EARTH, FIVE YEARS AGO:

A MAN AND a woman stood looking down at the young girl about fourteen who lay on the gurney. The child was of slight build, with long dark hair, and a honey toned complexion . Her dark green eyes were closed in sleep.

   The woman was Dr. Jolene Marston. She was  tall and angular, her graying hair pulled back in a messy bun. She felt a brief moment of regret that she wouldn’t be the one to teach this child to use her abilities. Long ago, before she had been embittered by the death of her son, she had been like this child; just teetering on the edge of her burgeoning mental abilities. It was better this way, she told herself. On the psychic colony, this girl might never learn how powerful she was—but no one would be crafting her into a weapon either.

   “You’re sure she won’t remember?” the man asked. Simon Torrent was ex-military. His badly scarred visage and hands gave evidence he had once been a powerful warrior.

   Marston lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “Well, nothing is absolute, of course,” she replied, “but unless she is brought back into contact with something from here to trigger a memory, it’s unlikely.”

   He frowned. “What about the others?”

   “They’re only three. They were in Franklin’s compound when it was attacked by that group of wild clones. Our sources learned all the toddlers were 

 adopted by Mathias and Ivette Bedingfeld, a pair of students from Laughing Mountain.”

   He nodded, satisfied. “They will be out of reach of the Others there, No one will be able to weaponize their abilities. What about the infants who were scheduled to be decanted?”

   “They’ve apparently been adopted by a Man named Liam Brendan and his wife Tally Higgens. Higgens is also from Laughing Mountain. Not a lot is known about Brendan: he and his sisters disappeared for about thirteen years. He returned alone to Laughing Mountain after his uncle, Robert Masters died. Masters was rumored to have links to the mob. Shortly after  Brendan and his wife claimed the infants, they disappeared from Laughing Mountain too.”

   Just then, the door opened, and an aide said, “The runner from Shangri-La is here, sir. What do I tell her?”

   “Tell her we’ll be right along.” 

   “Shangri-La? That colony of Psychics?”

   “Yes. Her abilities should pass without too much notice there.”

   “How are you going to pay her emigration fee?”

   “I’m not.”

   “But then she’ll go in as an indentured servant,” the woman protested. Shangri-La’s Indentured Servant program was a controversial platform in some circles. It was based on an old system popular in Colonial America. An already established colonist would pay the emigration fee, and provide housing, food, and clothing for a period of five years while the new emigrant worked off what they owed the sponsor, At the end of the period, the new emigrant would be free to seek another position.

   “I’m, sorry, but it can’t be helped. We can’t take the chance the money could be traced back to us. Besides, she’s still a minor. They don’t assign hard labor to children.” 

   The woman frowned. It was true, but while Shangri-La laws precluded the girl from being assigned rigorous duties and ensured time for her to attend school, she knew that while this sounded okay in theory, a lot depended on the contractor’s policies, since the fuzzy minded idealists who formed Shangri-La’s charter hadn’t created any penalties to encourage a bad contractor to mend his ways.

   He stooped and lifted the sleeping child in his arms. The aide held the door for him.

   He carried her out to the truck and the Runner helped him fasten her seat belt. He stood back and handed the runner the locket with the name ‘Tracy Lucent’ engraved on it. “Be sure she is wearing this when she goes across,” he instructed.

   “How long will she sleep?” the runner asked.

   “The drug should wear off by the time you exit the Portal on the other side.”

AWAKENING

THE FIRST THING Tracy remembered was also her first sight of the city of Fortuna and the planet Shangri-La. Both were beautiful. Shangri-La was a pastoral paradise capable of sustaining human life. It had no sentient species. The planet was Approximately 67% water with seven continents and three islands large enough to be called semi-continents equidistant from each other. It had one large moon orbiting it. The planet took 465 days to orbit a yellow sun. The axel tilt was enough to provide seasonal change. The capital city and the Portal were in a temperate zone of one of the northern continents near the ocean.

