Short Stories & Book Excerpts by Ty Power

Chapter One

"Quickly, Flux, otherwise we will miss the ceremony."

Flux barely looked up from his book.

Basilim was clearly excited and itching to be on her way. "I cannot believe that you do not wish to go. The single most significant event since the colony of the third Exodus from Earth first settled here, and you would rather read a book!

"Fiction too! What do you hope to learn by reading all of these story books?"

Flux closed the book on his finger; it was a subconscious way of letting his friend know that the break would be merely temporary. He stared up at Basilim with baleful pink eyes, which he knew unsettled many people. When it was advantageous he played on the fact. "Restricted to the Arts and Leisure Spoke, as we are, I have to settle for what can be easily obtained. Furthermore, in every book of fiction there are many experiences of life."

Basilim smiled. "You sound like a philosopher." She was unnerved by her friend's stare. If the eyes are the windows to a man's soul, then Flux's are lead screens shielding his innermost feelings, Basilim mused. The albino youth she had known for all her life had bursts of emotion like everyone else, but nothing ever showed in his eyes, making it impossible to guess his thoughts or feelings. It offered the impression that Flux was cold and emotionless; most people, although forcibly polite, regarded him with trepidation or, at best, uneasiness, because they believed him to be strange and detached, and unworthy of pleasant consideration. But Basilim knew better. Although Flux did not speak of it, Basilim realised that he wanted to be liked. Basilim was Flux's best and certainly closest friend; however, she often wondered if she really knew him better than anyone else.

"Do not look at me that way, Flux. I am simply surprised you are passing up this opportunity to be a part of our history, especially taking into consideration your endless pursuit to further yourself."

"What will be witnessed by all the peoples of the Inner Wheel, except a speech and a couple of hoppers taking off for orbit and a rendezvous with Exodus III?"

Basilim looked amazed. Then she laughed. "Heavens! Where is your sense of adventure?"

Flux shrugged. "The time to get excited is when the expedition returns with the secrets of Hades. What is there to learn by watching them go?"

"There is no need to learn anything. The people are only lending their moral support. It is a celebration of achievement."

Flux sighed. "I know," he said. He slumped back in his chair, as if defeated.

Basilim put a hand on his shoulder, momentarily startling him. Only then did she realise how tense Flux was. "What is troubling you, friend?"

This time Flux shrugged. Oh, I do not know; nothing, everything!"

"That reduces the possibilities a little."

A quick smile escaped the lips of Flux in acknowledgement of his friend's humour. "What are your aspirations, Basilim?"

Basilim frowned. "Regarding what?"

"You wish to progress almost as desperately as myself; where do you see yourself in forty or eighty seasons?"

"I do not know. With good fortune, perhaps director of one of the major activities. I have not given it much thought; we are still young."

His book now discarded and forgotten, Flux threw his hands in the air, as if that explained everything. "Without wishing to appear condescending, I set my sights a little higher."

"Petitioner?"

Flux smiled grimly. "Maybe."

"That is all there is, my friend."

"You are mistaken. There is Governor, and a great deal more."

Basilim chuckled. "Forgive me," she said, "but do you not think that you are reaching for the stars?"

Flux thrust a pointed finger at Basilim. "That is just what I am doing."

Basilim kicked idly at the dirt, feeling a little embarrassed. "Do not set your sights too high; I would hate to see you fall."

Flux said nothing for some time, simply staring at nothing and seeing other places and times yet to come. Then he emerged from his reverie and waved Basilim away. "Go. You will miss the ... ah ... ceremony."

"Are you certain you will not come?" Basilim hesitated a moment longer.

"I am. Do not mind me, my friend; you enjoy yourself."

"If you are sure." Basilim turned on her heel and ran away, cape flapping behind her in the wind.

Flux watched until she was out of sight, then he stood and returned to the haven. Discovering a mirror, he carefully studied his face, wondering if this particular individual would ever achieve anything worthwhile in his life. When he was younger he constantly convinced himself that he was as normal as everyone else, particularly when frequently challenged about his remoteness. Now, however, he knew beyond doubt that he was indeed different. Except now he was not ashamed; if anything he was proud of it. He saw the populace as complacent ‑ the Governor and, perhaps, the Petitioners were the only people permitted to have notions for progression ‑ whereas he had long‑term goals. He did not intend to spend the rest of his life restricted to the Arts and Leisure Spoke, the single most useless of the Inner Wheel. If it took forever he would spread his wings.

