“Traveler clear of the Rishi.”

  Mr. Callon Esplin, a Traveler, replaced the beat-up tin in his breast pocket. The smell of vanilla lingered in the shuttle’s cockpit. He reached over to his console, keying his mic.

  “Control, Traveler. I’m spooling up. Morales Station may be a bit of a hop for me, but tell Captain Bowman I won’t let him or the Rishi down. Traveling in 3,2,1.”

  With that, Callon hit a sequence of buttons. He engaged the specialized circuitry, which allowed him to Travel with his craft.

  “God speed.” Rishi’s Flight Control said before the shuttles’ comms cut off as the vessel entered the void of Non-Space.

  Mr. Esplin knew the Rishi’s flight controller would announce that he was now Traveling. If everything went according to plan, Mr. Esplin would be in Non-Space for an hour. He would Travel twelve million kilometers during that time and emerge back into normal space a short fifteen thousand kilometers from Morales Station. It would take an additional thirty minutes to reach the station using the shuttle’s sub-light drives.

  But that wasn’t the plan.

  In the shuttles’ cockpit, Callon watched as the ship’s clock counted off ten minutes and then waited for another ten just to be sure. After twenty minutes, he reached over and disengaged the Power infused circuits. The shuttle dropped out of Non-Space; a dimension accessible by Travelers where they could cross the vast distances between planets in a fraction of the time it took with sub-light drives.

  This ability elevated Travelers above other Powers in the citizenry’s mind. The Barrier that surrounded the solar system emitted an exotic radiation that made faster-than-light drives, or FTLs, inoperable. If you could afford the obscene rates or be fortunate to employ a Traveler yourself, the system was wide open for you. The trip between two planets, such as Nthandi and Senovar, took a month on sub-light drives, and to get across the entire system took years. Those with few means usually took passage on the long-haul cargo cruisers that plied their trade in the vast emptiness. For those who could employ a Traveler, moving from planet to planet took only took a few hours, and moving across the entire system took mere weeks.

  A few more commands on his console disabled external lights and beacons. He had Traveled over four million kilometers and was well outside the known sensor capabilities of the Rishi. Still, Callon wasn’t one to take chances. Especially not this late in the game.

  The Traveler had no intention of returning to Morales Station. He was, in fact, the reason that Mr. Finnimon, the Rishi’s primary Traveler, was currently a patient in the base’s sickbay. His benefactor had pulled strings assigning Callon to the station under the guise of needing further training as a Power. His actual mission was to monitor for any signs that the Navy had stumbled onto their plans in this sector.

  He had been on Morales Station for weeks now, playing the dutiful Power trainee to Mr. Finnimon. The weak subordinate persona grated on his ego, but he had long ago become the master of that particular failing. He knew his duty and how vital his role was; besides, he would be ‘recalled’ to Nthandi for evaluation and further testing in the next day or two. That would give him reason to leave the station, freeing him to meet with his contacts. Leaving Morales would signal the next phase of their plan, culminating with the first night of the empress’s celebrations in a few months’ time.

  A day before, Callon had received orders over the secure channel set aside for his use. While part of a Power’s training involved serving time in the Navy, once discharged, they were secretive by nature. As the Navy still had use for Power’s outside their authority, they had learned to accommodate them.

  His instructions were to make sure he was on the Rishi before their next deployment. He needed to be the one called on to Travel when and if critical information arrived. He knew he wasn’t the only Power in his organization, having met at least one more, a Power from T’sannu who could foretell other people’s futures. She must have seen something that required his attention.

  He and Finnimon had been playing cards with Major Stamitz and some of the bases’ notorious crew members when he slipped the other man a drug that had caused uncontrolled nausea and vertigo. On casual inspection, it would look like an acute case of the Navorian Flu, except none of the medications at the medical staff’s disposal would ease the symptoms. The drug took a week to run its course, regardless of intervention.

  Callon toggled a switch on his control board in a complex pattern, activating a hidden program deep in the ship’s computer, and a new window popped up on his terminal. Using the terminal’s built-in controls, he keyed in a command. The shuttle began emitting a directed low-yield radiation burst away from the Rishi and deep into the Belt, its precise natural signature the prearranged signal from Callon to his fellow conspirators. The new program quietly pinged as it waited for the return signal, its rhythm, and the warm, dark confines of the cockpit, causing Callon Esplin’s mind to drift.

  __________

  “Name?”

  “Esplin. Callon Esplin. I’m here to be a Power.”

  The officiant barely looked up from his monitor, the bored expression etched permanently on his face.

