These days, Troy had a bedroom. Not as large as the one he'd had in Lochvar, there simply wasn't the space in Ra, but bigger than the patches of ground in alleyways he'd become accustomed to sleeping in over the years.

The couple that adopted him, Aris and Magilith, were nice enough, he supposed. They'd taken him with them on the shuttle to Ra months ago, to their home in the Northern Province. Ra was not what he expected. What people claimed it to be.

Instead of brown earth, the ground was different: brittle grey crumbs that even when mixed with water, refused to form the rich, gooey pulp that Tellun soil did. There was a sun, nothing like Tellus's star of golden plumes, but a faded-blue orb that hung low in the sky. But hell, it was hot. The blue flames of Ra's sun were another breed of furious.

From the cracked earth sprung high-rise flats, squashed so close together there was barely room for a skinny-little-boy-named-Troy to squeeze between them. Aris and Magilith lived in block nine thousand and twelve, on the two hundred and seventy-fifth floor. Windows overlooked neighbouring windows, so if you so pleased, you could peer through your curtains to watch the neighbour washing their hair as though a poster on your wall. Almost every inch of the city consisted of these blocks, and Troy couldn't imagine how there was enough space. He'd look down as the Ra flooded the stick-thin streets, bodies hugging concrete buildings on their either side, and he imagined that if he was an alien gazing down from above (although, he supposed, he sort of was an alien)—then the Ra would look like ants. A colony of ants tumbling over each other. 

How they fed everyone was a mystery to him. Aris would return from work each evening, kiss Magilith on the cheek and toss him a cursory, hey, kid. Which Troy would ignore. Aris would then dump a crate of the following week's food onto the kitchen counter, which Magilith would start to sort—veggie powder into the top cupboard, carbohydrate powder in the middle, protein powder in the bottom . . .

Troy longed for bread. Meat. Anything that couldn't be drunk, dissolved in water— although, drinking clear water made a nice change. Ra had lots of water. Underground rivers and oceans ran through the murk beneath their feet, fresh and waiting to be sucked up and guzzled by the Ra. They replenished somehow, but Troy didn't understand it. Not that he needed to. Who was he, anyway?

Magilith enrolled him in the local school; everyday, he would plug in his headset, flick the switch on the side of his head where his cognition chip had been installed, and wait for his teacher to log in.

Good morning, class! The professor would chime.

Good morning, Agnetha, all the tethered children would sing back, Troy included, from all the way up in the clouds of the Northern Province. Three hundred young minds in sync, swotting together, learning together, thoughts drifting and intertwining, like the sway of the tide that Troy missed so much, as they ebbed in daydreams and flowed back to attention by Agnetha. It's easy to get distracted when connected to three hundred other minds.

Every evening, Magilith would take Troy to their local Social Centre, where the neighbourhood Ra would tell stories to each other. Troy would sit at Magilith's feet, legs folded and hands perched in his lap, as they regaled each other with tales of how atoms collided in space, and gases ionised into plasma, and the joys of refraction. To Troy, it was a story-lover's torture. It killed him. Had these people never heard of pirates? Captains or fairies or hell, he wasn't fussy, he'd even take one of his old Ma's dull tales. Stories were supposed to have heart. 

But to the Ra, stories were just another learning opportunity. Everything, to the Ra, was about learning.

Troy missed people. Conversation. Back home, even on the streets you could get a good natter if you wanted. Telluns didn't do well without words. The Ra, on the other hand, valued silence. They believed words had weight, and if they didn't, they weren't worth saying.

At least, out loud. They chattered away to loved ones all day long in their heads.

Troy didn't have anyone he was close to. He could only connect locally to Magilith and Aris. Magilith tried, she did. She would ask the usual, mother-type questions:

How was school, honey?

Troy repressed a cough. Fine, thank you. How was your day?

Oh darling, you needn't ask me that! That's my question for you! Did you make any friends?

No.

Oh, no. Why not?

I can't tell the voices apart. There are too many.

