Prologue—A Meeting of Worlds
Wednesday, June 29, 2158
Alboim Adams checked his old-fashioned gold watch, inherited from his late father and a constant reminder of responsibilities suddenly thrust upon him. Eleven twenty-five.
Even for this hour, it was unnaturally quiet in the university library; something was off, but what? He sighed, dismissing his unease as he stood, stretching muscles aching from too much sitting. He really needed to stop for the night and get some sleep before tomorrow’s history test. Besides, Rapid City’s curfew still applied to him until he turned eighteen. Aunt Fiona would appreciate his not coming home with a police escort.
This wing of the Rapid City Community College’s library was nearly deserted, with only two other people in the history section. Harsh, almost painfully bright fluorescent tube lights illuminated the oak and metal shelves lined with books, the standard institutional beige carpeting, and the clusters of desks and comfortable chairs as he gathered his belongings into his backpack. Pens, papers, micro comp, and data cube.
His fingertips lingered on the cobalt blue data cube. It was the last gift his parents had given them before the family was ripped apart. Mom was diagnosed with cancer only four months later, and after she’d died after an agonizing eight-month-long battle, Dad seemed to have given up on life. Dad made arrangements, giving his publisher and best friend, Mrs. Fiona MacTaggart, guardianship. “If the worst happened to me,” as Father had put it, and then, it seemed to Alboim, waited patiently.
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“I gave up everything I had to be with her,” Dad had told him just before his heart attack, “and I don’t know how to go on without her.”
Alboim shook his head slightly, clearing his thoughts. It did no good to dwell on the past. He had to get back home. Aunt Fiona, Sue, and Ags were waiting for him.
Alboim took a last glance around for stray notes, then slung his backpack onto one shoulder. The other two students huddled together, whispering and gesturing to each other. He could not quite make out their whispered conversation, but the tone was argumentative. Alboim paid them next to no mind as he shuffled past them to the exit. Seriously, though, why were they wearing leather trench coats? Wasn’t part of any fashion trend he was aware of.
They moved, standing abruptly as he walked by them, barely registering with Alboim, still lost in his own thoughts. Without warning, the pair turned on him and grabbed his arms. Even with his own well-developed muscles, he struggled against their grip in vain. “What the—Let go of me!” was all he had time to shout before one of the pair produced a metal rod and cracked him on the head with a dull thud. Eyes watering from the pain, Alboim sank into darkness.
When he came to, he was lying with his hands tied behind his back on a cold stone floor. Above him, Alboim could hear his captors talking with several others. He was unfamiliar with the language but couldn’t shake the feeling that he had heard it before. Cautiously, he cracked his eyes open to a slit he hoped they would not notice.
Mass release! 5 chapters today (Prologue–Ch 4), chapter 5 tomorrow, then Tue/Thu schedule begins next week. Thanks for taking a chance on a story that doesn’t pull its punches. CW: slavery and heavy themes handled at a firm PG-13 level.
