Cris strolled through the Elarine spaceport, thankful to be on leave from the delivery routine. Even a stopover at Elarine is better than being cooped up on the Exler.

The selection of wares in the shops was limited and bland compared to those in the larger ports, but it passed the time. He wandered from shop to shop, keeping to himself. There were few travelers in the corridors, and most of the shopkeepers seemed disinterested until someone wanted to make a purchase.

As Cris came out of one of the establishments, he was startled to see two men watching him from across the hall. They were dressed entirely in black, with tinted glasses and sleek overcoats that hung to their knees—a stark contrast to the colorful merchants. He tensed. Something about them felt unusual.

He shook off the uneasy feeling and headed down the corridor deeper into the port, wanting to distance himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the men were heading in his direction.

Who could they be? He thought for a moment. Stars! Are they my parent's detectives? Bomax, I probably gave myself away in that argument during our last stopover at Aldria. Pulse racing, Cris abruptly turned around to hurry back toward the Exler. To his dismay, the men followed.

I can't let them take me back! Cris broke into a run. He came to the central mall of the port and darted through the crowd, careful to avoid colliding with any of the travelers. When he came to an intersection, he nimbly stepped off to the side and sprinted around a bend in the hall in an attempt to evade the two men. He took a few more turns, but he soon found himself in a dead-end passage. Shite! Where can I go?

Cris halted. He was about to wheel around, but in the stillness noticed the pounding of footsteps right behind him.

Before he could turn, Cris was thrown to the ground, tackled from behind. With his arms pinned to his sides in a horrific embrace, he fell forward. Lurching to the side, his shoulder took the hit to avoid smacking his head on the metal deck plates. He rolled to his stomach, weighted down. Someone was on his back. Cris' hands found the floor, and he pushed up, throwing all of his weight sideways to flip his assailant to the ground and crush him against the deck plates. The attacker's grip loosened. Cris jabbed with his elbows and broke free. He scrambled across the hallway.

Cris expected to see one of the two men dressed in black. Instead, he saw a man of average height, robed in brown with his face hidden in the shadow of his hood. Cris recognized the golden symbol hanging from a chain around the man's neck, marking him as an associate of the Priesthood of the Cadicle. The Priesthood. Cris suddenly remembered the conversation with his father the afternoon before he left Tararia. I never did find out why they wanted to meet with me.

As the Priest recovered on the floor, the two black-clad men emerged from around a bend in the hall. There was a hint of shock on their otherwise stoic faces.

Cris was about to address the men when the Priest leaped to his feet. He pulled out a pulse gun from underneath his robe. "Give me all your valuables."

Trembling and sore, Cris grabbed ten credit chips from his pocket and threw them on the ground. "I have nothing else." It was the truth. His heart pounded in his ears. Why would a member of the Priesthood be mugging people at a spaceport?

"Hand over everything you have or die," the Priest threatened.

Cris looked more closely at the figure and caught a brief glimpse of piercing red-brown eyes under the hood. The eyes contained such intense sadness that Cris felt a twinge of sorrow, despite his peril. But, the gaze was also one of complete fear. The gun hummed as it began to charge.

Cris looked back toward the two other men, but they remained at the end of the hall. He was on his own.

The Priest murmured something that Cris couldn't quite make out. He pointed the gun toward Cris' chest.

"No!" Cris held up his hands. There's no escape. He felt dizzy, a buzzing in his head. I don't want to die.

Undeterred, the robed figure fired.

It should have only taken an infinitesimal moment for the shot to reach him, but the beam halted just beyond the muzzle of the gun. There was no perceivable motion. Cris looked around, seeing the Priest holding the gun and the two people in black observing from a distance. The moment continued. I can get away. Cris dove to the side, but didn't fully feel the movement. He was in midair, falling, but he didn't feel connected to himself. Nothing stirred around him. He blinked.

Cris hit the ground hard. There was a flash as the pulse beam struck the empty wall.

The Priest spun to face him, mystified.

Cris could barely breathe. He felt charged, as if filled with electricity. He looked around with wonder—he was in a different place than he had been a moment sooner. What's going on...? He shoved his confusion aside as he saw the Priest raising his weapon once more. This isn't a mugging—it's an assassination! "Stop!"

As the Priest was about to fire again, Cris held up his hand in what he thought to be a futile act of protection. However, the motion threw the Priest backward against the wall—slamming him into the metal plating with enough force to dent the metal sheeting. He slid into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Cris scrambled to his feet. Did I just do that? How...? He turned to the men in black who were still standing motionless at the end of the hall. "Who are you?" he stammered.

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