“Excuse me, Mr Poo Poo – what will be your policy on further tax hikes, following current President Anderson’s change in stance on the topic?” *Animal growls* “I see, thank you, sir.” *sniffing noises, sounds the microphone being bumped* *indistinct* “Excuse me, sir. Just a second…” *feedback* “Over here, Poo Poo! What foreign policy changes will be made to combat the increased tension with Russia following the increased reports of contaminated nuclear arsenals by Urad-235?” *Animal growls, heavy breathing, sound of microphone being licked* “Ah, some more water, sir?” *Indistinct animal sounds, sounds of water sloshing, followed by another growl* “Ah, I think that will be all for the time being. Please save any further questions for the next press release. Thank you all for your time, and a personal thank you to Poo Poo for that wonderful discussion. Remember, everyone – ‘a vote for Poo Poo is a vote for New-New government!’ This way, future president.” *sounds of heavy footsteps fading away, distant animal roars*. – Transcription of Presidential Candidate Poo Poo The Bear’s campaign press conference at Colorado, 2065.

  10 Years Earlier

  “Elias, I’m gonna be honest buddy, I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Samson said, tightening the nut on a wheel mount.

  Elias sat on a cargo box amidst the messy workspace of his Uncle Samson, pouting as he waited for the hunched figure to respond.

  “It’s not that difficult!” Elias whined. “Why does nobody understand how the vertex-quark supersymmetry equation for the first Markowsky principle can be adjusted by just-“

  “I think you lost me even earlier that time. Maybe use some more words I can spell, and then maybe I might start to get it.” Samson gave his usual bellowing laugh, and turned, grinning.

  Uncle Samson was a tall man and heavy-set in shape. He was practically the polar opposite of his brother, Elias’ father, in every way. Kantor maintained a clean, fresh-cut appearance with formal suits and slicked back hair styles, whereas Samson cared little for things like how ‘grease stains’ or ‘weeks without any sort of shaving’ might affect how people perceived him. No, Samson was the personification of the excitement before getting straight into work, the type of inspiration one wakes in the middle of the night with, made flesh. Rubbing an oiled finger through his strawberry blond beard, he raised an eyebrow.

  “Now, again. As if I were a toddler who had only done my first year at college, not my masters.”

  “I haven’t got a masters degree either. Yet.”

  Samson howled again, holding his face in his palm. “Damn kid, you really are just non-stop, aren’t you?”

  Elias turned away in a huff. It wasn’t about Samson not understanding his work that was the issue. He knew that his uncle had very little understanding about the matters of post-theoretical physics, and hardly expected the hands-on man to care about such things. It was the fact that his professors, all of whom were ‘top of their fields’ had all evaded his questions. Elias thought it was nothing serious; the problem at hand was simple, so surely they knew what he was talking about, right? And yet, his simpler questions had left them scratching their heads in confusion, waving off his concerns to be asked to another educator, who would repeat the pattern in turn.

  But even that wasn’t the real problem. It was the fact that at twelve years of age, he was already running out of colleagues he could relate his concerns to without dumbing concepts down. He didn’t want to be a genius, not if it pushed everyone away. Elias thought he had managed to make a friend once or twice, but they often either soured their opinion of him when the gap in their mutual understanding of each other widened to unmaintainable levels, or when his father forced him to move schools to some other ‘elite’ education centre.

  All he had left was Uncle Samson. No matter how long the younger Savage ranted about a particular issue with his education or how often Elias took control over a particular corner of the garage to create a private reading space, Uncle Samson would still smile.

  “Sometimes, Elias, I think you just need to relax a little,” Samson said, wiping his hands clean and sitting next to him to admire his work.

