Dragon Pearl: Chapters 1–6

Even on the days I had lessons, my mom and aunties loaded me down with chores to do first. Scrubbing the hydroponics units next to our dome house. Scrounging breakfast from our few sad vegetables and making sure they were seasoned well enough to satisfy my four aunties.

When I was younger, I’d asked my mom why she didn’t use Charm to restore it. She’d given me a stern look, then explained that she’d have to redo it every day as the magic wore off—objects weren’t as susceptible to Charm as people were.

Shamans were essential for communicating with the ancestors and spirits, of course.

It figured she’d made an exception for herself to use fox magic, despite the fact that she chastised me whenever I experimented with it.

It marked him as an official investigator of the Thousand Worlds, the league to which Jinju belonged. There weren’t literally a thousand planets in the league, but it encompassed many star systems, all answering to the same government.

“That’s impossible!” Mom said vehemently.

“Again, I think you have the wrong impression of my son,” Mom said haughtily. “He is an honorable soldier, not a traitor.”

I nodded sullenly at the investigator, resenting the fact that he had accused Jun of deserting.

His expression wasn’t condescending, as I would have expected.

“He’s just complaining,” I said, doing my best not to sound grudging—or concerned.

“Many powerful people are interested in the Dragon Pearl,” the investigator said, as if I couldn’t have guessed that. “If it has resurfaced, it is imperative that it be recovered by the Space Forces and not some unscrupulous person.”

Charm swirled and eddied around me.

I scrabbled for air, my fingernails lengthening into claws, and tore desperately at his fingers.

Her fury gave off a bitter, acrid smell.

I recognized that grim tone and didn’t argue. Instead, I headed back into the dining room, seething, and retrieved a threadbare rag.

Bora and I had never gotten along, but she and Jun had often spent time together. For the first time, I wondered if she missed him as much as I did, despite all the gibes.

The job always fell to me because I was the only one in the family who could coax the filters to behave. Mom said I’d picked up the knack from my technician father.

I was sure my wily aunties would figure out a way to convince the local authorities to keep the family’s true identity a secret.

It contained all my meager belongings: faded clothes, folded to my mom’s painstaking standards; my breathing masks, along with some extra filters; an outdated data-slate that I had to share whenever someone asked; and a patched-up backpack, which Auntie Areum had been about to throw out until I begged for it.

The adults were still talking loudly enough for me to hear them, though it was hard to discern the words from here.

The magic determined that I should be wearing emerald rings on one hand, sparkling brightly even in Jinju’s ruddy light.

I opened it up and found a slightly shimmering but official-looking license corresponding to my new guise.

I passed domes of varying sizes, which protected their inhabitants from the dust and the fickle weather.

In the holos, fully terraformed worlds were lush and verdant, with trees rustling in the wind and flowers that flourished without having to be coddled in the protected gardens of wealthy people.

In the holos, fully terraformed worlds were lush and verdant, with trees rustling in the wind and flowers that flourished without having to be coddled in the protected gardens of wealthy people.

The largest buildings weren’t domes at all, but spires spearing up into the sky.

“Here you go,” I said, drawing the license out from its pouch. I admired it surreptitiously. Even the holographic seal in the center, depicting Jinju’s pearl-and-carp symbol, looked convincing.

“Oh, leave her alone,” the guard’s cohort said.

No one was allowed to park here overnight, so the authorities would use its tracker to identify the owner and levy a fine when I failed to return tonight.

To my mortification, my stomach rumbled before I could come up with an answer.

The ring flickered like a malfunctioning hologram as Eunhee slipped it on her little finger. Had she noticed? No, she grinned down at it with a covetous smile.

I seated myself demurely and stared at the chopsticks in front of me.

I pulled off the rings and cast them on the table, where they spilled in a tumble of facets brighter than cat eyes.

Quickly, I changed myself into the most innocuous thing I could think of: an extra chair.

The inspector scowled at the ID. I started to sweat. But she waved me through the doorway scanner. I heard a faint hum. “Nothing amiss,” the inspector said. “Please continue.”

Below one of the display screens, someone had scratched graffiti with a knife. It said, in unsteady letters, DON’T PLAY DICE AT NARI’S. What looked suspiciously like a blotch of dried blood underscored the word dice.

I pulled up a directory of the spaceport and memorized the directions to Nari’s gambling parlor, as well as the Red Azalea’s current berth.

As I approached, I heard the clattering of dice and the sounds of shouts and laughter, as well as the faint strains of sinuous music.

As he looked me over, a diminutive woman came up to greet me.

It would be too dangerous to tell her what I had done to the investigator. Then again, I had to come up with a plausible reason for running away.