That 'forever' commenced here. Flux remembered an ancient Earth expression, passed down through generations, which went: 'Today is the first day of the rest of your life.' It indicated that an individual's actions any time, on any day, dictated his or her future. This was particularly appropriate for Flux, who did not intend to allow fate and, more importantly, the fate of others to shape his days.

From one of many strategically positioned hiding places he recovered a pseudo-leather‑bound tome. He had collected quite a hoard of reading material over a long period of travelling twice weekly to the Research and Development and the Engineering and Building Spokes for tutorship. Some he had read and returned, concerned they would be missed, and a few lesser volumes he retained; but he separated them into several dark recesses, just in case one was discovered.

He could understand the reasoning behind keeping the Spokes independent from each other but dependent upon one another; however, he could not conceive of the theory behind favouring some individuals above others. Of course, this favouritism was not official, but it was obvious that the Governor found more use for the talents of Research and Development, Engineering and Building, and Agricultural and Geological ‑ although synthetic foods were progressively being introduced, and had already been introduced to the crew of the Exodus III Hades exploration. And who represented the Arts and Leisure Spoke on the trip? Not a soul. What need for leisure on a trip of planetary exploration?

Flux returned the book to its recess and flicked on the holo. A spherical image appeared before him in the centre of the room. Obviously, the expedition had not yet left. The holo images were bounced from the orbiting Exodus III. Once it broke orbit, holo images would be impossible until the spacecraft's return to a stable orbit. The images currently flickering in the middle of the room showed the crowds gathering at the raised spectators' galleries. At the point of each Spoke, where they met the centre circle wherein the Citadel of the Governor was housed, was a large gate with a handful of Citadel armed guards keeping a watchful eye. The gates were open, allowing crowds of people from each Spoke to flood through them and up the steps to the spectators' galleries. These galleries all faced inwards towards a central circular platform which formed part of the Citadel roof. On two slightly lower, flanking, platforms sat five hoppers, two of which would soon take the expedition up to the Exodus III. Like a strong tidal flow, the people gushed up the steps in an excited stampede.

At one point Flux thought he caught a glimpse of Basilim. The young woman possessed the same build as Flux, but her hair was a jet black mop, in complete contrast to the shoulder‑length white of his own. A minority of cruel youngsters had once called him a negative of his friend ‑ referring to a photograph. He had quipped in response that he was more positive than anyone in the Spoke. He felt similarly now, only more so. Then the youth disappeared in the crowd, leaving Flux uncertain if he had correctly identified his friend.

Flux blinked and caught himself. He was wasting time. The main reason for his remaining behind was so that he could leave on his unauthorised excursion unseen. But his own excursion was not into one of the adjoining Spokes; he was more ambitious. Rather, he would be going beyond the Rim into uncharted territory. The only promising future he saw for himself outside of the Arts and Leisure Spoke was as some sort of advisor to the Governor on the outer reaches. He intended his knowledge from several trips to be indispensable. The plan was to leave before the hoards returned from the Citadel gallery and return to the Rim at sunset, where he would await the arrival of darkness to return to the haven. Flux simply hoped that Basilim would not reveal his exploits before he was ready. Flux had not informed Basilim of his intentions, but he knew Basilim would guess his objectives if she discovered that Flux was missing.

Hastening his pace, Flux collected together the tools required for the journey.

                                                                                * * *

Basilim's concern that she would be late for the farewell ceremony was unfounded. She was still some distance from the gates of the Arts and Leisure Spoke when she joined the throng. Much pushing and threading her way through gained her some progress, so that when she reached the gates, she was able to sprint up the steps to gain a reasonably prominent seat.

