History

That which we selfishly keep we lose.

—anon—

Jafarr sat in his History class, staring at the vis-screen sleepily. He barely slept the night before with all the strange things that had gone on. Alzdar and he had been studying maps of the undercity in his friend’s apartment, so he did not get home until late. The teacher droned on about the revolt of Kerzan Zeldar that happened nearly five hundred years ago. Jafarr smirked slightly, hearing about his ancestor that had nearly unseated the High Class—until he was shot in the head. That was the same year the People’s Military instigated the search policy giving them right to enter anyone’s apartment if they had suspicion of illegal possession of firearms. That was also the same year, according to Alzdar, that the rebellion slipped back into hiding. Jafarr yawned and tried to keep his eyes open.

“Bored, Zeldar?” a familiar and unwelcome voice said.

Jafarr looked up suddenly becoming conscious that standing over him to his left was Dural Korad, as he always seemed to appear from nowhere. Jafarr glanced around the room and realized that everyone was staring back at him and this P.M., waiting uncomfortably for something to happen.

The P.M. spoke with a grin. “What? Your family history is a bit too dull for you, or do you just know it already by heart?”

Jafarr gazed up at his teacher. His teacher gave him an uncomfortable apologetic grimace. Pained, Jafarr placed his head on his desk.

“What do you want, Dural Korad?” Jafarr said with a slight moan.

The P.M. smiled yet replied to the teacher instead of him. “I need to take Jafarr Zeldar to the Testing Center. He is to take the Adult Test today.”

Jafarr’s head popped up. “I didn’t sign up for the test.”

Dural Korad laughed. “Well, you should have. It has come to my attention that it is long over due.”

With a groan, Jafarr looked up pleadingly at his teacher—but his teacher gave him the same apologetic, can’t-do-anything-about-it look. Jafarr glanced at his two friends who were watching him sympathetically, but they were just as helpless.

Jafarr stood up.

“Let’s go,” Dural Korad said, seeing that Jafarr was not fighting him. He walked to the door.

Jafarr frowned but he did follow. There was no use in fighting. Dural Korad would follow him everywhere to get him—he knew it. It was over. What little freedom he had was gone.

He followed the P.M. out to the street where Dural Mezela and a flight pad were waiting. As directed, Jafarr climbed onto the pad, and sat down with a grim stare into the middlecity. The two P.M.s grinned at each other as they revved up their flight scooters. Without another word, they

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.02.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7883-6

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