First Contact
Copyright© 2026 by Charlie Foxtrot
Chapter 1
Before tonight, my Flux reading had moved exactly once in four years. At the worst possible moment. In front of people. I had spent every day since deciding whether that counted as evidence or a warning.
Opening my overlay was a nervous habit. It wasn’t like it changed. It probably had that one time, but I’d not been watching it then.
[Flux: 12. Flagged. Reassess upon measurable engagement.]
Everything else was mediocre; average according to the experts.
Below average, according to the pretty people.
That isn’t really fair. They didn’t think they were pretty, just better. The jocks and brains of the school who walked around flashing their stats to anyone who asked.
Frame and Drive were what they cared about. Lattice was a good fallback if you weren’t athletic. What good is Echo or Flux in school?
I closed the overlay.
Measurable engagement.
That line stuck with me.
Freshman year I made the team. Inter-school playoff against Kincaid High. We were up one–nil with seven minutes left when the cross came in and I was where I was supposed to be, center back, between the striker and our keeper, marking the run.
The overlay flickered. Flux. Half a second.
I have replayed it enough times that the half second is now the only part I see clearly. The ball came off the cross at an angle no one was reading. Including me. My foot was where it needed to be for the clear. The contact wasn’t. I redirected the ball into our own net at a velocity my Frame couldn’t have produced on its own.
That’s what Flux is. Variance. Most people read the word and think upside: anomalous, flagged, special. The system doesn’t care which way the variance points. Mine pointed at our keeper.
The whole field saw it. Nev was in the stands. Harko was on the bench beside me when I came off, and I think now that he was the only person in the stadium who didn’t say anything. I haven’t stepped on a pitch since.
I shook my head and glanced around the room. Kids grouped in cliques as they had for centuries. One cluster hoped to avoid attention and just make it through lunch. Another table held the local Purist crowd. They were the farthest they could be from the jocks and high-stat crowd. The two poles of our social strata, made visible in a cafeteria.
I’d reject it if I could. The Integration hasn’t done me any favors.
No chance of that. Mom and Dad were in the colony administration. They couldn’t have a son who rejected the Integration.
Such a scandal that would cause.
Generally, I liked my folks.
Harko dropped into the seat next to me.
“I was saving that for Nev.”
He shook his head, then pulled out his handheld. “I need to review my notes. I’ve got a test next period.”
“Okay, but I need to ask you something, before she gets here.”
That got his attention. His thumb stopped tapping his device. He looked at me.
“You don’t want to spring it on her.” It was a flat statement, not a question.
“Okay. Do you know what I want to say?”
He shook his head. “No, I meant you don’t want to surprise her, so you’re sounding me out first. What is it? I need to study.”