The Boy Who Wields Thunder

By Gibson Morales

In 2060, the Naga rule the Earth. Humanity lives off of 1940s technology and teenagers are expected to spend their post-graduation lives serving a Naga overseer. Living with his adoptive parents in an upscale human city, Olton Sorrell has studied hard to have a great career serving under his father’s Naga friend.

But as graduation nears, Olton meets the enigmatic Orun, a Naga who reveals the truth about his species’ arrival on Earth and sympathizes with the anti-Naga human resistance. Upon learning the secrets of the Naga, Olton must choose whether to stay true to his family or true to his past. What will happen if he does the unthinkable and serves Orun instead of his father’s friend?

Olton’s decision will take him to the labor camps of a land once called Greece. Now a slave under the Naga, he is assigned to a top secret operation that may change the world. As Olton navigates dangers both ancient and new, two questions trouble him. What are he and his fellow slaves digging for? And what will he do once they find it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gibson Morales
• Release date: Nov 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781943575077

Gibson Morales

Gibson Morales is the author of the young adult novels, The Deadliest Earthling and The Boy Who Wields Thunder. He publishes these under his imprint, Mo Bros Books, which he formed with his brother and writer Vicente. Gibson graduated from USC and lives in Los Angeles. When not writing, Gibson enjoys boxing, most things geek-related, traveling, and computer science.

Book preview

Part I

* *

Ball Head

Chapter 1

Olton had been picturing it for years: taking the podium and giving a speech in front of all his classmates. Hearing the applause he’d worked for all his life at the academy. His parents—maybe even his brother—cheering him on along with Mendel. Diana beaming.

He could imagine every detail except one: his own figure. What if the graduation cap was so loose that it hung over his eyes? Did the academy even make caps for his head size?

Olton’s daydreaming ended when he caught the figure of a tall man in a beige sweater-vest, resembling his teacher from the academy. He passed below Olton’s bedroom window and then disappeared under a patch of darkness in the street. Couldn’t be, Olton thought. He went back to working on his speech. If he finished on time, he could go to the picture house with Mendel that night.

When a knock came from downstairs, Olton wondered if his parents were home. No, it’s too early. He registered the muffled voices of his family’s maid and an older gentleman. A set of double footsteps followed from the stairs.

They stopped at his door, and he scooted his chair out from his desk and typewriter.

Excuse me, Mr. Olton, Gloria said, poking her head in the door. Your teacher, Mr. Friedman, is here to speak with you.

Sure enough, Mr. Friedman, wearing the beige sweater-vest he’d seen moments ago, materialized in the doorway.

Good evening, Olton. How are you?

I’m alright, Olton said automatically, standing up.

You look all spiffy and ready for a fun night, Mr. Friedman said, referring to Olton’s suspenders and white shirt. Then his expression dropped and he bit his lip. I was reviewing graduation formalities with a couple other staff this afternoon—

Does this have something to do with my status as valedictorian?

Mr. Friedman opened his mouth twice before speaking again. Olton, you’re a bright kid. A very bright kid. But the academy has decided that, this year, we’d prefer a valedictorian more representative of the student body to deliver the graduation speech. The crowd will be mainly Nagavanshi like you and your family, of course, and—

Olton felt his body sinking. But I’m the valedictorian, aren’t I?

Mr. Friedman paused before continuing. Yes, and you will still receive that designation on your diploma. I assure you this won’t affect your candidacy for the Trials.

So then why can’t I give the speech? I’ve spent the last three days working on it. Olton noticed his voice rise.

I’m sorry. Here, Mr. Friedman said, offering him a sheaf of papers.

Olton stretched out his hand tentatively. He knew what Mr. Friedman meant. The real reason they didn’t want to let him give his speech. His classmates had spent the better part of their days at the academy ostracizing him for his physical difference. For years, he couldn’t shake off the dreadful feeling that his classmates hated him. But he never expected it to crystallize like this.

What are these? he asked, his shoulders drooping.

Topics for your research paper.

Olton stared hard at him. I thought I wouldn’t have to write one since I’m writing a graduation speech.

