The Great East–West,

Planet Irkalla, Survivor’s Refuge

4452.2.27 Interstellar

Janus stared at Agent Murkinson across the desk. The man knew he wasn’t Craig Bennin. He’d been caught in a lie, one that hadn’t been his idea in the first place, and he didn’t know enough about the Gracians to tell how bad the situation was.

Lira and Mick were waiting outside, and he didn’t have time to contact them for advice, so he fell back on his own methods. “You’re right, I’m not Craig Bennin. He died in an accident just before the Trials, and I was chosen to replace him.”

Murkinson smirked. “Yes. Chosen. Please sit down, Mr. Invarian. I’m pleased we can dispense with any protests of innocence.”

Janus did as he was told, feeling like he’d been called into the principal’s office for misbehaving in class.

“Why did you lie to Martial?” Murkinson asked.

“I didn’t intend to,” Janus said. “He assumed I was Craig, and my understanding was he would respond better to Administrator Bennin’s son than to a mechanic from Sector Six.”

Murkinson frowned. “Are you sure it was your understanding, Mr. Invarian? Lira Allencourt didn’t whisper that advice into your ear?”

“She did,” Janus said, feeling increasingly trapped.

The Gracian agent sat back, looking pleased. “Excellent. I believe we’ll be able to work together, then, Mr. Invarian.”

Janus felt completely out of his depth, like he’d been locked in a cell with a well-spoken trilith who was discussing how best to eat him.

“As a gesture of goodwill, I will educate you as to the nature of your mistake. Ms. Allencourt assumed we would prefer to deal with Mr. Bennin on the basis that he was a councilor’s son, but that reflects her own biases of Primer supremacy. Gregory Bennin is a skilled administrator, and his son was a moderately skilled but ultimately spoiled child. Doesn’t much capture the imagination, does it?”

Janus frowned. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Murkinson nodded. “But you, Mr. Invarian, are the son of two leading Prometheus Base scientists, a place that is rapidly fading from history into legend, and you were secreted away by your uncle, a former aspirant, just before your home’s collapse. Do you feel the power of that legacy?”

Janus wasn’t sure how to respond. Since Murkinson had responded more readily to the truth than any kind of inaccuracy, he said, “With all due respect, sir, it’s hard to feel that way when I’ve spent the last twelve years being told I’m worthless.”

“Bah! Typical of Prime Dome to focus on their xenophobic dogma over practicality! No matter. What would you say to getting one over your oppressor, eh? Sticking it to the man?” Murkinson grinned at him.

It was a perfect conspiratorial smile, the kind a holo star might use to show they were in cahoots, and Janus didn’t trust it at all. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing,” Murkinson said with a smile.

“I don’t understand,” Janus said. “I appreciate your helping us, but Martial said there would be a cost. I’d prefer to know what it is up front.”

“No need. What’s an exchange of small favors between two leading aspirant teams?”

Janus had a bad feeling about this. “What kind of favor?”

“Nothing of consequence. I thought we might go into Beta Station together, take some footage of both teams working together in the name of friendship and cooperation.”

“Okay,” Janus said. “That seems reasonable.”

“Good,” Murkinson said. “And let’s not tell Martial about the whole Janus-not-Craig mix-up. We’ll only be together for two days, no sense in spoiling any first impressions that might have been made.”

“Are you sure?” Janus asked. “I kind of feel like it was unnecessary, and I’d prefer to come clean.”

Having gotten what he wanted, Murkinson was far less stern, almost fatherly in his response. “That’s because Prime Dome has drowned you in so-called facts for most of your life, Janus. Craig was part of the nobility, and you were a worthless outsider. Are you actually worthless? Did you have anything to do with Prometheus Base’s collapse? Are you inferior to someone born in Prime Dome, from the Hub, or were you in fact better than them, something they acknowledged by making you the lead aspirant?”

“You’re saying there might be something other than negligence behind the fall of Prometheus?” Janus said with sudden interest.

