*Sector Six — Alaina, Age Five*
Something was wrong with her father.
Alaina twirled his curly auburn hair between her nimble fingers, studying the back of his head from her perch atop his broad shoulders. He kept shifting his weight, bouncing on his heels the way Tommy did before opening birthday presents. His fingers drummed against her ankle in a restless rhythm she'd never known from him before. Her father was a steady man—a still man. Today he vibrated like a plucked string.
The five-year-old girl held a good vantage up here, but it also made her stick out above the masses. So many people. So many, many bodies, all clustered together with nary inches of separation. Their breath rose in pale clouds, mingling overhead.
The soccer venue was immense—over a hundred thousand people crammed past capacity, clustering against the empty stage on the central circle. People stood in aisles, on plastic seat bottoms, jostling for better positions. A gentle din of murmuring hung in the air, a million insignificant conversations. But underneath the murmuring, a current ran—heavy and electric, the way the air tasted before a big storm. It pressed against Alaina's skin—a tightness in the crowd, like everyone was holding their breath at once.
The overcast skies of Tellus's Hinterland Plains trapped the warmth like a wool blanket, and the air carried the faint tang of industrial smoke from the refineries along the Eastern Sea. They'd been here for hours. She would rather be playing tag with her brother Tommy or dressing dolls with her sisters, Jessie and Eva. But their father woke them up before sunrise and brought them here.
He didn't tell them why, only that it was important. That it would change the world. All of the worlds, even. She didn't understand what that meant—her world wasn't that big and consisted of family and friends and bunnies. But the tight set of her father's jaw, the way his voice had cracked when he'd said it—she understood those things. Whatever was about to happen mattered enough to make her father afraid.
And her father was never afraid.
"This is a hazardous gathering if ever there was one," Kate—Alaina's mother—said, scanning the crowd with tight-lipped worry. She was a willowy woman in a loose fitting pink blouse, her brown hair in a hasty bun. "How are we supposed to get out if something starts? The children will be trampled."
"Nothing is going to happen, Kate."
"These people are fostering rebellion." She leaned closer, her lips barely moving. "What do you think is going to happen?"
"I'm hungry," Alaina said, resting her little chin on her father's head. He reached up with his left hand and squeezed her arm.
"Won't be much longer," Carl said. "Then we'll all go to the Sunny Side for breakfast. How's that sound?"
"I want eggs," Alaina said. She loved eggs. They were her favorite thing for breakfast and Sunny Side always had the best eggs.
"Then you shall have eggs, my little princess."
"We could have just watched the speech at home," her mother said. "It's going to be shown on every channel in the country."
"It's a declaration. Not a speech."
"It's a speech," Kate reiterated. "And it's tantamount to treason."
"This is going to be an auspicious day," Carl said, ignoring her. "The day that everything changes. The day that—"
"I know, I get it," her mom interrupted. "And I agreed to come for your sake. But the kids are freezing and we've been standing here four hours."
Like an ebbing wave, the stadium fell quiet as one. The air grew thick with anticipation, a weight pressing down on the crowd. It worked its way from the stage to the far reaches of the crowd as a tingling shiver brushing along a spine. Fingers pointed forward, people were tapped on shoulders, and suddenly everything was still.
Someone had walked atop the stage. A short man, rail thin and gangly, walking with long, even strides toward the center podium. Behind him rested an empty line of bleachers two rows high.
"Who's he?" Alaina whispered. A dozen people made shushing sounds and glared at her. Her father just squeezed her leg.
The man stopped in front of the oak podium and rested his hands upon it. He was ugly with a silver goatee and deep gray eyes. His face was young but lined with intensity. Right now he was wearing a charcoal button up suit that hung off of his lanky frame and black shoes polished to sheen. He stood poised with tension, ready to strike.
All eyes faced front. Tension rippled through the crowd, punctuated by the occasional cough. Waiting; anticipation; fear: it all hung in the air like incense.
The speaker wasn't as old as Alaina's father, probably only in his late teens or early twenties. His eyes swept back and forth from face to face, daring anyone to meet his gaze. To match it and stare back. No one tried. The silence stretched.
But he didn't speak.
Not right away. He stood alone upon the stage, studying them as they waited. Seconds ticked past with hesitant ambition. The crowd shifted like an angry beast, murmuring to itself.
And still he waited.
The murmuring intensified.
Her father's hand tightened on her ankle. His pulse hammered against her skin—fast, urgent, alive with something she had no name for.
After an eternity the man leaned into the microphone and spoke:
"My name is Darius Gray. And today, our world is free."
A euphoric pulse cut through the tension like a knife. The crowd erupted. It wasn't a slow burn, but rather an explosion of raw emotion and joy. People screamed, whistled, and shouted just to be heard.
