He asked to spend the night alone on the beach. Benjamin gathered a camping roll of essentials and walked four city blocks before he reached the shore. New Stockholm’s glimmering oceanside towers disrupted a clear view of the night sky, so Benjamin tapped his stream amp to find a remedy. The node implanted above his right temple burst into a holographic cube awaiting his instructions. Chasing his fingers through the cube, he found a spatial dimmer. The boy grabbed hold and tossed the magnetic curtain around him, creating a field to redirect light. The universe revealed itself in pristine glory, as it might have to primitives thousands of years ago.
He laid out his bedding and rested his head. The wind was light, and the waves lapped the shore with delicate toes. Benjamin leaned his head toward the north and with a measured pace, recited the name of every star, every constellation, every galaxy he knew, which was most. He stopped whenever he reached a colony world’s star system, many of which were visible. When he called out each planet’s name, he tapped the amp and brought up a long-range image of the world.
“Catalan. Xavier’s Garden. Zwahili Kingdom. Moroccan Prime. G’hladi. Hokkaido. New Riyadh. Brasilia Major. Mariabella. Brahma.”
He wondered. Would the stars be the same in another universe? Were those same planets teeming with life or waiting for humans to reach out to them someday? Does anyone on the other Earth ask these questions? Do they care about the glory of feeling space beneath their feet? Or staring out an Ark Carrier two hundred light-years from home, proud of how far their ancestors brought them? Nativist, his father called them. Tribal. The words chilled Benjamin more than the night air.
He wanted to learn kwin-sho. He wanted to fight for the Unification Guard, maintaining ethnic stability on the colonies. Even if the Chancellory was meant to fade away, at least he could have been among the last to experience the thrills most children craved.
The more Benjamin thought of these dreams destroyed, the angrier he grew. He decided to defy his parents and contact his friends. He’d be careful what he said. They’d never suspect a thing. “Father is wrong. They WILL forget me.” He tapped his amp and then the circastreams.
When his commands fell on a muted response and the cubes did not open, Benjamin pounded sand. They had nullified direct cubes to anyone other than his parents. He couldn’t even contact Grandma in Paris.
Benjamin closed his eyes and cried.
He sobbed not just because of the life he was about to lose but because he would journey to the new world willingly. He sobbed because he knew by the time the sun rose, he would gather himself together and make his father proud, as any good Chancellor boy might. He sobbed because he dared not in front of adults.
Somewhere along the way, Benjamin cried himself to sleep. When he woke, the sun was sneaking above the Atlantic horizon. His father sat beside him. Tom Chevallier didn’t need to say the words. But he must have seen the dried tears caked on the boy’s cheeks, for he grabbed Benjamin by the hand and held firm. Benjamin saw a glimmer of water in the corners of his father’s eyes, and then a smile.
“Trust me,” Tom said. “I will always be there for you.”
One hour later, a doctor wrapped Benjamin in a surgical stasis cube and guided an extraction laser inside the boy’s brain. There, it carefully annihilated the tool designed to integrate with Benjamin’s nervous system for life. His Chancellor identity, his repository of instant knowledge, the collection of vids he gathered on his journeys across Earth and her inner colonies. His favorite Tier instructors and closest friends. The historical logs of the kwin-sho masters. The music of Jean-Michael Sibelius, and the anthems of each division of the Guard.
When the procedure ended, Benjamin felt naked. He was a helpless child with no choice but to follow his parents on this mad exile based on goals too big for him to understand.
He ate a simple breakfast and changed into a new set of clothes. Tom insisted this dress would help them fit in during the transition phase. The scouts had little time to collect intelligence, but it was enough. Tom named them blue jeans, t-shirt, belt, and baseball cap. Each member of the Observer team left with a suitcase and a few non-perishables to help them survive. They were allowed nothing that might open themselves to scrutiny or provide clues should the Green ever pursue them.
Benjamin was numb. He boarded a shuttle which left their private landing and rendezvoused with another craft an hour outside the city. Six others joined them – all but the pilot destined for the new world. As they stood idle in an open pasture and waited for the final shuttle, Benjamin listened quietly as people he did not know introduced themselves. His parents greeted them like old friends or political allies.
As the final shuttle neared, Tom and Marlena stood at his side.
“You are Benjamin Sheridan,” his mother said. “I chose the surname. It belonged to a descendency that died out two centuries ago. Say it.”
He muttered the words. Marlena was not satisfied. “Again.”
“Benjamin Sheridan. I am Benjamin Sheridan.”
Better, she said as the crab-shaped shuttle neared its landing. “We have a surprise for you. You always wanted to have a little brother. Yes?”
The thought never occurred to the boy.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” She bent down beside her son. “The child who steps off that ship may be the face of our future. But he is a child. Very small, very alone. You will be good for each other. Yes?”
Benjamin faced his father, whose shoulders were rigid, chin high, carrying an air of excitement.
“What is so special about him?”
Tom did not break his
