Stories from RhyDin & The Rings

He wanted to ask how it was Bashir had even gotten to his bed side. As they tip toed through the dark they crossed the open vestibule before exiting without so much as another patient in sight. Strewn across the sky the moon soaked clouds drifted overhead blotting out the starry expanse. If not for current circumstances this would have proven to be a beautiful night. His fists clenched when he saw shadows melding and shifting in the peripherals. A dismissive wave backwards from Bashir was all it took before the scurrying figures fell into position at their flanks.

"Where is everyone?" They paused at the corner of one of the electronic labs. Bashir sliced an invisible throat with the wedge of his hand glaring at Nero before turning to crane his neck around the corner. Waving them on they slipped across the street in single file before the bright spark of a torch ignited the area around them in sterile blue. Fast; they had prep-cut most of the grating earlier in the day. The bar popped with a hiss and was clutched with a pair of gloves before being tucked away in a bag. That seemed excessive to him but he was masquerading tonight in a hospital gown so it's not like he exactly had say over what was and wasn't out of place. One by one they slid down beneath the gate and scaled down the uneven terrace before coming to the soft blanket of sand below.

Looking up he could see the synthetic auroras skittering as invisible particles came into contact with the shield. Somehow they had managed to deflect that as well when they cut the gate. He turned in time to see them carrying on. They passed the water vein he had tested what felt like an eternity ago and as they stepped past and through the neighboring huts Bashir and the others carefully unwound their keffiyehs.There were quick swigs of water as their pace settled into a stride that Nero could keep up with even barefoot.

"How is it we just slipped out of the most protected location on the planet without a soul seeing us?" Nero asked again, hardly a whisper as he took count of their escort. Seven, hardly difficult to miss even in the night.

"Who works the late shifts?" Bashir replied as he tapped at the holo display on his wrist and swiped up sending a message.

Nothing spectacular or obvious jumped out at him so he just kept walking with a shrug.

"The same people that work every other shift there. Processors. You'd be amazed how many machines can turn the wrong way in a three minute sequence. How much they depend on the workers. Without their eyes and ears", he snapped his gloved fingers, "you vanish into thin air. Of course you're not really vanishing. We'll drop you off home when we're done." The mood had gotten amicable as others began to chat amongst themselves. In the middle of the night, having just broken a suspect out of his jail bed, he was floored with it all.

"I don't understand. Surely by now they've torn all of my belongings apart and shred any last trace of record through and through about me." He rubbed his arms when the whistling wind pricked him with its frigid lick.

"For better or for worse the firewalls in place to protect the ruling family are at odds with the law. Try as they might they know what your last name so there is only so much they can delve before it becomes a security liability for everyone. You've got resplendent plot armor after all."

The joke had a few chuckles coming out but Nero wasn't laughing. He remembered vividly the scratched ink on the pages of that journal and his stomach warped and bent and felt like it was eating itself.

"Have you heard from your father?"

"No."

The reality almost keeled him over into a fit of dry heaving. I'm the last one who spoke to him. I'm the last one who saw him. The whole slum began to swirl as he felt out for a hold.

"Uh oh, he's about to get real obvious real quick!" One of the escorts stepped a clear berth as he watched Nero stumbled. If he'd had anything in his system from the past day it would have greeted hem all in a pool of acid and enzymes. Instead only sand shifted as he caught himself on his palms and knees.

"We have to hurry still." That strong grip took one of his arms and helped him to his feet as the plant's exhaust, unending, seemed so close now. "Before daybreaks and then we're all caught and this was all for nothing." As he carried on Nero paused in his steps.

"If you haven't heard back from him by now... then it's my fault." Bashir paused and turned to look at him.

He smiled and shook his head as the escort carried on and began spreading out along the perimeter of the facility.

"That's the most Zhir thing you could do. Hoist someone's entire life of decision making and place it squarely on your shoulders. He knew what he was doing long before you or I came into existence. He didn't get caught because they found the book. No; it's because the book needed to be written that he would eventually get caught. They perpetuate the cycle and he was determined to sow the seeds to break it." He pointed to Nero, then thumbed to his own chest, "And so we continue."

He turned and Nero struggled to keep pace in the ankle high sand. Cool as the night may be the scrape of the sand was enough to have him stepping gingerly on his toes.

"Why me Bashir? After all of this why did you trust me? Why did Commodus?" He followed as they met the solid concrete wall that surrounded the plant. A keypad greeted them and one of the crew got down and began unfastening the cover to the device.

"Because Nero, I felt bad for you." As they sat waiting for the gate to open the reality exploded against him. A heavy sledge hammer crushed his abdomen. An anvil pressed and squeezed both of his temples on either side at the cavalier response.

"What?"

"You know, felt bad for you." He watched as the sparks skittered from the wiring that was now exposed and being permanently tampered with. "You didn't choose where you were born any more than we did. But I could see it from the beginning. Starting from your earliest memory you were different from them. You didn't get joy out of abusing the Processors. You didn't carry a disgust for someone like me. It's easy to tell. They say the nicest things, they sound angelic in their delivery and they call you the sweetest names." He rubbed his eyes with the back of his glove. "Yet what they do is clutch their belongings. They offer us the scraps once they've been thoroughly finished. Even though we're the ones who built it all. Everything." The sparks illuminated his face as he made another gesture to the idle crew who began taking point when the red diodes shifted green against the aged stone amalgamation.

They shifted inside as carefree as could be. He stood watching as Bashir remained silent looking to him. Forever passed. He didn't know why but so much about this moment set his hairs upright and he could feel every breath pierce his lungs. Arid air, no different than any other day of his life dried his throat and his tongue. His stomach was plump with sand. Heavy like he'd scooped a fistful and ate it whole.

"What's inside there?" It was the best he could come up with.

For the first time in a long time he felt it curl across his neck. It eased around him as weightless as the breeze. It was welcoming him with open arms. No resistance, nothing between him and it. He was scared.

"The answers you've been looking for all along. The answer to all of your questions boiled down into one finite point. Everything you've been working at the past years. Everything you wanted to learn with my father and everything that your father has done his very best to shield you from until he could mold you into his perfect spitting image. Everything that they lied to you about but was here in plain sight. The truth Nero." He didn't budge and he didn't insist. He simply waited.

His knee-jerk caught him off guard. Intrinsic programming that had begun from the moment his cells were forming and had been instilled in him for his entire life fired into defensive mode. Survival mode.

"There's no one here guarding this. It's just a dump." He balked at the entrance and was assured that he'd never been lied to. "It's just a disposal facility. Just junk." His toes curled in the sand. His knuckles sore.

"It's true." Bashir put up no opposition. The unspoken message loud and clear. You tell me that you know, that you understand, that you comprehend what I'm saying. But there is a difference between knowing and understanding. There is a difference between knowing of something and living something.

"If it was something worth keeping locked up there'd be guards all over. But we just walk right in? And this answers everything?" He was pleading. He didn't want to walk into the ancient maw of sandstone and concrete. The harsh metal appendages that bulged and disappeared back into the heterogeneous skeleton. The cracks in the foundation didn't even come close to toppling. It would remain standing for thousands of years before the sand eventually eroded it down to nothing. Just more sand.

"And yet here it is." He stared at Nero now. There was no one coming to stop them. The further they had gotten from the garden and the plant the less and less there were measures. No one cared what happened out here. No one cared what ever happened to the people out here. In the desert the only thing that kept you safe was yourself and your courage. Or what got you killed. "I can lead you to it Nero but I can't make you see it. I can talk until my tongue dries and I can hand you every book filled with every page and every letter. I can read it to you but I can't make you listen. I can take you to the doorway but I can't push you through it. No one can choose this except you. No one can make you face the realities of our world. You have to decide this for yourself." He turned and disappeared into the darkness of the structure.

Only the stand kept him company now. No one was going to come along and take him home. No one was going to push him into the threshold. Enter. Leave. Nothing would stop him from turning around. He could make it home in a few hours and would wake up tomorrow and would face a scolding. He'd have to endure more tests and more endless interrogations. That was going to happen no matter what. The answers he'd been looking for. The thing that bound all of it. The thing he felt was unlike sitting in that bed only a few hours prior. The notion that it could all end in a moment was liberating. He had been ready to greet it. The idea that something so powerful was sitting on the border of the desert. Something that he'd been searching for this entire time was right here all along. No one stopping him, no one to deter him. All of his work up until now had been for the betterment. Why was he frozen now? What was he afraid of? What was waiting in there?

The answer would never leave him. He stepped inside expecting a cadre planting explosives and the missing link and The Storm on the Sea of Galilee. All he was met with was the oppressive heat. Sweltering, a thousand suns burning in his face. Molten yellow and red and orange bled together along the conveyers and tracts. Heavy cast iron housed the pluming lifeblood of the plant as it oozed and flowed through the unfathomably heavy arteries of black and soot-covered alloy and stone. They had been waiting. Seated, standing, leaning; all of this had been orchestrated to get him here. Bashir stood in front of one of the belts. In the dim light there was only blurs of shapes: jutting metals, fractals of light emitting, sparks- and in the recesses of contours only shades of black and white coated in the red-orange hue. Your eyes perceived light in the cones. He'd learned that as a child and in the absence of light there were no more colors. That's why at night as you look over the few objects you can make out they're in monochrome. He stepped up beside Bashir and looked at the belt. Processors. What had been, some still were, and their fragments. The sand encrusted in them, the boils, the tumors, they were all from the outskirts. They had all been heavily dosed with radiation. All of them were still surrounded by their shields. Occasionally they flickered only instead of the fluorescent blue of the modern era they had a gold-tinted encapsulation. Fraying at the edges with chromatic waves, they were at odds with the dated circuits that still cycled and the withered edges where circuitry had been sheared. Limbs that were no longer enclosed had wires and sparks temporarily fighting to cling to life. Or whatever remained in the corroding brains. Some were exposed, some were simply lumps of sand that had bled and melded under the intense fission. All of them were shades of gold. Not the lava-hue, their own brilliance. A cycle that had never failed. Circuits that had been made hundreds of years ago that never once skipped a beat. His eyes followed them on the belts until they dumped unceremoniously into the pool of slag.

"Here you are. The answer you've been searching for all this time." Bashir remarked. Not a shred of pompous spite or sarcasm. Only the truth, barely audible over the grinding of the machine before them.

