Road of Suns

By Dominic Petoud

When fifteen-year-old Tyler has to escape Earth, he can only do so using the dangerous method known as hitching. He will defy death, which he is more or less ready for. But he will also face a hideous threat to sentient life in the entire Galaxy, and attempt against all odds to save the Milky Way itself. In fear for all life, he will find friendship and learn wisdom on the road of suns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dominic Petoud
• Release date: Jul 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476435947

Dominic Petoud

I was born in Switzerland and live in the U.S.A. I write Science fiction and fantasy.

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ROAD OF SUNS

By Dominic Petoud

Published by Dominic Petoud at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Dominic Petoud

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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PROLOGUE

The spaceport at Centerville–E teemed with people. They weren’t the wealthy crowds you saw by day when the great liners landed, coming from rich planets, or took off to others just as prosperous. The night belonged to the resourceful rabble, those who went into space on shoestrings and blind luck.

That had been the way on Earth since the early days of human expansion in the galaxy: daylight belonged to the rich, whose online money bought their pleasures and travels.

At night, there must be room for everyone else. The Terran government had made cash illegal almost two centuries earlier, in theory. In practice, it needed illegal commerce, and cash was still in use among outlaws. It was the Night's money, and it bought second-hand freedom.. The great concrete landing pads disappeared under a random hodgepodge of more or less junky, more or less rusty, always tiny ships. Nobody could afford to hire thirty or fifty crew members, and two–seater shuttles abounded, as well as little interstellar jumpers hardly sixty yards long, that could willy–nilly carry up to six people, and only weighed a few tens of tons.

The owners and would–be passengers of this garish and battered fleet were at least as multicolored and banged–up as their vehicles, and all shouted to be heard above the uneven roars, piercing shrieks, and rattling growls of old engines. All those makes and models were guaranteed silent when new, but they gave no sign of ever having known such happy state.

A boy was making his way through the crowd, his shoulders hunched, not meeting anyone’s gaze. The posture was not exceptional in these underworld hours, when those with nothing to hide had nothing to do there, but several things made him remarkable: first, his eyes were blue. You didn't see that much, except in remote enclaves; blue eyes were recessive and disappearing fast. Even in Center–E, they weren't that common.. Then he was very young and rather handsome, although diminutive in size, and his clothes were fashionably cut in expensive, imported fabrics. Although dirty and torn, they signaled a rich boy, and he gathered many dirty looks on his way by. Slumming sons of patrician families were not welcome, who came here to take risks that often killed them – after which came the families’ revenge, indiscriminately wreaked on just about anyone. Animosity stayed within controllable limits – mostly – because it did not happen that often. Besides, many people didn’t care a bit. Don’t mind business that’s not yours was ethics 101 for the Nighters. So they let the blond boy with the sharp chin and slanted eyes go by quietly. He was barely six feet tall, and nobody could’ve boasted about taking him down.

Lost in his ruminations, the boy didn’t watch where he was going. He simply tried to negotiate a way through the crowd, and aimed for the less well-lit spots where it thinned. Those darker areas were not deserted on that account. Simply, one walked instead of darting everywhere on electric scooters. It still was in your best interest to watch your step – and the boy was staring at his feet. Thus, he rammed headlong into an unexpected obstacle.

He had walked into a pedestrian. He had, in fact, stuck his nose into a huge gut, clad in leather blackened by sweat.

This is unreal, he thought. It’s a buttress pillar come alive!

The man was well over eight feet, and almost as broad as he was tall.

The giant lifted the much smaller young man by the scruff of the neck like a kitten to bring his face at eye level. This scrutiny was followed by an unflattering twist of the mouth, that bared a lot of very white, very square teeth, gleaming in the monster's monumental beard like two rows of marble slabs peering through a dark jungle.

If you haven’t learned to walk straight yet, you should sit. What are you doing in the hitchers’ square, child? With that pretty costume, you can certainly find a job washing dishes on a liner where the ‘matics are broke!

His laughter, huge as the rest of him, softened the sarcasm.