Mr. Friedman looked like he’d bitten into something sour. I’m afraid the situation has changed. And these are the academy standards.

Olton felt like he was standing in a cenote. The ones ancient people in this region had used to meet with the Naga. If he were honest with himself, he should’ve seen this coming.

Graduation is only a few days away. How am I supposed to finish in time? he almost asked. But there would’ve been no point.

Then as if reading his broken expression, Mr. Friedman clapped him on the shoulder. Good luck. Happy holidays. See you at graduation.

Olton nodded. Happy holidays.

As he heard his front door shut, Olton shuffled through the potential paper topics: The Nagavanshi Cultural Revolution of the 2020s, Chiapas: The True Story, How the Naga Saved Humanity after World War II. Another one caught his eye: Evaluation of Counter Strategies Against the Anarchists. At least that topic sounded interesting. The subject of anarchists had always fascinated him. Encouraged, Olton ambled to his bookshelf and fished out his history book on the anarchist movement before returning to his desk and maroon typewriter.

It was close to ten o’clock when a swirl of voices echoed from downstairs. Olton stopped typing as his dad stepped into his room.

I thought you and Mendel were going to the picture house, his dad said.

Olton glanced over his shoulder and saw him dressed in pleated grey pants and a matching double-breasted suit jacket. Like most Nagavanshi adults over forty, his head wasn’t enlarged. Just average-sized. He’d been born before head elongation became the norm. Before every newborn Nagavanshi got sculpted.

Swallowing dryly, Olton explained what Mr. Friedman told him.

You let me speak with them, and I’ll have you on that stage, his dad said.

No. As much as Olton wanted to give his speech, he couldn’t bring himself to succumb to his dad’s overbearing ways. It’s not a big deal.

Yes it is. That said, don’t worry about it right now. I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.

Olton followed his dad downstairs, where his mom, in her fancy white blouse, sat on their sofa opposite a pair of eight-foot-tall figures. Together, the two barely fit on the couch. Everything about them dwarfed his family: their body frames, their eyes, their heads. That and their greyish skin were the dead giveaways they were Naga—also called Anunnaki in some spheres—an alien species that Olton’s family and many other humans owed quite a lot to.

At his father’s gesture, he went forward and shook their hands.

I’m Olton. Nice to meet you.

As the three fingers and two thumbs of each Naga wrapped around his hand, Olton felt disarmed. Still he nodded his head twice as a sign of respect and sat down next to his mother. Both figures were hairless and wore androgynous-looking mesh robes with small metal plates on their upper chest. The metal plates aided in breathing since air quality in Sector 3, a human city, differed from the air quality of Sectors 1 and 2, the surrounding Naga cities. Olton had to rely on their voices as they introduced themselves to determine that Sandri was male, while Utum was female. The first name sounded familiar.

Then Olton remembered where he’d heard of Sandri before: He was his father’s overseer. Together, they controlled Olton’s family’s company, SorrellTech, which developed weapons for the Naga. He’d never actually met Sandri, but the way his dad spoke of him, he might’ve been an uncle.

So, Olton, I hear you are the valedictorian of your graduating class, Sandri said. How is your speech coming together?

He exchanged an uncertain glance with his father, who shook his head. A sign not to mention that the academy cut him from speech-giving duties.

It’s fine. I’ll be speaking about how we can resolve social injustices and help create a better world, Olton said. That’s what he’d intended to discuss, anyway. He was sick of the speeches from valedictorians about how they had worked hard and earned their way to number one in their class. Olton had wanted to give his classmates something more to think about, especially the way they’d treated him.

Social injustice? Sandri asked. He might’ve raised an eyebrow if he had one.

That caught Olton off guard. Who didn’t notice the extent of the social injustice in their society? The problems with the tier system and the Trials only skimmed the surface. Despite this, his dad had often suggested he keep these thoughts to himself. Neither humans nor Naga wanted to criticize the Naga Dominion. He’d learned that the hard way in heated class debates at the academy.

The anarchists, I mean, Olton said. We’ve been at war with them too long, and I hope it ends soon.