He could hardly breathe. His throat felt like it was tightening around an apple. He forced himself to take a deep inhale. The pungent raw odor of oil and metal and sand and stone fused inside his lungs. He heaved and felt the blood vessels in his eyes threatening to burst. Salty water pooled in his eyes. I know. That was always the knee-jerk to the ugly truth. We know. Of course I know. I'm not stupid. You tell me the truth and my response is always I know. But to know is to be aware of a thing. To confront that thing is to understand. He knew what the plant was. What the plant did. But now he understood what the plant meant. He saw how those century old shields still hummed. Still fought defiantly as they were dumped into the molten furnace. How they remained protective of their wearers even for minutes. Crackling violently as they held the magma at bay until the heat inside them fractured little by little. One of the faces stared back at him as the lava encroached. How the dirty face had spent several lifetimes beneath the toxic sun. How many times had it witnessed the cycles? How many lives had encompassed the now blotted memories and the warped neural net within its porcelain and steel skull? That too was visible as the lava devoured it and eventually not even the prosthetic eyes remained.

The radiation was never necessary. The technology was there centuries ago. The slow boiling of every cell, the self-destruction of the many cancers brought on by the sun, the poisoning of the wells in the ground, the contamination of the entire planet and its people was never a fault. They made the shields, they traded them, they sold them, and eventually they destroyed them. Fabricated obsolescence. A designed shelf-life. A problem that was manufactured to maintain capital. None of it was necessary and yet all of it was mandated to keep the machine turning. How many died on Calantha? How many were tossed out into the outskirts and hunted for their ancient technology just because they refused to cease? He had spent months if not years outlining plans. Researching the decay. Trials and errors and margins of lethality. Measuring and processing data and compiling reports. Endless hours of presentations to boards and hearings. He was trying to find a cure for a problem that didn't exist. These deaths were not an accident. This problem was not natural it was man made. It wasn't a problem. It was supply and demand. It was the divorcing of nature from humanity. The problem was once they had created things out of necessity- not in search of profits. These weren't made to die or to fail they were made to protect living things from the inevitable. And so they had to be expunged. They distorted the "reality", "just the way things are", "you can't save everyone", "you can't fix every problem".

None of it had to be. None of it was necessary. All of it was avoidable. Everyone could have been safe. No one had to die from the slow boiling of their insides. No one had to get poisoned just for trying not to dehydrate. No one had to fear biting into fruit. No one had to live wondering if the sand was going to kill them in their sleep or if one day the shield over their hut might give out. It wasn't a problem. It was a biproduct of the wheel turning. It was the system operating in its complete and perfect form.

This was the design working as intended. And it took him his entire life until now just to understand that.

The sky was black by the time he had been smuggled back into the estate. Only wearing the hospital gown and his personal shield he paced the structure in its entirety. What hour was it? Who cared? Through the spanning windows comprised solely of missing aggregate and now shields he saw a fable come to life. Light shot through the roiling clouds. Once and again. The boom in the distance echoed and lured him until he was past the gate and was descending. Out of the lower stretch he passed that same shack and village where he'd tested the water. He was out in the sand now and overhead he saw the lightning streak and strike out with all of its might and fury. Bound to the nebulous body that bore it- it couldn't help but lunge. Thunder rattled his being before the first drop struck his shield. The gold rippled down his body with the drop as its epicenter. Another soon followed it. Then another. Rain began to fall all around him colliding in the sand. The rain struck shields illuminating the village. On the cliff above the entire garden was ablaze. Under siege of rainfall the shields flickered to life at every impact. Each impact gave a sizzle of energy exchange; each was so subtle that the loss was practically unmeasurable but the hiss emitted was all the proof that he was awake. The last recorded rainfall was a hundred years plus prior.

Endless bullets of water punched into the sand. All around him the gold shield shimmered and flickered. To anyone watching he was a golden bulb with an inconsistent charge surging periodically in the middle of nowhere. To him he was standing with the thinnest margin between him and endless irradiated possibilities. This water had been exposed to the nature of their star, to the toxic sands and had been swept up only to breach back into their lives with the fury of the mythos. Everything it came into contact with would die if it could. Those that couldn't would retain its curse for whatever unsuspecting misfortunate soul came across them next. Beautiful death. To be so close yet to never touch. He held out his hand and watched as the shield ebbed and glowed at his palm. Water splashed and pooled before sliding down on all sides giving the one sided shield some more detail and depth. At any point if this relic of a shield should glitch or if a hiccup occurred in the ancient architecture or maybe it began to fail for a fraction of a second it would be life altering. Amputation at the least and terminal cancer at the most likely. Yet they all feared in their shacks hoping that their second-hand shields would hold. They hoped that those faulty shields below the sand guarding the pipes would last. And here he was standing in the center of it.

Part of him hoped it would flicker. That he would for the smallest moment understand what life meant from the other side. That maybe he wasn't so privileged or his life hadn't come off a chasm of bodies and the dead and the poor and the exploited. Maybe for one night he could just shed it all in the rain. That they weren't purposefully shorting other worlds of protection and their own just for a profit. That their shields were just temporary by nature. But the harsh blue of the newest models met his eyes over the shacks of the village. The amber-gold hue of his own raged against the onslaught unyielding. Theirs would fade. Their glorious light would be snuffed out. This once in a lifetime miracle was no longer a spectacle to behold. It was just another glimpse into the hell that they created. That his family kept going. He looked to his feet where the sand soaked in the rain and decided he would sit here and wait until it ended. Or until his shield did.


Seated at the table he faced the next round of questioning. Where was Marcus? Why had he given Nero the book? What were they looking for? Why had he been asking so many questions? For most he sat silent as he had been instructed. Force had been long outlawed in interrogations even by private firms but the scrutiny that ensued was beyond most training he had received as a child. As a member of the family the reality was that at any given point if you slipped up or your escort did off-world you were not going to be seen again. Most families had the mutual understanding that if you were going to do a kidnap job all bets were off. For the Zhir's that meant if you pull it off once your round of shields went so did you. And your family. And your ships and your planet. The safety of their business permeated every cell of his body. With that safety came a new found depthless loathing. Eclipse International, their insignia was of a lunar eclipse and had sun beams stranding from six points of the half-crescent. That seemed odd since most of the planets in the system could not witness one and the few that could had artificial skies hitched on their shields.

"Are you listening Mr. Zhir?" The attempt at a stern attention-grabbing had his heavy bagged eyes returning to the man's face.

"This has put not only your family at risk but all of us in the system. Marcus was the lead designer on the Processors and if he has gone rogue we need to know what he may have leaked. Otherwise all of this is at risk." He gestured broadly with his hands and arms trying to encompass the system. It was a point that Nero failed to reciprocate.

"I don't know where he is." The same answer given at least ten times prior.

"What did his last message mean? What lapel?"

"I don't know." Another rehash as he sat staring at the surface of the table. Real wood. He could tell by the imperfections in the layers but also the small segments that were naturally parallel. The fake wood always looked like a child designed a maze; it was unruly and the rings took on a pattern of incompleteness. It was too consistently random. Nature proved to him that sometimes it was simply beautiful and that true randomness meant things could perfectly align. Like this table. The man's voice returned to a steady drone of nonsense. Not before long he was back in the vehicle being ushered back to the absurd sandstone mansion. What once was a symbol of power and respect had become a prison. The gates opened and as they approached the front steps he felt his insides twisting. The long walk up was silent except for the sprinklers treating the grass to their scheduled meal. The swishing of the mechanisms and the spritzing made for the perfect backdrop to grate his teeth. Heavy doors budged open and inside he and his escort went. He could hear his father on a call and could see the display of news on a near wall-screen.

"The latest tests on The Rig have shown the extensive power that the magnetic arms are capable of. The current tests have been stress-related where the arrays of conduits had their polarity reversed. This is to induce an output equal to their max capacity of draw. Since the rig is not yet undergoing full operations it is the closest we can get to an operational experience. Corresponding with us we have our field agent Nia Task with the details coming soon. This has marked the fifth such benchmark and even on a sizable structure such as The Rig, the inherent risks it poses are not without concerns. The initial inertia of these tests rattled the structure's soul", Nia began her account, "What we are seeing here are the fruits of our labors. There are several more stress-tests on schedule but so far our expectations have been well exceeded. It is a remarkable time to be alive."

Skeletal limbs of steel, porcelain and the exposed structure with occasional shielding visible due to space dust filled the screen against the void of space. Magnificent. Terrifying. They could put this system-altering mechanism into space but they couldn't protect the few they called their own.

"That's great news", his father stood looking at a holo-display of the outskirts. Barren streets and empty vestiges. That was where he and Bashir once went exploring in the wading center of rot. "So then the cleanup crews have had the desired effect", he paused seeing Nero and the smile flattened from his face. "I don't understand this is what they are out there to do what is the issue?" His brows furrowed as he crossed his arms and two separate bars formed. One was a purple-red and the other was green. A question mark hovered above the purple-red and an exclamation point above the green. "They're old and malfunctioning. It's likely that they wandered off to die in the sand or fell into a sinkhole. Even if this exceeds the deviation this means we can stop wasting time on it finally. Good riddance." He swiped his fingertips against his ear and turned to begin fixing up a glass of some alcohol. Some alcohol that probably came off-world. Labor that had been produced by Processors made here, shipped elsewhere, used in fields to cultivate harvests and then discarded to rot in the sun for all time.

"Do you know why it is illegal to scrape serials from our products?" The question was slathered in such condescension that only a righteous bastard like his father could have offered.

"Another source of income for our pockets when we audit our partners?" He played the game. A wrong response he knew but it was within their operating field. True but false. Ambiguous enough to have been heard or pretended to be registered. The clear amber poured into his glass and was soon drank by the graying patriarch.

"Accountability. It is to protect us first and foremost. Then it is to extend our protection to other worlds. It's how we maintain balance and order. This accountability is how we maintain harmony between families. Without it we're just animals." He set the glass down and Nero could feel the glaring need for him to push the conversation. To play his part as the ignorant son and allow his father to ramble on with more platitudes and empty canned responses. Some lecture about how this was his fault and how he had gotten his best friend killed, or worse.

"So what happens when we find a batch that's been erased? We just go missing for looking into it?" He stared at his father and watched the vein show in his forehead. His fist met the table with a bang and the glass nearly shattered. Visible cracks raced up its side like the lightning that morning.

"What should happen is nothing. You or Marcus come to me. I decide what is best. The truth of the matter is this world is not ours for the sake of it being ours. The system bestowed it upon us for the advancements my father's father made. That's it. We're no different than anyone else. For some fucking reason neither you nor Marcus could appreciate the legacy behind our name. He just couldn't let it go. I tried for our entire lives to keep him out of harms way. Got him a position where he could live the life we always dreamed and maybe it comes at the cost of others but at the end of the day they're still alive. There aren't chains around anyone's necks here. Maybe I should have just sent you and him to House Slava. Let you see what real monsters are capable of." He took the bottle and drank straight from the neck.

