Hope for Tomorrow

By Paul M. Carhart

The world around 17-year-old musical prodigy Remy Fairlight is at the brink of consumption by a sinister tyranny from the past. At the threshold of this secret insurrection is Hope Anstace, who will do anything to defend her land against the raiders who have been pillaging the countryside. When Remy and Hope are thrown together, sparks fly. But Hope has already started down a dark path of her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul M. Carhart
• Release date: Nov 4, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452349848

Paul M. Carhart

Paul M. Carhart is an award-winning Art Director in print, Internet and new media. He has produced interactive creative for Audi, Nissan/Infiniti, Toshiba and Focus on the Family and was the host of the UCCS web radio show, The Creative Underground. He often speaks on creativity, writing and design and his articles have appeared online and in local and national print publications. In addition to the Fairlight series of science fiction novels that include Chance for the Future, Hope for Tomorrow and Faith in the Past, Carhart is also the author of One of the Girls (the first in the PsyChickTM series of Young Adult superhero novels), A Stranger on Bay Street (the first in his new Worlds Collide series) and Zooming Thru Life, a nonfiction guide to the on-the-go lifestyle. He is currently halfway through the next Worlds Collide novel, A Stranger at the Gallows. And hopes to return to the Fairlight series after that. Stay up-to-date: www.paulcarhart.com.After a short time in Colorado, Paul and his wife Lori returned to Long Beach, California where they both grew up. The two of them were the driving force behind Launch Pad, a band that played the local Long Beach music scene as well as many charity functions.In Febuary 2014, four days before her birthday, Lori passed away, the results of a devastating stroke. Her death put Planetfall and subsequent books roughly a year behind schedule.Paul has continued their music in a new band, Third World Sun, made up of former Launch Pad members. They play frequently in the downtown Long Beach music scene and their first independently-produced CD will be available in December, 2015.Paul has one daughter, Melody, who is Third World Sun’s primary photographer.

Book preview

Engaging characters, witty dialogue, and page-turning action makes this one book you just can’t put down!

– Rick Bentsen, author of The Blademaster Chronicles

Hope for Tomorrow

S p e c i a l E d i t i o n

Paul M. Carhart

Smashwords Edition

Hope for Tomorrow

Copyright © 2001 Paul M. Carhart

Riot Act

Copyright © 2010 Paul M. Carhart

Faith in the Past

Copyright © 2002 Paul M. Carhart

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Hope for Tomorrow, Riot Act and Faith in the Past (which is excerpted in these pages) are works of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission from the publisher.

This book is available in print from paulcarhart.com.

Discover other titles by Paul M.Carhart at Smashwords.com:

Novels:

Chance for the Future by Paul M. Carhart

One of the Girls by Paul M. Carhart

Nonfiction:

Zooming Thru Life by Paul M. Carhart

C o n t e n t s

Chapter 1: Vow

Chapter 2: Decisions

Chapter 3: Missing

Chapter 4: Attraction

Chapter 5: The Corps

Chapter 6: A Beautiful Friendship

Chapter 7: Discovery

Chapter 8: Rightful Heir

Chapter 9: Graduation

Chapter 10: Sieve

Chapter 11: Hunters and Gatherers

Chapter 12: Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter 13: Eye of the Storm

Chapter 14: Onslaught

Chapter 15: Scattered

Chapter 16: Aftermath

Chapter 17: Raindrops and Teardrops

Chapter 18: What Once Was Lost

Chapter 19: None Greater

Chapter 20: Emergence

Chapter 21: Escape

Chapter 22: Pendulum

Chapter 23: In Deep

Chapter 24: Martyr

Chapter 25: Offensive

Chapter 26: Face the Music

Chapter 27: Retirement

Chapter 28: Renewal

Riot Act

Excerpt from Faith in the Past

About the author

Chapter One

Vow

It was pitch black and there was no telling where the starless sky met the equally dark and featureless landscape.

Except when the flashes occurred.

Watching the spectacle through her bedroom window, Hope winced, squinting her eyes as the countryside was illuminated again. Each flash highlighted the details of the hills beyond and reflected from the bottoms of the clouds that shielded the stars from view.

Spots appeared.

If it were not for the flashes, Hope realized, her vision might be able to adjust.