The waiting was the difficult part. The cost of being amongst the first to arrive was to endure the agony of the stragglers bustling for the best remaining seats. Basilim utilised the available time to study the surrounding scene. Only the roof‑platform and the high‑reaching dome of the Citadel could be seen, as the majority of the impressive building was below the galleries. The dome, constructed of stone but strengthened with steel and decorated with glass, was a suitable representation of this human colony's reach for democracy ‑ as far as that could be stretched within a socialist society ‑ harmony, and the never-ending quest for knowledge, which epitomised the successful progress of man. Basilim learned in classes that all aspects of civilisation had moved far too quickly to be safely contained, so that it had actually reached the point of regression. She could only blindly accept this major part of her Earth ancestors' history as gospel, but could not help thinking that surely there was always room for progress. In theory, everything could be improved. Much had been achieved in the Governor's life time, but for Basilim events never moved quickly enough.

With her own feelings so strong, she wondered at the hidden intensity of Flux's own. Her friend, although kind and good‑humoured to the few who enjoyed his company, generally adopted a melancholy air, which showed in his actions but not his eyes, and so was received as cold aloofness by most. But Basilim knew that Flux's melancholy was for ambitions with seemingly unattainable goals; like interrupted joyful dreams, the prize was constantly spirited away just as he held it in his grasp. Flux is like a time bomb waiting to explode, she decided; for every additional day he is contained he becomes increasingly more volatile. She dreaded the trouble her friend would surely cause in rising from his stagnant pool. Admittedly, she was more than curious at Flux's decision to remain behind today, as neither of them had visited the Citadel's galleries before this moment. It was unlike Flux to pass up an opportunity such as this. Basilim shrugged mentally. If Flux wished to stew in his own despondency, that was his own concern. Basilim intended to enjoy this day.

Allowing her vision to wander, she could just discern sections of the galleries on the far side of the central platform. Each Spoke's gallery was completely detached from its neighbours, so that no overflow was possible. Those people she could see from the other Spokes appeared perfectly normal. Even the choice of clothing was absolutely independent according to taste. In fact, there was no outward indication of just how different, and yet self‑contained, their lifestyles were. 

From her position, Basilim could see the majority of the main central platform, coated entirely in polished steel, glinting in the strengthening sunlight, but for five circular pods with brick bases; all of one smaller flanking platform was also visible, set slightly lower, and upon it sat two hoppers. Basilim supposed that the other three hoppers, usually housed at the Citadel, were currently positioned on the other flanking platform, invisible from where she sat. She had just taken to studying the sleek lines of the hoppers, when a loud and mildly painful screech of feedback assailed the spectators' ears. This ceased abruptly as the immense public address system was brought under control. There followed much excited murmuring ‑ much of it caused by individuals instructing their neighbours to be silent ‑ as they anticipated the commencement of the ceremony ... or more of a speech, as others had informed her.

All heads in the near vicinity turned as one to Basilim's left, from where an audible click had sounded. This sound was repeated, then replaced by a hum of building power. Basilim was astonished to see the flanking platform slowly rising. It clicked to a halt on the same level as the much larger central platform, where the hum turned to a whine which gradually died away. It was then that Basilim first noticed that each hopper nestled atop a flatbed machine with huge rubber caterpillar tracks. A low rumble signalled their movement. As the tracks slowly turned, the thick rubber strips found easy purchase, gripping the metal surface like deadly suckers. The hoppers were moved across to the central roof platform of the Citadel, and positioned over two of the circular brick‑based pads. Then, from beneath the overhanging sides of the hoppers, emerged metal tubes which lowered to the ground ‑ four on each hopper. Legs extended telescopically from the tubes, raising the bodies of the hoppers clear of the flatbeds, which then moved out from between the legs. Basilim never discovered that day whether the transporter machines were manned, or operated by computer or remote control.

Basilim turned her head just in time to see a small metal shed‑like structure slide back to reveal a human lift platform. Suitably surprised, Basilim had no idea that this level of technology existed in what was, after all, the preliminary stages of the colony's development.

A very elderly man, seated in a directional hover‑chair, emerged to move between the two hoppers to the centre of the platform, where the microphones had been erected. His arrival was greeted with tumultuous applause, cheers and general adoration. Basilim was carried along by the moment and rose to join the celebration, shouting herself hoarse, for this was the legendary Vion San Tully, last Commander of Exodus III, and first Governor of Hex Major. The man appeared frail, his skin pale and emaciated, which could not be considered unusual for a person of his advanced age of four hundred and thirty‑six seasons. A shaking, almost skeletal hand operated the controls which manoeuvred the hover‑chair into position.