  “Sure you are, kid. Just like everyone else that comes in here. Let’s wait until after the testing first, though, yeah?”

  It was Callon’s twenty-first birthday. Like every citizen of Solvonus when they turned twenty-one, he had come to his city's E.T.F., Examination and Training Facility, for testing. Callon had been looking forward to this day with increasing anticipation for months. He had arrived at the facility the night before and camped outside the front doors, ignoring the plunging temperatures of Nthandi’s northern hemisphere. He was going to be the first in line to be tested. The first to be a Power.

  In truth, he didn’t have anywhere else to stay, having long ago worn out his welcome with family and friends. The street gang he ran with, the Tigers, had tossed him out of their clubhouse over a minor indiscretion he swore wasn’t his fault.

  It was never Callon Esplin’s fault.

  Today’s testing was going to show everyone that Callon Esplin was someone who mattered. He would become a Power and live people's wildest dreams.

  “Kid. Hey Kid! I don’t got all day. Let me scan your chip so we can get you tested and on your way, yeah?”

  Callon blinked, realizing the officiant was pointing to the scanner on the side of his desk. He took a sideways step and held out his right arm, palm up, moving his wrist below the scanner. The computer terminal behind the desk beeped. He rubbed his wrist. He always hated how the scans seemed to burn his skin. Callon wasn’t aware of the scans burning anyone else, making it another thing that the universe had screwed up for the young man.

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  Callon knew waiting was not his strong suit. He shuffled from foot to foot, waiting as the officiant looked over his file, confirming his identity and age.

  What was taking so long? Come on. Come on. Come ON!

  “I don’t see an address or family listed here, kid. You got no one to miss you when you become a Power?”

  “Nope.”

  I’ll show ‘em all!

  “Fair 'nuff. Follow the light to the testing room.”

  The officiant pointed with a distracted air at a light embedded in the floor under Callon's feet. It pulsed slowly and began moving away from the desk, down the long single hallway to the right of the desk.

  Callon looked down, before walking in the direction the light showed. He didn’t bother to thank the officiant. The man wouldn’t have heard anyway, the name Callon Esplin already forgotten as he bent over his screen.

  An hour later, Callon was standing, dumbfounded, the odious officiant pushed him through the E.T.F. doors, allowing them to slam shut with Callon on the wrong side.

  The light Callon had followed led him to a room at the far end of the hall, where an officiant instructed the young man to roll up his sleeve before injecting him with a small amount of Lush. The spiritless man left the room without another word, and Callon heard its lock engage.

  He had stood in the center of the bare room, wondering what he was supposed to do next. It seemed like only minutes had gone by before the door buzzed. A third officiant entered the room, wearing the same bored expression that Callon assumed was part of their uniforms.

  The officiant instructed Callon to follow the light again, which he did, confusion blossoming on his face.

  Did I pass? I don't think I did anything. But I must have.

  He followed the light back to the lobby, where he expected congratulations before being sent to the training side of the facility. Instead, the officiant who had greeted him when he had first entered the E.T.F. scanned Callon’s identity chip again. He noted something on his terminal before coming around the desk, sneering. He took Callon roughly in hand and pushed him toward the front doors, pushing the young man through them.

  He had failed. Again.

  _________

  Callon Esplin sat in the shuttle’s cockpit, thinking back on that fateful day. He had no idea that when he was ushered out of the E.T.F. that his life was about to change. A few weeks later, when he was at his lowest, the intoxicating T’sanni, Bitara, approached him. She told him a fantastical tale of how she bribed the officiant to wash him out, and that he was, indeed, a Power. She offered the life he wanted, and he jumped at the chance, regardless of who was offering. How long ago was that now? Ten years?

  Damn, I’m getting old.

  Bitara had provided training and guidance, at her benefactor’s insistence. It took long, grueling years. The first one alone was required to break through his obstinate self-importance. Kosh, the leader of the Red Fist, and Bitara’s employer, took him into his confidence, entrusting him with his plans. Their guidance allowed Callon to do the impossible. He had Traveled across the Barrier, contacting the Interlopers and returning with two of their ships. It had almost cost him his life, but the lifestyle his employer provided made it worth the risk.

  The Interloper ships had hidden themselves deep in the Navorian Belt. The asteroids providing ample hiding spots. There, they had waited almost six months. The extended duration was unavoidable; this large-scale coup required time, and Kosh and his patron could not begin final preparations until the Interlopers and a thousand other preparations were in place. It had taken longer than expected to get the pieces inline, but Interloper crews were used to such delays, their missions often broken up by long periods of waiting for the right circumstances to reveal themselves.