However, Hope Anstace wasn’t sure there was anything out there that she cared to see.

Then the sound came, a roaring boom that rumbled through every fiber of her being.

She reached down and rubbed behind Ander’s right ear to calm him just as he began to whimper.

Good dog, she whispered.

The light disappeared as quickly as it had come, again leaving the night an empty void.

Hope jumped in surprise. A hand now rested on her bare shoulder.

They’ll be here tonight, her father’s familiar voice rasped.

She turned to look at him only to find that she couldn’t see a thing. Her bedroom was even darker than it was outside.

There isn’t much left of the old Crockett place, his disembodied voice continued. They’ll come out farther if they have to.

Hope sighed. Her father was right. Indeed, he was seldom wrong. Hope’s father didn’t talk much, but when he did people knew to listen.

Through the window, another flash of light enveloped the bedroom. For just an instant, she could see her father’s face, a sad smile tracing its way across his lips. The usual twinkle in his eyes was missing.

You know how to use this, Hope, he said as he pressed the repeating laser rifle into her small hands. It’s fully charged.

Hope looked down at the familiar weapon just as the light dissipated. On many occasions she had hunted night wolves to keep them off the estate.

Night wolves did not fire back, however.

Ander whimpered again but Hope’s attention reverted back to her father who was once again shrouded by the darkness. Within seconds, the dog’s whine was drowned out completely by the retort of a distant explosion as it shook through the house. The effect was like thunder, but more threatening and infinitely more sinister.

When do you think? she asked once the noise had passed. Was there a quiver in her voice?

There was a slight pause.

That one seemed closer than the others. Could be any time.

Hope nodded. They’ll head for the harvest.

Then we’ll make our stand in the compound.

Outside, the darkness was windy but warm and humid. Summer had come and gone. The unmistakable smell of autumn was in the air, a scent Hope normally looked forward to on the vineyard. This year, however, the season had brought with it something unexpected. She and her father had recently overseen a sizable harvest. The fruits of their labor, along with everything else of value they had on the ranch, was accessible through the compound. In a few days, their bounty would have become young wine and then stored for further fermentation. Now Hope wondered if she would be around to see the sun rise, muchless take in the wondrous aroma of their harvest in the coming years.

Somehow, they had to stop these raiders. Somehow they would have to save their traditions… their family legacy.

Hope silently accompanied her father out of their flat-roofed single story house and down the steps. Ander matched her pace, panting lightly at her heels.

There was no need to speak. Her father led her toward the storage barn with sure steps, despite the darkness of the night. Even though the breeze was picking up, Hope could already feel the top of her thin nightdress beginning to stick to her torso. Although autumn was here, summer seemed to have lingered. She reached back and tied her dark hair in a knot to keep it out of the way.

She wished she could just go back to bed and this whole affair would disappear. But she was too practical for that. She knew she could not simply wish something away, no matter how horrific it might be. She was also well aware of the fact that she could not leave or surrender. To do so would be to give up. This land was her birthright as it had been her father’s. There was no way she was going to simply give in to the forces at hand. She had that stubborn Anstace blood in her and she knew that it would prevail.

Father and daughter reached the center of the compound with Ander close behind. Hope’s father swung the huge door to the stable open. She could hear a horse whinny from inside, obviously disturbed by the evening’s activities.

Make sure the stalls are secure, Hope’s father whispered.

Yes, father, she said as she shouldered her rifle by its strap and went inside. She could feel Ander’s furry coat brush past her bare leg.

It was darker inside the stable than it had been outside and Hope was tempted to ignite a lamp so she could see. She decided against it, however. She knew her way around the stable, after all. She had frequented it in play and in work for nearly eighteen years. Besides, there was no reason to draw attention to their farm with such a beacon. There was always a chance, however macabre, that the raiders might go a different direction and attack someone else’s property. No sense in skewing those odds by lighting the enemy’s way, she figured.

Even so, it would only be a matter of time before the raiders would come to the Anstace estate. Hope had suspected as much for weeks and had done what she could to mentally prepare herself for that eventuality. She didn’t know exactly who they were but she was ready for them nevertheless.

