It had been a long, hard day. A three-dimensional image of an elongated spiral galaxy with three bright blue stars at its center scrolled slowly across the computer screen on his desk. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he thought a moment and said out loud, “Southeast Quadrant, Franklin system, mostly humanoid population, Full Member.”

  The computer answered in a somewhat tinny, but nonetheless not displeasing feminine voice, “Correct. That is eight in a row. Well done!”

  Conor stared at the computer screen as another galaxy, this one more circular in shape, appeared. Leaning back, he stretched his arms out wide, closed his eyes, and imagined the computer’s off button being pushed. The computer screen blinked and turned light gray.

  “I wonder what Baer, Marle-Marja, and Ulric are doing right now,” he thought as his mind wondered back to the island, imagining himself roasting fish for dinner with his uncles over an open fire under a glorious, star-filled night sky.

  He glanced over at the fist-sized, digital clock sitting on the nightstand next to his bed. Its amber numbers read 11:14.

  “I wonder if it is day or night back home,” he thought as the clock’s last digit blinked and changed to a 5. He had left the island only a few days ago, but he was already feeling homesick.

  Conor’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

  “Anyone home?” Michael’s voice announced from the other side of the door.

  Conor eyed the door and, remembering how he had been taught, announced in a calm, yet authoritative voice, “Door. Open, please.”

  The door vanished. Michael smiled as he entered. He could see exhaustion written all over Conor’s face.

  “Tough day?” Michael asked, playfully. “You look terrible.”

  Conor forced a smile and instinctively rolled his shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the sharp, piercing pain at the base of his neck. He had been staring at the computer screen for hours and the muscles at the base of his neck had cramped up, pulling together so tight that it hurt to move his head from side-to-side. Without thinking, he reached over with his right hand and rubbed at the base of the left side of his neck, trying to loosen the muscles.

  “A very tough day,” Conor answered, still rubbing the base of his neck. “During one of my training sessions today Alex punched me so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

  “He does have a way of getting his point across,” Michael stated as he walked over to Conor’s nightstand and opened its bottom drawer. Reaching in, he pulled out a small, rectangular device that was about the size of his fist. Pressing his thumb hard against a red spot on the otherwise nearly transparent box, the box expanded and shaped itself into a chair. Placing it next to Conor’s bed, he sat down. Conor could hardly believe his eyes as the chair wrapped itself around Michael’s body, as if it was finding just the right form to maximize his comfort. Michael continued talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  “Alex can be a bit rough, but he is the best there is,” he continued. “He is especially good at hand-to-hand combat. His training has gotten me out of quite a few jams over the years. That’s for sure.”

  “How did the two of you meet?” Conor asked.

  Michael leaned back and answered, “Let’s see, I first met him about 200 years ago.”

  Conor’s eyes widened as he asked, “Did you say 200 years?”

  Michael laughed.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” he continued. “There is a cure for just about everything and thanks to cloning most of our body parts can be replaced. Average life span is now well over 1,000. Of course, catastrophic accidents still happen and living a long life provides ample opportunities for developing enemies. The videopapers have a whole section devoted to grudge killings by unhappy business partners, jilted lovers, that sort of thing. But, for the most part, most people live a long, relatively happy life. Remember that melon we had for breakfast this morning? It has been genetically engineered to hunt down and kill bacteria and viruses, regenerate damaged cells, and otherwise cleanse the circulatory system of pathogens, helping us to
keep both healthy and fit.”

  “The berries!” Conor exclaimed. “That explains the berries in the satchel. The ones Marle-Marja found the day we fled the castle. The ones that made us feel so refreshed.”

  “Yes,” Michael responded. “Those berries are derived from the same genetic material.”

  “Speaking of that day,” Conor continued. “Why didn’t you save my mother and father when the Batar attacked the castle?”

  Michael let out a deep sigh and continued, “Unfortunately, the Court had sent several robocameras to the planet to record the implant’s birth. They were focused on the castle when the attack took place. Talk about bad luck. We have general orders not to interfere with technologically challenged populations. I am very sorry that I could not help them.”

  “The implant?” Conor asked, his eyes opening wide. “What’s that?”

  “That’s you,” Michael answered.

  “What’s me?” Conor asked anxiously.

  “You are the implant,” Michael stated.

  “What does that mean?” Conor asked.

  “When a planet is granted a reprieve, a female inhabitant is selected for an implant,” Michael explained. “A genetically modified egg, created from DNA drawn from the woman’s blood, is implanted into her womb. In this case, your mother was selected.”

  “Wait!” Conor shouted. “You kidnapped my mother?”

  “Not me personally,” Michael stated, raising his hands in a defensive posture. “I had nothing to do with it. And, rest assured, your mother had no idea what happened to her. There was no pain. It was completely harmless.”

  “Harmless!” Conor shouted again, growing even more alarmed. “You violated her!”

  “No, no, no,” Michael stated, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that at all. She had no idea what was happening to her.”