[FanFiction] Isekai no Xistence

[Rock Man Zero]

Prologue
Morning Light & Starshine

The first rays of the January morning filtered through the narrow window of the student dormitory and fell on the desk, where scattered books, sketch papers, and empty coffee cups were piled. Tori still lay on the bed, the blanket drawn up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. The monotone hum of the heater was the only sound in the small room, which served both as living space and workspace. It was early, far too early for him, yet his body seemed already programmed to this rhythm.
He turned his head to the side, his gaze landing on the alarm clock, which read six thirty. The digital display felt like a silent judge, showing him that another day awaited, one in which he would have to prove himself – even if only to himself. Slowly, he sat up, stretched his limbs, and let the blanket fall. He briefly studied his reflection in the mirror above the desk. Black, glossy hair, slightly tousled, dark eyes shifting somewhere between blue and green. He had never cared much about his appearance, yet he often noticed how these eyes drew people in, especially women. A detail that both puzzled and unsettled him.
The dorm was still quiet. Only in the hallways could one hear the occasional squeak of doors, footsteps, and muffled laughter from afar. Tori pulled on his dark gray hoodie, comfortable jeans, worn sneakers, and went to the small kitchenette. He set water to boil, ground coffee, glanced at the clock. He liked these morning rituals – they gave the day structure, even when everything else seemed chaotic. As he poured the coffee, he let his thoughts drift.
Yesterday he had skipped another lecture, this time in cultural studies. The professor had put him on the spot with a question, and Tori could only remain silent. It was not the first time such a situation had occurred. Time and again, he felt intellectually superior in his thoughts, yet inferior when it came to asserting himself. The mix of pride and inadequacy was something that accompanied him daily.
With the cup in hand, he sat by the window. Outside, the streets were still empty, only a few students hurrying to their seminars. Tori watched them, talking, laughing, exchanging small gestures. He wondered whether they ever understood that in solitude, one had to create one's own world in order not to be swallowed. In his mind, it all seemed almost like a game, a simulation in which he himself was merely a figure – observing, reflecting, never fully involved.
After finishing his coffee, he turned to his sketches. A few figures, landscapes, small scenes from stories he had yet to write. He did not draw quickly, but deliberately, each line considered, each shading an expression of his inner world. Creativity was his only sanctuary, the place where he could truly be himself.
By eight o’clock, he made his way to the university. The streets had grown busier, the air cold, sharp. A few fellow students crossed his path, offering fleeting nods. “Morning, Tori!” called one, a friendly face from the library. Tori only nodded, a small smile on his lips, and continued on his way. Interaction was rare, yet he knew how to use it strategically – for information, for books, or for the occasional recognition.
Arriving at the university, he headed to the literature lecture. Professors spoke with such enthusiasm about stories that Tori felt almost embarrassed at his own detachment. He took a seat in the back row, pulled out his notebook, and began scribbling his own notes. While the professor spoke, he observed the faces of his classmates, noting details – expressions, posture, reactions. Even if he spoke little, he analyzed every movement, every gesture, almost as if writing a script for life.
Lunch was meager. A sandwich bought on the way, while sitting on a park bench. The sun reflected off the frozen asphalt. Some students chatted nearby, but Tori only listened distantly, his thoughts already back with his figures, with the stories he wanted to write. His hunger was secondary; more important was the mental space he carved for himself, away from the expectations of others.
Back at the dorm, it was already early afternoon. Daylight slanted through the narrow window, casting bright stripes across the worn floor. Tori let his backpack drop carelessly; the keys jingled on impact. His gaze fell on the PC. He sighed, pushed the chairs aside, and sat down. The small rituals he had cultivated over the years helped him shake off the frustration of the university. First, refill the coffee cup, take a deep breath, then start the game.
“X” – his small, controllable world. Not perfect, not real, but logical, consistent. The universe had rules, and he understood them. Unlike the people around him. Unlike the university, which constantly held little humiliations in store. Yet today, he thought as he launched the game client, everything was broken. The character died instantly, every time he loaded the last save. A clipping bug. He gritted his teeth, heart pounding.
Why now? Why always at this moment?
He reached for the mouse, clicked hastily, tried alternate load points, restarts, all to no avail. A surge of anger rose in him – not the normal, controlled anger, but the unbridled, raw fury that boiled when the world revealed its limits. His pulse accelerated, hands trembled. “Damn it!” he shouted into the empty room, striking the monitor. The glass shattered. A sharp fragment cut his hand, and before he could react, something drew the air from him – or perhaps it was something else, something much larger, pulling him inward.
He felt the floor vanish beneath him, light and shadow intertwining. A flickering heat surged through his limbs, and suddenly all his senses were overloaded at once. The smell of coffee, the cold of the room, the hum of the PC – everything became a single, painful vortex. And then, silence.



Chapter 0
Foreign Reality

Tori opened his eyes. Darkness. Only the faint cold of the floor beneath his back and the metallic smell in the air confirmed that he was no longer in his student dorm room. His heart hammered, his pulse like drums in his ears. His hands trembled, still warm from contact with the sharp shards of the monitor. Instinctively, he drew his legs in and pushed himself upright.
The room was small, almost barren, the walls smooth, cold, barely lit. Nothing to orient himself by. Tori’s gaze swept across the surroundings, searching for light switches, handles, anything that resembled normality. In vain. No switches, no door handles, only smooth surfaces and a single small window on the opposite wall.
He walked toward it carefully. With every movement he felt the wound on his hand, the burning on his skin, the ache in his arms. Okay. Stay calm. Proceed logically. He felt along the wall, tried to activate light. Nothing happened. Nothing. Only darkness and the ice-cold floor beneath his feet.
Then he stepped up to the window. His breath lightly fogged the glass, and for a moment he thought that everything was just a dream. But the sight made his heart race. Before him stretched the infinite blackness of space. Beneath him floated a planet, green and blue, immense, so alien and yet alive. This… cannot be. I am not dreaming. This is real.
Behind him something crackled softly, barely audible, yet sharp in the stillness of the room. Tori turned around, and between the shadows shimmered something that looked like a tear in reality, flickering, glittering, unstable. Crackling lines spread across the floor, the room, like a thin, pulsating veil. His gaze followed them. If this… is the rupture… then I have to…
He moved toward it cautiously. Every step was a balance between curiosity and fear. The edges of the rupture flickered and slowly began to close. Instinct and panic set in. Do not lose it. Do not miss it. Now. Tori sprinted, tried to hurl himself through. But his legs were too sluggish, his reflexes too slow. Fragments of reality tore across his arms, his back, his shoulders, burning cuts, deep abrasions. Pain like he had never known before. And suddenly it became clear to him: this was no dream. No game, no nightmare. It was reality. Blood, burning skin, the cold, the incomprehensible room, all of it real.
A metallic hum announced movement. A door in the wall opened, and light flooded in, blinding, harsh, as if it wanted to burn out his pupils. Tori closed his eyes, let out a hoarse sound, tried to shield himself. When he cautiously looked up again, he recognized two humanoid silhouettes. Armor, rigid, impersonal. No faces. No indication whether friend or foe. Only presence, threatening, alien.
They spoke. Words, fast, rhythmic, unintelligible. To Tori, a wall of sounds his brain could not process. Each word like a blow crashing against his concentration. Hunger throbbed in his stomach, thirst burned in his throat. The wounds hurt, every movement a spike. Fear, pain, exhaustion, and confusion blended into a glaring torrent that overwhelmed him.
He staggered back, legs soft as jelly, hands searching for support. Everything blurred, light, shadows, the foreign figures, the burning pain of the cuts. His mind fought desperately against the overload. One last breath, one desperate attempt to stay upright, and then he lost his footing.
His body collapsed. The world spun, everything pulsed, glowed, and blurred. The reality around him, so alien, so unfathomable, was stronger than he was. And finally: unconsciousness.

---

I open my eyes and everything is softly muted, as if the light itself were falling through a veil. My head throbs, every movement a stabbing pain, and my arms feel heavy, as if they were carrying invisible weights. I am lying on something hard, but not uncomfortable, almost like a bed, but different. Above me hang wires and sensors, small lights blinking gently, some displays flickering in colors I cannot classify. My breath pulls heavily through my chest as I try to grasp the scene.
The devices around me look futuristic, too complex to fit anything I know. A heartbeat monitor? Maybe. A scanner? I cannot tell. My first thought is: hospital. I am lying on some kind of medical bed, connected to all these machines. My body feels dulled, and for a moment I wonder if I simply passed out while playing. Had I overexerted myself? Was it a collapse? Had a fellow student or maybe a lecturer found me and called emergency services?
Then the doors open and light floods in, brighter than I can tolerate. I blink and see two people slowly entering. Both wear white uniforms, precise and sterile, like something from hospital films. I want to move, to say something, but my throat feels dry and alien. My heart races. Okay. Stay calm. They are human. They… look human.
But when they speak, it becomes clear: I do not understand a word. It is not just muffled speech or a strange accent. The sounds they form have no meaning to me at all. I try to answer, say, “Hello? I…”, but the words get stuck, fade as if wrapped in cotton. Their faces react, surprised, confused, but not alarmed. They understand me just as little as I understand them.
They go over the displays, check something, point at monitors, type, press buttons, continue murmuring in a language I do not know. My head hurts even more as my brain desperately tries to extract meaning from the sounds. No. This cannot be. This is impossible… I am at home… right? I press my palms against the mattress, searching for grounding, but everything feels alien.
After a few minutes that feel like hours, the two turn around and leave the room. The door closes soundlessly, and the dim light envelops me again. The machines hum softly, a monotone drone, and I lie there alone, my body heavy, my head dulled, my thoughts tangled. My heart still pounds, adrenaline and fear mixing as I try to make sense of where I am.
Hospital… I am… I am in a hospital. But… what about the game? The monitor? Reality?
Everything feels strange, out of place. The sounds, the light, the displays, all too perfect, too clean. I feel like an observer, alien in a world that seems both familiar and unreachable. My hands tremble, and I know that I can do nothing but wait until someone returns or something happens. Alone with this feeling of isolation, uncertainty, and the insatiable urge to understand where I have ended up.

I open my eyes again and immediately notice the difference. No pressure in my head, no paralyzing heaviness anymore, as if I had slept for hours in a fog. My body feels surprisingly fit, muscles loose, the cuts only aching faintly. For a moment I prop myself up on my elbows, breathing deeply. Clarity returns, and with it an indistinct sense of caution and curiosity.
I sit up, stand slowly, and begin to inspect the room more closely. The walls are smooth, metallic, reflecting the dim glow of the devices. Sensors blink in rhythmic intervals, monitors display patterns and numbers I do not understand, yet which somehow feel familiar. A bed, a small table, a chair, everything minimalist, functional, almost clinical. I walk around, tap the surfaces, examine the displays, feel along the walls. Everything is clean, sterile, and at the same time alien. No switches, no obvious doors, only a window through which I once again see the green-blue planet.
I lean briefly against the window frame, breathe deeply, and think about how strange everything is. How did I get here? What happened? My heart beats calmly, but alert. Everything is quiet, only the soft hum of the machines breaks the silence. I feel the tension in my body, still latent since the abrupt arrival.
Suddenly the door opens again. My heart speeds up, reflexes kick in. It is her, the woman from before. But this time I can see more. Long, petrol-colored hair, slightly wavy, tied into a firm ponytail. Purple eyes that almost glow in the dim light. Her skin lightly tanned, like that of a Latina, and the muscles beneath the uniform look strong but not exaggerated. I cannot help but pause and wonder whether this is all natural or supported by some form of modification. She is about 1.70 meters tall, present, but not threatening.
Hardly has she entered the room when a man follows. The same armor I saw upon my arrival, now visible from head to toe. He is a full head taller than I am, massively built, with a gaze that radiates both respect and intimidation. Shaved head, gray eyes, cold but focused. I immediately register every movement, every gesture. Was he one of the men who brought me here? Military? Police?
The woman begins to say something in a language that is still foreign to me, and the man answers calmly. A small, controlled discussion develops, no voice raised, no emotion exaggerated. I have sat back down on the bed, watching attentively, my thoughts racing. Somehow the language seems familiar, as if I had heard it somewhere before… but what in the world is this?
The man steps toward me while the woman remains in the background. He places a small device on the table beside me and begins to gesture, as if prompting me to speak. Hesitantly, I do.
I say my name: “Tori Grau…”
My voice sounds hoarse, alien in the stillness of the room. But as I begin to tell what happened, I feel a weight lift from me. Words, thoughts, explanations, everything I have felt since the incident with the monitor finally becomes tangible, articulated. After a few minutes, the man nods, taps on his device, and suddenly I hear the words clearly. Translated. It sounds monotone, neutral, but understandable.
“I am Tahl Brenna,” the voice from the device says. “Chief of Security of the Argon Trade Station Alpha One, Planet Argon Prime.”
I flinch. My brain tries to process the information. Trade station, Argon Prime, chief of security, terms that sound like science fiction, and yet everything sounds real. The monitors spike, alarm messages flicker, and immediately the woman steps closer, checks the displays, her hands fast and precise. She admonishes Tahl that he should not put me, the patient, into a state of shock.
“Valentina Esposito,” someone says, apparently her introducing herself.
I cautiously try to form a question, whether they believe me, whether something like this has happened before.
Tahl shrugs. “Never with someone who appeared suddenly. But… there are some reports of people who disappeared and reappeared in a similar way.”
The woman, about mid-twenties, strong, clear-eyed, professional, throws me one last assessing look. “Rest for the patient,” she says, and without another glance gently but firmly ushers the chief of security out of the room.
I am alone again in the dim light. But this time it is not just the light that surrounds me. A small datapad lies beside me. It is set to my language, the language of the Argons, to help me learn it. I run my hand over it, feel the smooth surface, the ease with which I could at least begin to understand this foreign world.
For a moment I lean back and take a deep breath. The loneliness is still there, the fear as well, but for the first time since arriving I feel a tiny piece of control. A tool to understand, to learn, perhaps even to survive.

