Prologue

The sun rose over Raysor to the eyes of the bloodshot and hungover. The moon’s atmosphere was like a diseased sclera, far from white and full of pathogens, dust and grit. A group of motivated individuals sat on a stone rooftop, gazing into the murk and beyond, searching for an artificial world where dreams came true and people lived a different life. They waited for the Golden Angel to speak, because they could not rush it, nor could they influence or sway it. These individuals were at its disposal and the feeling was an effortless submission to a far greater power, one with a desire for glorious, righteous vengeance. 

In the dusty square below, the group could hear a group of children stirring. They were eager to be away from the dark musty confines of their stone dwellings; such places were the cradles of a difficult childhood, where families were made and destroyed, according to the whims of the social determinants they had no means of remedying.

They squealed and giggled, wood rasped on stone and they greeted the dust with glee, the sun watched on with sadness. The Golden Angel regarded them with the same sad expression it held in perpetuity.

“I have chosen you because you have the skills necessary to do as required.” The angel finally spoke and those individuals sharing its company leaned in, ignoring the shuffle of small feet below. 

“You will go to Chalice and you will seek out the information I need. You will likely die in the process, but that will be a necessary death and there will be honour in such a sacrifice. For your world to have vengeance, we will need to know the measure of our enemy: the so-called Angels. You will acquire this information, and we will use it to tear those sycophants down and grind them into the dust.” 

The children began kicking a ball made from cardboard. The individuals were sad that they were going to die. And how could these children know that they did this for them? How could they know? And who would explain to them that they would still grow up poor, still die of fever, and still kill each other for enough rope? 

The Golden Angel pointed to the hazy sky; the glint of a metallic star was racing through murk somewhere out there in the cold beyond. “Go to Chalice and do this for me, do this for your people.”.

Chapter 1

“Come on, let’s get something to eat.” 

“I don’t want anything,”

A father stood in the doorway, watching his son drift away again. The son felt himself growing distant, and the animosity became diluted in the increasing separation. There was an escape in detachment. What a terrible lesson for a young person to learn. 

The father brushed his grey hair back and took a deep breath. Other ideas pulled at his attention, but the problem in front of him was something he could barely reason with. The station was quiet, the living spaces abandoned. 

What could he say? 

The son grew annoyed. He wanted to return to different realities. The father felt failure creeping up once again, like an unwelcome guest, uncomfortable but familiar. 

“Do you want to see what I’m working on?” 

It was a ploy made in desperation and the son could sense it. How terrible it was to pity one’s father, a man with ideas larger than most other men. His father was an intellectual gladiator, fighting for freedom from the problems of his own creation. But he was a slave to his own ideas. The son grappled, once again, with his conflicting feelings for this man. His father could be brilliant and callous, full of love and sensitivity, or distant, condescending and cold, depending on currents neither he nor his mother could predict. 

The father let the guilt in again, briefly, just to taste it. It didn’t matter, to a certain extent, even his family didn’t matter. He was working on something much more important than the crumbling relationship between father and son. Ideas of grandeur whispered to him as they did in vulnerable moments. Sky hooks for his poorly designed ego. 

“No, I just want to stay in my room,” 

“Are you sure? I think I’m about to finish something important,” 

“You always say that.” 

The father smiled, “This time’s different.” 

The son sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I just want to stay here.” 

The father bit his bottom lip and then nodded to himself. 

“Ok Arker, ill be in my lab if you need anything.” 

Blossoms drifted on the artificial breeze as spring enveloped the park room. The son lay sprawled on the grass, thick and lush, the type you left a shiny imprint in when you got up. Petal snow floated past, lazy to meet the ground. The son was day dreaming with his sweaty hands entangled in his bed hair. A thousand characters filled his mind. Men and women he would never be. 

It was a special day. Every day was a special day, if you believed his father. 

Footsteps were whispers on the grass. 

The son shifted his head and sleepy eyes. 

Amongst the blossom trees, as white as doves, his father approached. The petals swirled around the father, still there were so many more still on the surrounding branches. Beside the father was a small figure, as white as a petal but child-like. Emerald eyes shone from the black screen on its spherical head. 

The Father looked tired but elated. Satisfaction bathed the surrounding blossoms in warmth, and the joy on his father's face surprised the son. It was how he used to look at his mum. 

The son propped his head up on an elbow and felt self-conscious in his melancholy.

“Arker, meet Gop,” 

“Is it another one of your robots?” 

The Father placed a hand on the construct, tenderly. “Yes, of a sort”. Blossoms fell on his father’s black hair. He neglected to brush them away. The son lay back. 

“Hey Gop,”.  

“We have to go Arker–there are people coming–we have to leave on the Forstella–but we might have to split up–they are, ah, they are trying to blackmail me but that’s why we have to leave. I don’t care about your games–fuck the games–Arker we’re in real fucking trouble so can you just listen to me? No… No its not just my problem and no I didn’t do anything to make them come… Arker just calm down. Get your stuff and go to the Ship. For fuck's sake–turn that off-we have to go now.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.