But there were chains. They were invisible and they were the color of your shields. He knew that now. And as he sat and saw his mother at the end of the corridor with a wine glass in her hand he lost whatever thoughts had been stirring in his head.

"Have you nothing to say?" The rage spilled from his mouth. Red cracks drew along the white of his eyes.

He sat in silence staring at the cracks in the glass. Smelling the rain in his memory. Knowing he could never touch it. Knowing that no matter how it felt he would never escape the shadow that was their name, their legacy.

"You are stripped of all your duties. You will show up for all meetings and you will remain silent. You will not shame this family any more than you already have. You will hold no responsibilities ever again. You will appear on time and properly outfitted whenever we have off-world guests and you will never speak or act out of line for the rest of your life." He pinched the bridge of his nose and waved his hand. "You're dismissed."

Where he should have felt pain or disgust in his chest he only felt numb. He had never taken a seat so it was easy to turn and head down the corridor. In the hall there were portraits hanging of all the previous heirs. Carrying through the air he could hear them as if he was already gone.

"Disgraceful", his father lamented.

"I told you you were too gentle with him. It runs in that dirty half of your blood", her words stirring something in the pit of his stomach he didn't know was there. "This time with the next one you should let me take them to my family. That way he'll at least be a man." He could see the blonde of her hair, the facial structures that were unique in their eery symmetry. Their marriage had always been a gesture- the fragile connection between Zhir and Slava. Only now the gravity of it sank a blade inside his ribs. Where there should have been pain or agony there was only hate.

He ran. Dark tattered tendrils waved behind him like an apparition or seaweed from an abandoned sub. Slanted frames of exposed rusted wiring shot from sandstone like bone fresh from flesh. Sunlight skewered through the cracks in the foundations and as the boy hobbled through the shade the silent ricochets impacted the wall beside him and were devoured into the sand.

Hurry, faster, faster, he's going to catch you! One of his legs had swelled from the minutes his shield had given out. How long ago was that? Before this heir of the family. Maybe before his predecessor. Date and time were meaningless once you were a part of the wastes. Don't fry in the sun. Don't succumb to the rads. Don't get taken. Turning the corner there was an updraft of sand obscuring the street. This is it. Just a little further.

"You're only making this harder on yourself, freak!" Shouting from around the bend his pursuer had closed the distance easily. Navy and black- a newer model from the factory that flashed brilliant blue-white when the sand brushed against him. His visor traced the contour of the fleeing boy through the wall of irradiated particulates well enough that when it vanished he paused dead in his tracks in the center of the forgotten road.

One of the few remaining buildings towered overhead. Starting from the turn-style doors at the base level he slowly panned his gaze up. Old didn't do however many people died in it justice before the wide-array shields had been developed. The entire section had once been a populated thoroughfare. Businesses, residences, marketplaces and commons. Now obsolete they stood as grisly reminders of how their ambitions once reached to the clouds. The foundation seemed intact. One foot in front of the other he drew his rifle, a sleek design that allowed the stock to rest against his shoulder and seemed to curve in tandem with the length of his arms. The pitter patter of his boots echoed in the lobby when he stepped inside and was met with just as much sand and decay that existed outside of the walls. Only inside it was darker where the light didn't penetrate. Fixtures hung and fell, writhed and groaned and never seemed to be the same from any two angles.

These old fortresses were no better than death traps in the jungle. Sliding his fingertips along the left temple he swapped to infrared and slowly circled the lobby. Purple faded into blue which eventually finished the gradient life cycle to black. That was where the sun's poison rest. Perpetual orange was where it baked most of the day and the red was probably covered shields still humming. Risky to approach and deadly to ignore. Saturated orange mixed into black in a streamline that led from the lobby down a hall.

"Why don't you just come out and I'll take what I came for and you can die in peace? You should never have made it this far. Consider it an act of mercy." He followed the freshly discarded sand trail and his voice bounced between ancient sprawling halls and empty rooms. The trail led him to a doorway and once through he was met with a twin set of stairs. One went to the left and wrapped clockwise upwards and the other the opposite and down. The pool of orange at his feet was the discarded rags. With a prod of his shoe he watched his shield spark to life in defiance of that burning volatility. Looking up there was a clear wall of red where the higher levels had been cleaved right off. Wonder what did that? There were no traces of orange up there other than the scattering rad dust and sand that flung with the breeze. Down, there was only black.

"If I were a hobbling waste of resources..." He began to descend the steps and swapped from infrared to a bright LED head-mounted light. "I'm just supposed to take your shield and leave you be. But with all this extra work you're putting me through how about I string you up outside for target practice? The boys love it when you robo-gimps try and get away. Hanging like rotten fruit from a tree. Yeah... that sounds about right. String you up nice and tight and let you swing a little." He paused and saw a flicker of the shield a few levels below. No matter how discrete you were you couldn't disable the shield and live. So whenever some rad dust came your way you lit up like an ornament.

Large cracks sprawled over the steps forming rivers and conduits and gaps between the large coarse stone. Once they had been polished and preserved; now they barely remained attached to the structure. Occasionally he felt a tremor, a sign that even now in the dense sands that squeezed the foundation and the endless winds that would eventually cause it to collapse, it fought on.

"Tough bastards I'll give you that. Been a generational gig hunting down you freaks. My pa did it and his before him. But you're running out now and looks like I'll have to swap over to a new gig. Maybe patrolling the water the way things are going." As he came to the lowest floor he peered around. Large pillars lined the basement and as he began to check behind one then another he heard dripping. Black water roughly two inches high had taken residence against the cracked floor. No reserves were nearby this old section and swapping to infrared, none of it was hot, weird.

"Guess I should be thanking you. Making this more entertaining than sitting outside rubbing sand in my ass. Why don't you just come out now and...." He saw the boy crouched over. Dirty and nearly nude with the occasional flicker of the gold shield around him in the corner. Leveling the sight on his rifle he found the shape of the boy in it and stepped slower.

"Hands up now. Gonna need to restrain them." He reached for his belt and pulled out a cabled wire before tossing it over to him. It splashed and as he waited the dripping sounded like it was coming from multiple directions. The boy didn't move. Instead he turned over his shoulder and stared at the cord, then him. "The fuck's your problem? You deaf too? Spend too much time eating that toxic sand or just never got a working code in that stupid head of yours?" He fired once, the muzzle flare lighting up the basement before it returned dark. Only his forehead light made it bearable. He stepped once again. "I'm losing my patience freak. Put, the cable, on." He flicked on the red dot and traced up to the boy's forehead.

Another step. Drip. Drip.

"Alright, since that's how you're going to be, think me and the boys will", as he took another step he felt the thin razor wire resist. Just enough force behind his boot that when he noticed it was too late. A flash of light blinded him before the ringing overcame all else. Heat. His shield alarm raged muted and muffled behind the intense ringing. Bright orange explosions filled his vision before they faded to black. His visor had been completely fried. His gun was pointing away out of reach and through the ringing he could hear his heavy rapid breaths. Panting. He was looking around but there was only flashes of black. The laser, that's his gun, but where was the boy? The dripping was coming back and as he panted he saw another flash. Blue-white. His shield was still operating. He tried to get up. One palm against the water and the other. The other. One palm in the water and the other. The ringing was back and it was too loud. He couldn't hear himself breathe. One palm in the water. One. He pressed against the floor and when he tried with the other there was no other. Only one palm. He shook and trembled before he fell face-first into the water. His shield flickered bright blue-white and it gave. A mouthful of water. He gasped and rolled onto his back and that's when he felt it too. His legs. He couldn't feel them either. Just one palm against the water. He tried looking up but all he saw were two faces looking down at him. They were wrapped in garbs and he couldn't make them out.

His mouth opened but he couldn't make words. The shock was clutching him too tight. His body shook all over and the flicker of his shield came and went sporadically.

"You're being hit with massive doses." One of them spoke to him as he crouched. "Ever hear of a brown bomb? The more things change the more they stay the same. Penetrating a shield is considered impossible except that's not true. The resonance frequency just needs to perfectly align and in that moment you can slip through. Normal fields will never overlap perfectly so the resulting fallout is the result of the feedback exponentially accelerating in fractions of a second." He picked up one of the limbs that had been severed clean and gave it a toss. No words came to him. The shield was ebbing in and out violently.

"But when you know the proper frequency even when the serial has been scrubbed it's only a matter of matching it mid-scramble. The brown bomb scuffles the buffer and just like that", he snapped his fingers, "it's down. Just like you. Your shield is rebooting so in less than a minute you'll be contained. The detonation triggered the failsafe s.o.s. so your location is pinging off several relays. Whoever funded you will probably come find you. Maybe you'll still be here waiting. The only thing about the brown bombs is the sand needs a proper apoxy to maintain the bond. There's not enough water normally so we make due with what humans make best. Humans, camels, dogs, horses... you get the gist. The radiation won't get you, the shield automatically contracts when it scans a loss of mass and cauterizes the wounds. Gangrene though; that'll have plenty of time to set in. So, there you go." He tapped at the visor a few times and stood back up.

"F-F...f.....f.....fu...." He couldn't speak. The pain, the adrenaline, the ringing, all of it was swirling in him now as he reached for the rifle against the pillar. It wasn't possible.

"That's right before I forget" he reached down and plugged his terminal into one of the jacks in the vest. After a few seconds he unplugged and the splashing in the water got further and further away from him. Then there was no more talking. No more lights, no more crackling of the shield. Instead it was constantly illuminated and lit the water on contact. All he could hear between the ringing and his gasps were the drops dripping.


They waited until nightfall before they took back to the streets. A squad had come but unsurprisingly only retrieved the tactical gear. A damaged shield and munitions were more important than whatever else had remained of the patrol. They could be salvaged or destroyed, he would only cost money in his state. Time and money and the degrees of rad exposure and contaminants in his blood would be too costly to attempt treatment. Instead they came and left once they had stripped him bare. Lying under the sun covered in sand they waited. It was the only way to make sure the gold of their shields wouldn't give them away. Copper, sand and other trace metals had long since blended into the desert's topography. A murderous blanket coating everything outside of the main settlement. It was impossible to tell how long they would be gone or if they had simply tucked behind another building or another street. So they waited. Until the sun eventually vacated and the sky bled black and the desert claimed another day and another life.

Digging out from the sand was the riskiest part. Shrapnel agitated the shields even beneath the cloths they wore to obfuscate the glow. Only a fraction of a second in all and they froze waiting to see if those headlights would come around whipping with a screech and a howl. None did. Drudging along the street they made for an old saloon.

"What do you think is waiting for us?" It was the first time they spoke since the ambush.