I followed Tahl Brenna through the corridors of the station, my steps quiet on the smooth metal floor. Everything around us was busy, countless individuals hurrying past, each caught in their own mission. I stayed close behind him, my eyes darting restlessly, memorizing every detail: the way they moved, the colors of their skin, the shapes of their armor, the devices they carried.
Instinctively, I compared them to what I knew from the “X” series. There was a Teladi female, scales a rich green, slender arms ending in sharp claws, and beside her a male, bluish shimmering scales, studying works of art with a strange grace. I recognized the species immediately.
A Boron glided past us, lower body like an octopus, upper part like a seahorse, skin turquoise-violet, every tentacle encased in a tight environmental suit. They can hardly survive without their suits. Incredible.
A few Paranid, tall and intimidating, rough, sand-colored skin, three eyes fixed on me. Their posture arrogant, superior, exactly like in the game. I swallowed. If they knew how small I felt here…
And then, almost at the edge of my vision, several Split. Reptilian, gray-black skin, six fingers and toes, small empty holes instead of noses and ears. Mercenaries, I thought immediately. Aggressive, territorial. Better not get too close.
I shook my head inwardly. Everything here I immediately compared to the game. But how accurate was that really? In “X”, everything was logical, predictable, structured by algorithms. Here? Everything felt real, dangerous, unpredictable.
The few fragments of Argon that I had learned during my days in the medical station barely helped me. Most of the time I had been examined or interrogated. Now, however, we were on our way to the security level, and I felt a cold fear spreading inside me. Would they lock me up? Should I run? No. I had no money, no idea where to flee. If they imprisoned me, I would at least get food, water, and a place to sleep.
I played the scenario through in my head. If I fled, I would have to steal, maybe use violence, go places I had never imagined. And even then, most here were stronger, faster, more experienced. Even the “weakest” on this station would overpower me.
When we reached the security department, it became clear that this was some form of official registration. Biometric data were taken: fingerprints, iris scan, DNA. Everything was fed into a database to find potential relatives. No hits. At least not within the Argon Federation.
Tahl handed me an ID card. “Functions as an identity document, passport, and bank card,” he explained. He told me that they had already transferred ten thousand credits to me from a state fund for the homeless, the lost, or the disadvantaged. Suddenly I felt the weight of my situation. In “X” I at least had a ship as living space, a few credits to start with. Here? Nothing.
I looked at the card in my hand, felt the weight of the responsibility now resting on me. How long would ten thousand credits last? A week? A month? Or just a few days? I needed to secure lodging on the station or an apartment on the planet. And all of this while barely understanding the language. Every interaction would be a hurdle, every transaction a risk.
I swallowed. My thoughts churned, as they always did in moments like this. Fear, uncertainty, overload. And yet, a small spark remained: a beginning. If I did nothing now, I would sink. I had to learn to adapt, to protect myself, and to understand my surroundings. Step by step.

I left the security level with the ID card in my hand and a dull feeling in my stomach. Tahl Brenna had said goodbye in a matter-of-fact manner, almost formally distant. No more suspicion, but no closeness either. I was probably an open case to him, nothing more. One of many special incidents that were documented and then handed over to bureaucracy.
Alone.
The word carried a different weight here.
The corridors branched, grew wider, higher, louder. Displays flickered on the walls, holograms advertised goods, services, transport. Everything in Argon, too fast, too complex. I stopped, more from overload than intent, and let the stream of individuals pass me by. No one paid attention to me. I was inconspicuous, foreign, insignificant. A state I knew from my old life, only here it could have deadly consequences.
Quarters. Food. Orientation.
Three simple goals. And I had no idea how to approach even one of them.
I lifted the ID card and looked at it again. Smooth, inconspicuous, a small symbol of the Argon Federation. Ten thousand credits. In my mind I tried to translate that into something tangible, but failed. In the game I would now be comparing prices, opening tables, optimizing. Here there was no user interface, no pause button.
I began to move, following no specific path, letting myself drift. Unconsciously, I paid attention to emergency exits, cameras, security personnel. Old habits. Survival always began with observation.
“Tori?”
I stopped abruptly. My name. Clearly spoken. My heart jumped, and I turned around.
Valentina Esposito stood a few meters behind me.
Without medical devices, without dim light, without the sterile distance of the hospital room, she looked different. More real. She wore a simple, light uniform, more practical than before, but clearly medical. Her petrol-colored hair was still tied in a ponytail, a few strands had come loose. The purple eyes studied me attentively, but not coldly. More… concerned.
“Thou have already been discharged,” she said slowly, clearly. Her Argon was clean, almost accent-free, but she spoke in a way I could follow. She had adapted. To me.
“Yes,” I answered after a brief hesitation. “Just now.”
A few seconds of silence. People passed us, humans and aliens alike, but around us a small bubble of calm formed. Valentina examined my face, my posture, probably searching for signs of overload. She found them.
“Thou look lost,” she said openly.
I twisted my mouth. “I am.”
A light, almost apologetic smile crossed her face. “I was hoping to catch thou. Before they… leave thou to yourself.”
I did not know what to answer. My first impulse was rejection. Pride. Reflex. I can manage. I had told myself that my whole life, even when it was rarely true.
“Thank thou,” I finally said, “but I do not want to trouble thee.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew how ridiculous they sounded.
Valentina did not fold her arms, did not step closer, did not apply pressure. She simply looked at me. Calm. Assessing. Like someone who had learned to read people in exceptional situations.
“Tori,” she said, and the way she used my name alone made my defenses crumble. “Thou barely speakest the language. Thou knowest not the procedures. Thou have no social network, no address, no contact person. That is not inconvenience. That is risk.”
I exhaled slowly. She was right. And I hated it.
“I… do not want to be a burden,” I murmured.
“Then do not be,” she replied calmly. “Let thyself be helped. That is something else.”
I fell silent. Two sides fought within me. One wanted distance, control, independence. The other was tired. Exhausted. Alone. And painfully aware of how quickly one could disappear here without anyone noticing.
“What… do thou suggest?” I finally asked.
Valentina nodded almost imperceptibly, as if she had been waiting for exactly that. “First something simple. Food. Then a temporary quarter. There are transition units on the station for newcomers without status. Not comfortable, but safe. And inexpensive.”
“Inexpensive” sounded good. Survivable.
“And after that?” I asked.
“After that we shall see,” she said. “Perhaps language programs. Perhaps an intermediary. Perhaps… time.”
Time. A luxury I had never really had.
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
The word felt heavy, but also right.
We walked off side by side. This time I paid less attention to the foreign beings around us, less to potential dangers. Instead, I listened to her steps, steady, calm. She unconsciously adjusted her pace to mine.
“Why do thou help me?” I asked after a while.
Valentina did not look at me immediately. “Because thou are not a fraud,” she said. “And not a criminal. And because I saw how thou reacted when thou was told where thou are.”
I swallowed. “How did I react?”
“Honestly,” she answered. “And afraid. People who lie react differently.”
I thought of the moment when the name Argon Prime had fallen. Of the monitors spiking. Of my loss of control.
“Besides,” she added, “we do not have many people like thee. Not here. Not like this.”
I looked at her. “Like me?”
She smiled faintly. “Lost between worlds.”
We fell silent again. But this time it was not uncomfortable. More a cautious agreement.
For the first time since waking up on this station, I felt that I was not completely alone.
And that frightened me almost as much as everything else.

Valentina accompanied me to the station’s residential modules. The farther we moved away from the bustling core, the quieter the corridors became. Less traffic, less noise, more sober functionality. The transition quarters were not hidden, but clearly low on the priority list.
“The cheapest units cost ten credits per Tazura,” she explained as she stopped at a terminal and showed me the display.
I frowned. “Tazura…”
She smiled lightly. “I thought so. Come, brief introduction.”
While she confirmed the booking, she began to explain the interstellar time system to me. Sezura, Mizura, Stazura, Tazura, each unit cleanly standardized, detached from planetary cycles. It made sense. Too much sense. In a community spanning dozens of star systems, anything else would be impractical.
When she reached the Tazura and explained that one of them corresponded to a little more than an Earth day, it slowly clicked for me. Even more so when she casually mentioned that one was considered an adult at thirteen Jazuras.
I calculated in my head, slower than usual. Thirteen Jazuras… interstellar. Eighteen human years. And she herself?
“Earlier thou said… eighteen point five Jazuras?” I asked cautiously.
She nodded. “Approximately.”
So about twenty-five. My first impression had not deceived me. Still, it was strange to hear these numbers. Everything was familiar and foreign at once. Humans, yes. But not my humans. Not my timekeeping. Not my history.
When she casually explained that the Argons did calculate in human years, but had deviations due to the Argon system, Argon Prime as the fourth planet of Son-Ra, not the third like Earth of Sol, it felt as if someone were slowly but inexorably shifting my internal coordinate system.
The transition quarter itself was… spartan. A small room, two chairs, a narrow table between them, a stasis box for food, a sanitation module, a sleeping niche. No windows. No view. Functional. Safe. Empty.
I stepped inside and let my gaze wander.
“Not luxurious,” Valentina said with a sweeping gesture, “but solid.”
I nodded. Luxury was a concept from another life.
There was neither food nor drink. Good that she had shown me where to shop on the way here. The brief detour had given me another lesson, this time about credits. Prices, relations, purchasing power. As I had walked through the shelves, my mind had instinctively converted. In the end I arrived at a rough rate of about one credit to five euros.
Expensive. But not unimaginable.
I stored the purchases in the stasis box and sat down opposite her. The table between us felt almost symbolic. Closeness at a distance.
Valentina leaned back and looked at me silently for a moment, as if considering how much more she could impose on me.
“There are other human factions besides the Argons,” she began.
I lifted my head. Humans.
She spoke of the Argons themselves, and what followed hit me unexpectedly hard. That they had not evolved on Argon Prime. That they had originally been a Terran colony called Taurus. Founded in the year 2046. More than nine hundred years ago.
I said nothing, forcing myself to remain calm.
She continued, speaking of the identity crisis this realization had triggered, of the near collapse of the Federation, of the Terrans who withdrew their claim to avoid provoking a war. Of the Goner, who preserved knowledge, secured Cloudbase Southwest, and later joined the Terrans.
In my mind, what she said collided with what I knew from the X series. Similarities, yes. But also deviations. Significant ones. I remained silent. This was not the moment to correct lore, especially not when I myself was part of a deviation.
When she spoke of Aldrin, of the rediscovered jump gate in the year 2938, of an isolated Terran colony that had never forgotten Earth, I felt an unexpected pull in my chest. They remembered. And we?
She explained the political tensions, the possible shift of power in favor of the Terrans over the next hundred years, the speculation about further lost colonies from the time of the first Terraformer War. All logical. All unsettling.
Then she spoke of the jump gates. Of the Old Ones. Of centuries of research without a breakthrough. And finally of the accelerators. Space highways. Terran technology. Independently developed.
I sank into the chair. My head was full. Too full.
“Thank thee,” I finally said. The word came out more quietly than I intended.
Valentina accepted it without false modesty. “If thou wish, I can help thee learn the trade language,” she offered. “Translators are practical, but they do not help with facial expressions, gestures, or… undertones.”
I knew she was right. And I also knew that I must not reject this offer out of pride.
“That would be… good,” I said.
She smiled, stood up, and said goodbye shortly thereafter. When the door closed behind her, it was quiet again.
I ate something, drank, sat for a long time doing nothing. My thoughts circled, reordered themselves, found no firm hold. At some point I lay down. Sleep came restless, fragmented.
And somewhere between waking and dreaming, it became clear to me that this was no longer a prologue.
This was my new life.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 1
Insights

