Lloyd Lawton's employer had spent enough credits to establish a small duchy solely to secure their place on the 2RIII exploration mission and first-class cabins aboard the flagship—a luxury not commonly found on a military vessel.

  Lawton had come to the conclusion that the Admiral herself must have loaned their private quarters, such was the respect Boos Wright commanded among the elite of the Compass. Yet the mercenary knew this wealthy eccentric was not naive. So it was with surprise that he had learned Boos insisted Lawton accompany him on his pilgrimage to the Zone. "A new reality," he had said, undoubtedly signifying something important even if Lawton had yet to discern its meaning.

  In four thousand years of existence, he had never seen a bourgeois risk his life in such a manner. The scoundrel must have quite a plan in mind... And what a bloody plan it is, Lawton thought, I could very well be the last Cyor to meet his end on this journey. Yet both now sailed aboard the VSS Reality.

  The antique mechanical eye stationed in front of Lawton's door informed him of a visitor. Its orbit glowed with a pale blue filter as it scanned the unkempt hair of a teenager frozen under the laser beam pointed by its lens.

  Lawton chuckled and sent one of the many robotic prostheses surrounding him to open the door. "Well, my Lord, let's see what trouble you're bringing us this time!" he said, inviting the young man inside, his augmented senses diagnosing clues of his intent.

  The door slid open with a hiss, revealing Lawton's torso and shoulders detached on a bench. Around him, a dozen robotic limbs were busy with various tasks ranging from massages to facial treatments and even hair removal. Those prostheses not focused on aesthetics were producing various instruments—a Shindi drum for the legs, Alta?rian strings for the arms, and a strange keyboard with keys climbed by six pairs of hands.

  An entrancing music filled the luxurious cabin, and as Méandre stepped inside, he felt assaulted by its pulsating rhythm. The mechanical hands served him a drink, and he noticed the bouquet of wilted flowers resting on the small metal table.

  The mercenary's smooth smile widened, his curved mustache bowing low in a welcoming gesture. "Come in, don't be shy!" he invited.

  Méandre entered cautiously under the watchful gaze of the mechanical sentinel still stationed at the door. A seat slid towards him hospitably.

  "Always the gentleman, Lawton," Méandre smiled gratefully, taking his seat.

  Lawton took a sip served by an assistant. "One must cultivate beauty, my dear Lord. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" he asked in a precious voice.

  Hesitant, Méandre began, "When we met after the hypersleep... You said something, remember?"

  "Of course. I forget nothing. My nature warns me..." His orbit blinked, and he spoke in a voice detached from the moment: "Bearer of the Ether mark, descendant of Brahma and receptacle of Atman, avatar of the fool, the just, and the destroyer - I salute your path and forever ensure its clearance, in memory of the bridges your people have built..."

  "Yes, it was more or less that," said Méandre.

  "Those were the exact words, young Lord. To the comma," Lawton replied proudly.

  "Impressive," Méandre admitted—always flattering his interlocutor, one of Heather's first lessons. He continued, "Since you're willing to help me, I have a proposal... but first, I need assurance that Hexy will be protected if our plans fail."

  Lawton observed him with curiosity. "Plans, you say? So the Lady takes the lead... What makes you so worried?"

  Méandre sighed. "For nights, I've been sleeping poorly, haunted by strange visions—a dark vortex, whispers in my mind. Reality distorting without my command... It's as if something there already knows of our coming."

  "Omens, eh? I've heard more far-fetched ones." Lawton chuckled but became serious again. "Spill the beans then. What's really brewing between you two?"

  "We're going to double-cross you." Méandre explained the details of Heather's plan to escape the mission, omitting certain truths. Lawton listened attentively, his mechanical limbs buzzing with thought.

  "A risky venture, my sweet Lord. But I am known for my reliability," Lawton finally declared. "I've already accepted your terms. If you're certain, I'll ensure the success of your endeavors. And if you fail?"

  "You'll protect Heather?"

  The Cyor nodded. "My race owes a debt of freedom to yours. But my loyalty ends at the borders of Ego. You have my word—I'll watch over the girl as long as she remains by your side. In return, I expect suitable compensation for taking care of her in case things go south for you."

  Méandre nodded appreciatively. "If you sign, I'll transmute this couch into credits right away."

  "In that case, how can I refuse? I admire seeing you handle matter with skill," replied the mercenary, revealing his platinum dentition.

  Méandre blushed and concentrated. "I can conjure anything, you know..."

  "But money is what I prefer, noble Lord," Lawton said with a lustful gaze.

  Méandre's eyes darkened into abyssal black, and reality shifted. Lloyd Lawton found himself seated on a pile of magnetic cards.

