Episode 2: Theodore Wallace
Seated beside me is Theodore Wallace, the lead figurehead overseeing the charters on my home planet, Ceclis. My heart quickens, its beats resonating in the air like a distant drumroll building suspense. Theodore is more than a figurehead; he’s a constellation of prominence, his aura akin to a celestial body in the charter universe. My uneasiness intensifies as I recall his history with my mother. A history predating her role in the Matturian Charter. The unspoken tension lingers between us like a thick fog, concealing the true disposition of my hate towards him.
When the decision to halt the search for my mother was put to a vote, he, like most charters, supported it. Not because it consumed excessive time and resources, but due to her sensational escape story that made headlines overnight, tarnishing her legacy and casting a shadow on me as well. Night after night, I found solace in the shoulders of Cameron, Gemma, or anyone who would be there for me. It became a nightly ritual for months.
I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans, avoiding the intense eye contact he is longing for. His gaze feels like I’m being stabbed by apology and sympathy – the last two things I want from him.
“How often do people tell you that you resemble your mom?” He leans in, playfully nudging my side as if we’ve been close friends for years. I recoil at the unexpected physical contact, fearing what words might escape my mouth. My internal filter has already been shut off today.
“Let’s just say I’d move to Voxii if I had a dollar for every time.” I sigh. My reply, laced with a hint of humor, maintains an appropriate and respectful tone. I think. It seems we’re off to a good start.
“Have you ever been?”
I shake my head. “To Voxii? No. It was a joke; I can’t stand hot weather.”
“Your mom couldn’t either. She always complained when we did projects there. There’s nothing special about Voxii anyway. It’s actually quite dangerous to visit.”
My eyes gather the courage to meet his gaze momentarily. He’s no longer looking at me but out towards the road and the lines of shops. “How so?”
Theo leans back, wrapping his arm around the backside of the bench. “Voxii is 98% water. Considering less than 1% of that has been charted, I’d be afraid to know what’s lurking under my feet, wouldn’t you?”
I grunt, begrudgingly conceding his point. “There’s never been any accidents, though.”
“That’s the official line,” he retorts coldly, pre-empting my unspoken question. My gaze snaps to him, and he responds with a cynical laugh. “It’s one of those things,” he sighs, adjusting his posture. “Revealing anything that might stir panic is a cosmic disaster. Some truths stay hidden until containment fails. In Ocalia, we’re surrounded by the unknown everywhere we go, and human nature fears it. Terrifying, isn’t it? We’re in uncharted territory, Calum. Humans have only been here for a few hundred years. Living amidst perpetual unknowns breeds terror. Don’t you think?” I turn away as he awaits a response, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a stimulating conversation, but this encounter with one of Ocalia’s most famous figures is rare, so I should take advantage of it.
“Can I ask you a question?” My heart thuds, and there’s a profound pause before he answers, followed by a sigh.
“She signed a DNR. We technically weren’t even supposed to initiate a search.” He coughs, an uncomfortable undertone palpable in his voice. Yet, I’m equally uncomfortable with his response.
“As in ‘do not resuscitate’? So you found her?” I feel my heart plummet.
He shakes his head. “No. In the Charter, DNR is ‘do not rescue’. We’re obligated to give an expedition 12 hours beyond the rendezvous hour. If they haven’t shown up by then, legally, we cannot search if they have a DNR. Your mom had one.”
I turn away, veiling my face from his view as tears resurface like relentless waterfalls. My sister always criticized me for being too weak, too emotional. I’d argue back, but here I am, sobbing like a child in front of Theodore Wallace.
“My turn.”
“What?”
“You asked me a question; let me ask you one.”
I nod slightly and adjust my seating position to a criss-cross on the bench. If I’m gonna cry like a child, I guess I can sit like one too.
“You don’t talk about Celia much. I know it must have been traumatic for you to lose your mom and sister within six months.”
“We weren’t close.” My voice trails off. He reaches over and taps the screen of my phone, illuminating the wallpaper featuring my sister and me just before she entered the holding room for her trial– mere hours before her death. I grunt at his display of validation. “I can’t process it. I have plenty of other things to be emotional about. School, relationships, career. It won’t do me any good to drown in sorrow.”
“That’s fair, but it’s also unhealthy, Calum. And your career? What does that look like? Do you plan to follow the same path?”
There it is – the inevitable question, a looming specter in our conversation, its presence as palpable as the desolation that cloaks our world. “I’ve thought about it. But it’s not for me. Not thrilled about the daily tango with death.”