I had slept unexpectedly well. Perhaps it was because my body, after all the chaos on the station, desperately needed rest. Or perhaps it was because I had spent days under stress without really sleeping. No money, no housing, no idea what to do next. And now? Now I had at least taken two steps. Well, more like two half-steps. I had money – gifted from a state fund – but no income. I had shelter – temporary – but no long-term security. And the future? It was so uncertain that merely thinking about it made my chest tighten.
Yet I had done something. Subconsciously. Something I never would have managed before. I was learning the interstellar trade language. I, Tori Grau, who had started and abandoned several degrees because learning never came easy to me. And now it was… strangely simple. I understood the structures, the grammar, the logic behind the words. It reminded me of German in parts. I recognized English borrowings and Japanese suffixes and words that shifted the flow of sentences. The challenge wasn’t the language itself, but the historical mixture and dialect. After nine centuries, everything had shifted. Even simple terms often only made sense in context.
My worry that the money would run out quickly drove me out of the quarters. I had to provide for myself, even if I had to improvise. Near my temporary housing, I came across an old, somewhat shady Argon. The merchant looked as if he had been standing there for decades without anyone ever checking his license. His stall was small and unremarkable, but full of goods from Terran territories.
I wandered without aim and found something: Terran Tonic and Protein Slabs. The tonic was an electrolyte drink for pilots, supposedly replenishing all fluid loss. The protein slabs could replace entire meals, were nutritious and standardized. Both tasted like… nothing. My first bite of a slab made me squint; the flavor was neutral to the extreme. Yet the effect was quick. Hours passed without hunger, despite minimal intake. The tonic did as promised: rehydrated quickly and efficiently. My body thanked me, but my bladder reminded me of the work required.
Nearby, I discovered Orbital Coffee. The name was literal: caffeinated for spacers and station dwellers. I wanted the effect, a small piece of normality from my old life. I took a sip, then another. Ten minutes later, I sat in the restroom holding my stomach as cramps tore through me. Twice I tried it – twice the same result. My body rejected it.
I left the cup and looked at the protein slabs. Neutral, unremarkable, functional. Just like I felt in this strange world. Survival was pragmatic. Taste, comfort, aesthetics – all secondary.
I sat on the bed with the small datapad on my knees. While practicing the trade language, my gaze kept drifting to the windows, the blinking holograms outside the corridor, the aliens bustling by. Teladi, Boron, Paranid, Split… each reminded me of my old gaming knowledge of X. But this was real. My theory that species behaved like in the game was a start, but only a start. Every action had consequences.
Between learning, eating, drinking, and small daily tasks, I felt a strange mix of emptiness and control. I could not change what had happened – I was here, alien, lost. But I could learn. I could eat. I could survive. Small steps. Two half-steps.
While chewing the slabs, hands sticky from the tonic, stomach slowly calming, I thought of the coming days. The language barrier, the lack of orientation, whether I could help myself here at all.
I found a bar serving exclusively Argon drinks and meals. The promenade was quiet in the morning, but signs were already blinking, holograms vying for attention. Hyper Brew read a small display. I had heard of this powder. Popular, apparently, a stimulant for station residents. One shoveled it into the mouth and washed it down with a Star Cola or another drink.
At home, I tried it first. The feeling was surprisingly pleasant. Alert, focused – with a slight euphoria. But after a few hours, the crash came. Fatigue, nausea, headaches. The urge to consume more overwhelmed me. This was no help. This was a drug. And I did not want to become dependent.
So I went back to Star Cola. Sweet, fizzy, almost familiar. I drank it like water, staying awake. Yet concentration faltered. My thoughts drifted the moment I focused on language exercises. I needed air – or at least the station’s artificial promenade air.
Stalls lined up, each offering different goods, foods, drinks, or strange substances. I asked around, seeking something to aid learning. Most offered familiar products I disliked, or my body rejected. Some were outright illegal, others subtly so. Eventually, I returned to the shady Argon who sold the Terran goods. He had not only Terran products, but also others.
“Teladian Cola Gel,” he showed me. Thick, honey-like, pure sugar. The black mass with golden beads looked like space but tasted awful. I barely managed a sip. A failed purchase.
Then a blue-glitter drink from the Boron – N-Charge. And a nondescript purple Bloodwake Wine from the Split. I left all alien drinks. My stomach wasn’t ready for unknown biochemistry. And honestly, I was too wary. How could such different species digest these foods?
Finally, he pointed out Void Juice. Unknown origin, secret ingredients. Made from fungi grown inside asteroids. Skeptical, I tried it.
It was… astonishing.
Void Juice made learning ten times easier. Star Cola kept me awake, Nutri Slabs nourished my body. I felt productive, clear, unstoppable. For five days.
Then I realized something was wrong.
The merchant demanded higher sums for the same Void Juice. Supply instability. My body reacted differently. Energy waned. I reached for a new vial, hands shaking, unable to hold it. The vial fell, shattering.
A sound caught my attention. Familiar yet strange. Suddenly, my frozen gaze left the liquid. My heart raced. I wanted to reach the door. Legs like rubber. Every step a battle. Minutes passed; seconds stretched.
Finally, I stood at the door, opened it – and lost balance. Falling backward, a dull thud, no real pain, just numbness. Vision blurred. Sounds fluctuated.
Shapes emerged, first vague, then clear. Close. Too close. My body twitched as if to rise, but only uncontrolled movements were possible.
Something warm and wet between my legs made me recoil. Embarrassing. I could barely move. Voices – clear, distorted – reached me. I thought I heard my name.
The face… familiar. A nurse. Valentina Esposito. At the hospital. Who? My memory scrambled, unable to piece fragments together.
Before I lost consciousness, a moment of crystal-clear understanding: Valentina knelt beside me, activating a medical emergency via her bracelet. For whom? Me!
I felt my senses fading. The cold floor mixed with the dull throbbing in my head. My heart raced, every breath heavier than the last. The warmth between my legs made me flinch, while I could barely move. Everything around me blurred: voices, lights, sounds – nothing remained consistent.
Then came the voice. Clear, firm, familiar – Valentina. “Tori!” Her tone carried urgency but also calm. I could not speak, not even think of speaking. Only instinct remained.
I felt her kneel beside me. Her hands touched me, checking pulse, breathing, reactions. Soft beeps and clicks filled my ears. I understood: she was using her medical bracelet to immediately signal an emergency. A gentle but controlled tug on my arm steadied me – she guided me, stabilized me.
Small electrical impulses, temperature probes, monitors – everything connected to me. Unpleasant, yet not painful. Slowly, very slowly, I drew deeper breaths. Stomach cramps subsided, nausea waned. My heartbeat slowed, just a little.
“Stay calm, Tori. Breathe through it,” her words reached me through the translator device. Her purple eyes shone with focus as she monitored the displays. I could barely tell if she spoke or simply observed. Something in her gaze reassured me.
Footsteps approached, voices on metal floors, speaking too fast to comprehend. Two more figures entered – humanoid, not human. A brief tense exchange, then attention returned to me. Valentina instinctively shielded me, hand on my shoulder, silently saying: It’s under control.
Gradually, the surroundings felt more stable. Heat, the warmth that had formed between my legs, disappeared. My hands stopped trembling. My thoughts, previously scattered, regained some order. I could feel my body belonged to me – at least a little.
Eventually, the environment grew heavier, as if gravity increased. Voices, lights, sounds – all vanished into a white haze. I wanted to scream, to cling on, but could not. One final thought remained: Void…
And then, silence.
When I opened my eyes, everything had changed. I lay in a soft, stable bed. Above, dim lighting, indirect, not harsh. Devices beeped rhythmically, showing values I could not fully comprehend, yet comforting. My body felt my own again. No tremors, no burning, no dull pain.

I blinked and recognized the familiar sterile setting: an ICU bed, monitors, walls painted in soft colors, everything clean and orderly. I was back in the medical station. But this time, the intensive care unit. Standing beside me was Valentina Esposito, in her white uniform, her teal hair in a ponytail, purple eyes watching me intently.
“Thou are stable again, Tori,” she said, clearly now. I blinked, still dazed but able to understand. My body and mind felt clearer, ready for the next steps.
Valentina crossed her arms, her presence commanding. “Thou had damned luck,” she continued. I tried to speak, but she did not allow it. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of sternness and concern.
“I have checked in before,” she said, “but thou did never respond. I grew concerned and decided to use the medical override. My intuition did not fail. Thou would have died.”
I could only stare, speechless, body still a wreck. Circulation, muscles, mind – all in ruin.
Valentina did not relent. She explained the dangers of Void Juice: “Void Juice is made from rare fungi and microorganisms grown in asteroid cavities or abandoned stations. Cultivation is complex, composition unstable. It exists only on the black market. Sometimes sugar or artificial flavors are added to make it palatable.”
I listened half-heartedly as my head throbbed. She continued: “Effects? Short-term alertness and concentration increase – high dependency after brief use. Mild euphoria, slightly faster reactions. But risks are severe: overdose can cause nervousness, heart racing, insomnia, even hallucinations. Long-term use may result in neurological damage.”
My heart sank. I had hoped it was merely a mild stimulant. Instead, her words called into question everything I had done.
She told me that a mild fungal infection had begun in my stomach and intestines. Fortunately, only early stage. No wonder my bowel movements had been liquid. My stomach had rebelled, and I still had not fully accepted that it was my fault.
“Fortunate is thy brain spared,” she added. “Doctors believe thy physiology differs from Argons. That has protected thee.”

Days passed. I felt miserable, though each day slightly better. Was it withdrawal? I did not know. I wanted to appear friendly, at least neutral, yet my mood remained at rock bottom. When nurses or doctors entered, I merely stared ahead.
Valentina came occasionally. Initially, her gaze was icy, but over time, and as she observed me longer, it softened.
When I was discharged, she was not there. A quiet emptiness weighed heavier than my physical ailments. Her face, her voice, her presence – all had given me safety. Now I was alone, but perhaps, I thought, I could manage without her.
I stepped through the medical station doors into the artificial garden. The sunlight shone brightly through transparent walls, reflecting on metal surfaces of paths and domes over plants. Everything perfectly arranged, sterile beauty. Yet I felt no joy in colors, scents, or futuristic gadgets. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Here, among the meticulously grown trees and glowing shrubs, I realized one immutable truth: This is no story where I am a hero. No anime world, no manga adventure. I possessed no supernatural powers, no endless energy, no magical inventory of countless healing potions, no status display explaining the world. Nothing. Only me – an average young man, who two weeks ago lived in a familiar reality.
My heart quickened. Every step on the metallic plates felt risky. One false move, one careless action, and who knew what would happen? No mercy for mistakes. No rewind. No second chance.
I thought of Void Juice, Star Cola, Nutri Slabs. They had helped or harmed me. Out here, I was nothing. My eyes scanned the area, noting security personnel, races moving between paths. Every movement potentially deadly, every encounter unpredictable.
I sank onto a bench among the artificial trees, letting my gaze wander. Pulse slowed only gradually, but the realization remained: every mistake is final. Every misstep could be the end. No stats, no levels, no protection. Only my body, my mind – and the merciless reality of this world.
And I was unprepared. Not even close.
I flinched as a hand touched my left shoulder. Lightning shot through me, heart skipped a beat. I jerked up as if struck by the bolt itself. Pure fear. An assault? Abduction? Someone intending harm?
I looked up. Valentina. Eyes wide, forehead slightly furrowed. Concern in every movement. “Tori, how are thou?” The single question released something long held back.
Suddenly, everything collapsed within me. The facade I had maintained for days shattered. Tears ran down my cheeks. “I… I know not…” I stammered, words drowned in sobs. I told her everything: my understanding of this world, that I am no hero, that every mistake could kill. I spoke of fear of the future, of the universe, of people, aliens, everything.
Valentina tried to calm me with words. I only heard a roar, an echo of my own terror. Finally, she sighed and pulled a small injection device from her pocket. “This will help stabilize thee,” she said, administering a sedative. Panic slowly withdrew, like a heavy cloak lifted from my shoulders.

Shortly after, the world opened again. I woke in a neurological ward. Not ICU – a relief, absurd as it seemed. My body felt heavy, yet more stable. I breathed deeply, sensing the reality of my situation and the security of the sterile room.
After restful sleep – I did not know how long – Tahl Brenna entered. No armor this time. Uniform stylish: black with blue and green elements. I whispered a faint compliment, which he acknowledged with a nod and brief smile before addressing the reason for his visit.
He wanted to know where I had gotten the Void Juice and who sold it. Calmly, he handed me a datapad. “Write everything,” he said. “Every detail, every observation.”
I began documenting: locations, times, appearance of the shady Argon near my quarters, and other vendors I had encountered.
I could not help but smile. Absurdly, I had spent more time in the hospital than outside since arrival. Reality was ruthless; days felt like playing on Ultimate-Hell difficulty with permadeath: one mistake could end it all. A thought that sent chills down my spine.
I stayed two more days under observation. They feared I might harm myself. I knew I valued my life; fear of death kept me alert. Meanwhile, scans confirmed I was not Argon; my biology was only marginally compatible. Terran blood was rare; few could compare.
As I was discharged, Tahl Brenna was again beside me. He escorted me to the security office. I could hardly believe it: 50,000 credits deposited in my account. My mouth fell open. “With the information thou have given,” Tahl explained, “we apprehended not only a dealer but an entire ring.”
Valentina appeared, civilian attire, discreet but unmistakable. She would escort me. My heart skipped a beat as Tahl said: “We shall fly.”
“Fly?” I asked, voice trembling.
“From Trade Station Alpha 1 to Argon Prime,” Tahl explained. “Thou shall be placed in a safehouse as a witness, and Valentina will accompany thee with evidence of thy investigations.”
My pulse raced. Panic surged again. Would a criminal organization pursue me? Would I die before even adjusting? I wanted my reality back, safety of my room, simple daily worries, not life-or-death. At most, threats in my games.
But it was too late. This reality is merciless, and it grants no pause for tears or fear.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 2
Strange New World

I was escorted across the space station by Tahl and a handful of his men. They wore full armor, heavy, angular, functional, and visibly armed. Their weapons did not seem a show of force, but a sober necessity. Valentina accompanied us. If she felt fear or discomfort, she did not betray it. Her gait was calm, controlled, almost routine.
I, on the other hand, flinched at every play of light, every shadow breaking across the metallic walls of the corridors. My body reacted faster than my mind.
We avoided the open pathways of the station. No promenades, no merchants, no dense crowds of various species. Instead, narrow maintenance corridors led us through the interior. Bundles of cables ran along the walls, thick pipes pulsed quietly, and somewhere condensation dripped onto the floor at regular intervals. Tahl led the way. Occasionally, he raised a hand, made a sign, and his men responded immediately. Not a word was spoken.
I let my thoughts wander. Was I truly in danger? No one knew me. I was no politician, no military officer, no influential trader. I was a nobody. Why all this effort? Why these detours? Why not just go to the regular docking bays?
Or did I underestimate the organization whose affairs I had stumbled into? Was the dismantled drug ring only a small part of something greater? Something prepared to erase a witness?
I wanted to ask, repeatedly. Yet each time, my voice stuck in my throat. The tension within the group was palpable, and I sensed that every unnecessary word here would be out of place.
Time crawled, yet nothing happened. No alarms, no gunfire, no sudden movements. Eventually, we reached our destination. A nondescript airlock opened, and I entered a compact personnel transporter with Tahl and Valentina. The remaining security forces took positions in escort fighters.
All ships shared one feature. Aside from the clearly Argon design, they were painted in a dark, nearly midnight blue, with secondary accents in deep green. Identification, not decoration. They were police vessels.

