“Give me one sec.” He taps a panel and puts his finger to his ear. “Fridon? Hey, I’ve got a young man here who wants to catch your flight.” He listens as the person on the other end speaks, then says, “Got it. I’ll send him over.”

The clerk prints a ticket behind the counter.

“That’ll be two hundred shims, sir.”

I hand him my ID. He scans it and gives it back to me with the ticket.

“The terminals are up the street. Hang a right out the door, and you can’t miss them. Head to Terminal Three. Carsh Fridon will meet you there. His flight leaves in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, sir.”

Two blocks up from the hotel, a sign flashes Northwest Terminals. I follow a map to Terminal 3 and make my way underground. There’s a security checkpoint, and beyond it, a display of the day’s departures. My ticket matches with Flight 1312, so I make my way down the left hall and find myself in an atrium, where a hovercraft is docked behind a large glass window, the words Regulus Zone printed on its hatch.

A man barely older than Michael beckons to me from the open hatch. He smacks gum in his teeth and gives me a hearty smile and handshake.

“I take it you’re the kid?”

“Yeah.” Though, compared to him, that’s not saying much.

When he glances at my ticket, his eyes flash wide in surprise. “Lance? You’re with Orcher, then?” I nod in response. “Thought so. Your dad came around here a lot, you know that? Of course, it was during tough times…but we all made do.”

Carsh shakes his head sullenly, sighing. Then he steps back and gestures into the hatch.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Lance. Glad to see you’re doing well. Ever need a lift, just give me a call. I’ll have to charge you, of course,” he adds, winking.

“Ha, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Of course. Now hop in. People tend to get restless these days.”

Carsh retreats to the cockpit, and I step into the hovercraft. There’s an open seat near the back of the first level. Halfway down the aisle, an older man narrows his eyes and mutters something about ‘being on time,’ and ‘people have places to be, ya know.’ I avert my eyes and sit in the empty seat, beside a husband and wife who look about Orcher’s age. They let me sit by the window.

An overhead speaker crackles to life, and Carsh Fridon’s voice fills the cabin.

“Sorry for the delay, folks. We should arrive in Subari at sixteen forty-seven local time, only a few minutes behind schedule.”

“Not at this rate, we’re not,” the man ahead of me mutters.

“This flight will be about four hours and forty-nine minutes, so sit back, relax, and enjoy your trip.”