"Not sure. The sender was one of ours. The token verified and it's not one they can forge."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because." The curt answer did little to assuage the growing tension in his neck as they approached the aged building. There was no one showing up on the scans and it had been quiet since the excavation team had packed up hours ago with the salvage. Yet as they spanned the length of the building he paused at the first corner. The other didn't. He turned and stared. He joined the view and saw nothing along the side of the building. Down they went towards the back.

"If it's a trap there's no way we're getting out."

"Sure."

They had to know. Not a full day prior Bashir received the message that contained a set of coordinates. Out here in the middle of the wastes they had tasked the Processor, Neil, with doing some recon about the saloon. That's when he ran into their friend who was now resting naked in the basement of that old scraper. They made a quick rig out of it all, he was pretty impressed honestly, but as they approached the last turn he felt his mouth dry. He froze again but Bashir didn't. He turned and stood still. Following suit he turned and saw the same thing. Marcus. Lying face down in the sand. Stripped of his shield and wearing only a minimal amount of clothing. His hands were tied behind his back and his feet bound. Coagulation had set in and the growths had begun. He could feel the dry fist in his stomach riding up his throat eager to escape and spill out of his mouth. He squeezed it back down his throat with an acidic swallow, out of respect. He made to take a step before Bashir caught his chest with a hand.

"We can't." Reality stung his throat a thousand times and unlike any other moment there was no act or façade. No lens or filter or mask. He could hear the grip of his throat when he spoke, feel the sting of salt on the eyes and the lump that filled his esophagus. Bashir couldn't and didn't try to hide the pain he felt. He wore it bare.

"Not now. Later. It's a test. They're looking for holes and it turns out that our source is still close enough. Doing anything now puts them at risk. We can't do that. Not now." He lowered his arm and Nero looked to Marcus. Left to rot. As awful as it was he understood and turned to start heading back.

"Do you want a few minutes?" He looked to Bashir who stared a moment longer before turning and following.

"You know what this means?" Even with tears welling in his eyes his smile drew beneath the fabrics. He could tell by the way his cheeks lifted just a tiny bit.

He could only shake his head in quiet reprisal.

"He did it."

Every level he descended the lift groaned fighting against all that slumbered. Anyone with a full belly after a feast, the most exhausted laborers, the dead and even God he figured would all have woken up by now to the rampant cries from old gears and metals. The first two weeks had convinced him he had permanent tinnitus. Only when he began to bring plugs for the morning ritual did the ringing stop.

Every day was exactly the same. Well before hints of daybreak he would climb the infinity steps into Genesis. Most who entered simply swiped a card, permitted a retinal scan or waved to the guards. Not Nero. Every day they greeted him with metal detectors, with pat downs, with the same tired eyes before the shift change granted them such desperately needed reprieve.

Every day his attire was identical. Navy jacket, navy pants, brown belt, brown shoes and no accessories. He was dropped off by different drivers depending on the day and he was picked up exactly when it was time to punch out. Were it up to Commodus he would have been left to rot of his own devices within the house on permanent watch. It had taken some convincing by the newest lead of Genesis and oversight of all new Processors, Bashir, to get him even the most tiresome, insulting position Commodus could dream up. All others were above him now. All working positions were paid more, respected more and even those in the outskirts who spent all day watching the sand roll were physically above him. Even behind shields they could see the breeze, feel the sand hit their shields and play and speak to one another.

He was alone. Before sun rose and only eligible to leave as it set. He ate alone. He spent his days in the forgotten crypts of Genesis.

Today was exactly the same. The lift groaned to a halt and opened up to old limestone. Large stone was cut into simple polygons on all sides to give the illusion that they were in fact not hundreds of meters underground but instead atop a lofty mesa. In the blue sky or at a reservoir; the water pattern from the lights strewn across the ceiling of the warm lit walkway. Shelves upon shelves upon shelves lined the base of the facility. Servers, aisles of massive data stores that existed purely as epitaphs. Beyond them another room of hard copies in the event that one day things might get even worse. Maybe they would while he was down here.

He made his way to the round half-circle crescent desk with several monitors that was now his own. The shitty coffee maker was there to greet him and he set the pot in and hit brew after tearing what was now the single digit remains of silver pouches. Not even the real stuff down here just some imitation with caffeine dust sprinkled in. Beggars couldn't be choosers but his first action of the day was filing another ticket.

'SUPPORT TICKET #493-EN4' the old physical keyboard clacked as he typed it in and the serif text bound into his monitor. Old tech, old coffee machine, old building and old fucking files. There was little to be excited about anymore. His only escape from his new life were the few days both he and Bashir could go looking into things. Bashir always had a next step, a next plan, some fruitful venture. Nero tried to piece it all together in his head and imagined himself a sleuth on the case. Sometimes it takes a pair of eyes from above or the outside. It was like chess and he was good at chess.

Except he wasn't as good as Bashir. So maybe it wasn't identical to chess; Bashir always had more information than he did. He always knew the next step and the right move and was somehow never surprised at what came their way. There were days like today where as he sat at the endless stream of directories and files that he wondered where he would be right now without him. Clueless, learning how to further the Zhir dynasty, learning in those meetings what it meant to be a good 'leader' or how to 'respect the inheritance' or worst of all another lecture on 'legacy'. He'd swallow it all down as he had for his entire life. He'd be a good exploiter. He'd be great at following in his father's footsteps and his father before him ad nauseam. So at least sitting in the forgotten hoard of epochs waiting to die a slow uneventful death of technical reports beat that.

Click. Drag. Tens of folders slid along the screens before vanishing. They left and were replaced instantaneously by the next salvo. Endless files. His first day he had optimism; there was buried treasure in here. Unfathomable information at his finger tips and all the time in the world to search and filter through it. But the more he tried to dig the more he realized he wasn't permitted to access. Nothing on Processors. Nothing on contracts. Nothing on current events off-world. Nothing on R&D. Nothing except the past. The excitement didn't take long to fade once he had settled in and accepted that this was the lowest of the low in Calantha. Previously unmanned the position had been synthesized just for him. 'Custodian of Records', they might as well have just sealed the door behind him the moment he'd stepped in. Sarcophagi offered more than these files. At least they were pretty to look at if they had already been robbed. Scroll. Sip. Burnt tongue, burnt coffee. Scroll. Today was just like all the rest.

"Census. Courier manifest. Court adjudication preliminary follow up to the mock hearing." He felt a part of him die as he read these folders. Leaning back in his seat he rubbed the heavy bags around his eyes. You'll know when you find something useful Bashir said. You'll know when you come across something. Tax information was withheld, financial information obfuscated or flat out removed. Contract information removed. Safety regulations. Every new yearly Processor guide. All of it. Everything except anything.

Bang! His fist slamming the desk echoed throughout the dark mesa. Lit only at the ceiling and the floor the majority of the hall had been draped in darkness. Left to be forgotten until the one time someone from above decided that its value was warranted again. The thought was beginning to dawn on him that Bashir hadn't struck a deal but this was some sick joke being put on him to get him to run away. Or maybe a grim alternative to living out his life with any sense of productivity. Either way he was too tired now to commit to either of those. Now this was all he had. He got up and paced with his mug and tasted the cold bitter excuse for coffee. Awful. But it beat nothing. Why? Why Bashir? What is the point of being down here? At least in his own cell at home he could choose what he wanted to read and educate himself on. Here that little agency was stripped away from him. One of the few things that kept him going now. At least you were free.

Returning to the desk he scooted in and looked at the blinking directory he had opened. Up top the pale blue letters read: 'REPEAL CALANTHA TRANSIT AND COMMISSIONS ACT'. Click. Dated at least two hundred years prior the old copies were surely trashed by now but the hard-scan was grainy enough that it felt like he was looking at the original.


The document was fifty pages long. As he scrolled he found several segments that had been heavily redacted and others that had been entirely removed only with a subtext note indicating such. Various diagrams had been provided spanning all of the major cities across the planet. Well, proto-cities seeing as how back when this was published the population was both larger but far more spread out across the habitable zones. The proposed roads looked nothing like they had now. The ports were equal spacing across the tectonic plates and the star port was on the opposite side of the entire planet. He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head.

What happened? Everything provided in this document was well-researched. The plotted roads and even underlying utilities as well as itinerary and cost-evaluation pointed that it was by far the most desirable outcome for everyone. Each city had evaluated the distance of roads, the cost, the effected population as well as the necessary utilities to support scalability and expansion for centuries to come. So why hadn't they chosen to go with it? He bounced up one level to the parent directory: 'CALANTHA TRANSPORTATION'. As he scrolled for the folder he'd just found he looked for any that might give some resolution. There weren't any that matched it or even provided an explanation for it. Think. 'CALANTHA PUBLIC SYSTEMS' was not far above and as he opened it he began looking. Digging. Searching for anything that might provide an explanation. Why had such a well thought-out process gone to waste in their system? Just closing his eyes and imagining walking the roads even in the Gardens were so much more effective.

Hours went by. Above the hanging ceiling, the double digit floors of sand and stone between him and the surface and then unfathomable space between the sand and star had rotated at least half their daily route. He was committed to the mystery at hand and as he scoured all files dated the same year as the proposal he finally came across it. 'MISSIVE TO THE CROWN: SECRETARY OF FISCAL MATTERS'. Click.


He sat in his seat and began to look at the following ten pages of diagrams. Roads. Ports. Flight patterns. Plumbing. Electricity. The primordial design that had eventually eroded. The spanning tubes that would create the "Aqueducts". The very systemic greed that dried up the blood of the planet. It was all here. Only what wasn't here anymore was the massive series of aquifers. What had been multi-level transit was now the wealthy in the Gardens and the poor separated by the severe verticality of the mesa it sat upon. Even if they wanted to get cleaner water they didn't have the means to even storm their house. They couldn't step foot in the Gardens unless they snuck through the tunnels. The aquifers were directly below the largest hubs of people. The outskirts, the various other locations around the planet; none of them were within reach of the Gardens. None of them were remotely close. All of it had been for them to take until there was nothing left to take. The answer had been there from the beginning: give the most to the most. Do it in a way that supported growth for everyone and sustainable returns. They chose their wealth. Their friends. The few had chosen themselves over the many and had condemned the planet to the hell that it was today.

Bashir took his seat as the conference began to wane to the least exciting part, the negotiating. The new models of Processors were going to ship system-wide and now that he had properly pitched them each and every bid was going to get assessed and reassessed. Each and every potential buyer in the system was going to try to get the best deal. As far as he was concerned his work was done on the matter. Leaning over to the broker who managed the Zhir family's interests and well, the product that he finalized.