As the transporter began its flight, my stomach contracted slightly. No sudden jolt, no dramatic roar – rather, a steady lift that felt wrong because my body expected something else. Leaving the trading station, I felt almost weightless.
I was glad I had been instructed to sit and buckle in. Without a spacesuit, I had no magnetic boots, no way to move freely within the ship. A brief, irrational thought crossed my mind: What if I broke free and simply drifted away?
Through a porthole, I looked out. The circular shape of the trading station now seemed familiar. It resembled a gigantic wheel more than the abstract constructs I had seen in films or series. Only now did I understand why I had been able to move normally there. The station rotated around its axis. The resulting centrifugal force created artificial gravity.
A simple principle. Yet I had never thought about it.
Here, on this ship, there was no rotation. No centrifugal force, no Earth-like simulation. Zero gravity. Hence magnetic boots, harnesses, other solutions. Reality was not spectacular. It was functional.
I swallowed. This was no tale of heroes. No stage for grand gestures or superhuman feats. This was a world that functioned – or crushed you if you were not careful. And I had arrived only recently.
I continued staring at a distant blue nebula. Passing ships looked like tiny specks, space stations mere streaks in the void. A sober, almost brutal perspective: all that films or games made appear near and tangible was in truth so distant that the eye barely grasped it. I had to force myself to comprehend it, or the scale of space would remain incomprehensible.
Slowly, I leaned back, trying to shake off panic, and glanced cautiously toward the cockpit. Questions pressed forward, ones I had held since the station: “Why did we use the secret passages? From whom do we flee?”
Tahl answered without being seen, his voice firm as always. “We flee not. Security comes first. Especially, because an opportunity like this is rare – and likely shall not return.” I felt my shoulders relax slightly, though the words were only a thin shield against my inner unease.
He explained that the Argon Federation’s security agencies had long combated illegal trade, dismantling rings both small and large. Yet despite their efforts, the gaps quickly filled again. The system was complex, riddled like a net where pirates or smugglers always slipped through somewhere.
Valentina spoke for the first time. Calm, matter-of-fact, yet her eyes betrayed skepticism. She did not blindly trust official reports of safety and peace. In the Federation’s core, here on Argon Prime and in orbit, criminal syndicates were scarcely active – at least, that was her impression.
Tahl merely grunted in agreement. Then he said: “The government and authorities wish to project an image of the peaceful core sector. Yet appearances deceive. They exist here. Subtle, not open.”
Valentina asked: “Who is behind it?”
Tahl paused. Whether he did not know or weighed how much to reveal, I could not tell. “It is not known precisely. All flows through strawmen, intermediaries. Usually several actors. Therefore it is hard to apprehend anyone.”
I dared the direct question: “But there are names, are there not?”
No answer.
Valentina added two words: “Yaki… Free League of Hatikvah.”
Tahl snorted, no comment.
A strange déjà-vu settled over me. I recognized these terms from lore, but here? Everything felt more real, more painful. I quietly asked Valentina if the Yaki were merely pirates like Hatikvah. She replied to him, while Argon Prime filled the porthole:
“The Yaki are the vile sort of pirates. Freighter raids, hostage-taking, and then slave trade if no ransom is paid. Hatikvah… piracy has not been verified there. It is a city-state within the Argon Federation.”
I listened intently. I had never heard of Hatikvah like this. So the lore differed from the game’s version! I remained silent, to hide either my knowledge – or ignorance.
Valentina continued: “All jump gates of the old ones, who built them millions of years ago, were deactivated in 778 NAT. No one had ever seen them. In 809 NAT, they were reactivated – partially with altered connections. The political situation is tense. Star systems that were once neighbors now lie several jumps apart, some in other species’ territories.”
I calculated in my head, having only recently learned the dating system: 778 NAT equaled 2947 on the Terran calendar, 809 NAT equaled 2973. And now? The year? I did not know and kept silent, perhaps to avoid embarrassment.
I gazed back into space. Reality was merciless. No game mechanics, no inventory, no status windows. Every small mistake could be fatal. My heart pounded as I tried to sort numbers, names, and events. Artificial gravity, movement on board still unfamiliar, yet… I felt alive. But small. Incredibly small in this infinite, unpredictable cosmos.
Despite this, what Tahl and Valentina said had given me only a framework. I now roughly understood the web I had stumbled into – inadvertently, unprepared, with no chance of retreat. Were truly the major syndicates after me? Even a shady city-state? My thoughts spun as I tried to maintain a sense of control that had long since vanished.
Suddenly, the ship trembled. My stomach twisted; panic crawled along my spine. I grabbed the armrest, while Valentina remained calm, whispering soothing words. Tahl, at the front in the cockpit, spoke: “Relax. No danger. We have entered the atmosphere after approximately one hour of flight and are now preparing to land.”
I turned toward the cockpit. Occasional flames licked the hull, light reflecting in the portholes. The display was both frightening and mesmerizing. Through the window, I saw turbulence at the atmospheric edge, while Valentina seemed astonishingly calm. For me, everything was new. I had never boarded an airplane, let alone piloted a spaceship through an atmosphere.
As quickly as the shaking began, it ended. During the atmospheric passage, I observed shields sliding mere centimeters from the hull. The wavering, glittering energy had a hypnotic effect; it calmed me more than I expected. Gravity took hold, perceptibly weaker than on Earth, but sufficient.
Tahl handed the rest to autopilot and joined us in the rear. “Unbuckle,” he commanded.
Valentina and I exchanged confused glances. Normally, one remained strapped during atmospheric flight – turbulence was dangerous. Yet as he manipulated the rear panel, a small platform emerged.
Valentina recognized it instantly. “A teleporter!” she exclaimed.
Tahl explained that all three of us would now teleport to the planet surface to confuse potential pursuers. The transporter would circle half the planet, landing in a completely different city, so no one could deduce the true destination.
My stomach twisted. “I shall not be torn into trillions of atoms!” I protested instinctively.
Tahl frowned, then corrected: “Teleporters do not work that way. They curve space around thee and move thee directly from one location to another.”
Once again, I realized that this reality fundamentally differed from all I knew from games.

Valentina, Tahl, and I stepped onto the platform. Seconds later, we stood ankle-deep in water on a beach, surrounded by dense forest. I looked down and felt the cold, wet water – we were not on sand, but at the water’s edge.
Valentina’s voice cut the silence: “Art thou insane? That could have killed us!” She seemed on the verge of losing control; her pulse was visibly elevated.
Tahl made an apologetic gesture. “My sincerest apologies. Teleporters should only be used while stationary to avoid delocalizations.”
Valentina snorted disdainfully. “Delocalization? That is what you call it when one might materialize in a tree, rock, or other object?”
Tahl remained calm. “Such maneuvers have been performed before.”
“How often did it fail?” Her question went unanswered. Enough to confirm her skepticism.
I stood still, ankle-deep in cold water, again sensing the severity of my position. Every movement, every thought could have consequences beyond my assessment. No game mechanics, no control, no reset. Only the merciless reality, cold and clear as the forest and water around us.
Tahl tapped on a device on his wrist. “We must wait a few minutes until retrieved,” he said.
We moved to the forest’s edge. The sun was high, warmth nearly pleasant. Water evaporated quickly from shoes and pant legs. Still, Tahl instructed us to remain in the shade. He was confident no pursuers existed, yet caution in our case was not an option, but a duty.
I asked aloud if dangerous animals existed here. Valentina shook her head. She explained that although she had not grown up on this part of Argon Prime, she had paid attention in ecology class. We were on one of the southern continents, with no large animals. Neither plant nor meat eaters, at least none dangerous to Argons. I noted the “to Argons” part silently.
Shortly, a glider appeared, again in the familiar blue-green police colors. It seemed overly conspicuous. Tahl waved it off. We were only a few kilometers from a city, and this area was a protected zone. Police patrols here were not unusual.
I asked why. Not out of real curiosity, but to keep conversation flowing. Distraction was better than dwelling on the flight, though I felt no turbulence inside the glider. Tahl explained Argons and occasionally other species often retreated into the protected zone to survive. He paused at the word, as if wishing to add more, but decided against it. I could only guess.

Minutes passed silently. The glider moved, revealing the city below. Massive. Not merely clusters of skyscrapers, but a layered network of platforms, bridges, and floating transit lanes. Towers of glass, metal, and unfamiliar materials rose skyward, connected by bridges, tubes, and floating corridors. Light bands ran like veins, sometimes cold and functional, sometimes warm and decorative. Vehicles moved along multiple levels, mostly civil and unobtrusive. Among them, some unmistakably police, fire, or emergency vehicles. Even here, a structure akin to my reality existed.
The police glider landed atop a building painted in the same colors as all Argon security units seen so far. No one lingered to observe. We went straight to elevators descending to an underground garage. A driver awaited, silently signaling us to follow. He led us to a nondescript civilian vehicle, barely distinguishable from those previously seen. Only after we all sat in the rear did he enter the driver’s compartment. Then the vehicle glided away silently.
At the city’s edge, we stopped before a residence. The villa was small, at least compared to others I had seen, but distinctly futuristic. Clear lines, light materials, large glass surfaces framed in dark structures. The building nestled into its surroundings rather than dominating them. Parts of the facade seemed alive, responding to light and temperature. Subtle illumination outlined contours without intrusion.
Inside, Gal Connar, an Argon intelligence agent, greeted us. Short platinum-blond hair revealed two ice-blue eyes, face angular, features resolute, exuding authority without words. She handed keycards to Valentina and me, allowing free entry, yet advised caution: unnecessary use was discouraged to avoid risk.
The interior mirrored the exterior: open spaces, clear structures, a blend of function and understated comfort. Furniture integrated rather than placed, surfaces responsive to touch, lighting adjusting automatically. Large windows offered views of the city and surroundings without exposure. Everything felt calm, secluded, almost sterile – a place to hide, not to live.
The sun set, painting the sky warm. Gal and Tahl departed. Before I realized, both were gone. Only Valentina remained.
I felt uneasy. My experience with women was limited, and my solitary habits deep-rooted. Without thinking, I blurted: “I shall sleep on the couch!” Only afterward did I notice the villa had more than two bedrooms. Embarrassed, I retreated to one, locked the door, and approached the glass front.
Outside, the sun sank behind the city. Light made the buildings appear aflame. I stood long until colors faded. Only much later did I sleep.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 3
Dawn

In the meantime, there had been several knocks at the door, but I ignored them. Eventually, quiet returned. The stars had spread across the sky, and Lunas, the icy moon of Argon Prime, was my only companion.
In the bedroom, I had access to something like the internet in my old reality, only much larger and not limited to Argon Prime, but covering the entire Federation. It was called FIN, the Federal Information Network. With my Argonian knowledge, I could actually decipher most of it without help. The trade language still gave me trouble. Still, I was glad I could at least master one language—the most important one for now.
I gathered the key information from the network: the sun was called Sonra and was a yellow star. Argon Prime was its fourth planet, with little saltwater. Lunas was the only moon of Prime and frozen, which allowed mining. The capital was called Argonia City, but I was in Nathania, a smaller city, mainly focused on tourism and health.
My eyes kept closing, but when I looked outside, Lunas hung high in the starry sky. It was just before 25:00—midnight on Argon Prime—when I fell asleep.

When I woke again, it was already ten in the morning. The sun, Sonra, woke me harshly, its rays shining directly into my face. I realized I had forgotten to make the glass opaque. I had discovered this function yesterday but immediately forgot because other thoughts demanded my attention.
There was a pounding at the door, and Valentina’s voice came through, unintelligible. I was still in my street clothes while sleeping and looked accordingly. I wanted to turn over and continue sleeping, but Valentina was so insistent it seemed she might break the door down. I doubted she could, but the sound alone woke me. Exhausted and unwashed, I got up and unlocked the door. It slid aside, and through squinted eyes, I looked at Valentina. She jumped back in shock and studied me.
"Have thou not slept?" she asked.
"Yes, but not enough," I replied.
Valentina stepped back, disgusted. "Thou really should wash."
I nodded and closed the door again. Still tired, I trudged to the bathroom, accessible from the bedroom. It was spacious and offered every luxury one could imagine—at least I assumed. I didn’t know most of the functions, they weren’t labeled, and I didn’t feel like reading manuals.
One thing helped: a simple integrated AI. AIs were banned among all species of the Planetary Community because uncontrolled growth had catastrophic consequences in the past. In the PCP, there were only regulated, dumb AIs. One of them was installed here and fulfilled every request within its programming.
"I want a hot bath and to brush my teeth," I said.
A gender-neutral voice confirmed and asked for the desired water temperature. I told it and placed something in my mouth that felt like a dental appliance. It vibrated while brushing. At first, it tickled, and I wanted to remove it, but then the vibration eased, and it felt surprisingly pleasant. Meanwhile, the water ran, and I removed my clothes, placing them in the designated container. As soon as I was naked, the container disappeared and began cleaning, while another container brought fresh clothes. I wondered how the AI knew my size—probably sensors throughout the house.
Hah, I thought, in my reality, this would be a case for the GDPR.

Over an hour later, I stood freshly groomed and dressed in front of the mirror. My teeth were whiter than ever. I smiled and was almost blinded by my reflection. I sat on a small stool as a bot came through a small wall hatch. I had ordered it to cut my hair. The bot scanned me briefly, then began cutting according to my instructions. Minutes later, it was trimmed to nine millimeters.
What caught my attention were the deep dark circles under my eyes. I asked the house AI for something about that. Again, the little bot came in and brought a cream. I rubbed it on my face and felt not only refreshed but truly awake. I briefly thought of Void Juice and watched the bot with an unpleasant aftertaste from the memory.
I looked down at myself and noticed how different my clothing was from what I usually wore. Everything was modern, minimalist, and functional, almost futuristic, but without an exaggerated sci-fi look with armor or blinking LEDs. The fabric was soft, breathable, and conformed remarkably well to my body without restricting. The colors were uniform gray, neutral, with subtle black and white accents that complemented the sharp cut of the jacket and pants. The shoes were black and seemed to support me while walking. Likely a health function. I felt somehow… more stable, as if the clothing transmitted some of the security I had lacked in recent days.
I stepped out of the bathroom and realized how different my body felt. Not healthy in the classic sense, rather… recalibrated. As if someone had tinkered with me without telling me what exactly was done. My skin felt tighter, my muscles reacted faster, yet underneath was a faint fatigue, an echo of the last days. Not acute, not paralyzing—more a warning.