Sandri smiled. Yes, that is very true. And what does an intelligent young Nagavanshi like you think we should do about them?

The answer came easily.

Well, I’ve thought about the use of symbols, Olton said. He’d even considered including this in his research paper. The anarchists use symbols for their factions. And we have them for companies, radio stations, and things like that. But there isn’t a symbol for the Naga Dominion, the Nagavanshi communities, or even any of our cities.

Sandri narrowed his eyes in contemplation. These are interesting ideas you have, Olton, he said, looking like he’d been slapped.

His mother laughed nervously. Wouldn’t that be something? A flag for the Naga Dominion.

At that, his father stood up. Olton’s a real big thinker. He just kind of throws his ideas out there sometimes, he said, making mock throwing gestures.

Olton felt the heat in his cheeks. Had his ideas really sounded so far out? Obviously, he’d upset them, but he thought it would impress Sandri. Wasn’t that what this all boiled down to? His dad wanted him to meet Sandri so that he might attempt the Trials under him. Not that Nagavanshi had to undergo the Trials, but that’s what he attended an academy for, wasn’t it? So he could earn even more money than he’d receive from the Naga Dominion’s stipend to Nagavanshi.

He didn’t understand why his assessment bothered them. He’d read how the anarchists named their cities, whereas the city he lived in was called Sector 3. There was no distinguishing title for it beyond that, unless he wanted to get specific. Then it was Quadrant 1–Zone 17–Sphere 7–Sector 3. His history teachers had taught that before the Naga’s return, humans fought over countries, states, cities, and neighborhoods, each with their own unique names. In fact, World War II had wrecked humanity so badly that even now, over a century later, they had still barely progressed, from a technological standpoint. It was the Naga who helped humanity get back on track, though. Like by organizing the Earth into four quadrants.

They’d even designed some spheres and sectors specifically for humans or Naga, others for both. Of course, the anarchists didn’t follow these designations. They still called their cities and towns whatever they liked.

Unlike anarchists, Olton had spent his entire life reminded of the status the Naga had bestowed on him and the others in Sector 3. Every time a radio bulletin mentioned plague outbreaks or riots in the Tier 1 slums, he at least knew that as a Nagavanshi, he’d never face those hardships. When they had returned to Earth decades ago, the Naga had rewarded loyal humans with safe, clean cities like Sector 3.

You still haven’t seen our new patio, have you? his dad asked Sandri.

And that signaled the end of the discussion between Olton and Sandri.

Chapter 2

Olton and Mendel walked onto the metal platform, their shoes clicking with every step. A few seconds later the lift platform shot up, thanks to special Naga antigravity technology, affording them an increasingly complete view of their city, Sector 3, stretching across the sunken valley. The billboards of famous Naga, the rows of shops, houses, and community buildings, and the trolley system’s rail all grew smaller and smaller as the platform ascended. It wasn’t Sector 3 they wanted a view of, though. It was Sectors 1 and 2, where the Naga of this sphere lived.

The platform stopped and they stepped off.

Sectors 1 and 2 were at least four times the size of Sector 3. Even the Naga’s structures were larger. Scores of metal pyramids, called conoids, brushed against the sky, the smallest towering over them at fifty feet.

We finally made it, Mendel said with mock amazement.

These must’ve been here for ages, Olton said, putting the same mock amazement into his words. But when he caught a glimpse of a Naga sentry glaring at him from the gated pylon complex twenty feet away, he decided to cut the jokes.

They each lifted up a pair of small notepads and applied their pencils.

‘I get a feeling of pride and awe, looking at the conoids.’ Should I write that? Does that sound convincing? Olton asked.

Convincing enough, Mendel said. I still don’t see what the point of this is.

On top of the research paper, their academy required Nagavanshi to complete a reflective writing assignment in regards to Sectors 1 and 2. But most Nagavanshi, including Olton and Mendel, had already visited these outer sectors at one point in their life, so their observations didn’t exactly come off as heartfelt.

How goes your graduation speech, anyway? Mendel asked.

Well, it’s going.

What do you mean?