A moment's silence. That's a shame.

The Ra weren't quite the same as Telluns. Their senses, for one, were heightened. They could pick apart one voice in three hundred no problem. They healed faster too. And, the Ra would claim, they had greater intelligence.

The other children teased Troy.

Hey, did you hear that Tellun kid's thoughts last lesson? He didn't understand the question.

What a moron. This is toddler stuff!

Did you hear him coughing? We might catch his plague.

Yuck. He should go back where he came from.

Troy heard every word, but couldn't differentiate the voices, or pin them to names. So, every time a classmate spoke, he was left to wonder: was it you who said that? Was it you who made me cry? In the end, he just imagined the voices pinned to all the names.

He wished he could go back to where he came from too. 

*

Aris came home grumpy one night. Magilith and Troy were drinking their meal-shakes in silence; Troy had a headache from school, and Magilith didn't want to put his brain under any more pressure by speaking on the cog-chip. They looked up as Aris entered, flung his coat over his armchair and sank into it, head in his hands. 

'Are you alight?' Magilith asked quietly. Troy realised, with a flash of gratitude, she was talking aloud to spare him pain.

Aris grumbled something unintelligible.

'Out loud, dear,' Magilith reminded him. 'Troy isn't feeling well.'

'Yeah? Well, me either, kid.' Aris kicked off his shoes—Troy wrinkled his nose. Aris's feet smelt bad.

Magilith swallowed. She peeled back her chair and went to the sink to fill Aris a glass of water. She sprinkled his meal-shake powder inside, giving the pale pink flakes a minute to settle at the bottom and dissolve, then brought it over to him, kissing him on the head. It was a sweet kiss, tender but not inappropriate for Troy's eyes—but Troy looked away anyway, coughing. It reminded him of what he'd lost. Of who he'd lost. 

'Is it still not working?' she whispered.

Aris shook his head. 'I don't understand. I know I can make it work, but they won't let me do what I need to do. It's obscene.'

Magilith sighed. 'I suppose they're thinking of the consequences.'

'Damn the consequences. They want me to make a vaccine, I make a vaccine. They complain it works too well. What the hell does that even mean?'

'Language, Aris. Young ears.' Both sets of adult eyes swerve to Troy; Troy glanced down at the table, pretending to be a chair.

'I just wish—' Aris let off a grunt of frustration, deep in the back of his throat. 'I just wish they'd let me try.'

'I know.'

'I can make it work.'

'I know!'

'If it does what I think, it would solve everything. All our problems. It could change all our lives. We could have everything we could want—we'd create enough energy to form cities in the sky, no more congestion, just like the Overlord wants—'

'I know.' Magilith kissed Aris again, this time on the cheek. 'I know you want to solve the world's problems. But you can't, my love. They're too big for one man.'

'Not this man. But they'd rather waste my efforts trying to solve that blasted hellhole's problems. As if Tellus matters.'

Magilith swallowed again. 'I know.'

With a sigh, Aris rose, swigged back his shake, and set the empty glass down on the counter. He glanced at Troy, then approached—Troy sank back in his chair. Aris's hand descended upon him—and ruffled his hair.

You're alright, kid. You know that? 

The words stung Troy's brain, and stars flickered before his eyes. I know.

Aris pursed his lips. Still staring at Troy. Your cough any better?

Troy looked down at his hands. No.

Magilith sniffed—and Troy knew she was holding back tears. 'Aris, they're getting worse. He could hardly breathe this morning. And he's started bringing up blood—'

Aris nodded. Alright. 

Magilith's eyes narrowed. Alright? What does that mean. . .

Aris's mouth twisted. It means, alright. I'll make everything alright. He let out a bark of a laugh that startled Troy, making him jump.

This only made Aris laugh harder. 

I'm the man who can fix the world's problems, remember? So, if I say it will be alright, it will all be alright.

His eyes bore into Troy's. What will it be, Troy?

Troy whispered. In his mind: 

It will be alright.