The hallway was quiet.
By day, the villa looked completely different from the twilight of the previous evening. At night, it had seemed withdrawn, almost crouched, as if trying to hide. Now, it was open, light-filled, almost deliberately modern. Large glass surfaces let the sun in unimpeded, filtered so no glare occurred. Everything was bright but not blinding. Warm but not oppressive.
I walked slowly, almost cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the silence.
My steps made hardly a sound. The floor felt like a mix of stone, plastic, and something entirely unfamiliar. It felt firm, slightly springy, and at a temperature perfectly between cool and warm. Also regulated, apparently.
From the living area came quiet sounds. Voices. Muffled but unmistakably Valentina.
I paused.
Part of me wanted to turn back, return to the bedroom, lock the door, and pretend I wasn’t there. The other part knew that such behavior would isolate me long-term. And in this world, isolation was not protection, but risk.
So I continued.
The living area was spacious, open, with flowing transitions between the kitchen, dining area, and a lounge. Furniture was not placed randomly, but arranged as if every corner had been consciously planned. Nothing seemed overloaded, nothing empty. A balance I had not seen in my reality.
Valentina stood at the kitchen counter.
She had changed. Not classic civilian clothing, but not medical uniform either. Something in between. Functional, simple, yet high-quality. Dark fabrics that fit close enough to allow movement but did not accentuate. Her hair was loosely tied, some strands falling over her face as she leaned over a holographic display. The voices I had heard came from this display. Valentina was reviewing the news.
She only noticed me when I cleared my throat.
Her head snapped around, her shoulders tensed visibly before she recognized me. Then she slowly exhaled.
"Thou are still alive," she stated.
"Just barely," I replied, realizing how dry my voice sounded.
She studied me for a moment, not medically, but humanly. Her eyes traveled from my face to my hair to my posture. Then she nodded shortly.
"Thou look better."
"I feel… clean," I said after a moment’s thought. "That’s more than I expected."
A barely perceptible twitch crossed her lips. No smile. More a reflex.
She gestured with her chin toward one of the seats. "Sit. Breakfast."
Only now did I notice the table. Several containers, bowls, and vessels whose contents I could not immediately identify. Colors, textures, shapes—all foreign but not off-putting.
I sat slowly, my gaze wandering over the offerings.
"Which of this is… safe?" I asked.
Valentina snorted softly. "All of it. Customized for thee. Before thou ask: yes, including allergens, tolerances, and thy… special biology."
The word hung briefly between us.
"Special," I repeated.
"Not Argonian," she corrected calmly. "But compatible enough. Otherwise, thou would be long dead."
I took one of the bowls. The contents vaguely resembled a mix of yogurt and fruit, shimmering slightly metallic in the light. I smelled it. Neutral. Maybe even pleasant.
"And thou?" I asked before eating. "How are thou?"
She paused. Only a moment, but I saw it. That tiny hesitation before she answered.
"I’ve had worse weeks."
I didn’t believe her.
During our meal, silence prevailed. Not uncomfortable, more cautious. As if we both tried not to overwhelm the other. I barely tasted what I ate, only registering that my body accepted it gratefully. Warmth spread, energy, but without the artificial pressure Void Juice caused.
After the meal, Valentina and I remained at the table a while. I felt my stomach gradually calm, and somehow needed to say this. "Thou know," I began hesitantly, "on Alpha 1 I also tried things from other species. Like that… Teladian Cola-Gel."
Valentina jumped up, looking at me horrified. "Thou did what?" she blurted. I had to swallow, as she suddenly seemed very serious.
"Yes… well, I didn’t feel well afterward," I quickly added, "but somehow… I wondered… how the Argons even tolerate this stuff?"
Valentina shook her head vigorously. "No species can simply eat the food of another. What is nutritious for one can be poisonous or indigestible for another. This happens constantly when someone tries something without knowing what it’s really meant for."
I looked at her, puzzled. "But… it was sold everywhere…"
"Exactly why it happens so often," she explained seriously. "Traded goods are meant for specific species. For some, it is food; for others, something entirely different. Some substances can cause long-term damage without immediate signs."
I nodded, still slightly pale. I realized I was lucky my body had tolerated the mixture. Somehow, I also understood why Valentina reacted so horrified. This world was not only alien—it was mercilessly complex.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 4
Darkness


I sat in the open living room, letting the news holograms run without really paying attention. Images, voices, logos-all passed by like a stream of meaninglessness. I needed the background noise, something to drown out my thoughts. Most of what the various channels broadcast I understood only in fragments. The language barrier was still there, though slowly cracking.
I had turned off the automatic translator. Instead, I held the pad I had been carrying for weeks. It had become a fixed anchor. Repetitions, grammar exercises, vocabulary. Argonic. Trade language. I forced myself to concentrate, even though my head was full. Learning was easier than thinking.
Valentina sat beside me on the couch, holding a pad as well. Her gaze was calm, almost too calm, and I did not know if she was actually studying or just distracting herself like I was. We did not speak. It was one of those silent agreements that needed no words, yet worked.
From the kitchen came sounds. Gal Connar stood there, cooking-or at least it seemed so. I did not know exactly what she prepared, and frankly doubted it was out of kindness. Gal was an agent of the Argonic intelligence. Her job was to guard me, keep me alive, and ensure I appeared in court unharmed. Everything else was secondary. If cooking was part of that, then she did it.
Tahl Brenna had been pacing the house for hours, restless, like a caged animal. Eventually, even Gal had enough and threw him outside. He now prowled outdoors. I had spoken to him only briefly since the incident. And I realized it was not just about keeping me safe. More was at stake than I had been told. The attack a few hours ago proved that.
I wondered if the attack had really been random. Or if it was connected to the events on Trade Station Alpha 1. It seemed increasingly unlikely that Valentina and I were attacked merely because we reported an illegal street vendor. Too much did not add up.
I had watched many films and series, too many honestly. And though I knew they were no measure of reality, a nagging feeling arose. That instinctive, This is no coincidence.
I remembered one of my old university professors.
Belief means knowing nothing.
It hit me painfully how little I knew. In my old reality already, but here even more.

Then I heard screams.
They came from outside. First distant, then closer. My body reacted faster than my mind. Before I fully understood, there was a loud bang. The windows and doors vibrated as if struck. Hardly had the echo faded when shots rang out.
I jumped up. Through the glass front, I could now see clearly, the night already deep. Security personnel’s energy weapons flashed, streaking the darkness. They fired toward the mountains east of the villa, along the main road. Their fire seemed uncoordinated. Wild. Almost panicked.
Seconds later, another explosion. Closer. Much closer.
The thought hit me: was this safehouse even designed for heavy attacks? The third explosion answered part of that. Cracks ran through walls, fine lines through glass, the house groaning under strain.
I knew then. The evening attack and the events on Alpha 1 were connected. No doubt remained.
A deafening bang, blinding light.
I was thrown to the ground, rolling, disoriented, deaf, blind, unable to stand. My hearing was wiped out, leaving only a shrill ringing. Smoke filled the air, thick and biting. I could see only shapes.
Through the haze, I noticed something at the entrance. Something not there before. A drone, I thought. As my vision cleared and distorted sounds returned, accompanied by massive tinnitus, I recognized the model: delivery drone. Exactly the kind I had seen in the city in recent days, even on the market street.
A red light blinked. Slow at first, then faster.
I knew immediately what it meant.
I grabbed Valentina. She lay unconscious beside me, limp, too heavy, but I dragged her with all my strength to the other end of the living room, away from the door.
The explosion came.
The shockwave threw us against the glass wall. It shattered in a thousand shards. For a split second, we floated, then were hurled into the pool.

Water crashed over us, cold, heavy. I surfaced coughing. The water around us quickly turned red. I felt pain, diffuse, everywhere. Valentina did not move.
Most of the blood was not ours.
A security officer floated motionless, a hole in his chest. He had been less lucky than us.
Screams came from somewhere, a language I did not understand. Then more shots. Slowly, I realized we were in the crossfire. Unknown attackers, security personnel, flashes of light, explosions, chaos.
I tried to pull Valentina from the pool, but our soaked clothes made every movement difficult. My body felt leaden, and Valentina, though younger and smaller, was no lighter. Coughing, shivering, soaked, I finally managed to lift her first, then myself-with Tahl Brenna’s help.
He stood like a rock amidst the firefight, seemingly unshakable, shouting orders. The blue energy shots of the security personnel became targeted, structured. But the attackers’ red and green shots drew ever closer, striking around us, tearing at the ground, walls, the air itself.
Gal knelt beside Valentina, checking her pulse. A brief glance, a subtle gesture to Tahl-Valentina was alive. Without hesitation, Gal grabbed her, then me, dragging us back inside. Security personnel moved closer to the house walls, seeking cover.

I noticed their fire had become less wild. They now focused on locating the origin of enemy fire before returning coordinated shots. Still, we were trapped. North lay the city, unreachable on foot-at least an hour if even possible. East rose the mountains from which the villa had been attacked, as well as from the southern forest. West lay the large saltwater lake.
The gunfire slowed. I wondered what that meant. Tahl instructed us to stay alert. He believed the attackers were repositioning. Gal believed they were retreating.
I asked why.
Crouched behind the kitchen counter with the four of us, we watched as the reinforcements arrived. Tahl explained the attackers had initially tried to destroy the building with explosives-laden delivery drones. Failing that, they switched to direct assault, apparently not expecting such resistance. Gal disagreed, thinking the attackers retreated because they failed to achieve their objective quickly.
I understood both views. My attention was on Valentina. She was conscious again, and I carefully removed shards of glass from her skin. She remained stoic, almost expressionless. Only a slight wince came when I pulled a larger shard from her forearm. No scream, no sound. Only a brief pressing of her lips. I wondered if it was discipline or shock.
"Thou should stay down," I whispered to her.
She barely nodded, eyes scanning the doors, windows, shadows as energy shots struck outside.
The house smelled of burnt plastic, ozone, and chlorinated water. Once a safe, almost luxurious refuge, it now felt like a trap of glass, concrete, and steel. Every new impact sent dust falling. Water dripped from a damaged pipe somewhere. The walls cracked as if deciding whether to remain standing. Hologram lights in the living room had gone out, leaving only emergency lighting, casting a cold blue glow. Glass shards crunched under every step, even here behind the counter.
I swallowed. My gaze returned to Valentina. Her skin was pale, covered in small cuts and bruises, but she lived. And that was the problem. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became: this attack was no longer random. Not after Alpha 1, not after the first assault, not with the effort someone had expended.
I removed the last shard I could find and leaned back. My hands were red, not only from blood. Valentina breathed calmly. For now.
I tensed again as new sounds came from outside. Searchlights blinked blue and green across the grounds. A hollow feeling tightened in my stomach. Tahl and Gal seemed relieved. In this situation, Gal had been right-the attackers had apparently withdrawn.
I listened to their conversation with the arriving reinforcements. Valentina tended to me as well. I too had received injuries, muscles twitching with pain, but I made no sound. I needed to hear everything, take in every detail.
The reinforcements were briefed. The house had an automated security system, sending immediate alerts during unusual events. Police were also notified automatically if contact failed. Someone had apparently bypassed this alert before the attack-otherwise, the precision of the assault was inexplicable.
Valentina carefully removed my wet clothes while I crouched behind the counter. Every glance outside revealed new signs of the battle-broken walls, deep craters in the ground, burned vegetation. My heartbeat slowly normalized, yet every fiber remained alert.
"Tori, tell me if it is too much," Valentina whispered.
I shook my head. I could not let up. Every moment could decide life or death.
The sound of radios, glass breaking, distant vehicles and drones merged into a constant crescendo. We were far from safe.

Alongside police, fire and rescue services arrived. I recognized them by gear, reflective stripes, and swift, targeted movements. Two other factions were visible: military and intelligence. Military wore robust tactical armor, functional and intimidating. Intelligence operatives moved discreetly, observing silently, seemingly everywhere at once.
Valentina and I were treated and questioned while I studied the operations around us. Over a hundred responders moved efficiently, securing bodies, extinguishing fires, protecting traces, treating the wounded. Some disappeared into nearby forests or mountains, likely tracking attackers’ paths. Patrols hovered above: military, intelligence, and police. Their lights cut through the night, every movement precise, every flight path monitored. All seemed efficient, yet intimidating. In this world, every move, every glance, could be observed. I felt small and exposed, despite the protection around us.
Transport began, guided carefully onto the armored flatbed of a military vehicle. Inside was cramped, a reinforced metal cabin. Padding was hard but functional. Small LED strips cast soft blue light, enough to see without compromising night vision.
The vehicle moved, heavy wheels vibrating over the villa’s uneven grounds. Armor muffled external noise, but the creaks and jolts remained. Through narrow grates I glimpsed searchlights sweeping the landscape, patrols controlling our path, and the lake glimmering under moonlight.
The ride was calm but tense. Each glance revealed the patrolling forces securing our route. I felt the weight of the situation, the inevitability of what awaited, while the monotone engine hum and distant monitoring created a hypnotic rhythm-calm before the storm, city drawing closer.

The futuristic courthouse appeared from outside as a monolith and transparent cube. Smooth metal panels and glass reflected city lights at night. A network of steel beams and floating LED strips marked visitor paths with subtle intimidation. Cameras were discreet, drones landed on nearby platforms.
Inside, the modern impression continued, functional and almost clinical. Large halls, bright walls, smooth floors absorbing footsteps. Level transitions were seamless, elevators transparent, digital info points in every corner. Courtrooms combined floating platforms, glass partitions, and modular seating. Light panels automatically focused on judges, accused, and defense. Everything was optimized for function, yet cold and unwelcoming.

I felt out of place. Despite elegant architecture, constant surveillance and security left no room for carelessness. Any wrong step had consequences, not only for me.
While we were again treated and questioned, I observed operations around us. Traces secured, wounded treated, building monitored. Coordination between police, military, and intelligence was complex. Each had areas, movements coordinated, yet tension between factions persisted. Trust was limited, every action observed or interpreted.
My mind returned to the evening attack. That a police officer was involved left me uneasy. I spoke it aloud before Gal, Tahl, and Valentina:
"Whether the police are compromised or just corrupt, could the same apply to other organizations? What percentage could that even be?"
Gal glanced at Tahl, Valentina looked shocked. I had said what no one wanted to hear. Tension among the guards changed immediately. Posture, glances-all signaled distrust, not camaraderie.
I realized Gal and Tahl did nothing intentionally. They themselves did not know whom to trust. In this situation, distrust was rational. Blind trust could end in disaster. If anyone present were corrupt or affiliated with criminal organizations, a wrong word, a wrong move could ruin everything.
I leaned back, watching silently. Every breath, every sound in the hall carried meaning. I had to control thoughts, reactions. Yet a feeling of isolation grew. In this world, only what one saw, heard, and did mattered. Everything else was risk.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 5
Dreadlight

I drank something called Keffa and immediately regretted it. It was one of those drinks that clearly carried more cultural meaning than culinary consideration. Keffa could be served hot or cold, in countless varieties, with names I did not know and scents I could barely identify. The type placed before me was bitter and sharp, almost aggressive. It burned slightly on my tongue and left a harsh aftertaste that lingered stubbornly. I pushed the cup away and grimaced involuntarily.
Valentina looked at me from the side, a barely noticeable twitch at the corners of her mouth. She leaned slightly toward me and whispered something like, “difficult…” I heard it, of course, but pretended it had been lost in the ambient noise. In my old reality, I had already been picky about food and drink, and that did not seem to have changed here. Yet I had to admit that Keffa took effect after a few minutes. Fatigue did not vanish instantly, but it was pushed back, as if someone had lifted the veil in my mind slightly. My pulse felt steadier, my thoughts clearer. If I had to guess, it was a kind of energy drink-only far less considerate of taste.
By now, it was clearly morning. The courthouse, which had appeared cold, strict, and almost hostile during the night, began to come alive. People moved everywhere-Argons, uniformed personnel, civilian staff. Judges and prosecutors appeared in formal attire, defenders with serious faces and quick steps. Jurors gathered in small groups, speaking quietly while being guided by security.
Prisoners were also brought in. They all wore the same gray clothing: matte, without patterns, without individuality. The cut was so neutral that it almost dehumanized. It looked as if a designer had deliberately tried to erase every trace of personality-and done so with frightening precision.