“It’s in your veins,” he insists, his focus now a persistent beam directed solely at me. His eyes, a piercing shade of green, seem to dissect my responses with a precision akin to a surgeon wielding a scalpel. It’s as if he hopes to sow the seed of a Charter deep within me, cultivating a notion that sprouts with each uttered word.
“Look where those veins led them.” I flinch, grappling with the gritty reality of a storm that refuses to dissipate.
Theodore rises from the bench, offering a pat on my leg as if to comfort me. I wonder if my response even registered with him.
“Here,” his hand extents a business card. I hesitate for a moment, then accept it, studying the black card adorned with a polished headshot, his name, title, email, and phone number. Adjacent to his name rests a small white lotus symbol. “If you need help deciding, reach out. Your mom was a dear friend of mine, Calum. If I could’ve saved her I would have.”
Before I can articulate my next thought, he strides away, leaving me with his words lingering in the air.
Cameron is shamelessly engrossed in a fresh pack of Ocalian Charter cards he scored from his grandparents. Yes, trading cards for the Charters have inexplicably become all the rage, a fact that only deepens my disdain for them.
“Are you listening to me, or should I call Gemma?” I wave my hand over his sprawled cards to grab his attention. He’s a master at shutting out the world when he’s fixated on something, oblivious to my attempt at a conversation, but also the bustling atmosphere in Hot Shots. It’s filled with students seeking tables to cram in a study session after classes let out.
I decide to give Cameron some time to revel in his new cards while I take a moment to people-watch. The chick at the counter is dragging her order, earning eye-rolls from the rest of the line. The dude at the nearby table is locked in a staring contest with a document of computer code, definitely on a scavenger hunt for that elusive semicolon. And the guy behind Cameron, rocking a blue hat, is diligently scribbling something down. His phone is recording a voice memo – probably coffee shop ASMR. I love that shit.
Cameron yanks me from my observations. “Dude, I snagged Sylas Poundstone. Do you realize how rare that is?” He slides over a silver, shiny, metallic trading card with a full-cover image of the Mictoan charter, with Grympoint – the charter training academy – in the backdrop. I don’t want to be the friend who makes others feel bad for being excited about something, but damn, why the worship for these people? It’s cringy.
“Yeah, that’s thrilling, Cam.” My voice drips with a dryness I intended, prompting Cameron to lift his head.
“Sorry. What did you want to talk about?”
“I met Theodore Wallace.” I reiterate. His expression shifts immediately as if it’s news to him.
“No shit! How did you meet him? Where? What did you say? I want all the details.”
I appreciate his suddenly fabricated interest, so I spill the beans to Cameron about punching Luka in the nose, my mom’s DNR revelation, and Theodore’s suggestion that I might want to become a charter too.
“You have my full support, dude! It would be so cool to say my best friend is out there exploring Ocalia.” His eyes glisten under the harsh fluorescents above us as he takes a sip of his drink. His enthusiasm about me becoming a charter, though, rubs me the wrong way.
“I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be associated with them at all.” I cross my arms, diverting my gaze as the heat surges through my body.
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not obsessed with them like you are!” I accidentally raise my voice, regret washing over me, yet the thoughts and emotions spill out. “Why would I want to associate myself with the people who gave up on Mom? Who could have saved my sister before she died during her trial? The entire system is corrupt bullshit and I’ll never fathom why people like you worship the ground they walk on. It’s pathetic. They are just a bunch of try-hards pretending to be important when they’re not.”
The tension in the room thickens, becoming as stifling as a summer day in a crowded QuickPass. I can’t bring myself to meet Cameron’s eyes, my own gaze fixated on some imaginary point on the wall. The words I just unleashed hang between us, heavy and charged.
“You know they live on the edge of death every day, right? How low can you be to throw shade at a group trying to keep us safe? They searched for your mom for months, Cal, even when they legally shouldn’t have. Why not give credit where it’s due? It wasn’t quitting; it was just facing reality. You can’t dance on that wire forever. Honestly, you’re kind of smearing mud on your mom’s legacy, too. Remember, she was one of them. If you’re so convinced she’s still out there, go find her yourself. I’ll be so happy for you if you do. But don’t come knocking on my door when you throw in the towel, too.” Cameron forcefully shoves the table, the chair screeching against the floor as he storms out, leaving his precious cards.
Fine.
End of Episode 2.