Olton explained the situation.

Figures, Mendel said, shaking his sculpted, or enlarged, head.

Why do you say that? Olton asked. His friend almost made it seem like he deserved this.

Well, you know.

Olton swallowed, grunting uncomfortably. They never openly talked about his social handicap—his dormant head—a head that had never been elongated. He could never admit that he envied Mendel’s sculpted head and the social acceptance it brought. And he wasn’t about to ask if Mendel ever pitied him.

Other times, he’d wish his friend would acknowledge his dormant head, like that might magically bring about a solution. But now that Mendel was hinting at it, a red-hot shame spread across his cheeks.

Everyone’s always wondered why you didn’t get a sculpting ceremony as a baby, Mendel said, meaning the rituals where babies’ heads were bound and elongated.

For a second, Olton’s stomach bottomed out. He smiled sheepishly and shrugged, trying not to think about what he just said. Was Mendel going to call him ball head like their classmates did? Of course his head was the reason that his academy didn’t want him to give his speech. Even his friend knew it. It’s okay. I just need to do my research.

They strolled down the stretch of the wall that surrounded Sector 3 and served as a cliff for Sectors 1 and 2.

We could go to the library after, Mendel said.

Olton shook off the idea. On second thought, they’d probably give me an A even if I wrote the paper in my sleep.

That was modest.

Grinning, Olton glanced up at one of the sphere-shaped Naga drones floating above. At night they provided lights; during the day they prevented birds from leaving a mess, by sending out high-frequency sounds that deterred them.

I’m not talking about what I can write. I mean my dad is the human leader of SorrellTech. The only way the academy would fail me is if they wanted to be test targets for one of our new weapons.

True, Mendel said, skimming over his notepad. I’ve got about five sentences.

Same.

Maybe we should write a little bit more about the conoids. How else can we describe them? Mendel said.

Olton squinted at the sunlight that reflected off them. If he looked delicately enough, he could see the grey silhouettes of Naga atop a few of the smaller conoids.

Then he noticed a familiar figure in the corner of his eye. A girl in a white dress was leaving the pylon gateway. Over the years, Olton must’ve studied her deep-set, hazel eyes, her soft, fair skin, and her tender complexion a thousand times.

Diana. She wasn’t just another girl in his classes—she was beautiful. Everything about her seemed perfect—except for maybe her potato-shaped head. Of course, he didn’t dare mention his aversion to sculpted heads. Not if he meant to seem normal.

Olton didn’t realize he was staring until Mendel laughed.

You mean you still…after all these years?

A pang of embarrassment burned inside Olton. He started to say something but choked. Diana was approaching them at warp-speed.

Mendel scribbled something onto his notepad and flashed it to Olton.

Ask her out. The longer you wait, the greater the odds someone else will.

Thanks for the obvious tip.

If it’s obvious, why haven’t you done it? Mendel looked him squarely in the eye.

He inhaled deeply, willing himself to calm down. Yes, he did have a crush on Diana. And the Orbital Completion Festival was a week away. He doubted Mendel would find a date either. The thought of the two of them going together as a pair of friends made him cringe.

Just remind her of all the fun you used to have, Mendel said quietly.

Olton nodded. He could still remember visiting Diana’s house, the two of them chasing her cats underneath beds and behind their couches. Up until they were twelve, they’d always played with each other at the ball courts.

But once they entered the academy, Diana started to hang around an entirely different crowd. The jokes of their childhood didn’t make her laugh anymore. Pretty soon, they’d give each other only passing greetings. Then passing glances. Olton wondered if maybe he’d caused this. Because at the same time that she’d distanced herself from him, he’d also developed feelings for her. Now that Olton thought about it, she might’ve detected this and realized that, unless she wanted a boyfriend with a ball head, they couldn’t stay friends.

Of course, they were older now, and the drama of their early years at the academy seemed irrelevant, especially with graduation around the corner. Olton had thought back on these things more than once. Maybe nostalgia had found its way to Diana too?

Hey, Diana, Mendel shouted.

Hey, Mendel, she said. Are you doing the reflective essay too?