Since her mother’s passing, her father had kept only two horses on the estate, one for him and one for Hope. She came to the first stall, knowing that her father’s horse, Luna, was beyond the door. She could hear the mare snort anxiously from inside. Hope touched the latch and found that it was secure.

She moved on to the only other stall of importance, the one that housed her own steed.

You okay, Cira? she asked as she ran her fingers over the latch. She was surprised to find that the stall door was wide open and not a sound came from within.

Hope pulled the rifle from her shoulder and flipped on the gun’s overhead lamp, pointing it into the stall.

Cira was gone.

Ander yipped beside her.

What’s going on in there, Hope? her father called from outside. He had probably seen her lamp through the cracks in the stable’s planking and was concerned.

Hope pressed her lips together and then flipped the lamp back off.

Come on, Ander, she said under her breath as she headed back out of the stable. When she reached her father, she perceived his anxious demeanor even though she could not see much of his face in the dark.

Cira’s gone, she informed him.

There was a short pause.

Probably scared off by the noise. I’m sure he hasn’t gone far.

Shouldn’t we find him, father?

I’m not so sure we should…

Another flash of light brightened their night. Hope could see, albeit briefly, that her father seemed smaller, more vulnerable than she had ever known him to be. He must have seen something in her as well because his face seemed to soften just as the light dissipated.

You’re right, Hope, he said. Another blast like that and he’ll certainly head for the hills. He sighed, allowing the sound of the explosion to wash over them before continuing. Be quick about it though.

Hope was relieved. The last thing she wanted was to lose her beloved Cira. Come on, Ander. Let’s find Cira.

Ander barked once and took off. Hope followed directly behind him.

It didn’t take long for Ander to pick up Cira’s scent and Hope found that she was grateful to have her dog with her. She realized that she could scarcely remember a time when she hadn’t been blessed with Ander’s company. On this occasion, however, she knew that finding Cira would be quite difficult without the help of Ander’s keen sense of smell. Her only other option would be to ignite her rifle’s lamp and search for hoof prints by sight, which would draw undue attention to herself and to the estate.

The unfortunate aspect of this search was that, other than by sound, there seemed to be no real way for her to keep track of Ander in the dark.

Ander? she whispered, knowing full well his sensitive hearing could hone in on her.

From a distance, Ander barked. Hope took note of the slope of the ground. They were indeed heading up into the hills that divided their property from the Mayfield estate on the east. Cira must have headed for the shelter of the olive trees.

The dog’s barking became urgent and Hope picked up her pace, shouldering the rifle as she did so.

Ander? Cira?

She could hear the familiar sounds of Ander’s panting and of Cira’s prancing through the small leaves and pebbles on the ground. The horse snorted and Ander’s barking became a jabbering noise.

What is it? she asked as she finally caught up to them.

Just then, a bright white light cracked through the darkness, blinding Hope completely. It wasn’t a dark blindness like she had just begun to get used to. Instead, it was a white blindness. Everything was bright to the point that she could see nothing…not one detail of her surroundings. Even the shadows had been eliminated.

Cira whinnied and Ander increased his objections.

Hope was engulfed in the whiteness for what seemed like half an hour, but was most certainly only a few moments. Then the light dissipated, leaving her with red and purple spots free-floating in the darkness.

She stumbled for a moment, finding one of the short, gnarled olive trees to lean up against. She felt the rifle strap slide down and rest against the nook of her forearm. Her head was spinning, her senses turned upside down.

What just happened? Was that what the previous flashes had been like up close? If so, then the raiders are here. And if that is true, Father will need my help.

Cira? she asked into the muted kaleidoscope of colors as she absently pushed the rifle back up onto her shoulder.

She was answered by an angry snort.

No time for grievances, old boy, she said as she moved in the direction of her horse. When she reached him, she rubbed his muzzle softly in an attempt to calm him because she knew very well that he would not like what was coming next. In fact, Hope dreaded it as well.

Without warning, Hope grasped Cira’s mane tightly and pulled herself up onto his bare back. Cira bucked but recognized Hope despite the darkness and his own fears. He did not bolt as Hope thought he might. Nevertheless, Cira reared up onto his back legs and it was all Hope could do stay on top of his powerful frame.

Come on Cira, she rasped as she tried to get him back down on all fours. Back to the compound.

