Pennon Darter recovered sluggishly from a deep sleep and stretched his arms outward. A warm beam of light from the new sun streamed through his bedroom window making him squint for a moment but causing him to smile nonetheless. One quick look at the time-striker on his nightstand told him it was much earlier than his usual rising time. Pennon turned over and shut his eyes thinking he would fall back asleep, but he found himself unusually restless. He rubbed his eyes and tried to place the feeling of excitement this morning brought with it. Something was going to happen today, something outside of school break, something special. Finally, realization broke the surface of his consciousness. This was it—the day he had longed for. It was finally here!

         Pennon shot up, threw off his thick, blue covers, and then stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on his desk. The sight of it brought a disturbing feeling as if something bad had happened there, and it made him shiver slightly. He frowned, thinking, and when nothing came to him, he attributed the feeling to a forgotten dream from the night before. He rubbed his head searching for some remaining thread of nightmare but found none. Pennon shivered again and then forced himself to shake it off. It was just a study desk, and for that matter, just a dream. He was determined to focus on this day, his day. Pennon noticed a set of his traveling garments draped neatly over the chair next to his dresser and the smile returned to his face. Gleem, the Darter’s beloved household manager, must have laid them out while Pennon was still sleeping. He hopped lightly down off the high bed wanting to make certain he approved of Gleem’s choices. Halfway across the room an odd feeling came over him, as though he were being watched. He turned quickly, thinking maybe his obnoxious older sister Calla had snuck into the room. He found no one, yet the feeling persisted. It was not even like he was being directly watched so much as sensed by something—something hateful. Pennon caught an image out of the corner of his eye and jumped. It was only his own reflection in the mirror, dark hair wild and unruly, and he had to laugh. Just the excitement of the upcoming day, he told himself, that’s all. But something really needs to be done about this hair!

         On the way to his adjoining bath, Pennon paused by the large window that overlooked the southern docking porch. He loved this view; he had sketched it many times. The Darter family was one of the few to have the privilege and the means to build their home on the side of Summit-Firma, the emerald uplands just before the Pla-To-Baliwick Mountains. Each home here had an extraordinary view of both the valley and the enormous expanse of the capital city, Cathedra-Firma, with the ocean beyond. The seemingly infinite number of its slender, graceful towers was veiled in early morning mists. The magnificently ornate gilding of their construction obscured in gauzy first light haze. His mother too had loved this view. When he was very young, she would rock Pennon to sleep in front of this very window, watching the city lights below. The slim towers brought to mind his mother’s collection of crystal fragrance bottles still grouped together on her dressing table. His father forbade anyone to move them—a rememberance of his missing wife.

         Pennon stood up straighter refusing to give in to melancholy. He knew his mother would not want him moping about on this special day. He focused beyond Cathedra-Firma where he could just make out the faint line of blue that was the sea. Seeing the water reignited his excitement to some degree. It was this trip, out over the Oceans of Nimea, which Pennon had waited so impatiently for. He was finally going to visit his father on the island of Insula-Cantare at the renowned Shipyards of Sing.

         After thoroughly bathing, Pennon got dressed, combed his hair into some semblance of order, and then walked out to the landing. He could just make out the voices of Gleem and Peplos, the house cook, in the kitchen. By the aroma that rose to greet him, Pennon knew Peplos was making her famous sunup cakes with glazed fruits for breakfast. This was all intermingled with the smells of teas and coffee. Leaning over the railing he yelled down, “Has Rayjon called in yet?” Rayjon Sylvan was Pennon’s absolute best friend, and he was accompanying Pennon to the shipyards. It would be the first trip for both of them, or at least the first trip Pennon could remember. Rayjon had always been the poet and Pennon the artist. Rayjon was a firm believer in the power of the written word, and Pennon loved the zealous persona he took on when he recited poetry, giving the impression that nothing existed beyond him and the words he spoke. Pennon was Rayjon’s visual counterpart. “Pennon’s pictures to Rayjon’s words” his dad used to say. Where his friend wrote and recited, Pennon painted and portrayed life on paper and canvas. He rarely went anywhere without his sketchbook, so he could capture his impressions on paper when the inspiration struck.

