“Who cares?” Asa said, exasperated. “They clearly don’t care about the Station.”

  “Don’t be so incurious, Asa,” Mother scolded, turning the book around for his perusal.

  Asa stared at the print but couldn’t read the language at all. “I can’t tell what it says,” he said finally.

  “Exactly!” Mother said. “It’s a dead language. It’s written in Azhaz, which no one has spoken in centuries.”

  “Then why did you want this?” Asa said, dubious. The House traded in demonic contracts for business and pleasure, and when Asa had been promoted to Head Apprentice of the House, Madame Katusha had taught him everything she knew about demon languages. The House had never used Azhaz for its contracts.

  “Consider the time-lines that the central government sends our way once they’re done mining them for resources,” Mother said, leaning her cheek in her hand, her elbow propped on the table. “Why is there always an influx of demons when a new time-line forms?”

  Asa shrugged. “The older texts say demons roam pocket dimensions. Maybe they’re attracted to the specific energy frequencies that exist in newly generated time-space.” He took a sip of cold tea and grimaced, wishing it were coffee. “Madame Katusha thinks that they actually spawn from the acute increase in energy from the formation of a time-line.”

  “But imagine: you’re the Regent of an empire, and you could have anything you wanted from any time-line,” she said. “What would you look for?”

  Asa made a face. “Mother, just tell me what you want to say.” He didn’t know why they could never have a conversation that didn’t involve politics or testing him in some way. His mother’s debt to the House was as mountainous as ever, and Asa didn’t know how that was possible—and his mother obfuscated the reasons as she did everything else. “Obviously the Regent wants power.”

  Asa knew exactly what he would do if he was the Regent: obtain his mother’s freedom and then enough money to explore star systems for the rest of their lives.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, ignoring his request to skip the thought exercise. “But what kind of power? And for what purpose?”

  “To win the wars,” Asa said, rolling his eyes. “Everyone knows that.”

  “The wars are being fought on several different fronts,” she said, moving around salt and pepper shakers to represent the different forces from different galaxies. “They need endless weapons and soldiers and food and—” she moved the teapot to the center of her ad hoc diagram. “—demon contracts.”

  Asa sighed. “Mother, this isn’t about that legend again–”

  “Asa, just listen to me,” Mother said, sounding uncharacteristically annoyed. Asa felt a slightly ugly satisfaction that he was finally able to get a real response out of her. “What if they could find the ultimate weapon?”

  “The god of demons is a myth,” Asa argued. “Rose says none of the demons he’s talked to have ever mentioned a demon god.”

  “Irrelevant,” she said, pointing her spoon at him. “Why would a demon ever tell a human anything unless there’s a contract?”

  “Mother, why do you care so much?” Asa said, shutting the book and sliding it back to her. He wished she would actually ask about his day instead of scrolling the readouts from PQ-9’s reports, or that they could play five-dimensional chess like they used to when he lived at the House. “Why can’t we just have dinner?”

  “Haven’t you noticed the alarms have been getting more frequent?” his mother said calmly. “The walls of space-time are becoming like swiss cheese. What happens when time finally collapses inward?”

  Asa had noticed this but had been trying not to think about it because there was nothing he could do. The Station alarms went off whenever a new time-line arrived in proximity to the Station, and then demons poured through the rift. All the humanoids had to huddle in lock-down bunkers until the time-line settled.

  “Then maybe we’ll finally escape this demon-infested Station and be somewhere with actual green grass,” Asa said, downing the rest of his terrible tea to try to swallow his frustration.

  Mother looked at him with an inscrutable expression. “Is that what you would do?” she said. “If you could have anything you wanted?”

  “Of course,” Asa said firmly. “Isn’t that what you want? Mother, think of all the research you could do on a real planet.”

  “That’s true,” his mother said slowly, and then she smiled. “Come on, eat,” she said. “I have to return to the House soon. You’ll have to say hello to Rose for me when you see him today–”

  “Mother!” Asa said, indignant. “Absolutely not. He doesn’t need any encouragement from you.”

  His mother laughed, warm and real, and it soothed the hurt inside Asa from earlier. “You’re not allowed to bet on him either,” Asa said sternly.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “I’ll only bet on you,” his mother agreed. Asa knew she was just humoring him—his mother thought pod-racing was dangerous—but it made him smile anyway.

  Acanthus returned, presumably at least ten pastries heavier, and his mother rose to stand. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, even though they both knew that wasn’t true. He watched as they left—Acanthus’ black fur, his mother’s black hair—and felt an over-whelming loneliness.

  It was only later that Asa noticed that his mother hadn’t actually said what she would do if she could do anything.

  Asa arrived early to Hangar 3 for the race because otherwise he would only brood in his apartment about his meeting with his mother. This was a preliminary qualifying race for the Torque Trials Tournament, and all Asa needed to do was get in the top ten to qualify. Anyone could participate in the races—the only requirement was being able to pay the admission fee. The prize money for winning the Triple T was 500, 000 CRX, which was worth five years of his mother’s contract–the closest Asa would ever be able to get to buying out multiple years of his mother’s contract all at once.