With every passing minute, I grew more nervous. My body reacted faster than my mind. I needed the restroom multiple times; my knees felt weak, as if they had forgotten their purpose. My stomach twisted repeatedly, and I could not tell whether it was fear, tension, or simple exhaustion. Valentina seemed no better, although she kept herself under more control. Her posture was upright, her movements calm, but I knew her well enough to notice the small signs: more frequent blinking, slightly tense fingers.
The reassuring words of Gal and Tahl helped only to a limited extent. They sounded practiced, almost professional, as if they had said these sentences dozens of times-and perhaps they had.

The proceedings began surprisingly swiftly. No unnecessary delay, no ceremonial embellishment. An older Argon with thin gray hair took the judge’s seat. His face was hard, features strict, eyes attentive and cold. In that moment, I had the absurd feeling of sitting on the defendant’s bench myself, even though I was officially only a witness.
Tahl whistled softly through his teeth.
“Roland Caprio.”
Gal made a short audible sound as well, somewhere between surprise and discomfort.
I was told that Roland Caprio was considered the most feared judge in the entire Federation. A man who feared neither politicians, corporations, nor organized crime. His verdicts were known to be uncompromising, and he had made more enemies than could be counted. That he sat here, officially retired, was no accident. It was a signal.
And I was in the middle of it.
The evidence was laid out in meticulous detail. Timelines, records, witness statements, data logs. Valentina and I had to answer countless questions, many uncomfortable, some right at the edge of what I could respond to without stumbling.
I was strongly advised to stick to one story. A version that sounded credible and verifiable enough not to fall apart immediately. I was the last survivor of a failed colony project. Private individuals who wanted to live without modern technology. Idealists. The colony had been wiped out by an unknown pathogen. I had escaped into an ancient escape pod, sent a distress signal. Days later, I was found-half dead, dehydrated, without food.
This story explained everything: my origin, my gaps in knowledge, my linguistic difficulties. The colonists had spoken an old Earth dialect. They had called themselves Goners. A small, ridiculed group over a century ago. Now nearly forgotten.
I told this story repeatedly, in variations, adapted to the questions. And while I spoke, it painfully became clear how thin the ice beneath me was.
I sat quietly, observing the courtroom as the defendants’ lawyers barely tried to defend their clients. It was as if the person in the judge’s chair had taken every illusion from them. Roland Caprio dominated the room completely. Despite his age, he radiated an almost tangible energy. His voice was clear, firm, loud when displeased. More than once, he sharply corrected lawyers, interrupted them, let them finish only to dismantle their arguments in a few sentences. Anyone who did not obey or tried to delay the proceedings was promptly removed from the room.
I did not need to watch long to understand that this man had lived a life of conflicts, power struggles, and decisions. He did not seem like someone who needed to prove anything. More like someone unimpressed by everything.
After only a few hours, the verdict was clear. All defendants were found guilty. The only success of their lawyers was mitigating sentences. No life imprisonment-provided the convicts cooperated. Reveal connections. Name names. Disclose structures. Judging by the looks I caught, many had already decided that internally. They had sung. Out of fear, calculation, or sheer will to survive.
When the chaos finally subsided and the hall emptied, I was surprised at how exhausted I felt. Yet also relieved. Though I did not know why. To resume life? Which life? No one really knew where I came from. And if that was true, no one knew if there was a way back.

With stiff steps, I left the courthouse. Muscles tense, head heavy. Across the street lay a small restaurant. Unassuming. Large windows, warm light. The menu listed things strangely familiar: spaghetti, pizza, ice cream. Without waiting for Gal, Tahl, or Valentina, I crossed the street and took a table in the corner, by the window.
A blonde waitress with blue eyes approached. She was slightly plump, and the absurd thought struck me that she probably ate well herself. I ordered tomato soup with rice. Something basic. Something safe. When she brought it, I blinked. It was blue.
“That figures,” I muttered, tasting it. The flavor surprised me. Excellent. Rich, spicy, with a subtle aftertaste I could not fully place.
When someone sat across from me, I assumed automatically it was Valentina or Tahl. Only when I looked up did I see Roland Caprio’s old face. My body tensed. I flinched slightly, searching for words. The judge waved calmly, almost smiling. He ordered a small portion of pasta and remarked casually that he no longer ate as he used to at his age.
I did not know why I stayed. Why I did not stand. But I engaged in conversation. Trivial topics. Food. The city. General observations. Surreal, sitting with this man, far from the courtroom.
When we finished and the waitress cleared the table, he rose. Already walking, he said almost casually:
“They will not forget. Keep a low profile and fly under their radar.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
“Why?” I asked.
He stopped, looked at me.
“Their people were hit. Now you are uninteresting to them.”
Then he left.
At the far end of the hallway, I saw Tahl and Gal salute him. Valentina approached.
“What did you eat?” she asked.
I blinked. The question took a moment to register. She sat across from me. Exactly where the judge had sat.
“Blue tomato soup,” I said finally, adding almost defiantly that it had been very good.
“Difficult,” she muttered. Loud enough this time.
I tilted my head at her.
“What they give thee, thou cannot eat or it tastes bad,” she said calmly. “And what thou do eat, thou cannot tolerate or it nearly kills thee.”
I drew a breath to respond. Instead, the soup came up. Over the table, over Valentina. Then my body tipped sideways. The floor rushed toward me. I felt a final, uncontrollable twitch, then nothing.

When I came to, I knew immediately where I was. Before I opened my eyes fully, before the ringing in my head subsided. The smell. Sterile, slightly metallic, with an underlying note of disinfectant. Muted sounds. A quiet hum of machines.
“Again in the hospital?” I croaked.
“Be glad thou are still alive,” Valentina snapped.
I opened my eyes fully. She sat on a chair beside my bed, leaning forward, arms crossed. Tense posture, hard gaze. Not concerned. Not consoling. Perhaps both.
Across the room, Gal sat. Calm, almost too calm. Her eyes on me, analytical.
“I wonder,” she said flatly, “if the Syndicate would not have found it easier to leave thee to thyself.”
I did not reply. I said nothing.
Then I saw Tahl. Leaning against the wall at the foot of my bed, arms loosely crossed, gaze on me.
“What she means,” he said dryly, “is: thou have a talent for almost killing thyself.”
I tried to sit up. The attempt ended in dull dizziness, my body feeling like wet sand. Muscles disobeyed. Valentina immediately helped me sit halfway. Her touch was matter-of-fact. Professional. No hesitation.
“I think,” I said before I could organize my thoughts, “that someone like me has no place here.”
The words came too quickly, too honestly. Barely spoken, I did not know what I meant. Perhaps despair over no way back. Perhaps the realization that I could not survive here alone. Perhaps simple fatigue. Mental exhaustion. Yet the words were out.
“It is kind of you,” I continued, “that you have taken care of me.”
All three exchanged glances, confused. I saw it in their faces. So I added: “Lock me somewhere. In a hospice or social facility that cares for me.”
The slap came without warning.
A sharp crack, then burning pain on my left cheek. I was certain Valentina’s handprint had burned into my skin.
“Art thou insane?” she hissed.
She seemed about to say more, struggled visibly-and then abruptly turned and stormed out.
Breathing heavily, I sank back into bed.
“Women,” muttered Tahl.
Gal gave him a look that silenced him instantly. Without another word, she followed Valentina. The door slid shut. Silence.
Tahl stepped closer, stayed at the foot of my bed, holding the guard rail.
“To some degree, thou are right,” he said calmly. “We cannot stay with thee all the time.”
I said nothing.
“But,” he continued, “we can help thee start a good life.”
He took out his ID card, entered something, then retrieved mine from a drawer in the floating nightstand. He held them briefly together.
I looked at him questioningly.
“Credits,” he explained. “A lot.”
My expression did not change enough. He clarified:
“Bounties. Information rewards. Around fifty thousand total.”
I could not hide my expression.
“Wow,” I managed.
The feeling did not last long. At the next thought, everything tightened again.
“I can barely tolerate food here,” I said. “So I need a place near a store that offers food I can eat. I must buy furniture. Navigate bureaucracy. Insurance. Registration.” I looked at him. “After two years, I am broke.”
“Thou will find work,” Tahl said calmly.
I shook my head.
“What? Look at me. By definition, I am Terran, not Argon. My body was never exposed to G-forces. I come from a time when spaceflight was still in its infancy.”
He nodded slowly.
“I understand,” he said after a pause. “We will find a solution.”
I said nothing, turned to my side, listened as he left.

Then I was not alone.
There was a knock. The door opened without a word. I reflexively turned. Flinched. Again.
“Good day, Grau-san.”
It was Judge Caprio. Leaning on an antique cane, he approached and sat on the edge of the bed without asking.
“Wha…?”
I could not continue. He raised a hand, and that was enough to silence me.
“I know your story is not true.”
I went pale, stomach twisting.
“Do not worry. My children have told me everything.”
“Your… children?”
“Gal and Tahl.” I glimpsed their heads at the doorway.
“Do you really think, Grau-san, that a retired judge simply reappears?”
I drifted. “They… they do not look alike at all.”
Caprio looked out the window too. “Yes, different mothers. And their characters are fire and water. A wonder they entered similar professions at all.”
Then he turned to me. “I myself have some intolerances.”
I did not understand why. And why he used 'you' now, after addressing me informally at the restaurant.
“Grau-san, I offer you an apartment and a job.”
“Huh?” Surprise on my face.
He smiled. “I am old. Not a secret, and it shows. Perhaps one or two decades left. Provided someone watches over me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Here I come into play, I suppose.”
“More or less. We both have a similar problem: you cannot tolerate Argon food. I increasingly cannot.”
I nodded. “I understand.” Ah, that was why he addressed 'you' formally: business. “But I do not know what you mean.”
“We can help each other. I offer stability, and together we face our problems.”
An uneasy feeling spread. It was not just about food.
But the offer was too good to refuse. I extended my hand.
“Deal.”
He shook firmly. His eyes sparkled briefly. I sensed this was no simple pact. Yet… for the first time in a long while, I felt a direction might return.



In the story, “you” is used as the formal form of address, even when speaking to a single person. It corresponds to the German “Sie.” The informal form “thou” is used for close, personal, or familiar relationships, similar to the German “du.”
This is intentional and part of the lore: in the story’s world, the language has evolved into a blend of German, Japanese, and English. Through this mixture, the long-lost form “thou” has returned to everyday use, helping convey social hierarchy, familiarity, and cultural nuance. The language thus reflects not only the characters’ reality but also deepens immersion in the world.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 6
All New Days

I had by now grown accustomed to waking up early each morning. The light spilling through the narrow bungalow windows was soft, almost golden, before the sun fully rose over the hills of Aru. Roland was often already in the small breakfast room, holding a steaming cup of Keffa, gazing outside. I secretly called him “the old fox,” because he constantly watched me without my noticing.
After breakfast, I usually went outside. The air was cool, carrying a hint of damp grass and forest. I followed the narrow path behind the house, past small fields, to an old stream. The water was clear and soothing, and I imagined all the stress, fear, and pain of the past weeks slowly being carried away. I knew it was only a feeling-but it helped.
These walks were also my only chance to reflect on what had happened: the explosions, the attack on the safehouse, the judge who had suddenly reentered my life, and Valentina, Gal, and Tahl. About myself. I felt a rhythm slowly taking hold, as if I had carved out a small island in this foreign life.
Back inside, I started organizing the supplies. The lists Gal and Tahl had given me were detailed, and I learned to sort the products by tolerability, shelf life, and nutritional value. The hum of the drones flying overhead became almost normal. I knew I could grow a little more confident each day-confident in understanding my body, my stomach, my limits.
Roland was patient, though commanding. He observed me preparing meals, using equipment, or simply sitting in the sun. His presence was both calming and challenging. I realized he was testing whether I could act independently while also trying to instill a sense of responsibility.
Sometimes, when alone, I wondered whether I would ever truly settle in. Whether this life could ever really become “mine.” But then I heard the gentle hum of the machines, the rustle of leaves outside, or a distant drone bell, and I breathed. A full month had passed-and I was still alive. I was tired, but alive. Perhaps that alone was enough to slowly attempt a new beginning.