Understandably popular, in his lifetime this now lethargic character had found his people a new permanent home, raised a successful, self‑supporting community, and was now dispatching the first exploration expedition to study a relatively unknown world in their new solar system. At least, it was new to them. Basilim was greatly excited by the thought that, however unlikely it seemed now, Hades could contain intelligent life‑forms which the human race could consider its neighbours. This would surely lead to undreamed of knowledge.

Vion San Tully cleared his throat for attention, the throaty whisper clearly amplified. So thin were his wisps of grey hair that they appeared unaffected by the wind. However, his eyes were bright with purpose. Basilim was not at all unsettled by the Governor's apparent frailty; age removed nothing of his achievements. He remained the same man.

"Friends," he began in a rasp, and the many watchers immediately fell silent. Basilim found herself curiously annoyed by nearby spectators shifting expectantly in their seats. She tried her best to centre the whole of her attention on the intriguing figure of San Tully.

"... colleagues. Together we have forged a new civilisation; a society which has secured the future of the human race. A future on which, until merely two hundred and ninety‑six seasons ago, we had only a tenuous grasp. I am in the happy position to have seen much achieved in my lifetime: a new star system and a new world for our home ‑ a world which I sincerely hope we will continue to respect. Our ancestors could not have foreseen that we would be blessed with the fortune of a second chance. Let us not waste it.

"As a double celebration of our success, and a reminder of our fortune and humble beginnings, I propose this day will henceforth be known as Major Day ‑ all puns intended. On this day annually, there will be a public holiday, when you the people will return to the Citadel spectators' galleries to give thanks for our survival against the odds, and to pass on stories of personal triumphs and great achievements."

A tremendous cheer permeated the air around the galleries. Basilim heard the Governor chuckle into the public address system; however, this quickly metamorphosed into a wracking fit of coughing, which reached the assembled mass with a raucous screech of feedback. The people fell silent at this unexpected display of weakness. As if from nowhere, two aides appeared at San Tully's side. For a moment concern touched Basilim's heart, but the old man stubbornly waved away his two helpers.

"Get away; I am not an invalid!" he snapped. Then he coughed a few more times.

Addressing the watchers and listeners once more, he said, "I apologise. My days of heart‑warming and long inspiring speeches are over. My health is not what it was, but I have no regrets. How could I have, after all we have managed between us? When my time comes I will go gladly to meet my maker."

There were several shouts of alarm and dismay. It was not surprising to hear that an old man would die, but for the subject to admit it himself in public was a little disconcerting.

"Oh, yes," he continued, raising a shaking, claw‑like hand to forestall any further protests, "very soon I will die. I have no doubts that my successor will make my accomplishments seem merely rudimentary ‑ and that is how it should be. The world continues to turn; events change daily." He paused to cough and clear his throat, and when he popped something into his mouth and began to chew slowly, it appeared to ease his discomfort a little.

"I fear, for my own sake, I am obliged to cut this short. I am a mite unwell at the moment, and no longer possess the healing powers of a young man. This is the major reason why I will not be travelling with the expedition."

Basilim was surprised the Governor had even considered leaving; who would have governed the people with his secure grip of fairness and firmness?

"However, rest assured that the team of twelve I have assembled are the suitably qualified individuals Hex Major has for the task ahead."

These 'individuals' began to rise, one by one, on the nearby human lift platform, and approached the microphones, although none spoke. All twelve wore thin coveralls to protect their clothing. There were no uniforms, as San Tully disapproved of a formal military bearing. Only one of these led the expedition; the others were on equal footing regarding status. It was intended, however, that this authority would only be utilised to make the final decision in matters of dispute. The 'team' would be acting in the interests of the human race, and all of Hex Major, rather than any one person. Personal wealth gained individuals nothing in a socialist society.

"Leading the expedition is Gender from the Research and Development Spoke." A dark‑haired young man with naturally tanned skin, and average build and height, with piercing blue eyes, stepped forward from the line and bowed shortly and with formality. Then came the others.