  The Armadillo, its name still pending in the GaltCorp copyright system, was coming along well. Samson’s hard work was paying off, and the all-terrain vehicle was looking great. It was one of dozens of new, experimental craft ready to be used for his Uncle’s future endeavours. Looking up, beyond the Armadillo, Elias saw the rest of the work the older Savage and his team had been putting together. It was a colossal craft, long enough to take up the entirety of the warehouse. Samson’s garage, or his ‘playground’ as he liked to call it, would have put official shipyards to shame with the output and quality of parts they produced. It was all needed – Samson’s next trip would be the furthest, and potentially the most dangerous so far and quality shortfalls would be disastrous. Though he did have others helping him on his mission, a necessity considering the scale of the project, Samson was the main vision behind it. Who else at GaltCorp would’ve spent so many hours designing and building the most advanced exploration ship in all of the CCH? It was not for the sake of money, or pride, or optics – just for the pure spirit of adventure.

  But Elias didn’t want to talk about his Uncle’s work, not when he had plenty of issues at hand.

  “But, what about-“ Elias started.

  “Let the science sleep for a night. It’s not going anywhere. If it’s that important, spending a day away from the problem will give it more time to digest in your mind. If you’re on the right track – great, now you’re even more certain. If you’re wrong – it’s a chance to set yourself in the right direction.”

  “I guess,” Elias still had the urge to write, to read, to do something relating to the jumble of figures and symbols bouncing inside his head. “But what if someone figures it out before me?”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “Kid, if someone figures it out, it’ll only be because they had a century long head start or something. Besides, I think you’re the one who’s going to be leaving the rest of us in the dust. You’re learning so fast, it’s almost dizzying.”

  Hearing Samson praise his efforts, even if he didn’t understand the first thing about the work itself, was always nice. Elias wished his father would do the same. In fact, he wished his father would say anything about him, good or bad. They had never been close, and even as an even younger child Elias had been aware of the distance between the two of them, but since he had started tertiary education, Kantor had spent even less time with him.

  “Why are you doing it, Uncle?” Elias asked.

  “Hmm?” Samson raised a brow. “Oh, this next trip? Well, to be honest, mostly because your dad really needs me out of his hair for a while. You know, GaltCorp business stuff.”

  “Not just the next trip – in general? Why do you care for what’s out there? Surely it’s just more stars and planets.”

  “Ahh, so that’s your perspective. Elias, what do you see when you look up at night?”

  “Usually the ceiling of my bedroom,” Elias grinned.

  “Very funny kid. But seriously, when you look up, outside that is, and see all the light of the stars above, what do you feel?”

  “I feel…” How did Elias feel? There was a certain wonder, like that of a theory with a half-finished equation that almost worked, but maybe there was something more. Unlike numbers on a page, the stars above and the seas of darkness between were more wild, untamed. Unknown.

  “I feel… a bit weirded out by its size,” Elias admitted. “I feel afraid.”

  “Yep. Me too.”

  “What? But… if you’re afraid, why do you…” Elias trailed off.

  “Because, buddy, whilst I am pretty spooked by both the idea of it being completely empty out there, nothing but shuckabrush and dirt, or there actually being something in the dark, there’s another feeling. It’s deep in my gut. It says ‘I want to try, I want to see, I want to find out!’. And… who I am I to deny that? It’s written into my DNA to find the truth, no matter how long or how far it takes.”

  “Isn’t that what I’m doing?” Elias tilted his head.

  “Sure. I’m not saying that I’m right, and you’re wrong. We’re two halves of the same idea. The theory on page and the practice in person. You can’t have one without the other. Think of all the great scientists of the past, kid. We wouldn’t have spaceships and the like without them. Think of good old…” His uncle opened his mouth to speak, but quickly screwed up his face. “Um…”

  “Darwin? Newton? Da Vinci?”

  “Yes! And the, uh… The pea guy?”

  “Mendel?”

  “That’s the one! You think if he had stayed in his dusty little library he would have started the idea of genetics, that we would now have ways of fixing almost every congenital health problem?”

  That was a big almost. Hickman’s syndrome had appeared more often since Black Sun had admitted to a toxic chemical leak a few years back with long lasting effects. Still, humanity had come a long way/

  “I guess not,” Elias shrugged. “But you’re talking about going to the stars and beyond. Gregor Mendel didn’t really go that far – just to his garden.”

  “Ah ha! But can you grow peas indoors?”

