Secondborn

I scroll through the carousel of cuisine options, the bag of crellas under my arm. The selection of palatable food is limited. The meat options look suspect. I opt for porridge with fruit, toast, and cheese. Ample portions are jettisoned onto a hovering tray that trails me, tracking my moniker as I walk through the seating area. Most of the tables are completely occupied. Every time I think I locate an empty seat, someone looks up, sees me coming, and slides a tray into the empty space at the table. After the fourth time, I begin to take it personally.

Farther back in the dining hall, the uniforms change from beige and blue to other hues. Golden-colored uniforms—Fate of Stars power and technology engineers—are also assigned to this facility. But there is no intermingling between Swords and Stars. I see the red-colored uniforms of the Fate of Atoms medical and science engineers, but not the orange-colored uniforms of the Stone-Fated workers.

I attempt to join a table occupied by four Star-monikered engineers. They seem alarmed as I take a seat and my hovering tray settles in front of me. Three of them rise and depart, leaving half-eaten entrees behind. The trays quickly clear themselves from the table. I turn to the Star-Fated man beside me. The tag on his uniform reads Jakes.

“You must be new here,” he mutters. He shovels food into his mouth as if he’s never eaten before, or else he’s trying to eat fast so he can leave.

“I was processed this morning.” I rest the package of crellas on the table beside me. I unfold a cloth napkin in my lap, pick up my spoon, and stir my steaming porridge. I have no appetite for it, but I know I need to eat it. I have training after this. “Why did they leave?”

“They don’t want any trouble.”

“Am I trouble?”

“Not only are you a Sword, you’re The Sword.”

“My mother is The Sword. I’m just the secondborn Sword. I should be treated like everyone else here.”

He snorts. “Good luck with that. If you’re looking for fairness and equality, you’ve come to the wrong place. Let me clue you in. We’re not supposed to sit together, even if you weren’t St. Sismode. Fates don’t intermingle.”

“Where’s it written that I’m not allowed to sit with you?”

“It’s not written—everyone just knows it.”

“It’s a ridiculous rule, and I don’t see you leaving.”

He doesn’t look at me. “I’m hungry. I missed breakfast and I don’t have a lot of success earning merits.” His thick glasses are proof. He could correct his vision if he had the merits to do it. “Why did you sit with us anyway? Don’t you want to fit in with your own kind?”

“I couldn’t find a seat with them.”

“They’re giving you the hot end of the sword, are they?” he asks with a sarcastic smile. “I’m not surprised. Most of them have underdeveloped brains coupled with mommy and daddy issues. They were turned over to the government before they got their first pimple because their families began to fear them.” His scorn is sharper because it’s true.

“You act like you fear them.”

He waves his hand, gesturing to the sea of brown and blue uniforms around us. “I am somewhat outnumbered here.”

“True.” I try a bite of my porridge and wince. It’s awful.

“Not what you were expecting?” he asks, gesturing toward my bowl.

“That would be an understatement.”

He sets aside his fork and wipes his mouth. “If you live long enough, you’ll still never get used to it.” He begins to stand.

“I didn’t sit at your table looking for a friend, Jakes.” Our eyes meet.

“What do you want?” he asks, sitting back down on the edge of his seat.

I take my fusionblade from my thigh-strapped scabbard and slide it onto the table between us. “Can this be converted to hydrogen power?”

He looks at the weapon, then at me. “Why would you want to do something like that? Fusion is so much more powerful than hydrogen.”

“I’m asking if it can be done. Can it?”

His hand reaches out and touches the cool silver hilt. “I think so. I’d have to play around with one to be sure, but I think you can swap out a fusion-powered cell for a hydrogen-powered one and still keep it in the same housing.”

“I don’t want to swap it out. I want a way to switch it over. A fusionblade and a hydroblade in one unit. Is there a way to toggle between them? I’ll make it worth your while. I never forget a kindness.”

He leans back in his chair. “What do I get in return?”

“These, to start.” I push the paper bag toward him.

He looks at it warily, then pulls it nearer and opens it. His face brightens. “How did you get these?” he asks. “There are four of them here! I’ve only ever had a small piece of a crella.”

“Consider this a payment for hearing me out. If you can’t help me, all I ask is that you don’t say anything to anyone else. If you can help me, I’ll be in this dining hall for every meal until I ship out for active duty in a couple of days. We can discuss payment when you have something for me.”

Jakes closes the bag and tucks it inside a small satchel. “I’ll think about it.” He rises as if to leave.