"From the Xenological and Medical Spoke we have Tiah, top in her field of zoological studies." This was a small, stern‑faced, red‑headed woman. "Bral, from the same Spoke; a medical and human biological expert." A small, thin man, with mousy brown hair. "Sevion from the Agricultural and Geological Spoke, with particular expertise in fungi and bacteria ‑ and such like," indicating San Tully himself had no understanding of such things. Sevion was a tall blond, bearded man. He smiled in acknowledgement. "Yira from Architecture and Planning." A happy‑looking blonde woman. "Helot from Engineering and Building." A small, sweaty, bald‑headed man. "And six staff from the Citadel: four of my best security guards, Tarkin, Bayli, Loki, and Would; and two of my aides and most experienced advisors, Plexa, and my self‑appointed deputy, Dere." This was a relatively young man, with long black hair and a beard. He wore a long wrap‑around cloth, giving him the appearance of an ancient Earth guru.

Basilim thought it strange that San Tully's deputy was not leading the expedition; obviously, there was an unknown but justifiable reason for his choice. Perhaps he is attempting to show democracy and particularly teamwork in action, thereby dispelling the imagery of the Citadel commanding what is, to all intents and purposes, a Hex Major expedition. Probably, Dere's assignment is to log for the records everything seen, said and done. An independent overseer; someone to stand back from the action and observe all events. There was nothing remarkable about the group as a whole; the possessed skills and achievements were hidden behind very ordinary faces. Basilim suspected this was Vion San Tully's original intention. To show the people that anyone could reach these positions of acclamation.

"The Wheel continues to turn," said the Governor. "Long ago I decided there would be no spreading of wings until the colonies had been suitably stabilised, so that our long‑term needs were attended to. The fact that we are today embarking on our first journey of exploration proves our success in securing the survival of our race. But it will not stop with Hades. We need to seek other compatible worlds to avoid repeating the mistakes of our Earth ancestors. We should also be thinking about making contact with intelligent sentient life‑forms. The Earth attack by the Aggressors proves their existence. Although we could do without contacting them," San Tully added with a grimace. We should know our own Hex star system; be aware of our strengths and weaknesses, friends and enemies. And when we have completed these difficult tasks, we can look further afield and, perhaps, discover what became of Exodus I and II. However, even I realise that project will be far in our future. Realistically, the latter will be our grandchildren’s' ancestors' task. But our goals are clear. We have much to look for ..."

At this point Vion San Tully relapsed into another fit of coughing. His face was fast losing its pallid colour, and he looked to be in some discomfort. The two aides rushed in once more as the Hades team looked on with concern. After being on the receiving end of some sternly muttered words, the Governor threw his hands in the air, as if conceding the argument. He appeared to consider how to cut short the ceremony, then simply shrugged and shouted into the microphones, "To hell with it!"

Basilim joined in the cheering and laughter at the witty and well‑chosen final remark, but she felt secretly disappointed. Of the twelve embarking on the journey, none represented the Arts and Leisure Spoke. Flux was right; nobody considered this Spoke important enough for such a ground-breaking journey. Its resources were tapped only as a finishing touch. No doubt exercise equipment and books had been taken aboard Exodus III already; so what use was there for a person as well?

The dozen members of the team split into two groups of six and boarded the two hoppers. A whine rose to a shrill pitch, was joined by a second, and then both dropped to a low rumble. They took off vertically, and all watching faces turned skyward to follow their progress as they faded through the clouds and quickly disappeared from view. As if on cue, a chill Autumn gust of wind blew across the spectators' galleries like a thrill of electric excitement.

However, for Basilim at least, there was a feeling of anti‑climax. It left her with a sense of emptiness. Like an orchestra reaching a musical crescendo, only to end abruptly. Looking around, Basilim could see that many others shared her uneasiness. The shouts of adulation broke up and people turned to face each other, unsure what to do next.

But this was not the end of the day's proceedings. One of the aides leaned in towards the microphones and said, "I sincerely hope you will all choose to remain for the festivities and story‑telling that will continue for the rest of the day, to mark the first annual Major

Day."

                                                                                * * *

Flux collected together the necessary provisions and took the Slide Rail - small scale one‑man contraptions which operated by compressed air, running almost the entire length of each Spoke, one on either side - to the Rim. To prevent delay, the Chairs were placed on the rail only when a journey was intended. Then, after flipping a switch, the rider would be projected along at an almost nauseating speed until the switch is flipped back, causing the air to the Chair to be cut off and the Chair itself to slow to a halt. The rear of the Chairs emit a constant signal, and the fronts house a receptor, which automatically brings the Chairs to a halt if another signal is detected up to a distance of half a kilometre.

