Seen from above, the enormous metal structure with its access points branching toward different flight platforms looked less like a functional building and more like an octopus stretching its tentacles. Countless neon-lit arches rose overhead, flanked by official police, souvenir shops, street vendors, circulating androids. All of it fed a prevailing sense of chaos — a place where orientation was nearly impossible, and passage was mandatory.
The queue to register and enter the metropolis of Nineveh, in Ephesis, was enormous, made up of people of every species — few nyasuk, many hybrids and humans. This mass of humanoids — some with iridescent veins, others with violet eyes, others with scaled skin — was beginning to lose patience. The Confederate officers were trying to push entries through the biometric readers as quickly as they could, but the system was slow. A system that was never designed for this many people.
Nero Lumina barely glanced up when his turn came. He said nothing, either.
Which made it all the more startling when the Ephesian officer blocked his access through the portal into the megacity — planting himself in the middle of the biometric arch and refusing to let him through to collect his belongings.
—Any problem, officer?— he said, with a slight gesture, sweeping the long hair from his face.
—Documents, if you'd be so kind.
—If you insist.
With a quick blink, Nero removed a pair of green contact lenses and pocketed them with a gesture into the digital cloud, revealing eyes that were an alien pale blue — unmistakably nyasuk. He went back to reading from the tablet he was carrying.
The officer moved his head side to side in disapproval and began taking notes.
—Purpose of entry and travel?
—Work.
—What kind of work?— the officer asked, eyes on his digital board.
—Military.
—It says here you're a mercenary.
—Call it what you like.
—Place of origin?
—Why all the questions, friend? Does it bother you, letting someone come here to work?
—Stick to answering,— the officer replied, now not looking at him at all.
—Officer, listen carefully. Either you let me through and we drop the chatter — or I don't move a single bloody inch until you do,— Nero said, putting away his tablet. There was no point trying to concentrate now.
—Are you threatening an officer of the Ephesian police?
—Are you going to call your superiors?— Nero raised his voice slightly, glancing around the man.— Shall we do it now, or would you prefer to wait?
—I don't like your attitude. That arrogance won't get you anywhere.
The officer spoke into his communicator. Whoever he called — a woman with a severe updo — arrived almost immediately. The system kept throwing the same critical error, refusing to read Nero's data no matter what they tried.
The portal sealed itself, deploying a sheet of unintelligible purple code that made it impossible for anyone else to use the access point while the problem was being solved. Some people in the queue started looking for another gate. The rest grew restless — eyes drifting toward the vaulted ceiling above or straight toward the city just out of reach, its nightlife buzzing, its ads and entertainment venues visible through the arch.
From the back of the crowd, fresh off the interplanetary transit, a blond kid appeared — wearing a neon-yellow technician's jumpsuit and an enormous backpack, bumping into everyone around him and throwing off the whole line. He was clearly trying not to hit anyone, but the sheer volume of gear he was carrying made it basically impossible.
—Excuse me,— he said to the officer, humble, biting down on the piercing in his lower lip to keep the nerves in check.— I can't find access AB-GB11.
—From Sigma?
—Yeah, how'd you know?
—People from Sigma never know where they're standing.
The kid went quiet at that.
—The gate you're looking for is upstairs, past the hall. First time in Nineveh?
—Yeah. I'm from Tulum.
—Every city in Sigma's the same... but — the Cult's already started collecting tributes there, right?— the officer went on, not really interested, just making idle conversation.
—I left a while ago. I don't know,— the kid said. He was obviously lying.
—Hey, you.— Nero cut in, watching from his spot.— Don't you have a job to do?
The man ignored him and kept talking to the kid, lowering his voice a little to gossip more freely.
—That true they take 'em to work the mines?
—Some go on their own. So the Cult doesn't go after their families,— the blond admitted. The conversation was clearly making him uncomfortable.
—Maybe the Cult's a little extreme... but we needed something like this a long time ago. Strong hand, some order,— the officer said, checking the model and serial number on the defective portal to file his report.
