Elian’s father had less than two months to live when the announcement first appeared on the holos in the transit shuttle. 'Applications now open - TRAPPIST-1 system,' it read. No other information was necessary. Elian had been looking down at his hands, mind elsewhere, when he heard the murmuring. The shuttle from the hospital had been mostly empty, but the few people on board had reacted to the holo. Everyone knew what this meant. The ‘Reseed’ was the single largest event across all the systems, you couldn’t avoid it if you tried.
It had started during the reseeding of Earth, established as per the wishes of the creator, the now long-dead benefactor of the reseeding project. The Reseed was held in a large zone on the home planet of Earth, separated from everything outside of it. The arena inside was persistent, and it hosted many different biomes present on the planet, and some from outside of it. Every two years, new players were added to the arena, each time from different systems or space complexes, providing an opportunity for the 5,000 applicants to make a name for themselves. Elian pondered the various theories surrounding the Reseed, some bordering on conspiracy. What wasn’t conspiracy, however, was how the gems used the it to practice their war games. Unlike those not from the core worlds, they typically always reached the mid-point cut. A number of them usually even decided to stay on, training the next batch as they came in.
The neon lights in the shuttle cast a yellow silhouette over Elian as he stepped onto the platform. He was deep in thought, the visit to the hospital weighing heavily on his mind. It was radiation sickness, common for those who worked on the haulers, caused by emissions from the condensed matter that they harvested. The first symptoms of the blues, named from the blue color of the condensed matter, had appeared in his father around two weeks ago, following a stint past Frigus, the outer planet in the system. The workers were provided with basic protective equipment, but the companies didn't pay for any repairs to the suits. It didn’t affect their bottom line if a few darksiders got the blues. Treating the blues would require technology not readily available on this side of Rodite to repair the genetic damage caused by radiation. The cost of the procedure was beyond their means, and so the prognosis was grim. Elian was trying not to think about it.
It was always dark on this side of Rodite, and Elian walked across the station platform, staying under the glow of the lights, now cold neon blue. He ignored the holos displaying advertisements and the debris pushed against the station walls by the passing shuttle, walking past them to descend a broad metal staircase toward the central pathway. Rodite was the second closest planet to Ferrum, the ancient red dwarf star in the center of the system. All of the planets in the TRAPPIST-1 system were so close to the star that it resulted in tidal locking, causing a permanent zone of darkness to exist on one side of the planet. No moon illuminated the dark sky of Rodite, or any other planet in the system either; and only tall buildings, covered in holos, outlined the central pathway. The central pathway, a wide promenade, extended from one side of the zone to the other and was almost always filled to bursting with people. Traffic moved in both directions across multiple lanes, passing middle zones filled with shops, businesses, and stairs branching out in every direction. However, the traffic was moving slower than usual, crowds of people stalling to get a better look at the holos showing the announcement. It was the same as the one on the shuttle, except much bigger, spread across the front of multiple buildings, impossible to miss.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Elian weaved past two people who had stopped at the bottom of the stairs – a pair of tall Maronans talking excitedly and gesturing at the holo. They were wearing exoskeletons, which looked much like black jumpsuits covering them from head to toe, leaving only their faces open. Elian knew these suits were necessary for them to survive, as their bodies were used to low Maronan gravity, about half that on Rodite. He guessed they would be applying, given their animated response. He thought about it then too, thought about applying to the Reseed. It would be a solution, he knew. They offered a cash prize to each entrant who was able to get selected for the game, but getting selected was almost impossible. A chunk of the entrants, usually about a quarter, were always gems. It wasn’t ever made official, but everyone knew the upper class socialites from the core worlds had their own channels to get their people in. Everyone else had to enter into the open application, and Elian guessed a few million people would apply. They would be competing for about 2,500 spots, leaving the last quarter or so to the lottery. You couldn't enter the lottery, instead every single person in the entire TRAPPIST-1 system was automatically entered. This was another stipulation of the creator from when he had started the Reseed, his way of making sure everyone had something of a fair shot of getting in, even if it was incredibly unlikely.
Elian made his way along the central pathway, flowing with the crowd, pushing past those who had slowed or stopped. He followed his familiar path, walking with his head down, letting the buzz of the crowd swallow him. He passed more offworlders, even lifting his head in surprise as he passed a group of Aqrans, taking in their hydro wraps and rebreathers. He let the soft buzz of the crowd take him in once more as he walked the rest of the way, finally turning to take stairs upwards to block 474. The lights of the lower city blinked below him as he moved up the stairs, sticking to the right side of the broad steps as clumps of people moved past him to get a look at the holos of the central pathway. He walked the rest of the way to the block without looking up, watching his black boots as he made his way along the gray pathway. Block 474 was a housing complex, made up of 100 block shaped buildings, towering and dark. There were no windows, only holos flickered high on the walls. His building was close to this side, and he trudged his way there, pausing at the door to look at the symbol of the galactic empire there on the wall. He pushed his way into the light of the lobby, the chip in his hand granting him access.
He allowed himself to cry once he entered his room.