The sound hit Alaina like a wall. She pressed her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, but the roar pushed through her palms, through her chest, vibrating in her ribs. She'd been to the stadium before to watch a soccer game with her father, but it was nothing like this. That had been fun noise. This was something else entirely—primal and desperate and fierce, as though every person in the stadium had been holding something inside for a very long time and it was finally tearing free. Her father's body shook beneath her as he yelled along with them, his voice raw and breaking in a way she'd never heard.
The speaker—Darius—leaned back from the podium. He waited for the crowd to settle, a light smirk curling his lips. It continued for several more seconds, and then faded out as stillness settled back in. A few outliers whistled, a ragged cheer echoed from way up in the stands, but the noise finally dissipated until the stadium was once again silent.
Someone coughed. The sound echoed.
Once they were silent, Darius cleared his throat. He spoke in a low voice. The microphones were not turned very loud. Everyone strained, leaning forward to hear him.
"It feels good to say that. God knows we have suffered long enough. However, saying it only proves the intention. It does not make it fact. Not yet. Here, in this moment, our journey begins. And it will not be easy.
"You see, there are those who will seek to weaken our resolve; to diminish our freedoms; they will seek to reinstitute the bonds and chains of poverty that we have clung to for these many years. There are those who would see us harmed. But I say no, they cannot touch us. No, they cannot break us. We must stand strong, united, and proud; we must tell such people that we will not be cowed—"
The crowd rumbled with a growing throb as he spoke, rising to a slow heat. Darius's voice was thick with emotion, his eyes filled with pleading but also with steel. His hands never stopped moving, weaving in the air and holding everyone's attention. Every fifth word he slammed his fist into the podium for punctuation.
"—and we will not be denied. We must throw off our chains. We must escape from our bonds. We will rise up and claim our destiny as a free world, undeterred and unmolested by those who would sup with injustice—"
A soft 'amen' came from nearby. Heads bobbed. The speaker's voice was filled with passion and lyricism, raising the energy. Faces were drawn with concentration and consternation as he spoke, his words touching the deepest recesses of their hearts, igniting hopes and dreams they'd locked away generations before.
"Today we declare our freedom. Today we clasp it in our hands and refuse to let go. Today we buy our freedom in blood, so that our children and our children's children can grow up in a just world. A glorious world. A world where everyone is equal and all are loved. What we do today is for a new tomorrow. A better tomorrow that will come with the rising of our sun."
Darius hesitated, his face a mask of focus. The crowd was restless, hungry. They were devouring his words, yet left wanting. Here, during the lull, a large group of people strode onto the stage with practiced efficiency.
They lined up behind Darius in two separate groups and took their places on the vacant bleachers. Each was wearing extravagant clothing to represent many different nationalities from around the world.
Darius pitched his voice lower, leaning into the microphone:
"I ask you...no, I beg of you, my brothers and sisters: I beg that you fight with me. Fight for your freedom. Fight for your neighbor's freedom, as they will fight for yours. We will not rest until every man, woman, and child is granted those God-given rights we were born with. Join me, and together we will build our lives anew; under new governance. We will form a Union whereby all planets are equal and all citizens free.
"This future is in our grasp. Have faith and be strong. And know that one day our dream will become reality."
Then he stepped back. The crowd thrummed with excitement. A noise overhead—a sort of humming sound. Alaina looked back and up, behind the crowd, and aircraft approached. They were trailing lines of smoke, leaving green and gold lines in the sky.
They swooped in low, just over the stadium and restless crowd. The roaring of their engines reminded her of thunder. Heavy, pressing down with the weight of its wake, and euphoric. A grin spread across her face, unbidden.
The wind washed over the crowd. It buffeted them forward, knocking them into one another. Strong enough that even her broad shouldered father stumbled. But he didn't fall. A few people caught him, steadied him, making sure he was okay. That Alaina was okay. That everyone was okay. They were in this together now.
The sound and wind dissipated, leaving colored streaks floating in the sky, separating into drifting plumes. The crowd went wild, cheering and whooping and shouting. Alaina caught the excitement and emotion. The release. She was too young to grasp the politics, too small to understand declarations and treaties. But this—the way her father trembled beneath her, the way strangers held each other upright, the way the whole stadium roared as one voice—this she understood in her bones.
The ground beneath the old world had cracked open, and everyone in this stadium knew it.
Darius leaned forward to the microphone again. His voice was steady and loud:
"My name is Darius Gray. And today, our world is free."
***
"I think he's crazy," Alaina's mom said, scrubbing pasta sauce off of the plate and down the drain. They were in the little kitchen of their one story home, packed in around the sink. Kate handed the clean plate to Alaina, who began wiping it with a towel. She liked drying dishes with her parents. She liked to help. "At best, he's crazy. Or a charlatan at worst."
Kate's motions were precise and short. Anger tightened every movement. Alaina dried the dish off quickly with her semi-wet rag and handed it to her father, who placed it in the cabinet on top of the stack. Then he picked up a long stemmed glass of wine and took a sip, pursing his lips.
"He's definitely crazy," her father agreed. "But that doesn't change anything. He's right. We can't keep living like this, shipping all our money to the Core worlds while we starve."