For some reason, the kid went a little pale at that.
—You're an idiot. Stop flapping your mouth and do your job,— Nero said again.
—Look, the Cult isn't perfect. But it's necessary,— the officer said, still talking to the kid.
—Does your superior know you support terrorists?— Nero asked, adjusting his smartwatch and taking a couple of steps toward them.
The man looked uncomfortable but didn't back down.
—They're in Naësu's colonies — thousands of parsecs away. Let them do what they want.
—That kind of thinking is exactly how we got here,— Nero said, crossing his arms.— Because it's a fringe planet, you'd all rather close your eyes.
—It's a passing threat,— the officer shot back, increasingly irritated, still trying to type up his report.
Nero's tone sharpened.
—Violence is insignificant, as long as it isn't on your planet?
—A mercenary with principles. How charming.
—Perhaps when you're staring death in the face, you'll wake up from that particular illusion,— the pilot said, with contempt.— When the Cult reaches Ephesis—
—Falsified papers, bad attitude... I really don't like nyasuk,— the officer muttered.
—What falsified papers, human?— Nero tried to get a look at what the officer was writing.
—You think I enjoy making people wait? If your biometrics were in order—
—Don't be ridiculous. It's not my fault Ephesis won't invest in better machines,— Nero said, watching the purple code barrier on the access point with barely-concealed impatience.
—This error comes up when someone's carrying altered prints,— the officer said, speaking from experience.
Nero Lumina laughed — a short, tired sound.
—If I had the credits to alter my prints, I wouldn't be here.
—We're going to have to call specialist security,— the officer warned.
Nero's jaw tightened on reflex.
—Listen carefully. No one is touching me. No one is taking me anywhere.
—You don't get to decide how we proceed.
—I'm dying to find out.
—We're doing what we can,— the man said, trying to reboot the system.
The woman glanced at him seriously. They were making some progress with the error screens.
—Sorry — where was it again—— the technician checked his notes on a pair of transparent smart glasses —— AB-GB11?
—Kid, let the men talk,— Nero said, dismissing him.
The blond looked at him straight on.
—I'm just asking a question.
—He already answered you.
WISE — the operating system built into the kid's smart glasses, and plenty of other devices — cut in with its voice, mechanical and genderless, from a small integrated speaker.
—WISE reminds the user that the destination is located "upstairs, past the hall." Message received at UAT, 11:43:07—
Nero couldn't quite suppress a small smile.
—I can't believe someone still has one of those.
—When you don't know the first thing about tech, I guess it looks like a miracle.
That made him smile a little more.
—Those frames — did you make them yourself?
—In Sigma you learn to work with what you've got,— the technician said, unable to hide his pride.
—Good to know you've found something to keep you occupied.
—It's not for fun. It's my job.
The mercenary looked at him with a fraction more attention — still not taking him entirely seriously.
—You like discontinued gear.
—It's what I specialize in. I studied technical rehabilitation,— the kid said, and the modesty came back.
Something occurred to Nero. But he couldn't act on it without moving a few pieces into place first. People in the line were shifting restlessly, and the officers were growing more visibly frustrated with the portal, pacing back and forth on both sides and talking among themselves.
He leaned an arm against one of the machines and looked the blond kid over. His voice shifted — velvet now, less like a threat. The technician had to look up slightly, being a few centimeters shorter.
—So... you know the machines around here?
—Yeah. Human-made machines. Not that complicated.
—I've never understood them, myself.
—That's because they're not intuitive. You're nyasuk, so—
—Nyasuk, yes,— his alien eyes caught the neon light.— I'm a pilot. For hire. I don't do anything for free or out of love for the cause. You here for work too?
The kid looked genuinely thrown by the shift in tone. This particular human didn't need much. His eyes lit up when he spoke.
—Yeah, I'm headed to a Siren-class ship they've got up there.
—Commercial?
—No, state.
—Interesting. Confederate?
