Cling
Two half-filled whiskey glasses collided, producing a deep clinking sound. After they did, the two men holding them started drinking the deep green liquid inside.
"I must say, Elrin, I am proud of you. Despite our initial disagreements, you have done a very good job these last few months," my father said after sipping his drink.
Not to sound too full of myself, but I did do a very good—dare I say, exceptional—job as city governor.
The view here is truly impressive, fitting for my father's personal flagship. His armada of spaceships, the countless shipyards floating in space, and, of course, planet Vril'okai in the background—truly impressive.
"You should use the opportunity of the celebrations to make some further connections on Eozapter," he advised me with a smile threatening to split his face.
My thoughts, on the other hand, were on something else entirely—something uncomfortable, but something I would have to share nonetheless.
"I have awakened an Esper Ability," I said while still looking at the spaceships floating outside.
Crash
The crystal glass my father held shattered on the floor, confirming that the sour apple I had just bitten into was indeed as sour as I expected. I should remain silent, so as not to provoke him into a rage—just wait for him to react, then clear things up.
I could feel his eyes on me, but I did not stop looking out the window, nor did I react to him in any other way. This was a sensitive topic for him, after all.
"And why do you find today to be the appropriate time to tell me this?" he asked, an indifferent tone in his voice.
"I will be frank—my goal is to become the civilizational governor," I answered, this time looking him straight in the eyes.
"What does that even have to do with anything, much less your Esper Ability?" he asked, slightly agitated—but that did not last long, as he seemed to realize something almost immediately.
"And didn't you say that you would try to become a Beyond Grade-A Super if you ever awakened?" Confusion was evident in his voice.
"Yes, I am sure you will find this very amusing..." I said.
"I first noticed my ability about two weeks after I started as Greenharbour's city governor, when my physical and mental capabilities increased. It would be more precise to say that it was the day I first noticed these increases.
"From then on, I began to pay closer attention and noticed a gradual but—compared to other Supers—quite fast increase in my capabilities. At first, I thought I had become a Pugilist, which seemed odd to me, as I worked out, but not to the extent that this should have happened.
"The other thing I found odd was the continual increase—not at all how Pugilists normally work. All of these doubts cleared up, though, when I took a two-week vacation in the summer.
"From then on, I conducted some tests. Slacking off for a day here, a bit of overtime there, working while on vacation, and even working on side projects.
"The conclusion I came to was that the only thing that worked—even remotely—to increase my strength and intelligence was my work as governor." I finished explaining what would become my cover story for my increased stats for the rest of my life.
Hahahahahah!!!
Hahaha!!
HAHAhaha
Cough
Cough
Cough
Hahahahahah!!!
I could understand his reaction. A complete spiritual victory—those were quite rare. His goal had always been for me to succeed and eventually surpass him as a governor, and now he knew it was mine as well.
Once again, I was silent—this time, so as not to interrupt his moment of joy.
"That is quite amusing... but again, why did you tell me?" he asked after he finally calmed down.
"Quite hard to hide something like this if my goal is the position of civilizational governor, isn't it?" I said.
"No. 'Impossible' would be the right word," came the answer almost instantly.
It was clear that anyone being handed the keys to our entire civilization would be investigated from the day they were born until the Supreme Council knew more about them than they themselves did.
"It's good that you told me. Considering the nature of your ability, its publication would likely make you a target for our civilization's enemies. I will take care of your registration in the official database—it will only be accessible to those with Crowned security clearance."
"Thank you," I said sincerely.
I am currently a Rank 8 Sanctified, which is the second-highest rank one can attain. Once my father dies or voluntarily gives it up, I will become a Rank 9 Crowned—the highest social status attainable.
These rankings grant one a plethora of privileges, like the classification of files. The reason why it is beneficial for my father to classify my files is that only the two- or three-hundred Crowned that currently exist could read them. If I did the same, tens of thousands of Sanctifieds, in addition to those same Crowned, could access my files.