Cira came back down, his feet dancing nervously on the leafy floor. Good boy, she whispered through the rustling sounds. She pushed the heels of her sandled feet against his sides. Now let’s go home. Quickly, Cira. Quickly!

Ander barked his orders out as well and led the way back down from the hills at full speed.

As they emerged from the rows of olive trees that lined the hillside, Hope could see that her worst fears were coming true. Energy flashes, not as powerful as the one she had just experienced, were erupting in the clearing below. Utilizing the intermittent light of the explosions, Hope was able to take in the details of her home, her imagination and first-hand knowledge of the property filling in the gaps that the flashes did not illuminate. She could barely make out her father in front of the main house, firing his rifle at the enemy. She could also see plainly that there were too many raiders for her father to withstand.

He needs my help!

Onward, Cira! she ordered at the top of her lungs as she slung her rifle from her shoulder. She thumbed on the power switch and was rewarded with the satisfying thrum of the energy pack engaging with the firing mechanism. The rifle wasn’t state of the art, she knew, but it would do the job.

Through the flashes, Hope was able to make out certain details concerning the raiders. Most of the men were on the ground, running to and from the two buildings. They seemed to be just as interested in the house as the rest of the compound. There also seemed to be several black hover cars parked near the stable: the raider’s obvious means of transportation. The men all wore black uniforms…yes uniforms. They were all the same, each one sporting the same reflective helmets and the same red pin striping. Hope recognized the pattern too. Although the coloration was different from the pictures she had seen, she realized that the raiders were Enforcers!

I thought Enforcers were no more!

It had been years since she had even heard tell of them.

One of the soldiers stepped out of the main house and Ander, who was still leading the way into the compound, pounced on him. The man went down, his head bouncing against the wall and his laser rifle falling out of reach.

Hope pulled her rifle up so the stock rested against her shoulder.

These are not people, she thought, they are night wolves… scavengers. They deserve what they get.

The laser scope targeted an enemy uniform. Hope gritted her teeth and squeezed off a shot. The man cried out as he fell to the ground.

Delicately balancing the rifle in her right hand, she touched her left knee to Cira’s side, urging the light brown stallion around to face another direction. She had lost track of Ander but she was certain he would be fighting for their land just as she was.

Aiming with one arm, the scope of her rifle selected another enemy. With her knees, she gripped her steed. She steadied her shot with her other hand.

Ring true, she thought as she fired again, this time punching a hole through the back of her target’s shiny black helmet.

Two for two.

Still, there were more soldiers swarming about than she could easily count and she realized she would have to change her tact in order to be rid of them.

Come on, Cira, she said as she pulled her steed around, pointing him in yet a different direction. She touched her heels to him again and they galloped north along the outskirts of the property. If she could make the attackers believe there were more defenders than just herself and her father, she might be able to run them off, at least for the time being. Next time, she would be in the compound to help her father fight them off. For now, all she could hope for was a reprieve from the attack.

Hope had gone perhaps fifty feet when she brought Cira to a halt again. She turned him toward the main house once more and selected a target in the rifle’s laser scope. She took a breath before firing. The shot easily took down another Enforcer.

They don’t know who they’re messing with, she said under her breath. Anstace blood always flows last.

She swung the rifle around to bear on another black-clad soldier. There were so many of them, she realized, that it would be hard for her to miss.

Again, she squeezed off a shot. The man fell to the ground.

Time to hit them where it hurts, she said to Cira. Let’s get those hover cars.

Cira snorted in affirmation.

She directed her steed further around the property so she could come up behind the stable. Within moments, she was in position.

Hope had little experience or interaction with the high-tech baubles that were popular and common in the city. However, she was certain that she recognized the fuel caps on the rear of each of the five hover cars. It would only take two or three well placed shots to disable them all.

But she didn’t want to destroy them all.

I want them gone, not stranded here.

Hope pulled the rifle up to her eye and let the laser sight rest on the rightmost car’s fuel cap. Confidently, she pulled the trigger. The shot found its mark and the hover car exploded in a brilliant ball, splaying shrapnel around itself like the rings of Saturn.