         The boys had known each other most of their lives and had a reputation for sharing the same thoughts, though not always for the good. Rayjon was a genius for strategic mischief, and Pennon was the courage behind its implementation. The main target of their careful planning was Pennon’s sister, Calla Darter. She was older than the two of them and had an air of self-proclaimed royalty. Calla was quick tempered, easily provoked, and theatrical in her responses, which often added to the fun. Because of the accomplishments of their father and grandfathers, the Darter name was highly respected. This bit of information was never lost on Calla, and in fact, she wielded it with the self-absorption of a master. Rayjon and Pennon made it one of their great ambitions to dethrone Calla whenever possible.

         Peplos answered Pennon from the kitchen doorway. “Just got word on the Tap-In, Master Pennon. Rayjon will be here shortly.” The Tap-In was a device tapped directly into the root system that held their world, Awe-Terra-Firma, together, allowing people to communicate with one another. How it worked was a mystery to all. Everyone was just pleased it did. “Thanks, Peplos.” Pennon walked back into his room and plopped down onto the bed. He started to pick up his sketchbook from the nightstand and then paused to look at the framed picture next to it. It was a crude image of his father, Blade Darter, which Pennon had painted when he was young. Though not really sure why, Pennon loved that image. Even as a small child, he had been proud to inherit his father’s talent in the visual arts. While Pennon used his talent to bring joy to others, Blade Darter had focused his on industrial engineering, creating some of the greatest mechanical designs of their time. When he and Calla became older, he started to spend most of the year working at the Shipyards, and Pennon missed his father a great deal. It was hard to believe he would actually be seeing his dad later that day.

         Pennon took a dry hand towel and wiped away the steam that had collected on the mirror, he stared at himself in the clearest section of haze. He once more compared his face to his father’s. Pennon knew he was as handsome as his father but in differing ways. Pennon’s eyes were more almond-shaped like his mother’s, but it was the nose and mouth that were carbon copies of Blade Darter. His nose regally sloped downward, ending in a refined bulbous shape at the bottom. Like his father, he had a thin upper lip covering nearly perfect teeth and an identical smile. He brushed his hand through his dark amber hair and applied some scented oils. Pennon again picked up the framed image, mentally imposing his father’s rather regal features over his childish rendering. “Blade Darter,” Pennon intoned dramatically, “Master of the Leapers in the Dark, son of Genii Darter, grandson of Jack-Tar Darter. Men who changed the world.” Pennon grinned. He had heard this many times—it could be somewhat funny being part of a family that was practically legendary. Then again, it could also be a real pain. One thing Pennon missed most was his father’s sense of humor, mischievous like his own. Sometimes when Blade told a joke or teased someone good-naturedly, Pennon felt as if he were watching a master at work. His mother had often reminded him, “your father belongs to the world,” and for the most part Pennon was happy to live with that. She had taught him well that it would be wrong for them to keep his father’s dynamic personality all to themselves.

         Pennon felt the familiar wound in his heart that resurfaced each time he realized all over again that his mother was gone. He consoled himself with the promise of seeing his father today. Pennon placed the frame back on the nightstand and picked up the small sketchbook. He opened it to the middle and carefully removed two well-worn pieces of paper tucked between the pages. One was a blueprint his dad had made him of the workings of the Ahinga-Boost System, one of Blade’s greatest inventions. The other, which he unfolded now, was a small, ditto-image of the only large-scale painting his father had ever created, a landscape of the Shipyards at dusk. Blade said the Yards were most beautiful between the waning of one sun and the approach of the other in its moon stage. The original painting hung in his father’s office, and Pennon’s excitement about the trip intensified at the thought of seeing it in person.

         He refolded the image and placed it, along with the blueprint, back into his sketchbook. He stood up and put the book in his pocket, glad the ones in his traveling clothes were big enough to hold such necessary items. It was not often that he got to wear them. They were reserved for special occasions where formality dictated wearing the colors of your family’s position. Pennon’s trip to the Yards was such an event. He wore royal blue as a family member of the Master of the Leapers, or Lep-Dars, as the research and development team of the Yards was commonly referred to. He knew Rayjon would be wearing the Sylvan family’s deep green since his father was a sub-regent in Public Parks.

         There was really no hierarchy to the color system—every citizen of Nimea-Firma was treated with equal respect for their particular contribution to society. Pennon could imagine his sister raising an eyebrow in disdain at that statement. “Queen Calla” did not quite get the concept. Then of course, she did not think any rules applied to her—except the ones she created. That is what made her such a choice target.

         “Pennon, Rayjon’s ship is just coming in to dock. Come down so you can both eat before your father’s ship arrives.” It was Gleem, “mother number two.”

