It was 24th August 2450, a day just like any other. Sunlight infiltrated through the cloudy windows of the shop and illuminated the hologram projector placed over the clerk's counter. The projector displayed an elaborate game board which at first glance appeared unintelligible, but for the two players seated opposite each other, it was as natural as reading a book. The game was called 'Battlefront', a war simulation RTS multiplayer board game. Each new game would simulate a virtual confrontation between two forces in space, air, ground, or underwater. The nature of the confrontation could take the form of siege, open-war, ambush, and so on. The current game displayed on the projector was a confrontation between ground troops of two opposing factions. The objective was for the aggressor to capture key structures belonging to the defending faction. Typically, a single game could last anywhere between one and two days, depending on the players' proficiency. However, for the two players currently engrossed in their own game, it rarely exceeded 12 hours.
The aggressor, an old man, reached across the hologram board and carefully moved a game piece diagonally towards a tall, scaled-down tower. The man and a tanned brown and wrinkled skin with a worn-out appearance, and his age reflected on his face. His hair was a faded shade of gray, and his baldness was blooming out from the tip of his head fully exposing his parietal bone region. However, his eyes and demeanor were much more refined and sharp, almost mimicking a man in his middle ages. He wore a monochrome onesie which could be easily removed.
The defender, a sickly teen, leaned forward to take a closer look, gently parting his dirty brown hair flowing over his forehead. He too had tanned brown skin, with an unassuming face. He was 20 years old, but his eyes betrayed a cold detachment uncommon in children of his age.
"It's your game, Grandpa!"
While the two players had little less than a century separating them age-wise, a trait they shared in common was their confinement to a levitating chair. In the year 2450, the ancient 'wheelchair' had been completely phased out and was replaced by the modern levitating chair or the 'LChair' for short. The old man and his grandson were both using a customised version of a variant of the LChair produced by Kairos Inc. from the 'Chariot' line of products. Kairos Inc. specialised in producing low-cost consumer products for the elderly and physically disabled and operated within the Hartwell star system.
In the Age of Corporation, profitability was favoured over practicality. No one wanted to invest in building ramps. The only benefit of such an action would be accruing goodwill. You can't buy anything with goodwill! The LChair on the other hand was a cash cow. In a market where even the low-end prosthetics cost an arm and a leg, the LChair was a cheaper alternative for the middle and low class. But the device, by its nature, could not generate significant profits. Hence, businesses that sold variants of the LChair would squeeze the consumer through recurring annual, inconsequential, 'quality-of-life' software and hardware upgrades. Over time, the costs accumulated by the consumer would equal that of a low-end vehicle.
The old man wrinkled his brows, scratched his forehead, and looked at his grandson in irritation. He reached over to the projector's controls and started to rewind the game. With a gentle flourish, he quickly paused and zoomed in on a quadrant of the map.
Pointing towards a region on the board where multiple opposing pieces faced off against each other, he asked, "Why'd you make that move, Simon?"
Simon glanced towards where his grandfather was pointing and exclaimed, "Damn! I must've missed it! I shouldn't have pressed the attack there, it would have been better if I flanked from behind the cliff."
The old man stared at Simon without blinking. Noticing his grandfather's cold gaze, Simon flashed a sheepishly bright smile.
"Since when have you started lying to me? If I wasn't actively paying attention to your every single move, I would have completely missed that intentional attempt to sabotage yourself. I know this isn't the first time! Do you see me as a child, meant to be coaxed and cajoled?"
The smile faded from Simon's face, as it settled into a neutral, emotionless expression.
"It's just a game, Grandpa. I don't mind losing.."
The old man exhaled resignedly and shook his head.
"It's the principle, Simon. Even if this is a game, I took it seriously, while you didn't. In real life, you must first learn to identify your opponent's frame of mind. The greatest mistake you can make is facing a serious adversary halfheartedly or facing a casual opponent with your entire might. In both cases, it will only be your loss."
The old man switched off the projector and waved his arm to close the blackout curtains and turn on the lights in the workshop.
The shop appeared quite cramped, with a plethora of doodads placed on display. Simon dragged the hologram projector and tucked it away on a shelf behind the clerk's counter.
Gliding away from the projector, the old man moved towards a lowered workstation behind the counter while continuing, "The world that you've been exposed to is just the cliff facing a dark and endless abyss."
He then turned towards Simon and added on, "It is a vicious, dog-eat-dog world, Simon…"
"I know Grandpa."
"It's good if you do. You need to be prepared, I don't have much time left…"
"Stop saying that! You're much older than the pair of old coots from down the street, and yet you still act just as sprightly as a man at least two decades younger. I mean, no one would guess that you're 113 years old."
The old man revealed a rueful smile as he responded, "I can feel myself slowly fading. At most, I'll last another 2-3 days."
Simon turned serious as he reprimanded, "If you don't actively seek death, then death will take its time seeking you."
The old man laughed loudly, "What a stupid idiom! Where did you hear that? Death doesn't need to find you, it stays with you the moment you're born! The instant you slip up, that's when it strikes."
The old man's expression turned solemn.