Hanging far above ground like a coat on a hook, dizzy with surprise and fear, the boy answered feebly:

What’s a hitcher? And what do you hitch to what?

The big man looked like the answer might be clumsy people to a butcher’s hook. He only laughed again, and released his catch, who fell in front of him, sitting down hard.

What do we hitch to what! You’re a funny one. Whatcha think, dummy? We’re hitchers! We stop spaceships and get a ride on them. It’s one of those 'lifestyle' things.

The boy blinked in the twilit darkness.

Like pirates?

The huge hand grabbed him and pulled him to his feet, then shoved him lightly to get him moving.

Not like pirates, no. Like hitchers. Come along, I’ll show you. What are you called?

Tyler, um, Deville.

It was the first name he’d thought of, and he could have kicked himself. Nobody would believe that, it was right out of the movies. Hurrying at the side of the monster, whose every step was worth four of his, he wondered where he was going, and why. But nobody else had talked to him, and he needed an introduction with the Nighters. He had to leave Earth, very soon, no matter what it took.

The giant threw a brief, cynical glance his way, a humorous glint in his eyes.

Is that right? Uncommon name, Deville. Never met anyone called that, except that dude in the netseries. Andromeda’s Tribe, I think it’s called. Loki’s mine, Loki Daum – and I was born with it. Sit down, Tyler um Deville.

Daum pointed to a pile of plastic crates, arranged in a semicircle around a small, cold fusion brazier. The place, although deserted for now, showed signs of recent human presence: fresh garbage, most of it food containers. The roar of the landing strips was only a faint rumble here. Tyler sat carefully. The plastic whined under his weight.

He decided he liked Loki Daum, who probably wasn’t a mugger.

It’s Cho, Tyler Cho. What does a hitcher do exactly?

With a happy sigh, Loki sat next to him. The overburdened crate screamed lengthily. He grunted:

One of these days those nothing crates will collapse under my self and stick it full of splinters. I need to find heavy ones, but they hardly ever throw those away. You smoke?

Tyler accepted a cigarette warily. It was a little horrifying that the only person he'd found to talk to was an addict, but he didn't want to risk making the giant angry. Smoking was crazy, but he’d already broken bigger laws, anyway, and the chances were very good he'd be dead in a week, no matter what he did. He took a careful drag. A cloud of toxic smoke chomped on his lungs, and he choked. The cardboard filter gripped between his teeth, Daum watched him, amused and protective.

You don’t smoke. Well then, you should say so. Don’t be shy. Mind, when I was twelve, I was shy, too.

I'm not twelve, I'm fifteen, and these things kill you. They're illegal for a reason!

Daum nodded.

Very true, and that makes them special. Everything else that's illegal here, like eating fresh fruit, is just that way because Earth is a sick place. But you see, they sell the stuff anyway. It's easier to get, and cheaper, than a bag of oranges, and what kind of sense does that make? It's a nasty habit. But I spend enough time off Earth that it won't kill me: it's impossible to find the stuff elsewhere, and you sure can't smoke when you're hitching! So I catch up when I'm dirtside. I'll even quit someday. But not today.

He blew out a cloud of bluish smoke with obvious enjoyment. For his part, Tyler had already crushed the horrible thing under his heel. Loki reproachfully rescued and straightened it before tucking it in a pocket. It's not so cheap that you throw it away, he grumbled, then went on:

To answer your question, a hitcher launches into space in a glorified long–range spacesuit, called a hiker. You’re stuffed in there with an airmaker and a few months’ worth of food. Once you’re out, you have just enough juice to change spots five or six times – it’s in your best interest to pick a location very carefully. After that, you have a beacon, and you wait for a ship to pick you up, or not. If not, well, you die a slow, horrible death, of thirst and starvation, stuck in the void. That’s hitching, in a nutshell. Can’t pick a destination, of course. You have to start inside a solar system though, got to meet a ship before they leave normal space.

He smiled widely.

It’s risky as hell, and totally illegal on Earth, but not totally enough that there aren’t three companies making the gear. My bet is they think of it as a good way of getting rid of troublemakers, like addictive drugs. But troublemakers being what they are, an amazing number of us survive. There are tricks to it. It stops being illegal as soon as you’re out of Earth’s atmosphere, too. And there you have it: hitching. You like?