"Something requires me back at the facility. Sorry to cut this short on my end but I believe they're more than satisfied." His smile made the chummy pat on the shoulder only marginally less condescending.

Two glaciers looked over the digital text racing on the tablet before angling up to meet his. More salt than anything the aging man eventually smiled and glanced to his own shoulder.

"These improvements are staggering. Your father couldn't smash metrics like this even in his prime. Well done Bashir; I will put in a good word with the head of the family on your behalf. With these modifications and benchmarks we will have even the most apprehensive opportunists delegating for a seat at the next showing. The propensity for exponential growth is unprecedented." Bashir thought he could see a canine or two behind that off-kilter smile.

"There is no finer duty than to serve." He rose and saluted before turning. Beads rattled while he began making his way through the halls of the structure. Despite the furnishings, shields, infrastructure and tapestries the walls did nothing to hide their age. Sandstone, dyed orange by the setting sun, bared their faults with more earnest modesty than most people around him. At some point this building had served an older circle. Maybe they had made some positive change out of it and had truly impacted the lives of the people for the better. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. He pulled out his terminal and scrolled through before finding the last message he'd sent to Nero.

How is it coming along? Find that thing yet?.

Read. As of three days ago. Nero had been growing further consumed with the records than he could have anticipated but it wasn't a shock. What else did he have to do day by day? Every day for him was exactly the same. The circumstances were less than ideal but it wasn't like they had much choice. One had to sink so that the other could swim. It took a lot getting him to the plant that night and the price as costly as it was proving to be would be worth it in the end. It had to be.
They lived opposite lives now. Bashir was always wearing his pleasant mask. He was always being stopped in the halls to give his perspective on this new advancement. Please triple check this measurement that has already been double checked. Please give this your blessing. Please watch this demonstration even though it is an entirely different department than your work. Please attend this meeting and only shoot down the opposition of the Zhir family. Please be the expert at this inter-system show of force.

By the time the doors opened and he was making his way to the pit that Nero now called more home than work he'd shrugged off the usual fake smile and swung his dreadlocks out of the way as he approached the vacant desk. Leaning over he tapped a few times on the keyboard and looked over the absurd amount of tabs that remained open. Inquiries, articles, official documents, entire directories, individual files and accounts that had been abandoned. Some made sense like blueprints of the Gardens and the Squid, the Rig and countless public works. But then it began to get harder to follow. Electrical grids overlapping with sewer run offs, streets that had been half-consumed by the desert and with various dates and outdated charts fixed over one another. It made his head hurt to stare for very long so he decided that was enough of that.

"Nero?" He called out. His voice bounced off the aging servers and machines. No response found his ears. He looked around the cavern and witnessed the countless towers humming away. Futuristic stalagmites forged years and years and years ago needing only the scraps of energy that they consumed to continue running. Nero wasn't necessary to society and it was a miracle that he had managed to keep him so close with such a bogus position. But Bashir knew his worth and if the small ask of a pity job for his childhood friend would keep him happy and keep him continuing where Marcus had abruptly quit- it was hardly a price to be paid.

He continued from the desk and made his way along the walkway checking through the grid of servers. I feel like on of those old school noir detectives. Where's the next hint? Or maybe a smoking gun. He chuckled as he rounded a hallway and the light's flickered.

Clink.

What was that? He pulled out his terminal and swiped accessing the lighting in the room. A flush of bright, painful diodes came to life and stirred awake one after the other. Rows and rows of old shelves housed boxes. Hard copies. The odor was quick to catch him as he lifted an arm and began to see through the room. Jars. Countless jars all over. Dozens of varying shades of yellow and brown. Trash lined the floor and as he crept closer and squat to take a better look he grimaced keeping his fingers tight against his nostrils.

"At first I thought it was strange. You know there are so many files being held here on the network. Out of reach but not at all secured. All public record." He was standing past a few shelves holding a book in his hands. His hair was unkempt, his clothes no doubt smelled as bad or worse than the scattered jars of pee.

"How long have you been down here? We need to get you in a bath. You reek." Bashir stood up and brushed his hands off on his garb.

"But then it occurred to me that there's no reason to hide it. Any of it. They are the ones who put on trials. They are the ones who punish offenses. They maintain all of it. They control what the law is and who learns it and how. It's all right here. It started so long ago but the method and the blueprints are all around us. Hundreds of years ago they found Calantha. They leeched it and the people dry. They sucked it all up and left it barren and a wasteland." He stared into the book as though looking away might make him drop dead at any moment.

He drew closer and almost dry heaved at the smell. Trash had consumed the workplace to the point that he couldn't approach without having to clear a path in it all. "Yes Nero. That's why I put you down here. We need to find a way to expose it in a much more meaningful way."

Dark purple and blue surrounded his eyes as they looked over and met with Bashir's. "You don't understand. None of it was an accident." He tapped the open page of his book. Long nails held the spine as he shook his head left and right. "It's all right here."

Bashir offered a hand and smiled. "Yes, that's why we've come this far. We're going to help the people of Calantha and we're going to do it the right way. I didn't know what you'd find down here but I knew that if I set you loose in a coal mine you'd find a canary or two. I'm sure whatever you found will help." He gestured with his hand and kept his other clenched on his nose. "Come Nero. Let's get out of here and get you a bath and we can see what comes next."

The pair of eyes that stayed on him looked through him.

"No. You don't understand." He didn't budge an inch. He didn't blink. He didn't move and he hardly seemed to be breathing.

"We have been fighting the oppressors our entire lives Nero. I read it too. The Red Book was all I had growing up to make these threats real. To understand what it means to be in the crosshairs. We're punching way up but someone has to. So why not us?"

Nero clenched the book in both of his hands as he grit his teeth. Grease, dirty clothes, dirt, all of them were indicators that he had spent too long in this pit. Too long tucked away. Too close. "No Bashir. This goes far deeper. It wasn't enough for them to have complete say and dictates for the people. Their greed knows no bounds. There was another Calantha." As he spoke the words he squeezed the book to him. His eyes full of vitriol.

"What?" He froze at the words.

"There was one before this one. I'll show you."

Bashir sat in the uncomfortable sandstone throne. It had taken long enough for Nero to explain what exactly he had been doing for the past few months for the sun to have distanced itself halfway across Calantha. A few hours ago he had actually passed out on the sofa and in the dark Bashir's face was lit by his monitor. Text scrolled across one by one with what little delay separated The Rig from his secure terminal.

This is not what you promised me. Legitimacy. A foundation we could build off of. All of the tests are complete on my end. I've done everything you asked.

He went as far back as the records would allow. Digital, physical and even some ancient notes that had been discarded. The first advent of the Processor, Nostreus, was a creation of Commodus the First. Herald of the Zhir name. He who built an empire off ingenuity and the discovery of a thousand lifetimes; the crysalis. Primitive but beautiful there were details even now that shamed their newest models.

There was another Calantha. That was what he said. At first it was mumbling, diagrams, nonsense. Trash. He had spent months accumulating trash in the forms of rejected public works, antiquated floorplans, weather patterns, biomes, entire species and none of it pointed anywhere other than right here. Calantha. Everything even now brought him back to this. So he sat staring at the last missive and wondered what kind of insanity was creeping into that mind over on the sofa. He folded his hands and rest his eyes.

Okay let me humor you. There was another planet named Calantha. These documents prove that there was a civilization there. Or... an occupation. Indigenous peoples. Forced labor. Incarcerations. Worse. All to jumpstart what we have today. All done by your great great great however many greats Grandfather that everyone worships with his own holiday. And all of the proof has been sitting here, collecting dust literally, without a lock. You just happened to find it because I told you to go looking for something to get you riled up. And it worked.

He took a deep breath and exhaled.

Alternatively the strain of being excommunicated from your family and left to rot in a cellar as a prop for the state utterly broke you. You're fantasizing. You've created an alternative that means your entire life wasn't a complete lie to perpetuate the worst system of exploitation in the history of our species.

That didn't feel much better in all honesty. They both were terrible. He leaned back in the seat and opened his eyes to the blank response field. His fingers moved and gently pressed as his sorrows came freely.

He will play his part. As you have. As I have. We are so close to realizing it I can taste it. Just a little longer. Do whatever they ask. They will be blinded by their profits.

It was true. It had always been true and it would always remain true. The reality of it was the people calling the shots, the people making all of the decisions were so far removed from the day to day of the laborers that they were helpless to say anything otherwise. When a CEO comes to the factory and walks around he doesn't know what the countless machines do. How they operate. How to fix one if it was to break. He walks around and revels in the power he has over his fellow man. He grins with jubilee as their hard work fattens his pockets. As he takes from them the spoils of their lives and sheds flakes of the prize as their pay. That was the sickest reality of them all: profits were stolen wages the entire time. He didn't fabricate the tools that created the machines. He didn't chop the trees that forged the handles. He didn't sand the wood nor did he tend to it as it grew over centuries. He didn't shape and bore the metal or set the tiles in the floor. He didn't coil the conductors in the generators nor did he place each wire in the circuits. He didn't catch the fish that the men ate, he didn't raise the cows that eventually became his shoes. All he did was take it. All he did was be birthed into it. He won the greatest lottery of the cosmos and didn't even know he was playing it. His name was Commodus. His name always ended in Zhir. He lay atop the sofa across the room even now.

Bashir tapped away at the keyboard and paused sitting back.

But if you were going to hide a dead planet you could do it by picking a new one and naming it the same thing.

He looked over the edge of the monitor at Nero as he slept. Human nature would always be the same. Alliances were firm until they were fickle. Maybe there was no truth they could find here. The great misdirection was impervious since all leads and threads wove their way back to the starting point. Any search for thing b leads you back to thing a. It was fool proof. Nero was the chess player. Always considering every visible move. Always trying to be a few steps ahead even if he couldn't grasp what impact that would have. He'd make a terrible leader. Incapable of a bird's eye view. Too invested in the perfect answer and too fixated on the perfect response to a problem. He never took a risk unless it was a calculated one and now Bashir could see more clearly what he'd gotten from his father juxtaposed. The wealthy man had to view his stage from one dimension. Survival meant something else to them.

Since he was young Bashir was infatuated with mysteries. Not the lazy ones that always hid the pivotal junctures from the readers only to reveal them at the end with a cheap curveball. He loved the ones that gave you just enough to keep you listening or reading. The first lesson his father taught him was a simple one. Who benefits? No matter what you're facing in life you begin with that simple question. You follow the answer no matter where it takes you.