Murkinson waved his hand. “I’m saying it doesn’t matter. Trust me when I tell you this, Janus, because it is the key to all human societies. If you are perceived as weak and defective, people will treat you like you are and, worse, you’ll believe you deserve it. As for power? The illusion of power is better and more versatile than the thing itself.”

***

Murkinson’s words stayed with Janus as he rejoined the others and Terra escorted them to a bunk room in the maintenance trawler. They were given coveralls and the opportunity to clean up; the buggy wouldn’t be fixed until after daybreak, so they would be riding with the caravan no matter what Janus decided. Lira and Mick noticed his silence, but they respected it.

It was a good thing. Janus needed to think.

Murkinson had told him real power was an illusion. He’d stated it not as an academic theory, but as faith. The people of Survivor’s Grace had built their lives around it.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

It upset him. He wanted to throw the idea out completely, but he’d seen too many things in the past two weeks that made him doubt. Lira and Craig had gotten him fired based on a rumor that only had the faintest basis in truth. Then, during the accident, Janus had made a choice between saving Craig and saving the people in that airlock.

Only he’d lacked the authority to make that decision. And yet he had, and the head of sector maintenance had followed his orders as if they came from the Council itself.

All based on a lie.

From there, his elevation to lead aspirant. It hadn’t happened because of his uncle—Ivan had planned to have him run in three years, not now—or because of his abilities. Those had helped, but they hadn’t made him anything than a simple mechanic for the years before that.

Why had it happened? Because the myth of the outsider’s inferiority had finally come to bite the Primers in the ass, and even the mighty Council couldn’t do anything about it.

They needed a story about a plucky outsider who’d come to them from… what had Murkinson called it? Fabled Prometheus. And Janus could indeed feel the power of that story, now. It was like something that had always been there, like the air inside the dome, unnoticed until the first time he’d been outside in a suit, and impossible to miss after that.

And yet it was an illusion, something that would never have happened until the Council, and maybe Nikandros, had grabbed hold of it and shaped it.

The traders of Crossroads understood this implicitly, that power could appear, disappear, or shift quickly, and because of that they built their habitats to be dismantled and moved. In Mercuria, the majority of the population had lived under a vicious minority’s rule because they couldn’t see the lie.

Was that what Janus was? The blind majority? Could he have stopped the abuse, prevented Callie from getting dragged into his fight, if he’d just harnessed that story sooner, for his own ends?

And what about him risking his life for a dome that had done nothing but use him up? Was that the only way to ensure Callie had a future, or could he just… walk off the set and sell his story to a better buyer?

“You okay, boss?” Mick asked, toweling off.

“Not really,” Janus said. “I’m learning a lot of things I should have known sooner.”

“About the Gracians?” Mick asked, grabbing the pair of coveralls the Gracians had provided them. “Don’t let them get into your head. Fair dinkum, they’re a lot less well put together than they look.”

“Yeah?” Janus asked.

Mick nodded. “Watch ’em, see what you think of their big thinking once you’ve seen how they live for a bit before buying into their craziness.”

“Okay,” Janus said. “It’s just… Hell, you know what, even Lira makes a point sometimes. Doesn’t mean I have to buy into everything she says.”

Mick laughed. “Yeah… About that. What’s up with you two?”

“You noticed?” Janus asked.

“Hard not to.”

Janus grunted. “I don’t know. I thought she had something against me for the longest time, but I guess it’s more about her family… it’s not my story to share. The point is, we’re working things out, I think, and she’s got a skill set I don’t have.”

Mick looked at him for a second or two, then said, “Whatever you say, boss. Just making sure I’m not walking into something complicated.”

“Oh, it’s complicated,” Janus said, and they both laughed.

***

Back in their temporary quarters, Janus finally sat down with Lira and Mick.

Lira didn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong?” Janus asked.

“What do you think is wrong? We’re aboard a Gracian crawler, we’re out of our suits so we’re at their mercy, and you handled all the negotiations.”