  "Prodigious!" A hand extended one to him, which he snapped up to verify its authenticity.

  "Thank you, Lloyd. I'll make it up to you," said Méandre as he stood up.

  Lawton spat out the card, and an automated arm darted to catch it. "Unless you perish there as you seem to fear. Don't forget the first rule of consciousness, Ethereal Lord: it shapes its own destiny."

  "Don't worry, I incremented it," Méandre replied.

  "I know you're joking, but what you're doing is speciesism," retorted the Cyor with a feral smile.

  His empty orbit suddenly lit up as the mechanical eye retreated into it, and Lloyd whispered, "My boss is approaching the corridor... If he found you here..."

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  An extravagant figure burst in dramatically, clad in garish geometric patterns and pink silk trousers. Lloyd panicked for a moment, but when he looked down, the loot had once again taken the form of a couch, and Méandre had vanished.

  Boos Wright pinched his goatee between thumb and forefinger, a sign he was deep in thought. Walking past Lloyd without acknowledging him, he spoke his mind aloud, "I've spoken to the Admiral. Our arrival is scheduled in one day universal time, which translates to a month local time."

  "They'll first send in the Spaciens to establish a landing perimeter, followed by soldiers and then scientists, including us. For now, they still hope that the previous two missions have managed to establish a lasting presence, that the Universal Administration dominates the Zone."

  "But you don't share that view, do you?" Lloyd interjected.

  Wright paused, fixing his gaze on the head resting on the couch. He settled himself opposite it, crossing his long legs that ended in high-top sneakers. "I'm simply saying they forget that time flows differently under the vortex's influence. Who knows what it'll be like down there..."

  "You don't think our predecessors could have thrived?" Lloyd inquired.

  "If they managed to establish a civilization that outlived them, all the better for us, we can benefit from it. Otherwise, we should prepare to encounter hostility." Lloyd noted the gloved hands of Wright tightened on the file he held.

  "What's this?" Lloyd asked.

  "An observation report. Measurements of psychic activity," Wright replied. He dropped the thick folder open on the table with a loud thud that displaced the bouquet. "I won't give you a demonstration, but understand that in space, psychic activity is nil – it's because consciousness inherently requires an observer, thus matter. But I digress..."

  "...These data show psychic activity beginning after our hypersleep awakening, continuing after our entry into the vortex horizon," Wright continued. "Stranger still, it seems to be following our ship, yet manipulation is prohibited there," he noted.

  "Could this be due to the vortex, or simply planetary activity? How many inhabitants are there in the Zone?" Lloyd inquired.

  "No idea. Because of that damn vortex... Time moves too slowly, even light can't escape its pull. Without waves, no consciousness, and thus no neuron capable of processing, archiving, making accessible to the universe," Boos Wright sighed, pulling off his tiny pink wool beret.

  "In that case, what are you betting on?" Lloyd asked.

  "I never bet, my friend. I observe, analyze, and play my hand," Wright replied.

  "It seems I'm not wired to grasp the nuance - but I'd be curious to hear your observations," Lloyd offered.

  Wright seemed delighted to be able to expound his theories. Leaning towards the head, bent over to face the made-up eyelids, he began, "I observe irregular psychic activity recurring on board and I envision a risk for the ship. If reality were to suddenly shift, we could perish in an instant. However, the levels are low and don't seem to be increasing, it resembles more the activity of a single entity... a Spacien who may have missed the memo? Or perhaps, an infiltrator... but why would anyone want to infiltrate a ship going nowhere? Unless nowhere is your destination... who could want to go to the Zone? Someone who could benefit from it..."

  Lloyd quickly grasped what he was getting at. "...That could be me, I partly operate on psyche, you know," he offered to throw him off the scent.

  Wright examined the disarray of detached limbs around him. "I don't think you're psychic enough to disrupt my instruments," he concluded. He paused meditatively, seemingly noticing suddenly the couch he was sitting on.

  "Where did you find a replica of this couch?" he asked, indicating its seat.

  "Excuse me?" Lloyd responded.

  "This magnetic sofa you're reclining on is identical to this one. I remember acquiring it after realizing the Admiral's poor taste in art. It's quite unique, I had it specially made for you considering your... particular condition. Yet, I don't recall ordering a second one."

  Lloyd made his mea culpa with elegance: "It's possible that an Etherian offered me their talent to create a copy. These creatures are so handy, aren't they? Their gift greatly facilitates our way of life."

  "Did you awaken one?" asked Wright, surprised but respectful. "So that was the reason for your visit to the silo... I've long wondered about it, I admit frankly. My consciologist assures me that my tendency to concealment causes torment..."

