"Kid, are you local?" The man's eyes lit up as he called out to Matt. His voice was gentle yet carried a faint, deep hoarseness, as though wind and sand and the harshness of the cosmos had worn down his throat during his journeys through space.
No one could refuse this man's question. Matt firmly believed that.
"Y-yes, sir," Matt answered.
Standing before this tall man, still in his growing years, Matt's head only reached the man's muscular chest revealed beneath his open coat. This was undoubtedly a man of striking charisma and elegance—enough to make even the girls blush upon seeing him, let alone Matt.
Behind the man were two beautiful young women—one with red hair and the other with pink hair—both of them looking quite lovely. Farther back stood four tall and burly male bodyguards, their bulging muscles thicker than Matt's thighs. Especially that black-haired strongman—Matt had no doubt that with a single punch he could kill a Tyrador pilot whale.
Matt's gaze lingered for a moment on the pink-haired girl; when she winked at him, he quickly looked away. She seemed to be a little older than him and taller as well.
"Do you know the way to the headquarters of the Tyrador Knights?" the man asked.
"Yes, sir," Matt immediately replied.
"I can take you to the Knights' headquarters. It's not far from here—in fact, it's in the direction you came from. I happen to be passing by there," he said.
"I think you must have missed it. Tyrador IX isn't like other planets; the navigation system here might take your car or ship into a sea trench instead of a knight's fortress."
Following a stranger or traveling together at night in New Canaan was not a wise choice. Although this place wasn't like the lower districts of Tarsonis's capital, where shootings happened every moment, there was no such thing as an absolutely safe place within the territory of the Terran Confederacy. Even when going out at night, one had to avoid the disorderly slum areas as much as possible.
Fortunately, this was the central district of New Canaan. Though the Tyrador Knights often clashed back and forth with the system's pirates, their security work was still quite good. Matt was not yet worried that the man might tie him up and sell him to human traffickers—any child, whether boy or girl, ought to be cautious of those vile criminals who slipped in through every crack.
"Is that so? It seems I've lost my way." The man looked around and showed an expression of frustration. "I think I really did miss it, since my personal terminal's navigation system has been reporting errors."
"Then I'll trouble you to lead the way for us," he said, turning his head to speak to the attendants behind him. "It seems we'll have to make another trip back."
"It's no trouble at all," Matt said, following along while avoiding those fierce-looking guards and the obviously curious girls.
"What's your name?" the man asked him along the way.
"Matt Horner. My grandfather came from a distant, desolate colonial world," Matt replied.
"I am Augustus Anthony Nicholas of Korhal," Augustus said to him.
"I'm a merchant. I came to Tyrador to import some new goods."
"You're from Korhal?" Matt was taken aback.
"But I remember Korhal was—sir, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up that sorrowful event. My parents, my classmates, and many people on Tyrador still can't believe it truly happened. Quite a few of them are descendants of colonists from Korhal IV generations ago."
"It was truly a great catastrophe—" he said.
"Yes," Augustus said sorrowfully. "So many people died. Once, Korhal was one of the most prosperous colonies of the Terran Confederacy. Its economy, technology, and arts had all entered a golden age. It wouldn't have been long before the federal government on Tarsonis could no longer plunder the Korhalans' assets as they pleased."
"After Korhal's destruction, I've been traveling through the Koprulu sector, searching for my scattered kin across the worlds, dreaming that one day I might rebuild Korhal."
"I can feel your sorrow and compassion. You're a kind person, Matt," Augustus said. "Meeting a child like you here on Tyrador IX is indeed destiny's choice—it is a kind of fate."
"God has not abandoned those who revere Him the most."
"Yes, sir," Matt said, blushing.
What Matt did not know was that two years earlier, several agents under Augustus's command had been sent to Tyrador IX under orders to find a boy named Matt Horner. There were quite a few people named Matt on this planet, but the surname Horner mainly came from New Trinidad and was rather uncommon on Tyrador.
By comparing identities, ages, and through covert observation, Augustus's agents had finally determined that the second son of the Horner family in New Canaan was the one the Revolutionary Army's marshal had ordered them to locate.