I am a man on a planet with natives. It's a joint venture between me and Slava. We came here searching for the ticket that we could punch for a thousand lifetimes. The preliminary scans showed a world rich with life. Free labor to jumpstart a thousand years of civilization. Regardless of who they were or what they meant to each other these men had firepower and force and the means to make them bow. Only when they arrived there weren't nearly enough people. The scans had picked up all types of life on the planet. Most weren't advanced and those that were had only the means to support themselves. Not an explosion into the stars. So you use them. And when you have finally cracked the code and have something far greater than your wildest expectations you discard the planet and the people and you take only the crysalis. You build your empire off of it. You benefit from covering this all up.

That was a compelling reason. That was a thread worth plucking on.

Who didn't benefit? The other expedition that didn't find the crysalis even as it was under their noses. The stronger, gruesome house that probably tortured and maimed the natives far worse. The ones that did it for pleasure. That had carnivals back home of grotesque sport pitting lover against lover. The ones that couldn't come into possession of it or the entire system would be enslaved. So if there was another world they would be the ones who would know.

He rubbed his eyes and opened a new comm-array. This time it was to G. Slava.

He hardly recognized the face in his mirror. Charcoal slate tiles absorbed most of the cold blueish ambient light from the LEDs making him feel like he was in a cell than a bathroom. Thick unkempt hair filled the sink. The smooth face in the mirror turned to either side with no blood in sight. That was good at least. Steam lingered in the room making it that much harder to see how the months etched themselves into his face. Blue and purple bags took on permanent residency around his eyes and with them thin red cracks in the white of his eyes.

Fuck I'm tired.

It was the first time in a long time that he even thought about time. Really it only mattered to people who had to be somewhere or do something. Or just to be held accountable by someone or something else. Why couldn't people just do? Or just be? Why did they all have to be at some place at some time? Because that's how it always was? Always would be? Fuck, he really was tired.

"Having completed the last of a six-month series of trials The Rig has begun it's full operations of ferrying the largest hauls... Q-tips blocked the rest of the muffled reporter in either ear. He rummaged through one cabinet. Then another. And another.

"Where is that?" Somewhere along the line this stopped being a home to him. A place he could sleep, a place he could count on to block the rads and walls he believed wouldn't collapse on him as he drifted. Maybe even a haven large enough that he could be forgotten especially by his own family. That wasn't so bad. But it wasn't a home any longer and nothing made that more evident than how poorly he struggled to find the electric razor. Sliding his fingers back he pulled his hair into a tight bun before the hum of the hand held machine crept through the tips in his ears. Up and in front of his left ear he began to shave his undercut into existence one side at a time.

It's important if they're making me attend. More important than usual anyway. Even if I dropped dead in the sand it would take them a week or two to realize I'd gone missing. Maybe they would never find me in the dunes. Would they even pretend to try? Whatever. They need me now.

Props served an important role on set. They made it all feel more real for the audience. They helped take the performance from imaginary to reality. Immersion. That's what he was. He was a grounding force of immersion. Look at our son and gaze upon his work. He sits in a dark, expensive library and digs up dubious old records day in and day out. No, we don't know why he does it and we're not sure what he'll find but we know that we want nothing to do with it or him. All we care about is "legacy". All we care about is earning more and giving less. All we care about is the bottom line and the bottom line is that the profit line always goes up.

What about the people in the streets? Or below?. He inspected the line separating smooth flesh from fading hair along his temple.

"What about them?"

They were expendable. That was just how it was. They had no material value, no money, no possessions, nothing but radioactive water in pipes to their names. They depended on the scarce help they received from those above and when it didn't come the response was always simple.

Fuck the poor. No one ever said it but everyone thought it. Or if they didn't think it they danced around it endlessly. No one wants to fix it as long as it's not them. That's what really sits at the kernel of the issue. As long as it's not me. His family and everyone who took part agreed wholeheartedly: it doesn't matter unless it does.

Buzzing rattled the slate sink. He'd nodded off standing with the razor in his hand and as he slumped against the mirror he peeled his skin from the mirror. Stepping into his old room the dust and sand made it look like it had been an eternity since he stepped foot inside. Draped over his bed was the formal regalia. So other families were involved. How many nights had he lay awake studying? He paced the room sliding his finger along the sandstone bookshelf. Tracing old leather spines and thinking of the nights where he would sneak out to practice hand to hand with the instructors. Part of him thought he'd get nostalgic or he'd miss it.

He tugged at his collar and began fastening his lapels with a familiarity that turned his stomach. It was tighter in some spots and looser in others. He'd grown. He hardly recognized the face looking at him. Full Zhir loadout: navy and gold, the enamel pin of a spool pierced by a needle, an ancient holdout, a memento to show the people in the sand and the dirt who had given them all they had. As far as he knew he was the only part of the family who could actually tailor an outfit; and now he wasn't even part of the family off paper. The irony had him smile.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Nero opened the door and Praetus greeted him with a nod.

"You look good, Prince." He gave both arms a strong slap with his hands and nodded once more.

"Don't let my father hear you say any of that or you'll be cleaning latrines for the rest of your life." He responded with a weak smile as they began to head for the stairwell. Praetus was as good a yardstick as any he'd ever seen in his life; what were once broad shoulders seemed normal, his height was no longer an advantage. Judging by their gaits it looked as though their arm span was about even. Before the matchup was slightly in his favor- now he doubted he'd lose a single match to the man.

"I met you the day you were brought into this system. I will serve your family until the day I leave it but that doesn't mean I have to agree with everything it does. As it happens great men can be wrong too." He gave a pat to Nero's back as they descended the steps and he held out a ring. The sigil was the family's and as Nero slipped it on a blue light flashed through the engraved design.

"Surely you don't-" He was abruptly cut off by the man who'd now worn more salt than pepper.

"A few great houses are meeting to discuss matters to shape our system. Slava is among them. They're inhuman Nero. I won't allow a single member of this family to step foot into that hall without the means to kill if it comes to it." He looked ahead as they turned into sight of the great hall.

"But you could come under suspicion as a saboteur. You're not from the family you don't have the protec-" A hand rose and cut him off again.

"I never did have protection or guarantees. I only had my gut." He entered the hall and rounded the table standing behind Commodus. Nero made his way in and took his seat. Far enough from the head but still within greater orbit. The various families gathered were big. Just to the right and behind he could see Bashir standing and chatting with some beautiful women he didn't recognize. He caught Nero's look between laughter and nodded before carrying on. Plenty of faces he'd never seen were seated: sigils he'd once studied stood out bold and beautiful. All of the families present were on par with them if not just slightly below. Come to think of it this was the first time he'd seen so many gathered at once. As he did a full rotation he spotted several empty chairs down the end towards the hall entrance. Notably absent was Slava.

"Shall we get started Commodus?" Croaked an carcass that somehow maintained the ability to speak. Old didn't do him justice; at this point he was setting system records. More bone than flesh he looked as though he might turn to dust in the wrong breeze. His cloak was the banking guild. Figures.

"It seems we're still waiting on another house but I don't suppose they truly care about the details. As long as they show up in time to ratify all's well that ends well." He pushed his seat in and in front of Nero and all the others gathered a display popped up. It was the system. Only there were lines sprouting from all of the great Houses homes. They expanded outward and traced to new orbs.

What?

"Today we will begin assessing our next Great Migration. The System has survived for millennia doing what it does best because we are survivors. This will not change under our watch and we will now begin to deliberate who will obtain which planets moving into the next phase." He opened his mouth to say something else but Nero couldn't hear it. His head was already throbbing. His temples might burst and spray blood on the people to his left and right. What were they talking about? Great Migration? Next phase? Obtaining new planets? He couldn't see straight. They had a planet. Their planet had people. His lips parted and as he found himself wanting to object the heavy thud shot through the sandstone tile into his seat. Looking over he saw a beast in man's skin. Geschke Slava. His arms were easily the size of the legs of the table and his armor weighed close to a small horse. Despite his armor having been fashioned to follow his robust form now there was no denying in his prime he must have towered over most. Platinum blonde hair hadn't shown a single sign of greying. Blue eyes captured the sky and the sea all in one with the chill of the arctic. At his hip a sheathed blade that Nero ventured he couldn't swing more than twice before getting sore. To his right his spitting image only half the weight; Gaozreich strode smiling bright. Blonde hair flowing like a lion's mane about his polished steel and gold armor. And there was that noise. A grating noise that hurt far more than their armor scraping. The heavy chain held in Geschke's gauntlet wrapped once and led behind him to his left. Up to an iron collar it sent sparks every time it struck the sandstone tiles. The heavy iron dug into pale flesh at the neck causing purple and pink bruises. As he looked to her face Nero felt nauseous. The universe flooded into him and as tired eyes, far more tired than his own looked around the table they paused at his. Luciana was looking right at him.

"Now now Commodus you know we wouldn't miss this and let you greedy bastards take all of the best claims!" His roaring laughter filled the now silent hall as he took his seat and Gaozreich took his. Their guards stood behind them and to his left Luciana simply stood hunched over from the weight of the chain and shackles. Nero felt like his eyes might pop at any moment. Every breath wasn't his own. His hearing was failing with that excruciating ringing.

"Must you defile my home with that thing?" Commodus's face spoke volumes as he grimaced at the display.

"You say that as if they don't hold up your society as well. We have our traditions as you have yours. You boy lovers don't see me making a fuss at the fact that-" Before he finished whatever grotesque thoughts were coming the sound of Praetus drawing his weapon sent the entire room into near disarray. All over shields flickered to life and people began to rise.

"That's enough! That is enough!" Commodus slammed on the table and despite the fact that several weapons were still drawn his own guard took one step back. "Wonderful of you to join us Geschke now may we please carry on without this saber rattling?" He snarled before the parties at be retook their seats. To most gathered it would prove to be an exercise of power. Slava probing, Zhir trying to come out as the calm mannered and tempered force. A shtick that played into both of their perceived strengths. They weren't really at odds; they were two different sides of the same coin. He could see it now so clearly. They hadn't actually been at war in most modern history. Ever since Commodus the First their peace had been unbroken for centuries. He wouldn't be shocked to learn that they had even planned it together. But the politics had taken a back seat. Nero couldn't stop staring at Luciana. They had a kill switch for Processors. Every batch came with its own specific switch so you couldn't kill others property. The restraints were completely unnecessary. It was a power stroke. But there was no way they could ever disobey or fight back so what was the point? It was just cruelty for cruelty's sake. Between the ebb and flow of words that trickled through his pounding temples, things like 'occupation', 'native forces', the different diagrams being proposed slicing up more planets under different colors and the notion that this was well too practiced slipped in as well. This wasn't the first time they had gone about this. The uniform nature of annexing entire planets to rule, of becoming a steward of a planet that had existed for millions of years before your star dust had even been coalesced, the room was spinning.