I doubt that more than a handful of these extremely powerful and influential individuals would bother to read those files even if you threw them straight at their heads—so you could say that my secret is safe. At least until the right moment comes.
"First becoming a Beyond Grade A Super, and now the civilizational governor... Son, you certainly know how to pick your goals," my father said, chuckling, clearly happy.
"Oh, before I forget. Give me your hand," he said as he held out his left hand.
I had an idea of what he was trying to do, so I gave him my left hand as well, despite him sitting to my right.
My suspicion was confirmed as the noble tattoos on both of our arms lit up for about a second before my father let go of my hand again.
Instantly, I felt a strong connection appear somewhere on the ship we were on.
"Is that Verdalis?" I asked, quite confident in my guess.
"Yes, he is yours to control now. I would have given him to you when you became city governor, but I feared that you might have killed him out of spite," he said, to which I just nodded.
You see, Verdalis is a Rank 1 Bonded, the lowest social class in Eozarithian society—a lifelong slave.
He is not treated like one, of course, but the magic arrays engraved on him would be a crime if done to anyone who is not a Bonded.
But to prevent mind reading, torture, or betrayal that could harm our family, Verdalis and his family voluntarily downgrade their status every generation.
The way our class system works does not stem from ancient history but rather from the days when our civilization first ventured into the stars. In an age of abundance and debauchery, the class system was implemented to counter the growing trend of laziness and complacency among large parts of the population.
The prevailing sentiment among our race was that we had "won"—that there was little left worth striving for. This was a spiritual crisis.
My ancestors, the rulers of one of the 49 empires that existed at the time, along with 32 other ruling families, decided to implement the nine-class system—and, more importantly, class regression. They subdued the remaining 17 rulers and granted themselves a powerful privilege: every family received one Rank 9 Crowned title that could be inherited.
The nine classes are:
Bonded
Forsaken
Drudges
Tradesfolk
Burghers
Gentry
Highbloods
Sanctified
Crowned
Let's say you were in my position but without the inheritable title. With my father as a Crowned, I would be born a Sanctified. My sons or daughters, in turn, would be born Highbloods, theirs Gentry, and so on—until, one day, my descendants would be born as Drudges, barely citizens, with only the most basic rights.
The lowest two classes were special in that they were slaves—Forsaken for a limited time and Bonded forever. There were a few ways to end up as one. The first and most common was to sell yourself—usually done by indebted citizens.
You would go to a slave auction and state your conditions, such as the number of years you were willing to be sold for, what you were and were not willing to do, and so on. Then you would be auctioned off and receive the money upfront before starting your tenure as a Forsaken.
The second way to become one was worse—being sold off by the government. This happened most often to recoup unpaid taxes or fines. You could still state conditions, such as refusing to be used as a sex slave, but there was no guarantee they would be accepted. Even if they were, it was likely to increase the duration of your servitude.
The worst way to end up here was through a criminal sentence. Prison was only an option for sentences under ten years. For anything longer, you would be sold for at least the time you would have spent in prison.
What made this so uniquely terrible was that you could not set conditions and had a comparatively high chance of ending up as a Bonded. Violent criminals, in particular, were sold at a lower price, meaning many of them worked themselves to death in the mines of some godforsaken resource planet—or worse, ended up as experimental material in a biological research lab.
The only other worthwhile distinction was between classes 1-3, 4-6, and 7-9. It could be summed up like this:
The first three ranks paid with their dignity.
The next three paid with their taxes.
The last three paid with their contributions.
This described the way one could rise—or hold—one's place in the social hierarchy.
So, you could truly say that Verdalis was not a "true" slave—but anyway.
I just nodded in response to my father's comment about my spite, as I looked at the beautiful world my ancestors built, floating in the vast nothingness of space, knowing that this conversation was over.
My father must have thought so as well, as he pulled out his communicator.
"Start the engines. Destination: Eozapter."
One after another, the hundreds of ships around us vanished, leaving lines of blue light in their path, before the very ship we were on took off, and the entire outside world turned into that very same shade of blue.