Yeah. Not a lot to it, though.

Olton shifted his weight from foot to foot. She hadn’t even made eye contact with him. Should he say hello?

Diana nodded and threw up her hands. I can’t think of much to say. I mean, every Nagavanshi has visited Sectors One and Two already. Are you guys going inside? I’ve got some aerobic pills if you need them.

She was referring to pills that humans took when they entered Naga buildings or cities. The density and makeup of the air was different than in human sectors so it better suited Naga lungs. Without pills, a human would start to feel sick after a few hours.

Mendel turned to Olton and shrugged. Olton finally opened his mouth.

Do you think Sectors One and Two are worth visiting, Diana? he asked.

She seemed a bit taken aback that he’d finally spoken to her. Well, it’s probably nothing you haven’t seen already, she said matter-of-factly.

Yeah. Plus last year I went with my family to Sphere Sixty-Five, Olton said, wanting to keep her attention.

Oh, how nice. What did you guys do?

My dad hosted a weapons demonstration. I even got to test out a few combat shields. This part Olton stretched the truth on. He’d witnessed Naga soldiers testing out new weapons, but he’d never touched them himself. It made me feel so cool to—

Mendel flashed him a look of alarm.

Not that I wasn’t cool before, Olton added. It’s just that now I’m…

I get it, Diana said uneasily.

Olton is a riot, Mendel said, thrusting his arms out. He—oops, the wind just blew away my notepad.

Olton almost snorted. He knew exactly what Mendel was doing. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or furious as he jogged off, kicking the notepad a few feet whenever he got close.

Accidentally glancing at the curves of her dress, every word stuck like clay in Olton’s mouth. He could feel his heart racing. He grinned, watching Mendel for as long as he could. The memories of how Diana had unfriended him at the academy rose like a force field between them.

Finally he swallowed dryly and met her gaze.

So are you doing anything fun for your break? he asked.

Not really. I’m just thinking about the Trials. Diana looked down at her notepad. Olton couldn’t see her hazel eyes, which matched her notebook perfectly for some reason.

He willed her to act a little more excited around him. What about the Orbital Completion Festival? That should be fun, he said.

Her face lit up. Yeah, I can’t wait. No curfew that night. And they say the Sinsers will all be there. She was referring to the twelve Naga rulers.

Kind of funny. You’d think they’d have more important things to do, Olton replied.

You don’t think the Festival is important? she asked in a warning tone.

He felt his insides clench. I do. I just meant… He meant that the Sinsers were probably busy with the economic strife and the war against the anarchists, commonly referred to as the Anarchist Campaign, but words failed him.

It’s okay. My little sister said the same thing.

Olton remembered her sister. She was five years younger, so that made her eleven now. Great, Diana was comparing his opinion to an eleven-year-old’s.

She ran a hand through her puffy, blonde hair. I’m off to meet some friends at the picture house. You might want to help out Mendel. A faint expression of concern stretched across her face as she turned away. That notepad is giving him trouble.

Okay, Olton said, his stomach jumping into his throat as she walked past. It was now or never. Hey, Diana.

She swiveled around and eyed him curiously.

I was just wondering, what do you think about—he gulped a breath—going to the Festival with me?

The crestfallen look on her face said it all. Oh, sorry, I’m already going with my boyfriend.

A punch to the gut would’ve felt better. He grinned stupidly as if in a daze. No problem.

But as he watched her walk away, the thoughts swirled in his head. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? After all of his silly hopes, it came down to nothing more than a simple rejection. A few simple words. He couldn’t believe he’d screwed this up. And who was her boyfriend? It wasn’t that guy Mark, was it?

He noticed Diana boarding a descending platform with two of her friends across the stretch of wall that overlooked Sector 3. They disappeared from view, but Olton could still hear echoes of their words.

You won’t believe who just asked me out.

Who?

That loser Olton Sorrell.

Ball head?

A storm of laughter ensued.

If there was anything worse than getting rejected, it was having the rejection fuel the rejecter’s jokes. He knew this feeling all too well. A ball head wasn’t cool.