“Are you upset I didn’t consult you, or were you going to be upset no matter what?” Janus asked.

“You two realize they’re listening to us, right?” Mick said, looking around the small space. “I mean, they’re notorious for spying on everyone—their people, Hunters, other domes, even the cult when they can get away with it.”

“Right,” Lira said. “What have we promised them?”

Both of them looked at Janus.

“It’s complicated. They know I’m not Craig, but they want me to keep pretending to be Craig. They want us to record one of their shows with their team.”

“What kind of show?” Lira asked, her tone suspicious.

“We’re going to go into Beta Station together. I’m not sure why, but if it means they’ll fix our buggies and we get a good day’s rest, I’m all for it.”

“That’s it?” Mick asked.

“What do you mean, ‘That’s it?’” Lira said to Mick, just short of shouting. “He’s the lead aspirant! Do you have any idea how much damage he could do to Prime Dome’s standing in two days?”

Janus was about to protest when the cabin door slid open.

“Hey, folks! Sorry to interrupt!” Martial said, looking around. “Bad time?”

“Yeah, could we—”

“Not at all,” Lira said, cutting Janus off. “Who’s that with you?”

Martial stepped aside and let a young Gracian woman walk in. She was short, curvy, with her brown hair drawn back into a ponytail and a single, finger-wide purple bang hanging in front of her left eye. “This is Syn,” Martial said. “Syn, these are Craig, Mick, and Lira, the Prime Dome aspirants.”

“Hi,” Syn said shyly.

“That’s not Craig,” Lira said standing up. “Craig’s dead.”

“Lira!” Janus said, standing up.

“No, Janus,” Lira said. “You got to have all the fun in Crossroads. This time, I get to go get a drink with someone who’s actually my peer, and you can stay back and be the responsible adult. While you’re at it, fix my buggy.” She walked out, hooking Martial’s arm.

“I’m not sure I followed all that,” the Gracian lead aspirant said.

“I’ll explain it to you slowly over shots,” Lira said. “You do have alcohol somewhere, right?”

The door slid shut, leaving Janus, Mick, and Syn behind.

“Wow,” Mick said, looking at Janus. “I know you said you two had baggage, but… You want me to go after her?”

Janus shook his head. He wasn’t sure what that had been about, but he had an idea. In Crossroads, Janus had played the fool to draw dishonest merchants away from Lira while she made the real deals. If Lira was telling him she was playing that role, this time, it meant she thought that the Gracians were trying to rip them off, that Lira was playing decoy, and Janus needing to get to work.

It meant, “Trust me.” The only problem was, he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

Janus looked at Syn. The Gracian girl was just standing there. “I’m sorry you had to see that. She and I really don’t get along. Can I help you?”

Syn winced. “I’m here to get some background footage? Who you are, where you’re from, that sort of thing. I can come back later.”

“It’s fine,” Janus said, glancing at Mick. The Hunter looked concerned. Mick had also said the Gracians recorded everything, that they were watching them now, so Janus couldn’t explain, not without ruining Lira’s bluff—whatever it was. “Why don’t you start with me? I need to go check on our broken buggy. We can talk while I turn a wrench.”

“What do you want me to do, boss?” Mick asked, his face the calm mask of neutrality Janus had seen him wear several times before. It was a surprising attribute in the seemingly happy-go-lucky Hunter. Mick thought more before he acted than most people Janus knew.

“Martial’s second, Terra? She reckons she could beat a Hunter in a straight fight. Maybe you two could exchange a few pointers.”

“Sounds good, boss,” Mick said. “I’ll see if I can teach her a thing or two, or maybe it’ll be the other way around.”

“That settles it,” Janus said, giving Syn his sincerest fake smile. “Unless you want to go watch them fight?”

Syn wrinkled her nose. “I’ll stick with you, if you don’t mind. I’m sure someone else can get footage of Terra—no offense, Mick.”

“None taken,” Mick said, smiling broadly. “I’m a simple man with simple pleasures, Syn. Janus knows me well.”