    “Miss, can you hear me?” the woman who shook her shoulder was in her forties, with dishwater blond hair cut in a short bob. Her rotund figure was clad in leggings and a loose, long-sleeved shirt dyed with many colors.

   Tracy sat up slowly, looking around. She had been lying on an ornately carved stone bench. Behind her she could hear the crash of waves hitting the white sand beach and overhead the scream of sea birds. The sun made a sparkling aureole in the east, and the crisp air held the tang of sea salt.

   “Where am I?” she asked.

   The woman stood back and looked her over. “You’re on Shangri-La. What’s your name?”

   “I—my name?”

   “Well, you’ve got a name don’t you?”

   “I suppose I must, but I don’t know it,” Tracy said numbly. She glanced down, seeing the locket dangling between her little girl breasts for the first time. She lifted the locket to look more closely at it. It had a name carved into the silver finish. She showed it to the woman. “This has a name. Tracy Lucent. Is that me?”

   “It’ll do for now. How old are you?”

   Tracy’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure—fourteen?”

   “Do you remember coming through the Portal?”

   Tracy shook her head. “I’m sorry. Is that how I got here?”

   “You must have come through it. You aren’t a native. Come with me. We need to get you checked out by a doctor.”

   Following her, Tracy stumbled, so busy looking around, she forgot to look where she put her feet.

   The city dazzled her. Fortuna, the capital of Shangri-La was set on a narrow peninsula of rocky land, jutting out into the Crystal Sea. The Founders had spent a lot of money on aesthetics. The buildings lining the wide paved streets were graceful and ornate with stained wood rooftops and white stone walls. Water fountains and statues of Greek and Roman figures graced the fronts of buildings and street corners.

   Delivery wagons pulled by large, sturdy Llandaffs filled the lanes as they distributed todays fresh produce, grains and meat to the houses and businesses lining the streets. Somewhere far back in their evolution, Shangri-La’s Llandaffs and Kookabura, used by the colonists for transportation, were genetically related to camelids, and resembled earthly Llamas and Alpacas although much larger (the Llandaffs were about the size of a Clydesdale horse). 

   Like all of the Outlawed Colonies, Shangri-La didn’t possess an industrial base, so they had needed an alternative form of transportation. Occasionally, an air sled was imported, but they were rare.

   The settlers had domesticated three native breeds of camelids to use as draft animals, riding animals and for other things horses had once been used for on earth. Llandaffs have long necks, slender limbs, and rounded muzzles. They have protruding lower incisors (front teeth), and their upper lip is split. Partly because they have been domesticated for their wool, it can be found in a wide variety of colors. The Llandaffs under-coat wool was famous for its softness, whereas the upper-coat wool (known as “guard hairs”) is a little coarser and serves to protect Llandaffs from debris and rain. Both coats are used for weaving into fibers. Kookaburas were smaller and lighter boned than Llandaffs. As they walked toward the trolley stand Tracy saw a few of them being ridden down the street. There were also a few of the Vicuburas, the smallest of the three breeds, hitched to small, lightly laden carts.

   “Who are you?” Tracy asked,

   “My name is Ramona Frost. I’m in charge of unattended minors who come through the Portal.”

   Ramona ushered Tracy into a seat on the trolley, pulled by a team of six Llandaffs.

   “Get aboard girl and take a seat.”

   “Long night?” Caley, the trolley driver clucked to her team and the trolly meandered down the street toward the town civic center.

   Ramona leaned her head back against the seat. “Yeah. As soon as I can get this one sorted out, I’m heading for bed.”

   “Excuse me,” Tracy said, “but what are those called?” She pointed at the Llandaffs. 

   “Those are Llandaffs. We use them as draft animals,” Caley answered her.

   It was a new word. Tracy savored it on her tongue. She wanted to know more, but a more pressing worry diverted her. “What’s going to happen to me?” She asked.

