01.07 - Forethought

The midday sun shone into Luc’s bedroom, casting rays onto the metallic gadget he used as a projectile dispenser, which rested on the shelf near his bed. The metal parts reflected the sunlight onto Luc’s face, disturbing his slumber. For a moment, he remained half-awake before rising completely.

The faint sound of a news broadcast was audible from down in the living room, but he couldn’t make out the words.

He padded downstairs, his bare feet barely making a sound on the wooden steps.

In the dining room, Hannah sat at the table, a plate of scrambled eggs and buttered toast in front of her. She chewed methodically. The local news channel played in the background.

In the living room, Ann was curled up next to Lily in their basket.

Luc passed by silently.

Would Ann open up to him today?

Maybe.

But forcing things would only make it worse.

Instead, he quietly went into the kitchen, grabbed a slice of toast from the counter, put it into the toaster, spread the finished toast with honey, and took a bite.

He chewed in silence before joining his sister in the dining room.

“Where’s Mom?” Luc asked, his words slightly muffled by the mouthful of toast.

Hannah took her time finishing a bite before replying. “According to a note she left, she’s out, and so is Dad. He’s at the garrison filing a report about last night’s incident. Mom’s meeting with Lyra, or trying to get a hold of the fleet admiral. Though, knowing House Stellaris, he’ll probably be too busy to see her.”

Luc frowned. “Do you know when they’ll be back? They promised to help me program the Greater Fire Elemental’s Core today.”

“No idea. But I can help in the meantime if you want.”

Luc made a face but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his attention to the news broadcast, where the anchor’s voice rose slightly, signaling a new headline.

“The pyrotechnical firm ‘Stars & Sparkles’ has reported a massive break-in at their main storage facility overnight,” the anchor announced. “Their entire stockpile of Burst Dust has been stolen. Authorities believe an organized group, potentially including a Space affinity user with a high-Tier Core, might be responsible. Investigations are ongoing.”

Luc paused mid-bite, glancing at Hannah, who had stopped chewing to listen. “That’s a lot of Burst Dust,” he said. “If it ends up in the wrong hands…”

“Yeah, let’s hope the authorities catch whoever did it before it’s used for something destructive.”

“Wait. Isn’t ‘Stars & Sparkles’ the company responsible for the midsummer fireworks at the waterpark every year?”

“Yeah, the name does sound familiar, but I’m not sure. If they are, then I wonder what they’ll do. Canceling the show now would likely disappoint a lot of children.”

Hannah used her portable wired terminal device, opened a small holographic screen, and began typing. “I’ll ask Aqua about it.”

“Man, I wish I had my wired account already,” Luc said. “It sucks being the only one stuck in the dark ages.”

“You’ll get one in two weeks,” said Hannah. “Oh, Aqua responded already. Seems they don’t have anyone willing and able to take over yet, but they are still trying to reach out and find a replacement.”

The news continued, shifting to another troubling update. “The case of the missing girls remains unsolved, with two more teenagers reported missing this week. Authorities are offering a 15,000-credit reward for any information leading to the identification or arrest of those responsible.”

“It just keeps getting worse,” Hannah said. “I hope they find them soon.”

The anchor’s tone shifted to one of cautious optimism. “In other news, authorities have confirmed the successful elimination of the monsters spawned by last night’s meteor shower. An interception fleet neutralized most of the threats in space, while Thrones from a local garrison handled the ones who reached the surface. No casualties were reported, thanks to the swift response.”

“At least that’s some good news,” said Hannah. “Seems they had an easy job with the remaining clean-up. And they kept quiet about Dad’s and your involvement in the cleanup.”

“Sounds like it,” said Luc. “I wouldn’t have minded a spot in the limelight, though.”

“It’s better this way, trust me on that.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“There are a lot of people out there,” said Hannah. “And the last thing you want is some of their attention focusing on you.”

“I think I could handle it.”

“Our parents don’t,” said Hannah. “And I agree with them.”

Luc pouted slightly.

The broadcast moved to another story about ongoing protests in the capital, but Luc wasn’t listening anymore. He grabbed the remote to turn off the screen. The room fell silent, save for the occasional clink of Hannah’s fork against her plate.

“Let’s get started on the programming,” Luc said. “No point in waiting around all day.”

Luc approached the terminal in the living room. The smooth surface of the Programmable Core Socket gleamed faintly under the overhead lights. He retrieved the Greater Fire Elemental’s Core from his pocket, its surface shimmering with an iridescent orange glow that seemed to pulse faintly in his hand as the five orbs swirled within.

The number of inner orbs indicated the Tier of a Core, while the Color corresponded to the relative strength within each Tier. Core Tiers ranged from Basic to Common, Uncommon, Rare, Exotic, Royal, Imperial, Mythic, Ascended, Celestial, Divine, Primordial, and Eternal. Colors always reset to Red then reached Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and finally Violet, before a Core could be refined into a higher Tier.

He placed it onto the socket carefully, hearing a faint click as it settled into place.

As he activated the terminal, the holographic interface came into view. His fingers hovered over the controls, but when he tried to unlock the Programmable Core Socket, an error message blinked on the display. He frowned, leaning closer.

“Damn. It’s password protected,” he said.

From the doorway, Hannah’s voice cut through. “Forethought.”

“How was I supposed to know that beforehand? Dad almost always uses Aura Base Code to modify Cores directly, and so does Mom.”

“No,” Hannah said, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the frame. “I mean that’s the password. ‘Forethought.’”

“Oh.” Luc turned back to the terminal, quickly typing the word into the display and hitting confirm. “Thank you.”

The interface chimed, and the error message vanished. The holographic display came to life before him as he selected the Core’s stats.