  During that time, using his contacts and not an insignificant amount of money, Kosh had Callon embedded with the Navy at Morales Station. The Power had monitored the station’s crew, ensuring the Interloper craft remained undetected. As a Power, he had almost unrestricted access, making the task easy enough. There had been a few close calls, but he had communicated with the Interloper crews in time for them to relocate and go undiscovered.

  Callon had been getting ready to depart Morales’s station, eager for the next phase of their mission, when Kosh had sent an urgent communication. An Interloper ship’s unexpected discovery forced them to break cover and destroy an independent mining ship. They received orders to move to a new location, but the Rishi’s patrol schedule had them in that sector and he needed to be on board to ensure the Interlopers remained undiscovered.

  Callon had been used to unfettered access when on Morales Station, his status as a Power earning him celebrity like status among the crew stationed there. The Rishi was altogether different. Under Lieutenant Commander Tanaka’s strict purview, and following the captain’s orders, Callon was denied access to the command deck while on patrol. Captain Bowman followed military procedure, and he didn’t permit non-essential personnel on his bridge.

  Callon had taken the extra precaution of having Mr. Finnimon, the Rishi’s resident Traveler, fall ill and confined to sickbay. With Mr. Finnimon back on Morales Station, Captain Bowman tasked Callon with the delivery of the Rishi’s communique saying that Interlopers were loose within the system.

  Callon shook off the memories as his terminal began beeping at him. The Interloper ship had responded to his query, detailing their current location, heading and speed, which he entered into his shuttle’s navigation computer. He punched in a code on his board and a second hidden program came to life, and he sent back a coded message to the ship, telling them he would join them shortly and to maintain their heading.

  The ship he messaged, the Forsetti, was the same ship that the mining vessel had discovered. In the brief skirmish, the Interloper ships’ stealth capabilities had taken damage, and it was at risk of being tracked. The Interloper captain, briefed on the defense capabilities in this sector, moved her ship deeper into the Navorian Belt, on a trajectory leading away from Ikalitek and Morales station, trying to stay hidden.

  That had the unintended consequence of putting the enemy ship in the Rishi's path. The Oshakati, its stealth capabilities still intact, would attempt to lure the patrol ship away from the Forsetti, until Callon could reach the vessel and Travel with them to a safe location.

  Callon set the flight path into the shuttle’s computers and sat back. All the pieces were lining up. Kosh’s plan coming to fruition. However, they needed to deal with this mess first. Callon stared into his cockpit’s screens, monitoring his trajectory and the blip that represented the Interloper ship. He reached into his left chest pocket, removing the small, battered tin he always kept on him, even when he slept. It was the size of a deck of cards, and he had used it as a child to keep the random detritus any child would cherish. He allowed himself to relax and thought about the next phase in their plan. He had a celebration to attend, and he needed to be ready.

  Callon opened the tin, pressing its sides together to pop the internal latch he had affixed there when he had repurposed the battered container. Inside was a substance that resembled loose leaf tea, faintly pink of color, and of the highest quality. Callon reached in and took a small, measured pinch of the substance, the quantity long learned by touch and feel. He placed the small amount of substance on his tongue and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as it dissolved with the help of his saliva. The scent of vanilla wafted into the shuttle’s cabin, and a small groan of pleasure escaped his throat. Callon’s eyes flew open, a fire igniting deep within them.

  He smiled and pressed a button on the specialized circuit installed in his personal space craft. Space rippled around the shuttle, and inside the cabin, the fabric of reality undulated in anticipation. One moment Callon was looking at the stars of the Solvonus system, the next he was in the void of Non-Space.

  Navigating in this place was intuition based, the conventional astrometric nav-computer being of no use here. Learning how to navigate here had cost many Travelers their lives. Many disappeared in Non-Space, never to be seen again. Callon Esplin was a natural, though. The first time he had entered Non-Space, his instincts told him how to Travel the short distance his instructors had tasked for him. It did not take long for Callon to master the complexities of personal Travel and graduate to Traveling with a spacecraft over vast distances. Traveling had its dangers. If he wasn’t careful, he could burn out if he didn’t manage his Lush intake, especially with longer distances. Worst yet, he could arrive inside a moon or planet, his life ending unspectacularly.

  Callon fixed his desired location, the flight deck of the Forsetti in his mind, and started the shuttle in the direction his Power told him to go. Callon would Travel the six million miles to the other craft in a half hour, and if they maintained their heading, he would arrive on their flight deck, behind their shields and defenses as if he belonged there all along.