Olton tightened his jaw as a wave of heat spread through his face. That’s all he was in their eyes. A loser. A ball head like the adults too old to have gotten their heads sculpted.

He drifted in Mendel’s direction. His friend was nudging the notepad with his foot now. Olton couldn’t help himself. His kick sent it skidding a dozen feet.

Hey, watch it, Mendel said, flashing a look of concern. What happened?

Olton stepped away and sighed.

Well, don’t let it ruin your day.

You know, why didn’t you ask Diana out? Instead of letting me look like the idiot?

The Naga conoids loomed before him, the sunlight glinting off them painful to his eyes. His pencil lingered over his notepad. He’d spent a lifetime at home and school praising the Naga, but what had they really done for him? Everyone acted like they owed the Naga. So where were they when he could’ve used their help? Like with friends, dating girls, and fitting in? Could they solve those problems?

He should’ve written this as his reaction to visiting the Naga sectors. Instead, he wrote that Sectors 1 and 2 made him feel proud and thankful to be a Nagavanshi.

A headache spawned, and he rubbed the side of his relatively minuscule cranium. He bet if he had a sculpted head, he’d never get headaches. What was wrong with him?

Chapter 3

Olton stared up at the blank ceiling. Gloria, their maid, had just cleaned his sheets, leaving them white as fresh snow. They could’ve been moldy and half-eaten by moths for all he cared. He’d feel no different lying on them.

His parents and teachers kept saying how the Trials would deliver him and his classmates to an entirely different stage of life that offered so many new experiences. But he hadn’t even experienced all there was to life in Sector 3.

And now his last opportunity for any real fun, the Orbital Completion Festival, was shooting out from right under his feet.

Below he could hear his parents greeting his brother, Cormick, a rising star at his law firm in the heart of Sphere 29. He must’ve just portaled in. He shut out the conversation until he heard his own name mentioned.

So Olton finally made up his mind, did he? his brother said with an air of sarcasm.

He’s taking the Trials under your dad’s overseer, Sandri.

Olton’s eyes widened. He’d never agreed to that. Did his parents really think that’s what he planned to do? Or were they simply trying to force the issue? He noticed his teeth were clenched, and relaxed them. Granted, he did need to take the Trials under someone. Still, he couldn’t stand the thought of spending the rest of his life working beneath Sandri. Or beneath any Naga, for that matter.

How are things with you and Rachel? his mother asked.

It’s Katy now, Mom. We’re doing awesome.

"She changed her name?

Olton grinned. Even from upstairs he could sense the awkward pause of confusion.

No. We broke up. I’m dating a girl named Katy. She’s an actress in the pictures. I would’ve brought her, but she’s in the middle of filming.

Oh, that’s sweet. Next time. Understand?

Yes, Mom, his brother said with mock obedience.

Olton sat up and straightened the straps on his suspenders. If anyone was qualified to help him with his social problems, it was Cormick. He sprang off the bed and pushed the door ajar as his brother came up the stairs.

Cormick wore suspenders over a white shirt like he did, but that’s where the similarities fell off a cliff. The differences between them were almost as obvious as those between a human and a Naga. Whereas his brother sported a flock of blond, combed hair over an elongated head, Olton’s black hair rarely needed combing. Short, straight, and oily, it naturally fell in place every morning. On top of that, Olton had a rounder chin and softer cheekbones and stood four inches shorter. That his olive skin matched Gloria’s more than his parents’ was a dead giveaway that he was adopted.

Cormick smirked.

There’s my ball-head bro, he said, tapping a finger to Olton’s head.

There’s my potato-head bro, Olton said, returning the gesture.

Whoa, hands away from the hair, Cormick said in a warning tone. As soon as Olton lowered his hand, all the tension in his voice faded.

So the big day nears, huh?

He held up his arm, his white sleeve folded up at the elbow, and showed his brown, leather-strapped watch. Mom and Dad’s gift to me for my graduation, Cormick said. People still compliment me on how nicely it goes with the other one.

Olton glanced at the golden band on his other wrist. All adult citizens of the Naga Dominion wore one.