  “Uh, yeah?” Elias said with a snicker, much to his uncle chagrin.

  “Oh. Oops. Come on, kid, you’re making me look bad!”

  “Sorry, sorry!” Elias laughed.

  The two laughed for a while, listening to the sounds of the overhead cranes moving boxes and parts about the large enclosure. It took Elias a while to work up the courage to ask what had been on his mind.

  “I want to come on your next trip.”

  “Elias…” Samson shook his head.

  “But why?”

  “You’re important, kid. You have a bright life ahead of you, and having you waste months or even years of your life pottering about with me would be wasting the gift you have.”

  It was what he had expected, but the truth stung nonetheless. Elias sighed and bit his lip. Even if he couldn’t come, was there a reason why his uncle had to leave for such a long period? He had a sinking suspicion, and felt that asking as the only way to resolve it.

  “Dad… he doesn’t want you at Titanlock for a while, does he?”

  Samson’s eyes widened for a moment before he sighed, slouching his shoulders in defeat. “Damn, you’re way too bright, kid. Yeah, that’s right. Kantor and I… there’s strain at the moment. Usual corporate politics.”

  “Is that why you didn’t visit on last birthday? Or the one before that?”

  “Ugh. Ok, maybe there’s something there beyond professional tension. You can imagine the bureaucracy of GaltCorp and all the fun that entails. So yeah, bit a problem there. But I have something that might keep you occupied until I get back. Come on.”

  Samson heaved himself off the crate and walked to the corner of the hanger, boots echoing loudly. Scampering behind him, Elias saw him approach the object he had first spied a week before. It was covered in a tarp, masking whatever it could be underneath.

  In a dramatic fashion, his uncle stood over the mass, shook the cover for effect, then whipped it off. Elias cautiously approached his side as he looked on.

  “Is that…” Elias could barely believe it.

  A great machine, its smooth plating dancing in the light. It had been spray painted burnished bronze, though the material was clearly of something far more valuable than mere metal. The layers beneath the surface, untouched by paint, were silvery white, a pearlescent sheen to each section. Light seemed to split into a rainbow as it reflected off the syraline lining, likely only a millimetre or so thick, but enough to protect the internals against anything weaker than a railcannon. A pair of high-frequency blades, often used in inter-sys races for dismounting other riders, stuck out like the tusks of a boar, or the lance of a knight. The twin engines at the rear had gimbling directional control, capable of swivelling to steer it with absolute precision. A multi-layer inverted baryonic plate made up the rear, capable of projecting the machine up into the air. With enough power, it could theoretically fly on its own, no ground needed to push off like a older styled hovercraft.

  It was a XLR – Magnum, the best hoverbike in the Speed Blitz sport. Elias had seen similar vehicles when he played CrashOut, but had never even seen one with his own eyes.

  And it was his.

  “Yep,” Samson said, nodding with approval. “The latest model. Nothing but the best for my favourite nephew.”

  “But… I’m your only nephew.”

  “Exactly!”

  Elias held out a hand to touch the beauty, but flinched back, daring not to tarnish its surface with his sullied fingers. How could someone like him touch something so beautiful?

  “You’re a bit young for using it properly, but I think if you got some open space, like at that new school your dad mentioned, you’ll be able to get it up to full speed no problem.”

  “Will it be hard to use?”

  “Maybe. That’s why you’ve gotta get strong, Sancho. Only then can you ride this steed.” Samson chuckled at the little nickname he’d given Elias a while back. “You’ve got to promise me you’ll work hard to use her; some of the best riders out there spend years training. But, if you agree, you can take it with you when Kantor transfers you outta here – no questions asked. Deal?”

  “Deal!”

  “That’s my little hero in the making! Now, the naming might be a bit off, but I was thinking…” Samson looked down expectantly.

  The name would be vital. The wrong name would be wasting this glorious gift. Many tacky names came to mind, none of them working and lacking the true soul of the machine. No, only one was the right choice and Elias knew it.

  “Rocinante,” Elias said.

  Samson smiled, “We’ll make a Quixote out of you yet, Elias.”