Quite frankly, Flux would preferred to have walked, had he the time to spare. Time, though, was the one thing he did not possess right now. After dark this night the people would return home from the Citadel revels and, although he inhabited a small and modest haven of his own ‑ as did Basilim ‑ his guardians would surely feel a need to check on him, before retiring to their own haven. After all, this was a public holiday and they had not seen him all day. He would answer that he had his own life to lead ‑ such as it was ‑ but he could hardly blame them for having concern for his well‑being. Unlike most adolescents, Flux disliked the dizzying acceleration of the Slide Rails. He avoided them whenever possible; there was normally no necessity for speed on Hex Major, let alone in the Arts and Leisure Spoke, but in this instance he needed to buy time. So, he gritted his teeth and flicked the switch.

He made surprisingly easy progress. There was always a certain percentage of travellers who forgot to lift clear their Chairs from the rail. However, Flux's Chair was brought to a halt only twice, due to abandoned Chairs, on the entire thirty‑minute hair‑raising trip. It took him to within two kilometres of the Rim. There was no reason for anybody to venture any further.

In his opinion, Flux had all the reason in the world: to break free from the stalemate his life was in. He urged for adventure, challenge, and unknown danger ‑ to tap and test his mental and physical resources. Why the Rim? Because it was there. Flux knew he would find all he sought beyond. Many seasons ago, as boys, he, Basilim and many others had been lectured to by the Petitioner of their Spoke on the probable myriad dangers outside the designated perimeters. So Flux knew that, had he asked permission to go, not only would it have been refused, but he would certainly have had a severe dressing down also. So, he was going without putting forward a request, and, if he managed to get himself killed, well, so be it. That was better than being left to slowly sink into a quagmire, so to speak, unable to feel free to achieve his aims in life.

He felt trapped. Yes, that was the word. Like a physically paralysed person, with an intelligent and active mind; fast to dream, eternally slow to realise them.

It was not for acclaim of any kind. He simply wished to undertake something worthwhile with this precious life he had been blessed with. Instead, what was he doing with his days? Erecting and dismantling gymnasium equipment, marking out sporting boundaries, keeping records of point tallies, and many other tedious and meaningless tasks.

Anger began to swell in him, but he successfully managed to force it back down to wherever it had emerged. Flux rarely allowed his emotions to reach his face, even when alone.

His one major outlet was the works of fiction. His love affair with the classics had continued for many, many months. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, War and Peace, Dracula, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Stranger in a Strange Land, 2001: A Space Odyssey, For Love of Mother Not, Drenai Tales, The Rats ‑ the list was almost endless. He read them all, and much more besides, to the point where he had actually studied dozens of lesser known novels. Ironically, Flux learned more from fairy tales and ancient Earth fables by the Brothers Grimm and Aesop than from the actualities of life. These cosy little tales contained morals, practical though philosophical lessons for life, which were not taught as part of the Spoke's curriculum.

Once, many seasons ago, he had taken advantage of an accidental opportunity to speak to the Petitioner. He possessed the impertinence to request that he contribute his own fiction to the already vast library. The Petitioner looked down on his face of only forty seasons and said, "What will you write that has not already been written?" Without pausing long enough for Flux to speak, the Petitioner continued, "No, there are more pressing and important jobs to be maintained."

Flux was puzzled. "Important?" But the Petitioner was speaking again, because now he realised he had a small audience. "Conduct your duties well and, perhaps, one day you will be Petitioner." Flux looked up at the man, with his aloof gaze, and said, "I do not want to be Petitioner." When he turned and walked away, he left the man visibly stunned. It had certainly knocked him from his pedestal, though Flux had simply stated the truth.