"I'm sorry Simon. I've… wronged you. In ways that you don't even realize. On top of that, I'm leaving you with those three troublemakers…"
While Simon's expression didn't change, his answer betrayed a subtle sense of sincerity. "Grandpa, please! You're the reason we're still alive and well. You raised four abandoned children, all by yourself, when you didn't have to. The kindness you showed… We owe you our lives!"
The old man looked up towards the roof of his workshop. The ceiling was painted in a stark black hue, with intermittent, tiny lights dotting it like stars in a cloudless night sky.
"It's fine to hold hope, but my passing is a fact. You should start preparing for the inevitable Simon. When I'm gone, you should… you should leave this place. I've saved up enough for you four to go anywhere you want. The galaxy is wide and bountiful, don't box yourself in this wasteland of a planet."
Just as Simon was about to respond to his grandfather's grim monologue, loud footsteps and a din consisting of three overlapping voices approached the workshop's doors.
"The institute's off early today it seems…" Simon muttered under his breath.
Like almost all services in the galaxy, education was also a privatised industry. While most planets have at least one physical educational facility, the Hartwell system had none. This was because the system primarily comprised manufacturing industries and thus was filled with low-income families. Here, hopefuls looking to seek education would visit auditoriums turned lecture halls, dubbed as Institutes, that held periodic classes with holographic volunteer teachers from other systems. Simon's three younger siblings attended one such Institute.
The shop door automatically slid open as three teenagers burst through, excitement plastered all over their faces.
The only girl of the group shouted while catching her breath, "Grandpa! Grandpa! … *huff* *huff*"
The bulkier of the two boys chimed in where the girl left off, "Grandpa guess what's happening in 3 days?"
The other, leaner boy retorted to his sibling's nonsensical question, "How would he know? Just tell him! Forget it! Grandpa, they're going to hold a NAC [Neural Aptitude and Capacity] test for all teenagers aged 16-17 at Halcyon Business Tower in three days. Everyone from the Institute is signing up for it! They've sent permission forms by email to get signed by our guardians."
The old man responded without a second thought, "No."
Silence prevailed in the workshop while the triplets and Simon digested their grandfather's immediate refusal.
The girl was first to break the silence, "But why? If we get a high score in the NAC test, we'll definitely get jobs as Meka pilots under Halcyon Inc. Oren's father said that in Halcyon, a decent Meka pilot's salary is about 50000 Bits!"
Again, without breaking for a second, the old man responded "No! You three will NOT take the NAC test! I want you to trust me on this, it is for your good!"
The bulkier triplet threw a pleading gaze towards Simon while he mouthed for him to convince their grandfather. Taking the hint, Simon decided to intervene. In a calm voice, he asked, "Umm, Grandpa. I don't think there are any risks in taking the NAC test. As far as I know, there haven't been any adverse effects of undergoing the test, at least nothing that isn't irreversible. Is there a particular reason why you're so against it? I'm sure they'll understand."
The old man's expression turned complicated as if he were facing an internal struggle, "That… Just don't, OK? I know that without giving you a reason, it sounds unfair. But it's this one time! Consider it as my first and last no-questions-asked request. Can't you three please just take my word for it?!"
The bulkier triplet was about to challenge his grandfather when he noticed Simon place his index finger over his lips, gesturing him to hush.
The old man abruptly swiveled his levitating chair and entered his room at the back of the shop, locking the door.
Once again, silence prevailed in the room. This time, the leaner triplet was the first to speak, "What's got Grandpa so angry today? Didn't we tell you to let him win last time!"
With a helpless expression, Simon said, "What do you think I've been doing the past few months? He's just getting more observant, he figured out that I've been letting him win."
The triplets' noses scrunched up and their eyebrows furrowed at the same time.
"Can you convince him, Simon? I don't get why he's so against it? It's just a test. And we don't lose anything. If we didn't need to get a guardian's approval I'd have rushed there immediately." The girl said as she slowly inched towards Simon while pouting and twiddling her fingers.
"Karina! Stop that!" the bulkier triplet exclaimed as he rubbed his shoulders forcing down a shiver.
"I'm gonna throw up. Don't you have any shame? An old woman like you acting like a 6-year-old…"
Karina shot a murderous gaze towards him as she screamed back, "Fuck you, Horace! If I'm an old woman you're a bloated corpse!"
"Hey! Language you two!" Simon spoke up to stop a scuffle from ensuing.
Karina immediately dropped to her knees near Simon's levitating chair and grabbed his hand, looking up to him with a 'cute', pleading gaze.
"Siiiimmooooon", she dragged every syllable of his name. She turned towards the leaner triplet and again pleaded, "Nathan".
She darted her pupils in Simon's direction, silently asking Nathan to chip in as well.
Nathan chimed in, "Simon…What do YOU think?"
Assaulted by the three pairs of pleading eyes, Simon spoke up, "Leave it for now. Grandpa must have a reason. Let me look into it. Okay?"
The three acknowledged Simon's case and slowly made their way up the stairs to their rooms. However, Horace suddenly recollected something and silently asked Simon, "Did they transfer the Bits from the last job?"
Simon whispered in response, "Not yet. We can go check it out after lunch. Quickly now!"