Laughter came roaring again. That tin suit bastard was at it again. The raucous clash of the chain against the table. Against the sandstone. The way Luciana budged with each jerk and motion until she stumbled against the table.

"Stop embarrassing me!" The gauntlet struck her temple and sent her to the floor. It was then that he realized Nero had been staring the entire time. Only by now a blood vessel had burst in his eye. Red began to fill his sclera as he sat unblinking. Nothing else made it past the invisible membrane between his ears and the assembly.

"What? You fancy the robots don't you?" His laughter came back as he jerked her up by the hair and held her. Her fingers clawed at the gauntlet. Her nails were peeling and there was red beginning to pool. Even their fake blood looked real. "Don't like it?" His laughter swelled once more, "Do something about it then!" He coughed as his form shuffled beneath that absurd breast plate and he pressed the Processor's face against the table. Nero looked over and saw Commodus staring wide-eyed. The slow shift of his head left and right indicated enough.

Don't you dare.

"That's all you sand rats. Sitting in your holes coveting your stolen goods and holding the rest of us hostage. Good for nothing bastards. Spineless just like your father." He leaned back and his chair groaned under the stress. He could hardly breathe. His fingers clutched the ring and as he turned away from Commodus he looked at Luciana. It wasn't her of course. It was just another. But still it was her. They were all her. His mouth was dry like the sand outside and when he looked from that face to the man in his armor he turned to Bashir. Bashir would know. Bashir always knew. He was smarter and cunning, he'd be the voice of reason to hold that rage back. He always had the way to sift through the violent emotions and outbursts. He knew the right choice at the right time. So when Nero looked to Bashir and Bashir's hand was clasped on the hilt of his blade and his smile had left and his eyes watered, it was then that Nero saw him nod. Not a denial. Not a non-answer.

Do it.

The sound of his lapel hitting the table silenced the assembly.

Everyone included Geschke fell quiet. Then thunderous laughter followed. His gauntlet slammed the table and he howled. "How long has it been?! Fifteen?! Twenty years?!" He reeled in his seat teetering as if he might spill out and roll all the way down the hall and out of the manor. Beside him Gaozreich grinned ear to ear, "Father let me. Allow me to be your second-" He was dismissed with the wave of the gauntlet.

"Keep your filthy perversions to yourself. You shame me nearly as much as he does his family. So many families have come and gone eager to bind our families. I almost wish we could exchange failures Commodus. Yours may be one of your zombies out there in the sand but at least he still wishes to grind with metal girls. Mine simply lusts after boys." Half of the room began to chuckle. Thick laughter from the Zhir side of the table and he'd never forget the way that Gaozreich leaned back in his seat. Always a smile on his face. But now there was something else. Pain. Humiliation. He looked like he needed help. It hurt to see him hurt. Just like it hurt to see Luciana. It was wrong. He swept his fingertips over the ring and the dagger materialized in his hand and was soon plunged into the stone table. Now the silence eclipsed the room once more and Geschke stood up from his seat.

"I've run out of patience. In the sand then we'll settle this."

"Right here?" Bashir stood beside Nero looking around at the horizon. Orange melted over the curve of the planet's visible edge and cast its reach across the dunes and the sky and blotted out the stars.

"Right here." He looked straight up.

"Hmm" he bent down and his shield crackled when he scooped up sand and let it spill through his fingertips. He didn't need to shake it off but he did anyway. Could never be too careful.

"Do you think it's possible? When I told the maintenance crew what happened they laughed. That's all they do now. I could tell them it was radioactive out here and they'd still laugh." It didn't bother him anymore. Bashir was the only one who spoke to him like a person. The rest found their humor or just looked right through. Another ghost wandering in the wastes. Even they were disappearing little by little these days. Soon he'd be the last specter left haunting Cadentia.

"Of course they do Nero. They lack the most important thing in life; imagination." Bashir stood and held up a finger. The light of his shield crackled in the face of the wind. "They've never seen it thus it never existed." He lowered his hand and watched the sand skitter over the top. Changing. Churning. Restless. Etching a new face into the planet every moment. No two snapshots would ever be the same not even from space. "Yes it's possible."

He had been holding his breath. He didn't realize that fact until he exhaled and looked down. "I can't wrap my head around it. But it happened right here. After the Plant I came out here and waited. The rain came down endlessly and I waited still. Just maybe it would go out and I could go out with it." Shamefully he relived that feeling as he recalled it. From this very spot. "When I looked up a single drop passed through and hit me square on the forehead. Figured that would do me in. Even a drop would rot an elephant from the inside out. If any were around. So for sake of argument we'll say I'm not crazy. What happened?"

Bashir sat for what felt like an eternity beside him. He didn't speak. He watched the horizon and didn't even seem to blink. Until he did. "Have you ever heard of Interpolation Theory?"

Nero shook his head.

"The idea goes like this. Go down to the smallest parts of us and we're constantly in flux. Our building blocks are held in tow by incredibly powerful forces. You know this, I know this, every child on this planet knows basic thermodynamics. The old theory goes that if you were to rub your hand against a wall long enough you would eventually slip into it. Your atoms would pass into the space between and you would merge."

"That's ridiculous."

"That's called imagination." Bashir cracked a smile. "So what happens if one rain drop lands just right against your shield. The water passes through but the radiation is blocked?" He turned and smiled at Nero.

"Math would call you and me crazy. You're more likely to drown in oxygen."

"And yet here we stand."

Neither spoke for some time. Eventually they left.


Nero looked at the five weapons on the slate table.

"These are the oldest ones?" The attendant nodded.

"Yes sir. They date older than our records so they must be from off-world." He was younger than Nero but had followed through with his instructions to the letter. It was impressive.

"You don't need to call me that. No one does anymore. They've stripped away all of my inheritance and my rights. You have more standing with the Zhir family than I do now."

The young man stood alert keeping watch on the door. Slava's preparation chambers were across the hall and through the juxtaposed doors the aid could see the glistening armor being fit. Silver and gold. More expensive than most people's lives on Cadentia.

"With all due respect sir that's simply not true. Many have died for your name alone. If your value is just what other people say it is then what place do I have to listen to them? What's the point of legacy if we can throw it out whenever we want?"

Nero checked them one by one. All gold. He disabled them in a flash after each was tested. They were old alright; their circuits looked like they might give out at any moment. He listened to the aid and began tucking the blades into a pouch. "What's the point? That's a good question. I don't know anymore." The aid didn't look from his duty but had nothing to respond. A hand waved them forward and it was time.


A large canopy spanned over the sandstone arena. Dilapidated from hundreds of years of unuse sand crept through the once-solid platform splintering it into hundreds of shattered slabs. Standing at attention was every family's representatives. So many colors, sigils, shields and weapons collected in one location. The duels of old were legends. Folklore; they hadn't hosted one in maybe half a millennia on Cadentia but now he stood across from Geschke. Bright shiny plates hid even his unkempt build. The polish was enough to blind you if you looked for too long. Behind him: his guard, Gaozreich and their lead scribe to detail the events. Behind Nero there was Bashir, his accompaniment and the young aid who hurried over and opened the satchel. He began handing Nero the five weapons who stuck them in the sand one by one.

"Did you do as I requested?"

The young man nodded and kept silent.

"Thank you." He looked over the rest of the crowd. Absent was Comodus. That was fine by him. As he turned back he saw her once again. Luciana. Not Luciana. Maybe her in another time. Thick was the chain around her neck and thick it lay in the sand. He took the first dagger from the sand and watched as the Adjudicator signaled to both of them.

"As with tradition comes the right to single combat. For many cycles death has been outlawed so this contest will abide by our system's statutes. Failure to adhere to the code that binds us will result in expulsion at the least and a vote for exile or death. Until yield or first blood." He looked between them and counted down in the tongue of the old ones.

He couldn't hear him clearly anymore. Gold washed his vision as the wind sent sand against his shield. They were strong but they weren't perfect. You had to learn to act on instinct. There were times the aberrations ate your entire field of view and then what? Waves of gold flicked and washed over that veil until he saw the mirror armor approaching. Geschke was fast for his size and in his hands was a massive mace. It had to weigh easily half his own measured size and when he made his way towards the walking ornament the bright weapon crushed into his shield. Thunder struck at the impact and the discharge knocked Geschke back with his weapon flinging overhead. One gauntlet remained on it as one boot left the ground. Only he stabilized. Nero was sent back and slid over the rough jagged scape of the arena floor. There was the other issue: the shield would stop any projectile and likewise shielded object but they couldn't stop inertia. Discharging shields on this scale resulted in the kinetic force exponential to the event that caused it. Shields would stop the recoil from escaping and would dissipate the energy and recycle it but they couldn't blunt the effect it had on internal organs. He got up and he saw three shining ornaments heading his way.

Ringing filled his ears. There were words being shouted. Cheers being yelled. Silence from Cadentia. The next swing was in the air and he managed to tuck and roll beneath it. The first dagger flashed into life with a gold sheath around it. He lunged and it struck against the shield. Crackling high-pitched whining followed before it shot from his hand and flew out of sight. One shielded boot rose to press against his own at chest-height and sent him back as though he'd been hit with a vehicle. Bouncing off the uneven stone he eventually caught himself and reoriented.

He was gloating. His heavy laughter penetrating even that skull splitting ache in Nero's head. Thick arms lifted overhead, the mace within them as he barreled forward. The second dagger was tossed about thigh-height. It deflected like a dart into the sand. The third was gripped and as the strike came down he leaped out of the way. Sand spewed up into the air blinding both of them. Gold flashed around the dagger as he drove it right for Geschke's back. The impact drove his heels into the sand and sent the larger man stumbling forward. He caught himself with his hands against the stone before Nero took his back. Their shields whining and crying. The fourth dagger was taken and he pressed it against the space between his helmet and his breastplate. That small sliver of skin in his sight.

Angels wept. The shriek that ensued sent most watching to their knees. He couldn't hear past it. Rippling energy washed and fluctuated. Slowly the tip of the dagger began to crawl closer.

"Get off me you filthy rat!" Thick gauntlets reached backwards trying to get him. He rolled and Nero was now beneath him but the dagger continued digging. Further. Squealing didn't do it justice as the spectators inched closer. The dagger wouldn't quite rend flesh but the distortion in the shield could cause irreparable damage. Thrashing about the head of House Slava stood and spun. The mace was lifted and swung up and down crushing into Nero's shield. The impact sent him against the stone and sand and when it did red hit his shield from the inside.