   “First, you get checked out by one of our docs to determine how old you are, and if you are healthy, then we try to find your parents or guardians.”

   “What if you can’t find anyone?”

   Ramona smiled reassuringly at her. “Then you go into the system. Don’t worry, we take good care of our children here on Shangri-La.”

   Tracy said nothing although she sensed Ramona’s unease, instinctively, she didn’t feel comfortable revealing her own ability to pick up on other’s emotions. Plainly the woman didn’t choose to discuss whatever was bothering her.

   The pediatrician was a slim young woman with short-cropped black hair and a café-a-late complexion.

   “Well, Ramona, what have we here?”

   Tracy unconsciously sent out a feeler to get a reading on the woman’s intentions, then relaxed. She felt no animosity or ill will from the doctor. I didn’t know I could do that, she thought. I wonder what else I can do?

   “She doesn’t remember her name or coming through the Portal,” Ramona said, “but she’s wearing a locket with a name engraved on it. Tracy Lucent, so we’ve been calling her Tracy.”

   “Humm, no parents or guardian looking for her?”

   “Unfortunately, no,” Ramona replied. “The gate keepers noticed her asleep on one of the benches near the unloading area. She woke up when I spoke to her.”

   The doctor pulled a handheld scanner out of her pocket and ran it over Tracy.

   “Any idea how old you are?” she asked.

   Tracy searched the blank slate of her memory and came up empty. “I’m sorry. I think about fourteen, but I don’t know.”

   The scanner transferred its readings to the large holo screen mounted on one wall. The screen beeped a complaint.

   “Humn,” the doctor said again.

   “Is something wrong?” Tracy asked fearfully.

   “No, you appear quite healthy, and you’ve had all the regulation inoculations. But I do  notice there seems to be some smudging showing up on the brain scan here,” she pointed to an area on the chart.

   “Smudging?” Ramona asked. “What does that mean? Is it dangerous?”

   The doctor looked at her in surprise. “Dangerous? Oh, No, this in the area where we find personal memory. It’s just a guess at this point, but in my opinion, this young lady has been subjected to an extensive memory wipe.”

   “Are the memories recoverable?”

   The doctor shook her head. “I doubt it. The wipe was too widespread.”

   “So, no recoverable memories, then?”

   “’Fraid not.”

   “How old is she?”

   “Around thirteen or fourteen; I’d say just entering puberty.”

   “Let’s get you set up in the dorms, Tracy, and then we’ll get you some breakfast.”

   “We will need to run some tests to check where to place her in the school system,” the doctor reminded Ramona, who nodded.

   “We need to find her a sponsor too,” Ramona said, frowning. Tracy would probably end up as an indentured servant, a policy she disapproved of on principle.

A GLITTERING EYE

SHANGRI-LA, FOUR YEARS LATER:

Sheriff Geoffrey Talent glared at his favorite granddaughter. He was a large man, with a powerful body now turning soft. “Sit down Officer Talent,” he said.

Jeanne stared at her grandfather. The tone wasn’t one she was used to hearing from him.  She was a tall, slim, blond woman, beautiful, with a usual air of entitlement, which was currently suffering a setback.

    “I had visitors today. A group of business owners. They wanted to discuss abuse of power under the guise of authority by one of my officers. Care to guess which officer?”

    She swallowed, unable to meet his eyes.

    “Imagine my surprise to discover the officer is a member of my own family! Something like this could lose me the election. Do you understand that girl?”

    “Surely not,” she said. “You always win. You’ll be sheriff until Dad can take over—“

    Her grandfather made a sound like a balloon deflating. “Are you really that stupid?”

    Deciding she needed a quick diversion, she said, “She did it, Grandpa, I know she did! No one believes me!”

    Geoffrey glared at her. “If she killed him the proof is out there. Get off your lazy ass and find it!”

    Jeanne stood up. “Yes sir. As she left her grandfather’s house, Jeanne Talent thought about where she could start looking for more evidence. She had heard that Clemintine LaSalle had bought out her mother’s contract and that of the girl Tracy Lucent. Where had the money come from? It was a good place to start.