"He's going to get us all killed," Kate said, dipping a cup into the soapy water. Her arms shook. "How many rebellions have worked in the past? None."
"This one is different. Darius was one of the Shields, Kate. One of the First Citizen's personal defenders. He knows firsthand how bad the man is, and he chose our side. Three other planets are already promising to sign the treaty."
Kate shoved the cup under the faucet. Water splashed against the basin. "Four planets against hundreds. Against thousands, even. And they have the army." She turned from the sink, her voice dropping. "You know what happened on Meridian after their uprising failed. The Republic sent the Ministry in to clean up. They didn't punish the rebels, Carl. They took the children. Any child who showed even a trace of the gift—ripped from their homes in the middle of the night. Shipped to compounds in the Core. Their parents never heard from them again."
Carl's hand stopped moving on Alaina's head.
"That's what rebellions cost," Kate said. "Not just the people who fight. The ones too small to fight back. The children who grow up paying for their parents' choices."
"That's exactly why we have to fight," Carl said, his voice rough. "So our children grow up in a world where no one can take them. Where they belong to themselves."
"And if we lose?" Kate asked. "If they come for ours?"
A silence stretched between them. The only sound was water dripping from the faucet into the dishwater, each drop a small percussion in the quiet kitchen.
"Then I will have failed them," Carl said. The optimism he'd been wearing all day fell away, and what was underneath was something harder. Quieter. "But at least they'll know their father tried. That he didn't just accept it."
Kate stared at him for a long moment, and then the fight drained out of her. She pressed her forehead against his chest.
"Promise me," she said, her voice shaking, "that you won't join when they come calling. That you won't fight. I won't allow you to die for this man."
"Kate..."
"Promise me, or..." she didn't finish the thought.
Carl pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "I promise," he said. "I have a beautiful wife and four glorious children. I'm not about to put my life at risk for anything. Even freedom."
Kate nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek. "Okay."
"Okay," Carl agreed. He let her go. They stared at each for a long minute. Both looked sad. Finally, Carl stepped over and picked Alaina up off her stepladder. He took the glass and towel away from her and set them on the counter. "And now that this is settled, I think it's time for someone to go to bed."
"But dad," Alaina said, yawning, "I'm not even tired."
"I know," he said, holding her against his shoulder. "I meant me."
He carried her down the hall. They passed her siblings. Her brother was in his bedroom playing a VR game with a big headset on his face. Her sisters shared their own bedroom and were watching a show, nibbling on little green crackers.
Alaina slept in the smallest room at the end of the hall, barely bigger than a closet. Her walls were painted a deep blue and there were two windows. Outside, the moon peeked down on her, silver in the sky.
Her body lowered to the sheets. She looked up at her father and yawned.
"Goodnight honeybee," he said, tucking her into the covers and kissing her on the forehead.
"Goodnight daddy," she said. He turned and started walking toward the door. "Daddy?"
"Yes, Alaina?" he asked, pausing at the entrance. His body was silhouetted by the light.
"That man today. Is he going to keep his promise?"
Her father was silent for a few seconds. "What promise?"
"He said our world is free. Is it?"
Carl leaned against the doorframe. The light behind him turned his face into shadow, but she caught the tremor in his jaw, the way his hand gripped the wood.
"Not yet," he said. "But it will be. He was talking about what we had to look forward to. The future." He paused. "You are our future."
She scrunched up her nose. "Me?"
"You are," he said with a nod. "And what a future you will be. I love you honeybee. Sleep tight."
She closed her eyes. "Okay, daddy," she whispered.
But sleep didn't come easily. She lay in the dark and replayed the day behind her eyelids—the crowd, the speaker, the colored smoke drifting across the sky. Her mother's voice, thin with fear: What happens if they come for ours? Her father's answer, hard and quiet underneath.
Alaina didn't understand all of it. She was five. But she understood promises. Her father had promised her mother he wouldn't fight. Darius had promised the crowd they were free. And her father had told her—not Tommy, not Jessie, not Eva—that she was the future.
All of the worlds, he'd said. Not just Tellus. She wondered if there were other children on those worlds, lying in their own beds tonight, listening to their own parents whisper about this man named Darius. Other kids whose fathers were afraid. Other mothers asking what happens if they come for ours.
She turned that word over in her mind the way she turned his curly hair between her fingers. Future. It was too big for her, like wearing her father's coat with the sleeves dragging on the floor. But she decided, with the stubborn certainty that only a five-year-old could muster, that she would remember this day. All of it. The speech and the promises and the argument in the kitchen. The taste of the cold air. The way her father's hands had trembled.
She would remember, because she had a feeling—small and sharp as a splinter under the skin—that one day it would matter. That someone would need to know what had been promised, and what it had cost.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling her windows. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled—rolling across the Hinterland Plains the way it always did on Tellus, low and endless, the sky answering back to the restless earth. Alaina lay in the darkness, listening to the storm approach, and held tight to every word.
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