  Wright took a deep breath, confiding sincerely: "I value our friendship above all. But your talents inspire both fear and envy in me. Being aware of these emotions doesn't make my reactions towards you any nobler. I hope for the same respect in return, as I understand the bond between your race and the Etherians. Can I hope that it won't compromise our arrangements?"

  Lloyd took a long drag from the fluorescent smoking cane held out to him by a prosthesis. "I never accept a task I'm incapable of completing," he finally spat out, in a bluish cloud.

  "You're right, forgive my mistrust," Wright responded humbly.

  "Logic, not morality, guides my actions," Lloyd proudly clarified.

  "So, you wouldn't be scheming with the captive Etherians?" queried Wright.

  "I simply desired to duplicate this comfortable couch," Lloyd concluded, taking another drag.

  Wright gauged his response and seemed relieved. "Ah, my dear, you only had to ask. In fact, I was planning to offer it to you upon our return..." He suddenly seemed overwhelmed.

  "Wright, are you okay?" inquired Lloyd. "No time for doubts now."

  "Sorry, the idea of being stranded there troubles me, even if I was preparing for it," admitted Wright. "Doesn't this possibility frighten you?"

  "When you know how to safeguard your mind, you have a different perspective on mortality," speculated Lloyd. "Even if my body remains in the Zone, my consciousness will survive."

  Boos observed Lloyd with admiration and envy. "I almost forget your unique condition, without those mechanical limbs... Nevertheless, this doesn't address the issue of these abnormal readings and a possible Etherian infiltrator. It wouldn't be the first time such a being believes they can master the Zone."

  "I may know the source of this activity..." revealed Lloyd. He delicately lifted his magnetic eyelids, revealing a platinum eye with fine striations forming a sparkling iris.

  "By Guibre the Altar, what is this new machinery?" Wright exclaimed, leaning in with a magnifying glass in hand. "Circuits haven't been soldered like this for a long time. Cyor craftsmanship?"

  "No, it's a human artifact from the Old Times", Lloyd replied.

  "But humans banned any enhancements after the conflict..." Wright reminded.

  "Only augmentation is prohibited. But there's nothing against reusing existing technology - you just need to find the right piece," clarified Lloyd.

  "It's indeed a fascinating discovery. May I study it to confirm if it's causing the anomalies?" requested Wright.

  "Not without all the credits you possess," Lawton replied with a predatory smile.

  "I suspected as much," said Wright, rising briskly, adjusting his tiny beret on top of his head. "Thank you for these valuable exchanges - these meetings fray my nerves. Rest assured, the secret of your eye is safe with me. I'll explain to the others the nature of the disturbances."

  "What exactly will you tell them?" Lloyd questioned.

  Wright shrugged. "I'll find the right words."

  "You could suggest they stem from the degraded signal of a previous mission attempting to escape the vortex," proposed Lloyd. "That would reassure them."

  Wright smiled, charmed by the idea. "Your experience brings rare insight for a mercenary."

  "The advantage of longevity lies in the opportunity to learn," replied Lloyd.

  "By the gods, your longevity inspires as much admiration as envy..." admitted Wright.

  "The true beauty resides in the ephemeral," affirmed Lloyd.

  "Death elevates life as time refines matter," quoted Wright. "Your people master the art of poetry."

  "But death also refines matter as life elevates time," continued Lloyd. "It's a dual maxim where one doesn't exist without the other."

  "You teach me many things. Thank you, my friend. I feel our efforts will bear fruit," assured Wright before disappearing through the sliding door.

  Barely had Wright left, the magnetic couch where he had been sitting disappeared without a sound, replaced by a breathless Méandre. "I thought I would never extract myself from there," he gasped, regaining his composure. "It felt like an eternity since I had frozen my essence for so long."

  "Oh, my noble Lord, you're back!" exclaimed Lloyd. "Forgive my audacity. I did my best."

  "You handled it brilliantly; I doubt he suspected anything. And your clever diversion provides us with a perfect alibi," replied Méandre.

  "Did you overhear our conversation?" asked Lloyd.

  "My consciousness memorized everything, although I couldn't decrypt it..." explained Méandre. "It's best that I join Heather without delay."

  "Of course, my Lord. One last thing..."

  "I'm listening."

  "You are... completely unclothed."

  Méandre looked down at his naked body. "Every time, I forget the necessity..." A flame-resistant coat of the Universal Administration agent suddenly covered his translucent skin. "This will render me incognito."

  Ready to leave, he turned around. "This time, there's no turning back. When we meet again, it will be in the Zone."

  "You are right, O Lord," agreed Lawton. His mechanical eye locked onto Méandre's gaze. "But beware, only one capable of shaping their own reality can hope to land unscathed on such a wild world."