Flux emerged from his reverie to find himself standing before the barrier of the Rim itself. He had jogged the two kilometres from the Slide Rail. Daydreaming again, he rebuked himself. The Rim was a thirty metre high wall, interwoven with wire capable of holding a high voltage electric current. It completely circled the vast Wheel containing all of the six Spokes. Its oppression could not be denied. Was that the intention? he wondered. Probably, as its purpose was not only to prevent unknown predators from entering the confines of the colony, but also to keep the people from straying beyond the realms of safety ‑ and the protection of the Citadel. How could any wall of this impressive size not be imposing? Flux's mind seemed to go blank just looking at it. He stared at the dull grey stone, interlaced with silver thread, for what seemed like an eternity. Only then did he remember that he possessed the key required to pass the barrier by.

His mission had not been undertaken lightly. Chosen clothing was for protection as well as warmth. Heavy, all‑weather boots he envisaged as essential in mysterious terrain; walking boots were the closest thing he could find. The utility belt he had constructed himself ‑ basically a wide rubber strap with various‑sized pouches attached. An assortment of survival items were stored within. These included: dried fruit, nuts, sugar, steel rope, small tool kit, first aid kit, compass, torch and sheath knife. The knife was his only protection from possible attack; no weapons had been devised or constructed for general use on Hex Major. There was, theoretically, no need for them in a socialist society. There was no need for anyone to resort to theft; each person owned all that was required for a normal existence, provided they put forward their own daily contributions. Robbery would simply forfeit that individual's rights to possess the items involved. Defence systems, as they were commonly called, were only utilised in the Citadel and on board Exodus III as a resistance against outside influences.

The item he had taken, he did not consider worthy of the ugly label of theft ‑ at least, not in the strictest sense ‑ because it belonged to the Spoke, rather than any one person. It was only one small canister of helium, which was generally used to inflate the entrance to the theme park. One recyclable canister among many would certainly not be missed; it was no loss to the Arts and Leisure Spoke. He released the canister from the confines of his boiler suit, along with the plastic sheeting he had two purposes for. The first was for shelter from the elements, if need be. The second purpose was more immediate.

Bringing the four corners together, he used a reel of strong, weather‑proof sticky tape to form a rough balloon, with only a small opening. Then he taped the top of the canister into the hole, so that the tap was inside the balloon. Knotting his hands into the short straps he had meticulously stitched into the sheeting, he released the gas and stood up, bringing his hands together to take the weight of the canister. To think this was a crude experiment was a gross understatement, but under the present circumstances he had little choice but to take a chance. There was no alternative method of transport. The six Spokes which comprised the Inner Wheel contained only the Slide Rails as a method of moving great distances in only a relatively short period of time. The Centre Axis, containing the Citadel, had use of the hoppers across land, but beyond that there was only Exodus III. This made Flux wonder briefly how the Hades expedition farewell ceremony was proceeding; hopefully this excursion of his would be worth missing the most exciting event on Hex Major for a long time.

Standing for what seemed like an age, Flux became despondent at the possibility of his plan's failure. The makeshift balloon inflated steadily, but he was beginning to think it would not even get him off the ground. Then, finally, it happened. Agonisingly slowly he drifted skyward. For a moment he was concerned that the late Autumn wind would push him cruelly into the wall. One touch was paralysis or death. He had purposefully stood a few paces back before constructing his balloon. He was worried also about the quantity of helium held by the canister. There was no gauge, and Flux had no idea how long it would last him. If it expired before he reached the height of the wall, he was in dire peril.

He was sweating profusely as he drifted across the top of the Rim. Pulling apart the straps slightly, he released the helium, causing him to plummet to the ground faster than he would have liked. As he made contact with the hard ground he intended to roll ‑ as he had been taught in fitness training ‑ but still landed with a thud. Winded but otherwise unhurt, he lay still catching his breath.

In a moment his blurred vision had cleared, enabling him to stand and take in his surroundings. Sunlight stabbed at his eyes from between cloud cover. Flux stooped to recover his dark‑lensed glasses and press them back on his nose. Being an albino meant that his pink eyes were more sensitive to light, so that in certain circumstances, even the brightness of a standard day could cause him pain. As a small child he had tried shaded contacts, but they had inflamed his eyes beyond the acceptable level.

The directional options were wide open; the view appeared to be similar every way he faced beyond the Rim: mostly flat but rocky, with patches of grassland and brush, and the odd tree here and there in the distance. It was foolish, he knew, but he expected to be in strange and alien surroundings.

