The 13th Star: An Action Adventure Sci-F Apocalyptic Novel by Adam Peled

urged Don, ushering him in and closing the door behind him.
    Inside it was dark and cramped, with a strong smell of Sinta hanging in the air. The windows had obviously not been opened
     for a very long time and Rettoul had to get used to the sour air and darkness that were so different from outside. It seemed
     to be Don and Dida’s way of life.
    From there he went on to meet Sohan, who used to be a skinny boy who went everywhere with him, as if they were Siamese twins.
     Now Sohan was the lead programmer of the commercial floor, where he had a medium-sized office in a small corridor on the management level. He was
     married and had a family.
    His eyes lit up warmly when he saw Rettoul and was speechless for a full minute. Then he got up from his desk and smiled.
    “You came home. Welcome.”
    Sohan’s smile was enough to bring tears to Rettoul’s eyes. Maybe he really had come home.
    Sohan cleared the day especially for Rettoul, calling home and asking his wife to prepare a festive meal. He opened a bottle
     of fine wine he’d received on his appointment that had been kept for a special occasion.
    “None of the past events have been as special as this,” Sohan said. “Not even the births of my sons.”
    Don arrived and the three old friends sat together. Rettoul spoke briefly about the events of the last few years of his life
     and Don and Sohan questioned him further, wanting juicy details. Everyone on Falcon had heard he was doing well, that he’d
     taken part in this battle and in that action. Rettoul pulled out of his memories the smallest details he’d so hoped to tell
     Benaya. His heart ached and filled with joy alternately.
    When he left Sohan’s home, he continued to Reine and Tanya’s home. He’d read about their marriage in Benaya’s early letters.
     They were busy up to their necks raising their children. It was nice to listen and not to talk. Youngsters ran between their
     legs and the din was great. He watched, amazed at the gentleness—a little too exaggerated, in his opinion—with which they were handled. Tenderness and love filled him when their young daughter sprawled on him as if
     he were an old acquaintance.
    At the end of the day, he returned to his mother’s empty house. He’d intended to go to Elena to ask her more about Benaya,
     but changed his mind. What would she say?
    The following days were spent wandering Falcon. His curious eyes weren’t satisfied. He devoured the planet’s familiar and new streets, but didn’t find solace for his soul. There was nothing in his
     d ay that made him get up, or do anything. Longtime friends were busy with their normal lives. His mother—he still found it
     hard to think of her as his adoptive mother—was gone. He didn’t have a clue who his birth mother was, and his only skills
     had no place in his life right now. The friends he’d made in recent years were scattered around the galaxy, each one on his
     home planet.
    Detachment stalked him.
    On the weekends, Falcon’s commercial and entertainment levels were now open around the clock. The 48 hours of revelry was
     amazing. The celebrations were supposed to end with a shot from an Ingram, a laser rifle that pumped 500 watts from its barrel—in
     different colors and in a different formation every time. Sometimes these were bars of color, sometimes fragments of color,
     and sometimes it produced a kind of fireworks that then curled in the air.
    Firing the Ingram ended the weekend celebrations abruptly . Within minutes, all the entertainment venues and shops closed their doors. Pub owners packed their guests off into the streets. Falconite police would then clear the streets of people, sending them home or to prison.
    He remembered that, as a child, it was already quiet when the Ingram was fired. No one had to be forced to get out, as the
     commercial and pleasure shops would close peacefully minutes earlier. The Ingram shot at that time found the revelers, businessmen,
     and shop owners