With her knees, she directed Cira to back up so they would be hidden behind the stable. Already, the soldiers’ attention had turned toward the decimated vehicle. She didn’t need to bring them all down on her.

Once behind the cover of the stable, she whipped Cira around and headed back out into the dark countryside, hoping she had nudged these soldiers into leaving soon.

As she galloped away from the compound, Hope glanced over her shoulder, trusting Cira to take her safely from the raiders’ view. The wind knocked her hair free from the knot she had put in it but she let it fly. As soon as she was a good distance out from the main compound, she lifted the rifle up. Quickly, she switched off the targeting mechanism so she could make use of the scope without landing a red dot on someone’s black uniform. She certainly didn’t want to give away her position now that she had relocated.

Through the scope, she could see the black-clad men scampering into their hover cars. By the time she brought Cira to a halt, the hover cars had twisted on their anti-grav fields and were zooming off into the dark countryside, leaving the main compound in a flickering, smoldering state.

They’ll think twice before coming back to Anstace land.

Come on, Cira, she said as the horse made a wide semi-circle. Let’s go home.

Cira trotted back toward the compound. The stallion’s uneasiness manifested itself beneath her as an unfamiliar tightness in his muscles. Clearly the old boy was hesitant to return to the source of such noise and violence.

As they got a little closer, Hope realized that she could sense no movement on the property. Fear suddenly gripped her. She nudged Cira into a gallop and they reached the main house a minute later. Before Cira could come to a halt, Hope vaulted over his side. Landing firmly, she sprinted with every ounce of energy she had toward the house, her sandled feet kicking up dust against the dirt path.

Her rifle fell from her shoulder.

Father! Ander! Where are you?

She burst through the front door of the house. Lights, she said. The house lit up as it was programmed to, except where a lamp had been shattered in the living room. She barely noticed that the house was a shambles. She darted from room to room, searching for a living being.

There were none.

No dead ones either, thank God.

Hope flung herself headlong out of the house and into the compound, bounding over the porch’s three steps in one leap. She passed a still skittish Cira but paid him little mind. Where was her father? Her fear was now getting the best of her imagination.

Father?

She came upon the stable, which was illuminated by the blossoming fire of the hover car she had taken out nearby.

There was a sound from within the stable. Hope’s spirit rose as she rushed inside.

Father?

A horse snorted from inside the stall to her left.

Luna… Hope didn’t try to hide her disappointment.

She glanced around to take in the rest of the stable. Other than the scattering of tools and disarray of the harvested olives that had been stored in one of the extra stalls, nothing really seemed out of the ordinary.

From outside the stable, she could hear the distant sound of a familiar bark.

Ander? Instantly, she was back outside. Ander, come here boy!

Ander charged from the darkness as if he had come through a curtain.

Hope got down on her knees to catch and embrace him. However, Ander stopped just short of her and barked urgently at her.

Something’s wrong, she muttered.

Ander turned and headed back the way he had come.

Hope stood back up, putting her hands on her hips. The dog turned back around and barked at her again. Then he wheeled about and disappeared back into the darkness.

Father… Hope sprinted after Ander, a crazy, agonizing fear squeezing her heart. Father?

Within minutes, she had left the light of the flaming hover car and re-entered the darkness of the early morning landscape. Even though dawn was quickly approaching, Hope knew that she would never have been able stay with the dog if it were not for Ander’s whimpering and barking.

However, when she reached her destination, Hope almost wished she had lost her way.

Father! she cried, recognizing his crumpled shape on the ground next to Ander. The dog was nudging the man with his muzzle, attempting to wake him.

From the look of him, however, Hope knew her father would never get up again.

She turned her head away for a moment, unable to look. Her long black hair fell over her face, hiding the gruesome sight from her.

Ander continued to whine.

Hope lifted her head, her hair falling obediently back into place. She took a deep breath, strengthening and hardening herself to the situation, fighting back the pain… the emotions… the tears. She stepped closer. The sun was just beginning to peek over the countryside for what promised to be a perfectly beautiful autumn day. Hope took in the scent but now all she smelled was death.

She had made it to another day. Her father had not.

I’m sorry, Father, she said under her breath. I should have been here.

In the half-light, she could see her father’s face, the lines in it making him seem older than she had known him to be. Protruding from his chest was a black pike with red pin striping.