—I don't know if I can say that yet. It's my first mission.
Nero made a small effort to hide his disdain.
—The kind that hauls water and bread and prays the ship doesn't fall apart?
The technician didn't know what to say to that. The nyasuk watched him fidget nervously with the clasps on his jumpsuit, sliding the buckles back and forth. He found it oddly endearing.
—My apologies. Nero Lumina,— he said, offering his hand.
—Oh — no worries. I'm Nicholas,— the kid replied, feeling his hand go a little numb from the grip.
He couldn't help dropping his gaze under the intensity of those eyes — the kind that seemed to pin you in place. Nero, for his part, cleared his throat before leaning slightly toward Nicholas's ear.
—Hey. Think you could take a look at that defective piece of junk? I haven't got all day.
—I don't know if I can do much...— the technician said, uncertain.
—Whatever you can manage — I'd be eternally grateful.
—I'll... I'll see what I can do.
The kid got to work. He dropped his enormous backpack on the floor and approached the biometric reader with a small laptop pulled from one of his many pockets, still wearing his smart glasses. Nero got the impression he'd gone a little red. Poor kid.
—That nyasuk — is he a friend of yours?— the officer asked Nicholas.
—No, we just met,— he said, opening the side panel and pulling out cables to connect to the laptop.
—And you're already doing him favors? Damn nyasuk. Sometimes it's like they've got powers. You know this reader?
Nicholas nodded, and the officers let him continue.
At that moment, the system rebooted on its own — unable to get past the critical error. People in the line muttered curses as it loaded.
—It might be something simple. The permissions—— the technician began, typing commands at speed.—— When this system updated last month, a lot of nyasuk data got wiped. Naësu still hasn't sent the most recent databases.
The officer started directing the people waiting.
—Wiped? Who would do that?
—The Cult,— Nicholas said simply.— They don't want noble nyasuk publicly linked to the Cult, so they deleted the records.
The woman, returning from calling a supervisor, cut in.
—Could this guy be Cult?— she gestured toward Nero discreetly.
—He's nyasuk... but the way he talks, no way,— the other officer said.
As far as the officer was concerned, Nero Lumina — who'd been calling the Cult terrorists — was about as unlikely a Cult sympathizer as you could get. Whatever he was, he wasn't a nyasuk supremacist. A walking contradiction.
—Whole categories got wiped to make it look like an accident. Go into the system and restore from the previous version,— Nicholas offered.
—That's not going to break everything?
—It'll let him through using the criteria from before the update.
—Better than staying stuck like this,— the officer decided.— I can't stand that smug look on his face.
—Hold on — the recognition's moving. Looks like we don't need anything else.
The sensor turned green, and Nero Lumina passed through the security portal without another word. Nicholas watched him go. He hadn't said thank you. He hadn't said goodbye.
But Nero — studying his smartwatch with an expression a little too thoughtful, held a beat too long — stopped mid-stride and looked back.
—Kid. Which gate did you say you were going to?
—AB-GB11!— he called, from across the distance.
The mercenary walked back a few steps. Nicholas felt his breathing pick up.
—Your ship — do they have a full crew yet?
—We're still missing a comms officer and a navigator.
—I've no interest in navigation. Where's your captain?
—Captain. She said she'd wait for me at the access point.
—I tend to get along well with women.
The technician had absolutely no doubt about that. The two of them started walking toward the gate.
For the kid, just for a moment, the hum of the drones and sensors, the crowd, the smells, the movement of anything that wasn't Nero — all of it fell away. With every step he glanced over to check that the pilot was still there, that none of it was something he'd invented.
Nero, after collecting his sparse luggage, gestured toward a quieter spot away from the crowd and headed there to light a cigarette, beside a wide window looking out over the city lights.
—What's the ship called?— Nero asked, his gaze somewhere slightly past the present.
—Naetilus.
—If it's a Siren it's a beast. Big. Rough around the edges.
—It's one of a kind.
—Everyone says that. You think I stand a chance?