The surroundings around Aru, a rural village outside Nathania, reminded me of early Earth, before cities and roads had overtaken everything. Gentle hills, lined with dense forests of deep green, alternated with open meadows, dotted with wildflowers in yellow, blue, and violet. Everything seemed alive, as if nature had paused here to unfold undisturbed.
What made this planet, Argon Prime, special was how water shaped life. Instead of oceans of saltwater, countless freshwater lakes, rivers, and ponds dominated the land. These waters shimmered turquoise, emerald, or silver, depending on the sun. They were the source of all growth: plants, animals, and even the smallest insects seemed to live in a constant cycle of freshness and moisture.
The flora had fully adapted to freshwater. Trees reminiscent of oaks or maples grew close together, their roots digging deep into moist soil. Moss and ferns formed soft carpets between trunks. In lowlands, reeds and grasses absorbed water, creating small wetlands where birds, amphibians, and other creatures found food and shelter. Even the light was different: reflected from the clear waters, it bathed the surroundings in a soft, almost otherworldly glow.
The air was fresh, barely affected by human activity, with a faint mineral scent reminiscent of wet stone and fresh grass. Rain left no salty deposits, only pure water nourishing the soil, making vegetation appear lush and vigorous. For someone like me, from a world dominated by industrialized, salt-heavy life, this environment felt like a retreat into a primeval, nearly intact nature.
The combination of freshwater, abundant vegetation, and gentle hills made Argon Prime a planet where life thrived slowly but surely. It was a place of protection, a quiet but constant reminder that life-no matter how alien-relies on stability and care.

I listened to Roland as we walked through the grassy hills outside Aru. His voice was calm, almost even, yet every sentence carried a weight I could not fully place. I could imagine that Gal and Tahl’s lives had been far from ordinary, and suddenly it became clear that their energy, ambition, and sense of duty had not arisen from nothing.
Roland spoke of Argon society, its rules, contracts, and norms. Marriage was a functional tool here, not an emotional bond. Contracts resembled property agreements: clearly regulated, time-limited, verifiable, and renewable. I tried to imagine how alien this structure was to me-a life in which even feelings and relationships were formalized.
He told me about Gal, how she had grown up an orphan, surviving on her own, and how he had caught her in a minor theft. Instead of punishing her, he had helped her find a way out of poverty. I could understand that; a spark of warmth crept into the image of the old judge, which had seemed so strict and unapproachable. Yet the attack that killed Gal’s mother, intended for Roland, demonstrated the harshness of this world. She had been forced to show strength even as a child.
Tahl, ten years older, was in adolescence when all this happened. His mother had separated from Roland for career reasons, leaving a rift. I understood why he could not stand his mother and why the rivalry between the half-siblings ran so deep. Both, Gal and Tahl, carried this history within them; their energy and sense of duty emerged from loss, obligation, and loyalty.
I walked silently beside Roland as he spoke. Part of me admired these people who had not broken under such circumstances. Another part felt alien, out of place. I was not even sure how long I could stay here-or how much of myself I would retain if I truly committed to this new world.
The hills around Aru blurred before my eyes, the grass glowing in the soft afternoon light. I wondered if I would ever live in a world where loyalty, duty, and survival were so inseparably connected. But for now, I had to focus on the here and now-my place in this foreign life, the people helping me, and the responsibility now offered to me.

During these walks, I made a habit of stopping at a certain shop in Aru. It had become almost a ritual. When Roland accompanied me, everything naturally took longer. He knew every other villager, stopped, exchanged a few words, listened to stories he had likely heard dozens of times. Sometimes it annoyed me, but I said nothing. Perhaps because I knew these conversations meant more to him than mere pastime.
The shop was called “Anshin Shokudō.” My Argon had improved significantly over the month, but it was still imperfect. I translated the name in my mind as “carefree eating.” It sounded more like a marketing brand than a sober description, but it fit remarkably well. Here, I could actually shop without worry.
Officially, the store was classified as a “support shop for food intolerances.” Unofficially, it was one of the few places where I did not have to constantly consider whether what I ate would later send me to the hospital. And not just me-Roland also found here everything he could still tolerate.
At first, I thought the store existed only for a small niche group. Yet each time, other customers were there. Some obviously for medical reasons; others seemed more like what my old world would have called “conscious living.” Whether food intolerances were common among Argons or this was just a gathering of a specific clientele, I did not know. But the store did well.

The owner was Vanu Atu. A female Argonian, roughly my age. Unremarkable, not striking. Neither especially athletic nor inconspicuous. Simply… normal. Green eyes, slightly wavy dark-red hair, usually loosely tied back. She seemed calm, attentive, sometimes almost too attentive.
Roland regularly teased me that she had taken an interest in me. I did not deny that she was aesthetically appealing. But at first, she was too intrusive, too close. At least, that was my first impression.
The so-called first “date” had not really been a date. She had twisted her ankle outside the shop, and I had accompanied her home. On the way, we stopped at a small café, since she usually ate dinner there anyway. I had kept her company, nothing more. Eventually, it seemed the penny dropped for her. Her proximity became more restrained, her questions less direct.
From then on, I got along surprisingly well with her. She was intelligent, asked the right questions, and actually listened. Conversations with her did not feel exhausting. Perhaps that was the moment I realized I was slowly beginning to settle into this life. Not securely. Not steadily. But at least no longer completely out of place.

Yet the closer Vanu and I grew, the more I thought of Valentina. Not because I had been in love with both women. It was not that simple. Valentina had been there for the first two months of this reality. She had seen me when I could barely stand, when I had no idea what I could eat, what my body could handle. She knew more about me than I was ready to tell Vanu.
Of course, Gal, Tahl, and Valentina had long since returned to their old lives. But contact with Valentina remained. Less for romantic reasons, more for very practical ones-health-related. I regularly sent her data on new dishes I tried, my body’s reactions, comparative values between me and Roland. For both of us, she had become an unofficial personal doctor.
During one of our last conversations, she casually mentioned wanting to take a doctoral exam. Almost casually, as if it were nothing special. It suited her.
Still, I did not know how to deal with all of this. With women in general. With signals in particular. I had the sense that Valentina occasionally gave subtle hints-small remarks, short pauses, a certain look. But I was never sure if I imagined them. My own inexperience did not help.
So I remained cautious. Too cautious. I dropped casual compliments, about her hair or appearance. She accepted them politely, without dwelling on them. I invited her to visit if she ever came my way. Her response was distant, but not rejecting. Open, but without promises.
I painfully realized that I was bad at reading between the lines. In my old reality, women had flirted with me more often. Only I almost always realized it hours or days later. When the moment had long passed. And here, on Argon Prime, that seemed unchanged.

One day, when Vanu came by unannounced, I was genuinely surprised. She had several containers, cleanly sealed, with labels in various Federation dialects. Food from other planets, as she explained. Roland invited her in, though “in” was relative, as we were already outside on the terrace. The awning cast shade, trapping the warm midday air of the Argonian summer. The heat was sluggish, almost pleasant, slowing even the conversations.
Vanu told of a merchant she had encountered by chance. He had entrusted her with the goods, apparently hoping to find a new buyer. Opening the containers revealed various fruits, tubers, and seeds. Shapes and colors unfamiliar, but not off-putting. Some vaguely resembled Earth fruits; others looked as if plants and fungi had found a shared evolutionary path.
I remembered casually telling her that genetics had once been a hobby of mine, even briefly a field of study before I had dropped out. For me, it had been a side note. For her, apparently not. She asked if I could analyze the foods-professionally, at least as far as possible. She could not afford an official lab.
I was completely taken aback. I immediately realized that I neither possessed the knowledge to operate modern analysis devices nor knew where to find them. My studies had been in a different era, with different technology. Before I could respond, Roland intervened. Calmly, he said he knew someone who had the appropriate equipment. Of course, not for free-but far cheaper than anything official.

A few days later, Vanu and I stood before a building on the edge of the Sea of Nathania. From the outside, it looked neglected. Salt wind had weathered the façade, metal parts were dull, algae clung in places. I had learned that the adjacent waters were called the Blue Sea, one of the few saltwater bodies on Argon Prime. The name was obvious, not particularly creative.
Inside, however, it was the opposite. Clean. Sterile. Several airlocks separated the sections, each with its own filters and warning systems. Contamination was to be prevented in both directions. The building belonged to a couple: Greg Watson and Rosa Morgan.
Rosa was an older woman, frail-looking, with short brown hair streaked with white. Her movements were slow but precise. Greg, by contrast, was young-young enough to be her son. Slim, neither muscular nor weak. The embodiment of a scientist, at least by my old-world standards. Tousled, slightly long green hair, constantly a bit fidgety but attentive.
Neither Vanu nor I knew exactly what they usually did. But since they were apparently left alone by authorities, it seemed legal enough. For a small “donation,” as they called payment under the table, they analyzed the food in meticulous detail. They dissected samples, examined juices, pulp, cellular structures, and even DNA.
The process took days. Life continued in the meantime: walks with Roland, shopping, conversations with Vanu. And again, short updates from the lab. When we finally received the results, we were thrilled. Several samples were safe for both me and Roland. Some were even highly tolerable. For Vanu, this meant new products to sell.
As we reviewed the data, I felt something forming in the back of my mind. An idea I had first ignored, then that became increasingly insistent, finally breaking into consciousness: Why analyze only Argonian food? Why not deliberately look elsewhere? On other planets, in other biospheres, for alternatives that made survival possible for humans like me in the first place.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 7 - Eat and Let Eat

Weeks passed, and my initial idea of making alien food usable for myself-and eventually for others-stopped being a loose thought experiment and became something tangible. At first, it had been mere curiosity, combined with the simple necessity of avoiding stomach cramps or worse whenever I tried something new. But with each analysis, each small success, the thought grew that more was possible here than just personal survival. Together with Vanu, I began deliberately building contacts with traders. Not the large, anonymous supply chains, but small providers willing to give me small amounts, sometimes out of curiosity, sometimes hoping for a new business opportunity.
The spaceport outside Nathania was no place for romance, only noise, smells, and deals preferably done in semi-darkness. The bar where Vanu and I met the traders was slightly off the main landing points-close enough to attract passersby of all species, but far enough to avoid accidental visits. The air was heavy with a mix of ozone-rich exhaust, alien spices, and alcohol meant for at least three different biologies. I sat with my back to the wall, out of habit, while Vanu took the seat across from me. She seemed calm, almost relaxed, yet I knew her well enough by now to see that she absorbed every detail in the room.
The first trader was a Teladi, scaly, with gleaming eyes that seemed to calculate every movement in credits. He spoke fast, overly friendly, immediately boasting about the quality of his sunflowers before we even asked about prices. Vanu let him talk, not interrupting, waiting until he tangled himself in contradictions. Only then did she calmly explain that we weren’t looking for refined goods but raw material, as unprocessed as possible, and that we were willing to pay for steady supply, not one-off deals. The word “steady” had weight. The Teladi leaned back, scrutinized me, and asked why a Terran would care about such things. I answered briefly that I was working on new processing methods, and small quantities sufficed for testing. No visions, no grand promises. Just need.
Soon after, an Argone joined us-a middle-aged man in a worn coat, carrying the posture of a farmer reluctantly entering the spaceport. He spoke about Delexian wheat from Son’ra 4, stressing natural cultivation and the difficulties of transport. I asked targeted questions about soil conditions, harvest timing, and storage, and saw his skepticism slowly turn into respect. He was used to traders caring only about price. Instead, I asked about details no one normally wanted to hear. When Vanu finally stated a small but regular purchase amount, he nodded slowly.
The hardest negotiation came with a Split trader. He stood while we sat, arms crossed, voice sharp as a blade. Scruffins, he said, were no food for weak stomachs, and he made no promises regarding tolerance. I replied that I wanted no guarantees, only transparency-origin, storage time, treatment. He laughed briefly, a rough, barking sound, calling it unusual. Vanu took over, speaking directly and respectfully, offering a higher price per unit, tied to keeping the goods unprocessed. After a moment’s pause, he sat, ordered a drink, and agreed, with the caveat that deliveries would be irregular. We accepted.
At the edge of the group, another trader, a Paranid, stayed back. He spoke little, listened a lot, and only reacted when the topic of soy arose. His eyes narrowed, and I immediately sensed this was no ordinary deal. I explained openly that we needed small amounts for research and that nothing would be shared without consent. Vanu added that we were willing to accept written agreements under Paranid law. It did not convince him immediately but gave him pause. In the end, he set a price-high, but not prohibitive. I agreed without negotiating. Sometimes trust was worth more than a few credits.
When we left the bar, my head was full of numbers, delivery dates, and risks. Vanu walked silently beside me until we were out of earshot, then said only that it had gone well. I knew what she meant-not because of quantities or prices, but because we had managed to achieve something in the midst of distrust and alien cultures that went beyond a simple trade. We had made a start.

Rosa and Greg became a fixed part of my daily life. Their laboratories by the sea of Nathania were not places for grand speeches, but for patience, precision, and countless data points. Each food item was analyzed chemically, biologically, and structurally-not only for obvious toxins but also for long-term interactions with Argon and my Terran physiology. Only then did my part of the work begin. I quickly realized that my old, half-remembered knowledge of genetics was not enough. I enrolled in courses-cooking, yes, but also nutrition, micronutrients, and even basics of food technology. I had expected to memorize recipes. Instead, I learned why certain vitamins were heat-sensitive, how minerals became bioavailable, and why two seemingly harmless ingredients could be dangerous in combination.
Roland supported me more than he admitted. He provided resources, commented dryly that it was a worthwhile investment, and was honest enough to admit that he too was tired of eating the same safe but bland meals for months. His motivation was pragmatic, but it gave me support. Without him, I could not have afforded this slow, thorough approach.
The first serious test subject was BoFu, Boron Fungus. Among the Borons, it was a delicacy, a staple with cultural significance. The Borons themselves still seemed alien to me, with their tentacle-like lower bodies and delicate upper torsos, more like sea creatures than anything from my old world. BoFu was protein-rich, but its cellular structure was hardly digestible for me. Only after fermentation attempts, modeled on old Terran methods, did usable results begin to appear. In parallel, we studied plankton and algae species of the Borons-not as main food, but as possible supplements rich in trace elements I had completely lacked.
Delexian wheat was ubiquitous, almost boring due to its industrial prevalence. Yet Vanu and I wanted to move away from mass-produced goods. The natural, original form from Son’ra 4 showed distinct differences-more nutritious but harder to digest. Through germination and slow drying, we produced a flour that I could not only tolerate but which also had a more complex taste than anything I had known.
Sunflowers from the Teladi seemed unremarkable at first glance. Nostrop oil was notorious for being either edible or highly toxic depending on purity. The challenge was to determine exact limits. In a highly diluted, purified form, it became not only safe but also a carrier for fat-soluble vitamins.
Scruffins from the Split were another matter. Obtaining them alone was tedious, as the Split considered trade a necessary evil. The tubers resembled sweet potatoes in structure and starch content but contained aggressive secondary plant compounds. Only through repeated cooking and washing could we reduce them. The result was unremarkable, yet filling.
Paranid soy was almost taboo, at least culturally. It was their staple, and prices and mistrust were correspondingly high. In fermented form, however, it proved surprisingly compatible with my physiology. It was one of the first foods I could eat without symptoms.
Unexpectedly, animal products were added. Maja snails of the Paranids and Chelt, a Split fish, ended up on our table because a trader wanted to get rid of them. I had intended to focus on flora, but the opportunity was too valuable. We studied not only the meat but also body fluids. With Argnus, the Argon cattle, milk could be made drinkable after proper treatment, at least for Roland. For me, it remained problematic, but its components could be further processed.
Spices completed the picture. Boron Stott, sharp and mineral-like; Teladian seeds, mainly for preservation; and Argon herbs previously used only medicinally. The more I learned, the clearer it became that the goal was not to copy a cuisine but to create something new-neither Argon nor Terran, but functional. Food that not only satisfied hunger but made life possible.