Trapp’s servants had to wait for his will to be probated before the new owner could accept any offers to buy out his Indentured contracts. “Have you met the new owner yet?” Tracy asked Grace. 

    All of Trapp’s servants were understandably nervous. A good contractor often ended up with a loyal employee. A bad one could make his servants’ life Hell. Baxter Trapp hadn’t been one of the good ones.

    Four years ago, when Grace LaSalle had discovered Trapp hadn’t made any provision for Tracy’s care beyond buying the contract, she had made room for the child in the two-bedroom suite allotted to herself and her husband Greg. 

    When she and her husband had emigrated, Grace had paid their daughter Clemintine’s emigration fee so she would come in as a paid-up emigrant, while she and her husband came in as Indentured Servants. 

It meant her daughter couldn’t live with them, and she missed her desperately, but at least she wasn’t someone’s servant, and she was free to see her parents whenever their duties allowed. Clementine had been assigned to a foster family run by Josephine Valentina, but she visited her parents when she could.

Grace’s mothering heart had gone out to the child who had arrived without a sponsor and apparently had no one to look after her interests. Grace had stepped in as a surrogate mother when Tracy’s indenture contract had been picked up by Baxter Trapp. 

    Tracy lived with the LaSalles until Greg, who had gambling issues, got in trouble for embezzling from Trapp’s clients to pay off his gambling debt (he and Grace were both accountants). He was supposedly killed by a runaway robot trash collector. Trapp had lost no time in ordering Grace to move in with him. When she refused, he had forced her to comply.

Grace had once been a beautiful blond. Several years as Trapp’s mistress had taken their toll. She was now thin to the point of emancipation, and she looked several decades older than her real age,

    When Tracy had turned sixteen, Trapp decided it was time to change concubines. He had sent for Tracy. Tracy had cautiously explored her abilities since she had arrived. She had discovered that one of her talents was empathy. She knew why he wanted her, and it frightened her. 

    “What can I do?” she asked Grace.

    “I’m sorry,” Grace had told her. “I don’t know. I wish I could protect you, child, but I can’t—I couldn’t even protect myself.” Tears leaked from Grace’s once pretty blue eyes.

    That was how Tracy ended up in Trapp’s study confronting her foster sister Clemintine across Trapp’s dead body. Clementine was wearing a specially made skin suit that made it hard to focus on her.

    “Did you kill him?” She asked.

    “No! I just got here! Did you kill him?”

    “No,” Clemintine said. She frowned for a few minutes, studying Trapps body which showed no signs of violence. When she looked up, she asked, “Where is his safe?”

    “Behind that painting, I think. Why do you want to know?”

    Clemintine strode over to the painting and swung it away from the wall. She tossed a spray can at Tracy. “Don’t touch anything until you spray your hands,” she ordered over her shoulder as she went to work on the safe combination.”

    “You are touching the safe. Why do you want it open?”

    “I sealed up before I came in.”

    She swung the safe door open, and thrust all the papers, credit chips, and loose change into the pouch she wore cross body.

    “Are you robbing the safe?” Tracy asked, scandalized.

    Clementine gave her an impatient glance. “He’s dead,” she said. “We need a reason for his death that doesn’t include either you or me killing him. I’m going out through the patio. As soon as I leave, you start screaming. Remember, we both got here at the same time, and the safe had already been emptied and he was dead. Got it?”

    “I’ve got it,” Tracy said. She watched Clementine start to climb up the patio wall, and remembered she was supposed to start screaming. It was surprisingly easy.

    Although Officer Talent had managed to put Clemintine on trial for Murder, the judge had thrown the case out of court for lack of evidence.

    Now Tracy and Grace were waiting nervously in Grace’s old apartment (Grace had moved back in as soon as they heard Trapp was dead) expecting to be told to report to the new owner to learn their fate.