The carrier rose before sunset.
Torin stood behind one of its enormous observation windows.
Below him, Sorahora Village became smaller.
Then tiny.
Then almost invisible.
For the first time in his life, Torin saw the curvature of his world.
The planet was beautiful.
And empty.
Ruined cities slept beneath forests.
Ancient roads scarred continents that no longer remembered where they led.
Far above the atmosphere, the moon drifted past.
Torin pressed closer to the glass.
There—
barely visible against the gray—
were structures.
Towers.
Landing platforms.
The abandoned Continuum installation.
Proof that Emon had been telling the truth.
Sorahora had mattered once.
Behind him, hundreds of candidates gathered in the carrier's central hall.
Some came from worlds with populations in the trillions.
Some had trained since childhood.
Some already manipulated Binary Energy well enough to form weapons.
Torin could barely make a stable cube.
He suddenly felt very, very small.
Captain Voss walked onto the central platform.
Conversation died instantly.
Behind him appeared an enormous ranking display.
CONTINUUM CORPS CENTRAL CANDIDATE ASSESSMENT
Voss folded his hands behind his back.
Voss said, "Congratulations."
Several candidates smiled.
Voss continued, "You have achieved nothing."
The smiles disappeared.
Nyxus would have liked this man.
Voss continued, "Being invited here means somebody considered you potentially useful."
A pause.
Voss added, "People are frequently wrong."
The doors behind him sealed.
Voss said, "Over the next several weeks, we will test physical ability, Binary control, tactical reasoning, psychological stability, adaptive combat, Continuity tolerance and your capacity to follow orders while exhausted, injured, frightened and deeply irritated."
Someone near Torin swallowed.
Voss smiled faintly.
Voss said, "Most of you will fail."
The ranking board activated.
Thousands of names appeared.
Torin found his.
Near the bottom.
Very near the bottom.
Actually—
Torin leaned closer.
TORIN — 4,891 / 4,912
He stared.
Twenty-one people.
There were only twenty-one people aboard this enormous ship currently considered worse candidates than him.
A huge man beside him glanced at the board.
The man said, "Ouch."
Torin sighed.
Torin replied, "Thank you."
Captain Voss's voice carried across the hall.
Voss announced, "Your first assessment begins now."
Torin looked up.
The floor disappeared.
Four thousand nine hundred and twelve candidates dropped screaming into darkness.
As Torin fell, one thought passed through his mind.
Nyxus had told him he was too soft for this life.
That dreams and good intentions wouldn't get him anywhere.
Torin plummeted toward whatever fresh administrative hell the Continuum Corps considered an entrance examination.
He smiled.
We'll see.
And somewhere several weeks later, Nyxus would read precisely that sentiment—
and declare it cheating.