Page 8 of The Space Between Stars

He tried signaling the lie to the desert.

The desert did not respond.

THREE

NIKLAUS

Year: 733 Post Cataclysm: 15 Years Previously

Location: Seraphinden

Niklaus ran half-naked across the Skywalk toward Aethertech Mechanics, sweating in the slick tropical heat, pulling on clothing as he went. Dawn was an aged aristocrat, tarrying over the sea with haughty indolence: bejeweled with dew, saturated with perfume, scathing and intolerable—especially to one with a hangover. It had the grace to gild his path just enough for him to not bang into something. He cursed his lack of sleep as he tripped into sirwal and boots.

Through the gate. Up the stairwell. Niklaus burst into the chamber where Aethertech Mechanics—colloquially Aetech—hosted its monthly board meeting. The heavy doors cast an echo to the mosaic ceiling, four stories above. Ten heads swiveled to stare at him from the table at the room’s center as he threaded the final button of his tunic: Hashod, his mother, four oligarchs, and Aetech’s other investors.

“Sorry I’m late,” Niklaus panted, slumping into the chair beside Mesu Jironesh, the chairman, and kicking his feet onto the granite table. “I only just received notice we rescheduled for this morning.” And he wouldn’t have received notice at all, had he not asked Latouda to let him know if his mother left their residence unexpectedly.

Jironesh broke the room’s silence with a throaty cough. “Ah. Yes. Wonderful. Well, many of our members were not able to make it tomorrow evening, so we—”

“Even though that is the schedule we have followed for the past year without issue?”

“Ah. Yes. We, ah, had planned to send a summary of events at highsun to the minority unable to attend today.” That minority being composed entirely of Niklaus. “Would you like me to—”

Niklaus waved a hand. “No need to catch me up on everything you’ve discussed thus far, I’m sure I’ll put the pieces together.”

Jironesh looked around the table in a silent plea for support. No one made eye contact. “Very well. In preparation for tomorrow’s oligarchical session, I think it is paramount that Aethertech Mechanics present a unified front before Taranil’s ruling.”

Niklaus frowned. Taranil had proposed a law to prohibit literacy among the Groundling caste—ninety percent of Nelfinden society.

“United against it,” he clarified. Silence again—Chaos sweet Chaos, did it sing. “United against the ruling that will reduce our society to a tyrannical mockery of progressive civilization.”

Niklaus’s mother took an interest in the view out the window: swaying, dawn-dappled palms six stories beneath them, the sea beyond it. The others sat as cold marble statues while Niklaus’s blood grew hotter and hotter, until he was nearly sure his body would lift from its seat like a balloon.

“Ahm, no.” Jironesh shifted his spectacles up his nose. “For the protection of our assets, for the sustainment of our culture, and the prevention of the spread of misinformation, it is crucial that literacy become privatized and within specific sectors. It will free us of excess tax spend and make working hands available to stimulate this economy.”

Niklaus set his feet down. He planted his hands on the table. “Taranil is a corporativist. While this might grant our organization affluence, think about this from a bird’s-eye view. He is a xenophobe. He’s cutting us off from the Chori, the Tera’thians, the Azadonians.”

“Nations that have only brought us war and—”

“Nations that will bring us economy! That will bring us information! This ruling will cripple us. It will give Taranil the ability to control the Nelfinden narrative. To widen the gap in the caste system. That’s the real invitation to war!”

“From my standpoint, I don’t see the problem,” said Hashod. “Control who becomes educated, and everyone on this board is ensured a longer grasp on our positions.”

“As apex predators?” Niklaus retorted.

“Are you saying that is not preferable?”

“I’m saying if you anger enough rabbits, they’re going to find a way to take down the wolf.”

Jironesh’s peppered mustache flared as he addressed Niklaus’s mother. “Sesu Meyernes, I believe your son is the one lacking in education. Private tutors cannot replace the knowledge instilled by a formal schooling in economics.”

Niklaus stood, padded wooden chair screeching across the floor. “Let’s talk economics, then. The economic destabilization Taranil is using as a basis for this ruling has resulted from the inflated cost of living in Shrokan. And that has been caused by Korshuva and Skywalk landlords raising prices to afford the new standard of living generated by Aethertech Mechanics.”

“What are you insinuating?” Hashod fumed. “There’s no definable causation here.”

“There will be if our board presents a united front in favor of Taranil’s ruling this afternoon.” Niklaus glowered. “There will be no Aethertech Mechanics if the Groundlings revolt. It doesn’t have to come to that. In fact, if we can care for the Groundling population, they can become assets. We can influence this ruling. No—better yet, we can prevent this. I vote for a thirty percent decrease in pricing. We can easily hit our metrics quarter after quarter without traumatic repercussions.”

“Said by a pompous fop of an eighteen-year-old with new money and no idea what he’s talking about.” Mesu Coliea was a thin, balding man with eyes and nose reminiscent of a hawk’s, who served as Aetech’s secondary chairman. His family had lived atop the Skywalk—the web of gilded infrastructure that raised Seraphinden’s aristocrats six stories above the rest of society—longer than almost any other, and he and his brother both sat as oligarchs.