Without hesitation the Adjudicator lifted a flag signaling the end of the bout. First blood never meant a direct hit. Shield failures were known to happen from time to time but the largest threat would be an impact so powerful it crushed the skull or the heart. Disowned, removed from the inheritance, it didn't matter in the eyes of the Adjudication. On his outfit there was the gold sigil of yarn pierced by a needle. From his birth until his death he would be House Zhir. That was his blessing and his curse. He got to his feet slowly and they all began to disperse. The wide grin Geschke held was followed by more slurs that Nero couldn't hear over the loud ringing in his head. A few displaced ribs. A concussion. Maybe worse. He stumbled before the aid came over and helped him from going chin-first into the stone.

"It didn't work." He got out between the aching stab in his breaths.

The aid helped him over to a seat beside Bashir. The latter watched as Geschke spouted and Gaozreich looked back across right at Nero.

"You both seem very confident." Bashir spoke with his hands behind his back.

"He won and I lost." Nero spat again. Red etched the shield to life as it slowly descended.

"You were playing different games. When that's the case it's no longer zero-sum." Bashir turned and began heading back.


The rest of the proceedings followed to plan as well as they could. Nero was to stay off-site until it was concluded and all the Houses had returned off-world. He sat in his cave of history staring at the screen before him. Time didn't exist down there. That was why he loved it so much. A new system to be carved up as they pleased and distributed amongst the same people. A new cycle of pain and suffering to be dispersed between the following millennia. What about the people who may already live there? There were always people who were there. They too would have records written about them and stored away in the catacombs. Would another Nero come along and wade through them? To what gain? For what benefit? He dozed off at the desk after some amount of time.

The noise bled into his dreams. At first he thought it was the sound of a screen flickering or changing channels abruptly. Then it was a bird, maybe a sparrow, gawking at him. They made fun of him too after all. Only when the beeping grew louder did his head raise. Fuzzy eyes opened and after he rubbed them a plethora of messages glowed on the screen. Bashir. Commodus. Gaozreich. He went to Gaozreich's first and he wasn't sure why. Large and clear the text sat against the blue-black screen.

HE'S DEAD.

He stared at the glass screen and the letters that displayed on it. Each letter felt foreign to his eyes and it was possible he had stopped breathing. His temples grew to the size of a camels hump. Every vein in his eyes lit on fire. Each hair on his arm stood. The room swirled around him in a vortex. Up went down. Down went up. The lazily prepared soup he had eaten soon spilled all over the sandstone floor beneath him and he was pretty sure a chunk hit one of the old files he'd been reviewing. He was dead. It really worked. His terminal chimed with a second message but he couldn't make out the symbols from the swimming pressure crushing his skull. What was that feeling? The room stopped swirling and he was on his side on the floor.

Rust?

Iron.

Blood. The taste of it was rich on his tongue and it burned as it slid down his throat. He felt his temple and could see the vibrant hue as it seeped into the tiny miniature labyrinth in his skin. I'm bleeding. Swarms of dark uniforms poured into the dark sanctuary he'd been holed up in and began to scatter the files. He reached and soon felt a knee on his back as he went face down. The bridge of his nose was being compressed against the stone as his arm was bent forcefully and then the other.

"I can't", he felt the knee driving against his back and compressing his lungs. The weight of at least three were on top of him. Darkness devoured the outer limits of his sight. Seeping into the old stone structure and oozing from cracks and crevasses he had never noticed.

"Breathe."

"Shut the fuck up!"

The heat of the first torch nearly evaporated the blood from his temple. Hours upon hours of laborious and painstaking searching vanishing before his eyes. Fire only brought destruction. As they scoured the nest and erased all traces of his work one paused flipping through the pages.

"Do you think it's true? Another Calantha?"

"It is!" The sharp weight of the knee still pressing against his diaphragm.

Before he could see any more everything went black. A sealant bag was placed over his head and soon the weight was removed little by little and he was hoisted up. Hands bound at the lower end of his back by standard restraint beam-bands and he was being ushered towards the elevator.

"Who cares. Orders are to destroy all of it that's the only thing that matters."

He stumbled and his feet were dragging as they lurched him every inch like a corpse. A minute or two longer in that position and he was positive he would have been.

"Can't we just kill him now and get it over with? Be quicker for everyone this way." One of the voices echoed in the large hall as the massive platform began to lift towards the surface. What time was it? He hadn't given anything thought since the challenge and by the time he'd gotten back into the dive he'd only noticed the notification after storing the latest pile. All of it would be gone before the elevator was halfway up. All of the records of that previous Calantha. The plans. The deals. Gone like a whisper in the wind.

"You're all complicit in the eradication of a world", he got out before the next blow displaced a rib or two. Spit foamed from his mouth as he slumped onto the cold surface of the platform. His neck felt like it was about to burst from the pressure building. Despite how hard he tried getting oxygen was proving too difficult.

"It would be easier to kill him now but I'm not trying to spend the rest of my life in a sand pit gulag." One of them said.

"Imagine the fat bonus for this one. I could probably skip my next five patrols at least." They laughed in tandem as his eye lids grew too heavy to resist any longer.

When he opened his eyes he was met with a half-circle table and at it representatives of all the major and minor houses. They didn't waste any time assembling a tribunal after the news broke apparently. With the dose that he'd managed to coat his knife in he knew that if it worked Geschke was never going to make it back into orbit let alone through standard shuttle procedures even if he decided to immediately after. By the time he had begun to change out of the challenge armor he would have felt the fever coming on. By the time they got it off of him and were getting a medic to the scene his insides were already microwaved past recognition. His stomach was devouring itself and each and every one of his cells was beginning to die. By the time the medic arrived he should have had severe internal bleeding and it was probably dripping from his visible orifices. That was a thought that made him smile despite how badly everything hurt. His ears were ringing and as he scanned the room he could see many blurs. Three faces stood out the most. Commodus. Gaozreich. Bashir. The former two were seated at their rightful positions in the tribunal. The latter was behind.

"Nero, son of Commodus, disgrace of the system and no longer heir to House Zhir: are you aware of why you face trial now?"

He looked for which of the silhouettes could have been speaking. The room went dark and only lights behind the seated members gave any indication that he was still in the same building. It was too hard to tell where any of the others had been but he knew which of the silhouettes loosely were Commodus and Gaozreich.

"For trying to get potable water to people? Trying to uncover how many lives you've all destroyed? What would you call it, treason?"

"For the murder of a member of a Great House. Do you accept the charge of manslaughter and plead guilty? Even as an excommunicated member of a Great House you are given the chance to right these foul wrongs and accept punishment via the tribunal's decision. For one such as yourself, descendant of mongrels, you can see how much your family has contributed to the system. Plead guilty and your death will be swift and your family can make ammends."

He could taste that iron again. His mouth was still bleeding. The lights made his head throb and as the words had finished he could hear the damage in his lungs forcing each breath to contribute to a scathing whistle.

"I... see..." the gesture alone was far too painful to hide as he sat on his knees. "Then for the tribunal... I plead not guilty."

The cacophony that followed was ear piercing. Yelling and shifting from all of the silhouettes as their rage drowned out what order was held before a loud piercing shrill noise came from the adjudicator.

"Under what grounds would you plead not guilty?"

Red stained teeth showed in an agonizing smile. Each laugh felt like he was being stuck with the holy lance only he was no savior and this was hardly going to be a drawn out affair.

"That's easy... you accuse me of... manslaughter. I killed no man." He spit a mix of red and something else out on the floor and almost toppled over before a pair of hands steadied him. His head was so heavy. It was impossible to make out what were people and what were simply shadows playing tricks on him. "I only killed a fascist."

Before every member of the tribunal a light shone. Blinding in the darkness below their persons it was only due to their smaller size that they stood out from the flood lights behind.

"Then the tribunal shall cast its votes. As with all matters no votes shall be made known and all lights will reflect the individual tally as they come. I do not believe this will take long. A unanimous decision will lead to death. Anything else is exile."

He couldn't remember how many Houses had shown up for the bullshit. All of them flashed green and then went back to white. Another flash of green. Another. Another. Another. Again and again. Green flooded the room as each of these Houses determined what would be his future. The piercing light made his eyes water as a ninth and tenth came in. Twelve? He had lost count and one more row of green.

He could barely keep his head up. It hurt too much. This always was the pomp of all importance; nothing more than theater to exert more power over the voiceless and to later contribute to the endless propaganda throughout the system. He had ensured his death the moment he had rubbed the dagger in the sand but it didn't matter anymore. One less piece of shit fascist to hurt people. And he was just a failure to begin with. Seemed like a worthwhile way to go.

As he lost himself in thought he had gone absently into the dark. The lights weren't off, he could see the outline of veins in the lids of his eyes but when he opened them red washed over him and the floor.

"Surely this is a mistake!" One of the silhouettes protested rising to his feet with a slam of the table.

"You will remain seated until this process is adjourned. A recount is in order."

A malfunction. He had no way of escaping the reality of it. It was unforgivable to kill another member of a House recognized in the system, Major or Minor. There were certain things that simply were not negotiable. The lights flashed faster this time with each previous vote tallied with green floods until the very last shone bright and red all over again.

"Do you think this merciful?! He will not make it off this planet alive if I must do it myself!" The silhouette was sliding their chair back before two glimmering shields sprung into action and were flanking them.

"You will obey the tribunal's decision or you will have your own seat vacated." The silence that came next was deafening. Emptiness hung in the hall as they belabored technical specifications and exhausted every other possible option. As they each were found invalid there were fewer and fewer possible explanations before eventually the adjudicator spoke once more.

"By tribunal decree you are hereby sentenced to exile on Old Calantha for your treasonous crimes against the system. May you wither away there as your ancestors did. You may think yourself fortunate for whomever sparred you an honorable quick death but I assure you that you are mistaken. They are begrudgingly sending you to rot for the rest of your life and while I see why they would wish it upon you, know that the only reason you leave this room today is for their personal desire to see you vanish. That is all."

The lights returned to normal in the room and most faces were contorted into unfathomable rage. They began to stand one by one and exit the room. He couldn't make out when Gaozreich had left but as the procession made its way Commodus was near leaving the room when he surprised himself.

"Father", the word tasted terrible on his tongue but it was the only explanation. Even executing your own son, disgraced or otherwise was too deep a blemish on one family. Even him dying in the sand of a failed shield would bring less disgust throughout the system than to condemn your own kin to death.

"What do I do? That planet is abandoned and nothing can live on there. What is my option?"

Commodus paused and stared only straight ahead. He did not look at Nero nor anywhere close to him.

"Do not mistake what occurred as divine intervention. The single best thing you can do for the system, your family and yourself is die. I do not know who voted against it but they failed us all. You have wasted everything. Die in silence."