  “Come on, hold still,” Asa scolded PQ-9 as he tried to fix the glitch that was causing PQ-9 to walk a little off-center, his metal wings fluttering furiously to keep him upright. PQ-9 had large goggle-like eyes that were set in a head that was roughly the shape of a very tiny watermelon, and their head was attached to a prehensile neck that could lengthen or shorten depending on how intensely PQ-9 wanted to glare at him. PQ-9 was only the size of a short action figure–or a tall guinea pig–so Asa had to work on a very fine level, which was extra difficult when PQ-9 wouldn’t stop moving. “It’ll only take a second!”

  PQ-9 beeped angrily in response.

  Asa sighed, swiping a hand through his hair. It was now twenty minutes before the race started, and Asa had prepped and tweaked his pod to the standard that his mother would be proud of, if she didn’t disapprove of pod-racing. SAD lackeys lingered near his pod, as well as YB’s pod, who had worked under Boss in the Gold Seal Syndicate for fifteen years and had a very nasty cheating habit. It made Asa extremely itchy to be so near even satellite agents of the Eternal Crystal Imperium. They always watched everyone. Asa hated it even worse than when the Gold Seal Syndicate interfered in his business.

  Ambrose—Rose—Thorne was of course utterly surrounded by his fans as he worked on his pod. Almost everyone on the Station watched the pod-races on the holo, placing bets, especially since Boss was heavily invested in the pod races. Asa had asked around for popular bets, and Nora—the owner of the bar Asa hung out at most—had boredly reported that YB and Rose were the favorites. Asa, of course, aimed to displease.

  Rose ignored everyone around him, as per usual, as if his fans didn’t even exist. He was pissy as fuck all the time, so Asa didn’t understand the appeal at all. When they were kids, Rose was always bossing him around like he was just another one of the little kids that Rose had been charged with by the Golden Seal.

  “Can you believe that guy,” Asa said to PQ-9, crossing his arms. “He acts so cool—if only his fans knew what he was really like.”

  Rose’s magenta hair was as bright as his temper and stood out under the glittering lights of the hangar. Golden earrings lined his ears, proof of the money he was bringing in to the Gold Seal Syndicate. His arms and shoulders were bare and absolutely covered in the ink of demon contracts, even though Asa kept telling him that messing with demons was only going to get him killed. Rose hadn’t been receptive to anything he said since they were sixteen years old, and Asa had been expelled from the Vermilion House because he refused to sign a demonic contract with them.

  PQ-9 pointedly ignored Asa because he was still mad about the screwdriver in his gears.

  “Hey, I did it for your own good,” Asa said, exasperated.

  PQ-9 beeped an insult so foul in binary that Asa was impressed.

  “Look, I’m sorry that you were uncomfortable—” Asa started to say, when the big red race light started blinking overhead to signal that the race was about to begin. All of the pods and pod-racers were lined up at the start line. The doors to the hangar would lift to release the pods when the race began. The hangar was dimly lit, and the blinking red light always felt like a silent demon alarm. Asa’s heart started to beat faster as PQ-9 beeped one more time, warning, before rolling into the pod into their designated spot.

  Asa glanced at Rose to see that he was putting on the last of his racing leathers as if he had all the time in the world. Typical. All the other racers were already climbing inside their pods. In the last race, someone had tampered with Rose’s pod, which had caused several of the power cylinders to short out and almost crash the pod. Asa frowned. It was easier for someone to mess with Rose’s pod because of all the people that always surrounded him–it made it harder to notice when someone was doing something they shouldn’t.

  “Hey!” Asa called over to Rose. “Don’t forget to double-scan the engine before you start!” Rose was only a few meters away, but the amount of people and noise during pre-race prep made it seem farther. The ceilings were high to accommodate the number of pods as each pod floated to its assigned spot on the start line. There were about fifty racers present. Hangar 3 possessed floor-to-ceiling-windows, which made the sky-space seem like endless darkness with pinpricks of lights from distant stars.

  “Are you stalking me or something?” Rose said, not even looking back at him. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan. You want an autograph too?” This made Rose’s fans laugh, even as they were slowly filing out of the hangar. Asa turned bright red.

  “I win more races than you. Why would I bother getting an autograph from you?” Asa yelled, incensed. “I was just trying to help!”

  “I don’t need help from someone who hasn’t washed their pants in three days,” Rose retorted.

  “And how do you know that?” Asa said, pointing at him. “Maybe you’re stalking me!”

  “I was just guessing,” Rose said, finally turning to look at him with the fakest smile Asa had ever seen. “Thanks for confirming your gross habits for the holo though. See you in the race—except I won’t because I’ll be coming in first.” Rose jumped into his pod without waiting for an answer, the door lowering behind him.

  Asa glared at the closed pod door, his blood boiling. “Fuck that guy,” Asa said loudly, before yanking himself into his own pod to strap himself in for the race.

  “Hangar 3 gate to open,” the announcer said over the pod radio satellite.

  The warning sign for NO OXYGEN lit up red next to the red exit sign. The gate to the hangar slowly lifted to reveal the deep blackness of space, interrupted by pinpricks of starlight like teeth in the dark, endless maw of a demon’s mouth. Adrenaline started to pump through Asa’s body as he made the final adjustments to his pod’s position.

  He heard his heart beating loudly in his ears as the red race light flashed large magnesium-white numbers—3, 2, 1—and then finally flipped over into neon green.