She glanced around and saw that his rifle was a good twenty feet away. He had been unarmed and defenseless when the Enforcers had killed him.

When they had run him through from behind…

Anger welled up inside of her.

They will not get this place, Father, Hope vowed. I will never leave this land.

Her father did not respond.

Chapter Two

Decisions

Rembrandt Fairlight gazed down at the tattered picture he held in his hand. It was a good bet his mother didn’t even know it still existed; he had swiped it from her so long ago.

The dark haired man in the picture, a jovial smile creeping through his dark goatee was undoubtedly his stepfather, known to most people simply as Chance. The man opposite Chance was beginning to give Remy the chills. Remy had been told the man was his father, Marc Fairlight. But on this, Remy’s seventeenth birthday, the blonde man with the blue eyes in the picture looked more and more like Remy’s own mirror image.

There were differences, of course. The man in the picture had two or three days’ growth on his face, while Remy could barely get any stubble at all no matter how often he shaved. The chin wasn’t exactly right either. Still, the resemblance was uncanny.

And then there was the gray and blue Enforcer uniform… Remy didn’t ever expect to see himself wearing that.

Still, his father’s ties to the Enforcement Corps had not put off Chance. The two of them had become very good friends in the days of the resistance… the days when Marc had decided to go double agent and get himself killed.

The days when he had left Remy and his mother alone.

Yet his mother never seemed to blame him. In fact, whenever Remy asked about his father, it was quite the opposite.

Marc Fairlight was a hero. He risked everything time and again to bring an end to the Government tyranny and he died to protect the cause.

Remy drew a certain measure of pride in his father. After all, being the son of a hero wasn’t such a bad thing. Of course, Chance and his mother, Mancy, were both heroes in their own right. But he knew them only too well. With Marc Fairlight, Remy always felt as if there was something more. Who was the man? Why did he switch over to the resistance? The answers he got from his mother and Chance were the stuff of myths and fairy tales. It all seemed so… so made up.

Were they hiding something? Had they actually forgotten who he had really been? Remy wasn’t sure, but for as long as he could remember, he had longed to find out.

Hey Remy, his little brother’s voice called from another room.

Remy slid the picture into his back pocket.

In here, Chaser.

Chaser’s dark-haired head popped into the doorway. You gonna finish that in-ster-mint or what? I wanna see what it’s gonna be!

Remy grinned at his brother’s awkward pronunciation.

It’s more or less done. I’ll race you to it!

Remy darted past his brother and down the long hallway. He skidded to a halt on the slick surface of the floor and let his brother slip through the door before him.

You win!

I win! I win! I win! Chaser beamed and pranced.

Remy stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips as he gazed up at his monstrosity.

The design for The Instrument, as Remy now called it, had been rearing its head in Rembrandt’s subconscious for much of his seventeen years.

However, it wasn’t until he had been awakened by a vision in his sleep regarding its construction that he had decided to actually build it.

I don’t know. It seems awfully unwieldy, he said to himself as he pushed his bushy blonde hair out of his eyes.

What sound is it supposed to make? Chaser asked as he stood from a nearby chair.

Remy glanced over at his little brother, ran his hand through his rumpled hair and squinted his pale blue eyes. I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we? I don’t know if I got it right or not.

That wasn’t entirely true. If there was anything Remy knew, it was music. Still, Remy endeavored to remain humble, especially around Chaser.

Can we test it? Chaser asked, his eyes twinkling at the thought of the adventure.

Remy pressed his lips together. Well, it takes three people to play it. There’s only two of us.

Chaser slumped down into the chair he had been standing on. Aww. That bites.

Remy couldn’t suppress a smirk at his ten-year-old little brother. Even though he knew that Chaser was not supposed to use such language, he still thought it was cute – funny even – whenever the younger boy mimicked him.

It sure does, little brother, Remy said as he tossed himself down onto the floor at the base of the chair, his long and lanky arms and legs scattering around him.

Chaser sat upright. Hey, I got an idea. Mom could help!

Remy rolled his eyes. If she were here… Remy added.

Oh. Yeah, if she were here. Chaser slumped back down. Then he brightened again. Maybe she’ll be back soon!

She’s never here, Remy sighed.