The agents had already obtained Matt's daily activity route and had precisely calculated that he would appear here at this time.
...
Augustus walked side by side with Matt Horner, heading south along the bustling commercial street of New Canaan. As the district grew ever more prosperous, the aroma of spices, dried fruits, and cooked seafood products filled the air.
At first, Augustus did not speak much with Matt, merely walking while appreciating the street's scenery. The sky was cloudless, and upon looking up, one could see the brilliant starlight—the twin planets Tyrador VIII and IX orbiting together, each serving as the other's moon.
"Ah… Mr. Augustus, you're an interstellar merchant. You must have been to many places, right?"
After a while, unable to contain his curiosity, Matt finally asked. Since he was currently wanted, Augustus always appeared as a middle-aged man—an appearance weathered by time, yet deeply persuasive.
"Yes, I've been to many places," Augustus replied. "My friends and I have been to the capital world Tarsonis, and even beyond the Koprulu Sector."
"Many planets harbor strange flora and fauna, as though one were stepping into dreamlike worlds. There are garden planets with warm climates and thriving life, barren worlds where most land is desert, jungle planets crawling with dangerous alien creatures, and rocky worlds with thin atmospheres from the lack of oceans… The vastness of this universe far exceeds your imagination," he said.
"…I really hope that one day I can be like you," Matt said with longing.
"A merchant?" Augustus looked at him.
"No." Matt shook his head. "Actually, I want to become a pilot. I hope to fly my own starship to various planets and explore worlds yet undiscovered."
"That's a dream worth anyone's pursuit, Horner. Are you planning to apply to one of the Confederacy's Air Force universities? Or perhaps earn a civilian pilot's license through self-study?" Augustus said. "I'd recommend the Federal Military Academy—receive formal military training."
"According to my family's tradition, I'll probably attend a local university," Matt said, his face turning redder. "Tyrador IX doesn't have any top-tier military universities. Most of its colleges focus on cultivating administrators, financiers, and management professionals, while very few students from the civilian class can afford such high tuition fees. The universities open to commoners mostly serve Tyrador's booming tourism industry."
"If I were to attend a university on a planet far from Tyrador, my family would likely find it hard to afford the expenses of studying abroad. Of course, I believe I'm fully capable of earning a full scholarship to Tarsonis University. Judging from the requirements, it shouldn't be difficult." Without a doubt, the earnest Matt was a true academic genius in every sense.
"If you're willing, I can write you a letter of recommendation to the president of the Umojan Air Force Academy," Augustus said.
"Umojan?" Matt had not expected Augustus to say that at all. For a stranger he had just met to suddenly offer to recommend him to an Umojan university—either this was a classic tactic used by human traffickers, or it was simply a matter too trivial for Augustus to even take seriously.
Many merchants delighted in making investments, and emerging industries as well as promising talents were among their targets.
"My family doesn't really know much about Umoja. It's too far away," Matt said. "My parents are open-minded people; they wouldn't oppose me studying on another planet, but Umoja is still a bit too distant."
"That's true—you haven't even graduated high school yet," Augustus said.
"Almost there, sir," Matt replied.
The conversation came to an abrupt end. As they gradually walked out of New Canaan's commercial district and away from the city center, the garish scenes of the red-light district inevitably appeared.
At the entrances of cheap bars stood women dressed in gaudy outfits. The smell of grilled meat wafted from mid- and low-grade restaurants. The number of hotels and capsule inns was astonishingly high, and hot spring resorts were also among this vacation spot's main industries. Here, Augustus could clearly see the difference between these people and the wealthy ones in the commercial district.
Like all the poor in the Terran Confederacy, Tyrador's destitute bore the same marks of hardship shared by the impoverished everywhere: bodies worn and wasted from monotonous diets and heavy labor, children stunted from malnutrition. The poorer and more hopeless the people, the more they turned to drugs to escape reality. From time to time, one could see hollow-eyed or trembling figures hiding deep in the alleys, inhaling narcotics like lost, wandering spirits.
Even at night, they never stopped working. To keep the streets and beaches clean, countless sanitation workers in dark green uniforms labored diligently, focused on clearing away the garbage from the ground.
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