         “Be right down!” Pennon yelled back already in motion. He raced down the steps taking them by twos and threes. He could hear the engines of the Sylvan’s ship as it maneuvered into the slip. Pennon dashed down the short hall and burst through the double doors that led out to the southern docking porch. There floated the Perianth, a medium air skiff with a two globe Ahinga System. Pennon’s family’s legacy was everywhere.

         “Pennon!” Rayjon waved from the deck where he was helping Ahmed, the Darter family’s gardener, to steady the ship as it connected with the landing porch. Rayjon’s straw colored hair shone in the sunlight. Behind him his father, Keel Sylvan, carefully operated the landing controls so the grapples would lock, stabilizing the ship. “Thank you for bringing him, Em-Sylvan” Pennon called up, using the term for respect. Rayjon’s father smiled at his politeness and nodded in return.

         “Thank you for including him in your tour. He would die if you went alone and left him here ‘abandoned.’” He winked when Rayjon looked up and frowned in protest. “And of course he would never miss your rel day . . . .”

         Pennon laughed and Rayjon’s frown faded. “Come on, Pennon. You’d feel the same if it was me.” Rayjon had a grin that could light up dark corners. His eyes were crystal blue, showing his excitement. Pennon knew Rayjon well enough to translate him—to read his mood by the changes of his eye color. Sharing the same feeling of excitement, Pennon imagined his own eyes to currently be a flaming orange brown.

         Once the crossover bridge was in place, Rayjon jumped onto the porch and bounded over to Pennon. His eyes narrowed. “Brother of Chaos,” he whispered theatrically. “My Brother of Mischief,” Pennon responded quietly, with equal drama. “Protectors of the Star.” They exchanged their secret handshake, the swirling of thumbs in the other’s palm, and grinned. This tradition stemmed from the games they had invented as young boys. They had both pretended to be “Protectors of the Star.” What the star was changed from game to game so it was never really defined. However, their ways of protecting it often led to “righteous mischief.” Calla, of course, was always the “shadow thing.” It amazed Pennon how they never needed to verbalize much; they just knew when everything was all right, and at this moment, everything was as right as it could be. Gleem called to them from the doorway. “Boys, breakfast will be in a few minutes.” She turned toward Rayjon’s father. “Keel, would you like to join us? Peplos and the staff are setting up on the west terrace.” Mr. Sylvan declined, saying he had to get back, and he and Ahmed prepared the ship to depart.

         The boys waved goodbye to Rayjon’s father as the Perianth eased away from the dock. Rayjon put one hand on Pennon’s shoulder, which was slightly higher than his own, as his other arm swept the horizon. “I love coming to your house,” he said with a sense of reverence. “Oh, the beauteous vision one sees from a lofty place, where the fragrance of the world surrounds you.”

         Pennon rolled his eyes. “Laying it on a little thick today, aren’t you Raj?” Rayjon shrugged and laughed. He loved being closely associated with the Darter family. It was a bragging right for him. There was a time when Pennon had been afraid it was the sole reason for Rayjon’s friendship, but he had happily been proven wrong. They met years ago when the boys were very young, Pennon a little less than a year older than his friend. Rayjon’s mother would come from Cathedra-Bower, the parklands just to the west where the Sylvan family lived, to do tailoring for Gleem. She always swore Samina Sylvan was a magician with thread. During the frequent fittings, she would bring Rayjon with her, and the rest became history. Pennon looked out at the view from the docking porch. It was much the same as the one from his bedroom window just above. The mists had begun to clear and the towers of Cathedra-Firma seemed to be reaching up to touch the few diminishing clouds floating by. Ships were starting to fill the sky as the people of Cathedra-Firma started the business of their day. To Pennon, the entire scene seemed like a continuation of the gardens below. The buildings were much like the decorative stalks that grew in the extended flowerbeds. The ships reminded him of the flying insects that busily swarmed around them. The east sun breaking through the mist slowly turned the entire scene into explosions of soft purples and golds. Now who is the gushing poet, he chuckled to himself.

         “Breakfast!” Gleem called from the doorway, breaking his daydream. “I just heard from your father, Pennon. The Formosa Nekawa will be here soon. I have to go make certain your traveling pouches are packed and out on the dock before it arrives.”

         “O.K. Gleem! We’re coming!” Pennon looked at his friend and lowered his voice. “Should we pull one more prank on Her Highness before we leave? I mean, the key point is, we’re leaving.”