Flux extracted his compass from a belt pouch. It spun crazily, so that he was obliged to move clear of the electric field of the wall before it was operating properly again. The opposite direction to the Rim was precisely South. So, if he headed due North, he should, in theory, have no trouble finding his way back ‑ preferably before he was missed. He would need to find his way back to the canister, which he had left on the ground before the wall, though he somehow suspected he would be unable to return by the same method. He had to give some very serious thought as to how he was going to recross the Rim.

Since the first human landings on Hex Major, there had been no evidence of animal life existence, and Flux found this rather curious. Plant life and vegetation grew in abundance, in similar fashion to how it had on Earth. Its description differed only subtly. Most people now had been born on this world and so knew no different. This was normal. However, Flux had studied the abbreviated encyclopaedias of Earth, and had visited the Holographic Zoo in his own Spoke; he knew, if this world was anything like Earth, there should be animals of some sort, however different. For instance, insects were necessary to make fertile the soil, bees required to pollinate the flowers. None of these were present, in any number. The xenologists refused to accept this. Rumour had it that the scientists were looking for microscopic organisms. Perhaps they were on the right tracks, but Flux could not help hoping there was something more. It was reasonable to conclude that there were no birdlike creatures or flying insects, or surely they would have crossed above the Rim, if only for the sake of curiosity. Flux was saddened by the knowledge that he would never see any of the many Earth creatures ‑ living, that is. The Holo‑Zoo was hardly the same thing. Tigers, bears, elephants ‑ beautiful animals, all. In one way he wished that he had never visited the zoo. What is never seen, will seldom be missed.

He considered following the line of the Rim for a while. It would make it easy to find his way back. However, surely the further he travelled from the Rim, the more likely he was of success. He reverted to his original plan. He set off, checking his compass often to ensure he was walking a straight line South. Periodically, he paused to turn a stone. No beetles scurried for cover, and this absence played increasingly on his mind. He stopped, also, to inspect the vegetation, but it remained unchanged to within the Rim. Eventually, he gave up on his periodic stops, and increased his pace.

When he began to tire, he set his sights on a distant tree as a place of rest. It had a short, thick trunk, with strong limbs which had grown to the ground and knotted with the roots, to form a cage. Flux stepped between the bars and into darkness. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He was able to remove his dark lenses, and sit upon the ground to rest, allowing the body of the tree to support his back. A glance at his chronometer signified that four more hours remained before nightfall. Of course, there was nothing to prevent him from returning after dark, but it was natural to assume he would be missed. Sunset would probably close the proceedings at the Citadel, and the hoards would come flooding back to their havens.

He did not intend to sleep. But it happened all the same. In his dreams he stood before the microphones of the public address system on the central roof platform of the Citadel. The spectators' galleries were full to overflowing, many were forced to stand. The people of six Spokes were hanging on his every word. His aides were persuading him to smile and look as though he was appreciating the acclaim. But he did not, in fact, appreciate the attention. All he appreciated was that these people had given him the position and ability to break the frame and actually achieve something with his life. A hundred, a thousand aspirations filled his heart; he would break open the solar system like a yenan‑nut. For the first time he could remember he felt exhilarated. Then a nearby aide leaned forward and, in Basilim's voice, said, "Do not set your sights too high; I would hate to see you fall." A shoulder gave him a gentle nudge, as if to say, come back to ground level and reality.

Flux came awake with a start. It took him a few heartbeats to realise something really had jolted him. There was a barely caught sense of movement which sped past his face, followed by the sound of scuffed dirt. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he turned his head slowly, first to the left, then in the opposite direction. The gloom was oppressive; the foliage covered the gaps in the cage‑like limbs, blocking out the majority of the light. He could hardly see a thing, but the disability seemed to make his other senses temporarily more acute. Something was very near, watching him, he knew. 

Listening for movement, he held his breath. If he moved it was possible he would be endangering his life, so he sat still, bolt upright, eyes wide with fright and trepidation.

Then, in a blur of movement, a dark shape rushed straight for his face. Somehow he felt the displacement of air, but it was no warning. Flux had no opportunity to judge the phantom's angle of attack, and so was unable to defend himself. He barely had time to raise one hand, protectively, in front of his face.

End of Chapter One

(Look out for the full novel, available soon for download. I also plan to make a paperback option obtainable).