Chaser slumped back down even further. Yeah, never here.

Remy let out another sigh as he thought about how often his mother had not been in his life since she had become president of the World Creative Alliance, which was now the governing body of the planet. It was true; she had been a hero, intimately involved with bringing down the reign of General Starrk’s so-called order. Both Chance, whom she had married, and their close friend Nik Tavarone had made sure that she had never left the limelight almost from the moment of General Starrk’s death.

Mancy Fairlight, his mother, had become their icon… a Creative who was at the forefront of the entire movement. Someone whose story the masses could identify with…whose personal triumphs had overcome her personal tragedies. The fact that she had previously been married to an Enforcer had even helped to justify the perpetuation of the Enforcement Corps and eased along the political and social reforms. They hadn’t needed to revamp the entire structure. Just a nip here and a tuck there and they were on their way. The World Creative Alliance had been born.

There had been a few rough years but that was when the Renaissance had begun. Remy remembered it well, for he was probably the greatest beneficiary of what the reformed government had accomplished. Suddenly, as if they were a swarm of locusts, artists had emerged from every walk of life. Even those with no talent were creating art. Remy, who had been a musical child prodigy at the age of six, was thrust into the spotlight, composing and arranging orchestral pieces at the age of eight and conducting symphony orchestras by the time he was eleven. Before he was fourteen, he felt that he had already accomplished everything he could. In the last few years, his musical ability had not progressed at all. Bored with himself and his abilities, he had even stopped writing music altogether.

There were now a countless number of Rembrandt Fairlight imitators, he knew. He had somehow become a legend at the age of seventeen.

But the invention of The Instrument had helped him get over his encroaching depression. It had given him something to accomplish again… something to shoot for. If it lived up to his expectations, symphony orchestras around the world might be transformed and he might actually find some thrill in writing music again.

At least that was what he hoped.

But now he had come to yet another standstill in his life. The Instrument was done but he couldn’t test it. Who knew when a stoic guard or talentless maid might come along to hold down a few keys?

I guess I should have thought about that, he reasoned. Of course, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Couldn’t we just monkey it up so we could test it? Chaser asked dejectedly from where he sat on his chair near Remy’s head.

They probably could. That wasn’t Remy’s real problem. If his mom would just concern herself with her children more than she did with affairs of state, he wouldn’t have to monkey it up. She was never around. That was the real rub. They might have been poor before Chance had come along, but at least they had been a family. Now they lived a lavish life of luxury, but Remy rarely saw his mother or Chance…except on the NewsNet.

It wasn’t really Chance’s fault, Remy decided. He didn’t have anything against Chance. After all, Chance was the closest thing to a father Remy had ever known... a role Chance had willingly taken on… a role Marc Fairlight had opted to abandon. Remy wondered what could cause a man to abandon his family.

He leapt back up onto his feet. Let’s give it a whirl, he said brightly. He hated for his little brother to be gloomy. There was no reason to take Chaser down with him. If we can find some adhesive tape, we can rig the bottom keys into position so we can operate the other stations ourselves. Remy turned and headed back toward his invention.

Cool! Chaser leapt from the chair to follow his brother back toward the hulking Instrument. Can I blow on it?

Remy laughed out loud. I don’t know about that. Remember how you feel about heights?

Oh yeah.

Just find some adhesive tape and we’ll be ready to go.

Chaser changed direction, heading off toward the stack of drawers near Remy’s workbench.

The older boy stopped, placed his hands on his hips again and gazed up at his creation.

The Instrument was about twelve feet tall and consisted largely of a twisting brass horn with a beanstalk-like staircase that wrapped its way up the side at occasionally freakish angles. At the base, in the first position, was an electronic keyboard that had been digitally patched into what Remy called a soundbox. About halfway up the strange staircase was the second position, where a second musician would play a set of keys that were fashioned after those of a clarinet or saxophone…but much larger. The top position, where Remy planned on perching himself, was where the Instrument’s fuel would come from: the mouthpiece. The idea was that one musician would blow into the mouthpiece while the second musician worked the keys and the third musician processed the sound through the digital processor. The large size of the Instrument was required to get the extreme multi-octave range Remy desired.

You find that tape yet? Remy called back to his little