How was the portal?

It left me thirsty.

With that, Cormick disappeared into his old room. Before Olton could peek in, he reemerged in his doorway, holding a bottle of bourbon. At his brother’s gesturing, Olton followed him into the kitchen, a blend of white shelves, teal walls, and rose-colored wallpaper. Cormick plopped himself on one of the yellow-cushioned, high chairs at the bar and poured the bourbon.

I heard you were working on a graduation speech.

A research paper actually, Olton said.

Cormick snorted. Yeah, I hated those.

I’m writing about the anarchists.

Listen, the only thing you need to know about anarchists is they want everything the Anunnaki have to offer. Except they also want to be in control. Now me, I think the Anunnaki have given us a good world. They’ve brought peace. The anarchists are hypocrites. They think they’re entitled to enjoying all the benefits of Naga technology without acknowledging their laws.

Cormick took a long drink. Sorry for the rant. It just ticks me off. Let’s talk about something fun.

The chance to discuss his social life screamed out at Olton.

There’s the Festival. Are you going this year?

I don’t think so. I’ll probably visit Katy. Who’ll you be taking?

Olton felt his gaze drop. Well, that’s the thing….

He expected a bigger reaction from his brother. Instead, he shook his head as if he’d just witnessed a stranger trip on his shoe.

It’s funny. I kind of knew this would happen.

At their academy, Cormick, a mere three years older, had tried to keep their relation under wraps. If it weren’t for the teachers bringing up that they remembered his older brother, no one would’ve figured it out. By now, Olton understood his brother’s dislike of him well enough to know he relished moments like this to cast subtle criticisms. Still, his brother also enjoyed opportunities to help others, so long as it meant boosting his own ego. And that’s what Olton was counting on.

You really can’t blame the girls though, right? With your dormant head and all.

Cormick jabbed a fist softly against his chest. Olton forced a smile. It came off laced with annoyance.

I’m joking, Cormick said. You need thicker skin, bro. Anyway, I’m sure you won’t be the only guy there alone. What about your friend? You can go together. It’ll be so cute.

Olton squeezed the edges of the cushioned chair beneath him. It was all he could do to fight back his embarrassment. Olton had never taken a swing at him. Sometimes, he really wanted to.

Cormick drained the cup and pointed to the bourbon.

I think Mendel’s got a date, Olton managed to lie, sighing silently. How much more of his brother’s condescension did he dare subject himself to? Stifling a groan, he poured him another round.

Look at it this way, Cormick said. You won’t see most of your classmates after graduation. They’ll forget about you soon enough.

Maybe, yeah, Olton muttered. It was hard to forget the only student without an elongated head.

Why don’t you have a drink? You’ll feel better about it.

Olton hesitated.

See now, this is why no chick wants to go to the Festival with you. You need to loosen up.

Olton ran a hand down his arm. Fine.

He grabbed the cup, figuring he’d toss the rest in the sink if he could distract Cormick. Even just nipping at the edges, ash rotted in his mouth.

Give it a real drink, Cormick said.

Olton gulped in a breath of air to clear his throat. His brother was old enough to drink, but he wasn’t. And he had no problem following the law. This was Cormick’s game then. He wanted to see him break his code. A pang of guilt surged up in Olton. He should be writing his research paper. Not drinking for his brother’s pleasure.

He tilted his head back. The bourbon trickled down, searing his insides more than he thought.

Cormick clapped. Good job. Now that you’re in the mood, I can give you your graduation present.

He fished a paper from his back pocket and handed it to Olton.

Knowing that you’d probably be desperate for a date, I figured you’d need this more than me.

Olton read it through. It was a party invitation from the Wendenbergs. Because they managed a beer brewing company, every year their holiday parties involved consuming ridiculous amounts of the stuff. Their son, Donald, was graduating too in a few days, so Olton wouldn’t be surprised if this year’s party proved over the top.

His head swirled, half from the alcohol, half from this unexpected gift. He blinked. He’d never known Donald well enough to earn an invitation, but they’d never been enemies either. Ever since his first year at the academy, he’d wanted to go to a party like this. He’d heard Donald’s parents didn’t even care about drinking ages. Now his brother had given him the opportunity.