Tyler shuddered. He imagined himself free–falling in vertiginous void, with only a stroke of luck between him and slow death. Not at all what he was cut for.

But he absolutely had to leave Earth – within the week.

Don’t even think about it, Tyler.

Wouldn’t it be simpler to get a ride from the spaceport? Simpler and less deadly?

Of course, genius. But dirtside, people make you cough up a fare. You know what even a little spin to, say, Proxima, will cost?

Tyler shook his head. He didn’t. It was one of the things he hoped to find out coming here. On his way out, he’d gone into Cybele's room and grabbed all the cash she always left lying everywhere. Technically, it was breaking, entering, and theft. But she always said it was fun to break the law, and she owed him, or so he figured; and he was in worse trouble anyway. It was more money than he’d ever seen, but he didn’t know if it was enough Loki answered:

Ten thousand to half a million, according. It’s cheaper if the pilot is freelance and owns his ship. Otherwise, you help him cough up the next payment.

Tyler closed his eyes, crushed. He had eight thousand. A not so small fortune, enough to buy a cubicle in a dorm building for a year. He hadn’t dreamed the prices were that monstrous.

I’m dead.

He hid his face in his arms and moaned. Loki put a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly.

You’re in trouble. Why don’t you tell me about it?

He looked up.

There’s no point. I meant to leave, but there’s no possible way I can, and nothing else can get me out of trouble. It’s nice of you to offer, but you can’t help. Nobody can, the mess I put myself in.

Maybe it’ll help to just talk. You never know. C’mon, tell me. The cops are looking for you?

Tyler nodded sadly.

The cops, the School's security guards, and the Private Guard of the Estrada Family.

Daum gave a wolf whistle.

Sweet blue sky's sake. Mayhem, misdemeanor and felony, wow. How did you manage to get the First Family on your case, a shrimp like you? You're not even grown yet!

I met a girl. Cybele. She told me her name was Cybele Tyndall. She was wonderful. She said she liked me, and....

He sighed.

I wanted her. If you saw her, you’d see why.

Loki nodded, looking dour.

I did see her. She’s easy to notice. Cybele Estrada is on the netfeeds a lot. She’s an antigrav racer, Women don’t do stuff like that on Earth, as a rule,and she's also very beautiful. I don’t know how you wouldn't want her, if you like girls. Before you met her, I mean. She's a crazy demon by all accounts. She certainly would not be interested in a baby, no offense. You're too young for a girlfriend, anyway.

I'm fifteen! That's old enough. She wanted me to do something heroic, to gain her favor. She really put it like that. That’s how she has fun, wrecking naïve little idiots like me. I fell for it all the way down. I was a student in applied transkinetics at the School, right? I had the key to the control rooms on my ID. She gave me a crack, said it would give the scanners a fake ID. I believed it. There’s this famous, priceless necklace in a museum in North–A, some ancient Egyptian thing, and I swiped it out for her. That was the deal: she’d be my girl if I could get her the necklace. According to her, I just had to put it back later.

Enraged in hindsight with his own stupidity, he repeatedly punched his palm.

Loki lit another cigarette.

I can tell you how the rest of the story goes. That was dumber than dirt, boy.

You’re not kidding. When I got busted, the necklace was in my pocket and I was on my way to her. I tried to explain about Cybele to the cops. They knew her, of course, and she said she'd never even seen me. The Guard are after me for attempt to despoil and slander vile, or something like that. Bet that was fun for her.

No bet. Why aren’t you in jail? Right now you ought to be in deep freeze on death row, if I know anything. How did you escape, if that’s what you did?

Wait for it. Patriarch Estrada came to see me. He sent a simul. Not a hologram, mind. An android. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looked alive.

That’s hard to believe, boy. Why would he talk to you? Why would he bother? You’re nothing.

Tyler smiled faintly.

"I know it. But he’s halfway decent, in his own disgusting way. His granddaughter has been playing the same games for years, and he’s tired of having to cover up for her. Killing