From experience, I can tell you their parties get pretty raucous. There’s always a lot of pressure and failed expectations with graduation so close. A lot of girls break up with their boyfriends. If you want to find a date for the Festival, this is the place.

Olton smiled. There was nothing else to say, except, Thanks.

See, I’m not so bad.

A few hours later, his buzz had worn off, and his research paper revisions satisfied him. He was about to collapse onto his bed for a pre-party nap when he heard a knock.

Mr. Olton?

Gloria entered with a light blue dress shirt and pleated black pants folded in her hands.

Your clothes are ready for dinner.

All at once Olton remembered: The dinner with his grandfather, the originator of SorrellTech, was tonight. His shoulders fell. In his rush to finish the research paper and plan for the Wendenbergs’ party, he’d shoved it to the back of his mind.

Of course his brother would only pass on a party for a good reason. Now, his gift seemed more a betrayal.

On my desk is fine, Olton said quietly.

Gloria nodded, set down the clothes, and left him to mull the situation over. He looked at the party invitation. It didn’t actually start until eight thirty, so he’d have enough time to visit if he left after dinner with his grandfather.

On the other hand, his grandfather liked to tell stories and share his knowledge as the man who’d started SorrellTech. And Olton’s dad was keen on him hearing these stories, not only because his grandfather liked listeners, but because he thought Olton could use the valuable advice. There was no way Olton could just share a quick meal and disappear into the night.

Besides that, he actually enjoyed his grandfather’s company, and the old man hadn’t exactly been at his healthiest lately. Olton bit his lip. There was also the matter of curfew. The party was sure to go on well beyond. He’d have no way to get home legally. And the Wendenbergs only let their friends crash there for the night. He slumped down against the wall and rubbed his hand down his face. Whatever angle he approached this from, there was no way he could go to the party tonight. He could almost hear his brother laughing through the walls.

Chapter 4

From the living room couch, Olton pulled back the curtains to see if anyone was coming. Not yet. But the city hummed with the festivities of the holidays. He could hear people welcoming in guests with a laugh as their dogs barked, songs like Joy to the World, the Naga have Come playing in the background. Every year the citizens of the Naga Dominion commemorated the Naga’s return to Earth in 2012 with twelve festive days, leading up to the first day of the new orbital cycle, or year. The celebration kicked off on December 21. That this all coincided with academy graduations was purposeful. The idea was to show the Naga gratitude for their return by presenting them with Trials candidates. A gift of sorts.

Remember, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is, Cormick sneered from the sofa.

Olton ignored him and allowed the energy outside to mesmerize him. He’d worked hard earning his rank as valedictorian. Now he might’ve earned the right to take the Trials under any Naga he wished, but his classmates still didn’t accept him. And if not now, when? Soon they’d be arriving at the Wendenbergs’ to dance, socialize, and drink and do things he couldn’t even imagine.

A long breath escaped him as he tugged at the cuffs of his dress shirt.

When the knocking came, Gloria swept to the door and opened it.

Good evening and happy holidays, Mr. Sorrell. Please come in.

The mood of the house shifted, and Olton felt the tension between him and his brother fade. He awaited the sight of a short, white-haired man with a sheepish grin and stern eyes. But age had ravaged his grandfather.

His balding head gleamed under the light, wrinkles divided his face, and dark lines circled his eyes. Olton saw the shock register briefly on his parents’ faces, the shadow of concern hiding behind their smiles.

His mother hugged her father-in-law, exchanged kisses, and beamed at him. You look great, Henry.

Henry sauntered toward the couch and gave something between a grunt and a cough. I look like a dried-out cracker. But you look just the way I remember you, he said in his usual crotchety and high-pitched voice. He shook a finger mischievously. You were out tanning today, weren’t you?

His mother laughed. She might have blushed, but her makeup concealed it.

When Olton walked over to him, his grandfather froze him with a stare that seemed to be evaluating his intellect.

"Mr. Valedictorian knows I look awful, don’t