My first real training began in one of the smaller labs that Rosa deliberately reserved for foundational work, a windowless room lit with warm light that felt less clinical than the rest of the building. The work surfaces were made of matte gray composite material, neither reflective nor absorbent of odors, and every device had its fixed place-nothing left randomly or out of convenience. Rosa calmly explained that order here was not aesthetic, but the first step of any clean analysis. We started with Delexian wheat, deliberately something familiar, she said, because errors were easier to spot. She had me take the sample from the sealed container, instructed me on how long it needed to acclimate to room temperature, and explained why even a few minutes of deviation could skew results. Greg mostly stayed in the background, leaning against a console, watching closely, but intervening immediately if my handling was too rough or if I skipped a step. When I began the first spectral analyses, Rosa explained every value-not only what it meant, but why it was relevant to nutrition and what conclusions could not be drawn. A single reading was worthless without context. Several times she had me repeat the same analysis because one result didn’t match the others, and though I was tempted to dismiss it as a measurement error, she forced me to find the cause. In the end, it turned out I had allowed too little time to clean a container, and residues had contaminated the sample. Rosa commented not with reproach, but with a brief nod, as if that had been the lesson. When we finally had the complete nutrient profile before us, she had me summarize what these numbers meant for an Argon body and where the limits lay for a Terran. Only then did I realize that her goal wasn’t to teach me device operation, but responsibility. Food here was not a consumable but a potential risk. When we left the lab, I was exhausted, my head full of numbers and relationships, but I knew I had learned more that day than in many weeks of theoretical study.

A few days later, I tried again, and it was markedly different because Greg took the lead this time. We worked not in the foundation lab, but in a larger room nearer the sea, its walls equipped with extra shielding. Greg explained that this was where anything biologically “uncomfortable” was processed-that is, substances not clearly plant-based or harmless. On the worktable lay Boron Fungus, BoFu, in a transparent, water-filled container, pulsing slowly as if still alive. Greg immediately warned me not to treat it like ordinary food. For Borons, BoFu was nourishment; for Argons, potentially toxic; for Terrans, simply unknown. The first step was not cutting or analyzing, but stabilizing. Greg showed me how to adjust water content precisely to slow enzymatic processes without destroying cellular structure. I set the parameters myself while he explained which limits would be lethal and which merely reduced metabolic activity. Once I slightly exceeded a value, Greg stopped the process immediately-calmly, routinely. He explained that mistakes here were not corrected afterward but prevented. Then came the dissection. Unlike plant material, there was no homogeneous pulp, but layers with different functions. Greg had me isolate and label each layer before any instruments were used. Only then did Rosa join, asking targeted questions-not to test me, but to expose my thought process. When I explained which layer I considered problematic, she contradicted me and asked me to justify my assumption. Together we realized my assessment came from Terran biochemistry and didn’t apply here. In the second round, I could decide independently which parts to investigate further and which to discard. Greg then showed me how to create a risk and tolerance model from the data-not a final result, but a decision framework. By the end of the day, it was clear that BoFu could not be used as a whole, but certain components could, if processed correctly. Greg seemed satisfied but emphasized that satisfaction was not a conclusion-just the point where one knew where to dig deeper. Leaving the lab, I felt no longer just a learner, but part of a process whose consequences extended far beyond theory.

The next morning, Rosa and Greg decided I should now work more independently, after the first days had been highly theoretical and strictly supervised. We met again in the main lab, adjacent to the airlocks. Today’s agenda was Delexian wheat and Paranid soybeans. Greg had prepared samples, each carefully labeled and sealed in sterile containers. Rosa began with a brief briefing: “Today it’s about preparing the raw materials so we can test their nutrient profiles in isolation. No rough cuts, everything by layer and function.”
First, I had to learn to separate the wheat: husk, germ, endosperm. Greg showed me the microscope and explained the different cell types. Under his guidance, I peeled and subdivided the samples into tiny portions. Rosa added that some enzymes only activated with water, and we had to observe carefully how color, texture, and smell changed. I marveled at how even the smallest changes were immediately visible: a hint more water altered the germ’s texture; a different light shifted pigments in the endosperm. Rosa instructed me to record every observation and note hypotheses about why the differences appeared.
Next came the Paranid soybeans. These first had to be decontaminated, as the insectoid species coated their seeds with natural defense compounds. I learned to clean surfaces with UV-C light, gentle ozone treatments, and specialized enzyme solutions without damaging the proteins inside. Rosa stood beside me, correcting movements and explaining the chemical background. Once the seeds were prepared, Greg showed me how to extract proteins, carbohydrates, and minerals. I operated the centrifuge myself, separating the liquids into layers, and learned to test each layer for pH, enzyme activity, and possible toxins.
At the end of the day, Rosa and I compiled a small protocol of the processing steps, including risks and possible utilization options for Tori and Roland. Greg reviewed my notes, offered tips to improve documentation, and explained that accuracy often made the difference between a usable food component and inedible danger.
By the end, I was exhausted but confident: I now understood not only how to analyze raw materials, but also how to process them for humans like me or for Argons. Rosa and Greg had made me feel that my work was a real contribution, not just practice. I was proud as I safely stored the samples, ready for the next day, when we would start creating the first small mixtures.

We were all three in the main lab. Rosa had just placed a tray with sensors and analysis equipment on the table, while Greg checked the protocols at the terminal. Today’s plan was different: my own physiology. Rosa explained that we needed to find out how my body reacted to various nutrient combinations in order to adjust future experiments. I felt a mixture of unease and curiosity.
First, Greg wanted to record basic vital signs. I lay down on the examination table, and he attached sensors to my arms, legs, chest, and head. They measured pulse, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, temperature, and muscle tension. Rosa activated a holographic display that visualized all the data in real time: waves, bars, diagrams. She explained that even minimal fluctuations during sample analysis could reveal metabolic reactions. I tried to stay calm, but the constant beeping and humming of the sensors made me nervous. Rosa noticed and said reassuringly, “Breathe evenly, Tori. Focus on the data, not the device.”
Next came the blood sample. Greg prepared a small syringe, sterilized my forearm, and drew a few milliliters of blood. I felt a brief pinch, no more than that. Rosa explained in parallel that they would later analyze the blood for vitamins, minerals, enzymes, and potential toxins.
“That way we know exactly which nutrients your body can truly absorb,” she said.
I nodded as Greg placed the sample into the analyzer. Within minutes, values appeared on the display: iron, magnesium, glucose levels, amino acid profiles. I marveled at the level of detail. Rosa pointed out differences between my blood and that of a typical Argon and explained why some substances could cause problems for me.
Then they measured my digestive capacity. Rosa placed small, noninvasive sensors on my gastrointestinal area, which measured microscopic biochemical signals through the skin.
“Don’t worry, completely painless,” she said.
I felt only a slight tingling. Greg explained that this checked how my body processed complex proteins or unfamiliar carbohydrates. On the display, I could see my stomach moving the fluid, releasing enzymes, and how subtle color changes and flow patterns indicated chemical reactions.
Finally, they tested muscle and nerve responses. Rosa had me perform light movements while small electrodes on my arms and legs measured muscle activity. Greg simultaneously monitored nerve impulses, reaction times, and coordination. I noticed how precisely every detail was recorded: every twitch, resistance, and acceleration.
At the end, they performed a body fat and water analysis. I stood on a scale that measured weight, fat percentage, water content, and muscle mass. Rosa explained the values and compared them to standard ranges for Argons and Terrans. I immediately recognized how differently my body functioned.
Once all the data was collected, we sat together, and Greg and Rosa discussed the results in detail. They explained which nutrients were problematic, which I could process well, and how we should adjust future experiments accordingly. I felt exhausted but amazed: I now had an almost scientific understanding of my own body and how it might handle alien food. Rosa smiled and said, “With this data, we can really optimize your diet.” I nodded as Greg carefully stored the samples. A strange sense of control and responsibility mingled with relief. For the first time since arriving in this reality, I felt like I had some measure of agency.

I sat on the bungalow terrace, hands wrapped around a cup of Keffa, grimacing. I could barely tolerate the bitter, biting taste, yet the heat of the sun forced me to drink slowly. I realized it wasn’t just the food that was different between me and the Argons. It was subtleties that, upon closer look, revealed a different world.
Looking across the village, I noticed Argons who seemed immediately familiar. Their faces, hands, movements-all appeared human. Yet something about their hair caught my attention. It didn’t follow exclusively the Terran rules of black, brown, or blonde. Those colors existed, but they were complemented by tones Terrans would instinctively consider artificial. Matte, muted blues, greens, or turquoise flickered here and there. Vanu had once casually mentioned that it simply was that way.
I realized these colors didn’t arise merely from pigments in the classic sense, but from fine microstructural properties of the hair fibers. Light refracted within the strands, certain wavelengths were amplified, producing earthy, subtle shades: moss green, gray-blue, deep teal, almost-black blue visible only in sunlight. Young Argons displayed stronger tones, while older ones were darker, the light refracted less, and the color nuances were more subdued. For Argons, it was ordinary; for me, it told their evolution and culture.
As I reflected, I noticed how different the eyes were. At first glance, an Argon’s eyes seemed familiar-brown, gray, blue, occasionally green. But the longer I looked, the clearer the difference became. Not wrong, just different. Terran eyes follow a red-green-blue system, while Argon eyes follow a red-yellow-blue scheme. Yellow effectively replaces green, shifting the entire visual weighting. Rich green, as I knew it, often appeared olive or yellowish to Argons. At the same time, they perceived yellow, ochre, and amber tones much more finely.
Rare individuals even had purple or violet eyes. In Son’ra’s diffuse light, purple never appeared garish, but subtle, elegant, and unusual. Brown showed golden undertones, gray shimmered amber, green ranged from olive to yellowish, violet was rare but completely natural. Light played with the colors, producing metallic reflections. I realized Argons didn’t see the world distorted; they perceived a balanced spectrum that Terrans first had to interpret and name.
I set the Keffa cup aside and pushed it away. The world here was similar enough to feel familiar, yet different. I had to adjust not only to the food but to an entirely different kind of reality. Subtle, quiet, and fundamental: I was a Terran among Argons-and right in the middle.

I sat in the sterile lab, the glass window open toward the sea, while Rosa and Greg stood beside me. On the table lay samples of plants, fruits-and following one of my spontaneous ideas, we had also collected a few strands of Argon hair to analyze. I carefully placed the strands under the microscope and adjusted the lighting so the structure became more visible.
“I’ve noticed that the hair here isn’t just black, brown, or blonde,” I began cautiously, “but… well, there are green, blue, and turquoise tones. Without any artificial dye.” Rosa nodded, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses.
“That’s correct,” she said. “The color variations arise from the microstructure of the hair fibers. Light is refracted, reflected, scattered. We can see it here.” She pointed to the microscope, where the light passed through the structures like tiny prisms. “The colors appear matte, earthy, almost unobtrusive unless you look for them specifically.”
Greg leaned back, arms crossed, and grinned slightly. “Sometimes Terrans think they see artificial colors when they encounter Argons. Everything is completely natural. Young Argons have stronger tones, older ones darker. No Argon dyes their hair for attention.”
“And it hardly changes over a lifetime?” I asked, carefully placing another strand under the microscope.
“Only minimally,” Rosa explained. “Slightly lighter, a bit less light refraction. The base tones remain.”
Greg pointed to a green strand. “See these structures? The light is refracted so it appears green. A Terran would probably ask immediately if it’s dyed. But no, pure nature.”
“And turquoise?” I lifted a strand that shimmered almost blue under the lamp.
“Turquoise forms similarly,” Rosa said. “It’s the interplay of light refraction and fiber density. There’s hardly any pigment involved. In practice, this means Argons perceive themselves and their surroundings differently-subtler, more finely graded.”
Greg leaned over the table. “That explains why Terrans are always confused. It looks fashionable, provocative, artificial. For Argons, it’s simply normal. Evolution, adaptation to light and environment. No symbol, no statement.”
“So it’s a kind of cultural misunderstanding?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Rosa confirmed. “And it’s important to know if you want to navigate society here. Even small differences like hair or eye color can be misinterpreted.”
I leaned back, examining the strands under the microscope, thinking of walks through Aru. People who seemed familiar, yet with hair colors I had never seen on Earth. “I never thought hair could be so complex,” I murmured.
“Almost everything with Argons is subtly different,” Greg said, patting my shoulder. “And this is just the beginning, Tori. Wait until we get to the eyes.”
I swallowed, feeling a mix of awe and curiosity. There was still so much to learn here.

I sat on one of the metal chairs in the lab while Rosa and Greg prepared the next batch of samples. This time it wasn’t plants, not food, but eyes-specifically the colors and functions of the Argon iris. I could hardly believe we were really doing this, but curiosity kept me engaged.
“I’ve noticed something,” I began cautiously, “Argon eyes… at first they seem normal. Brown, gray, blue, sometimes green. But if you look longer, you notice differences.” Rosa nodded, Greg raised an eyebrow.
“Not just differences,” Rosa said, aiming a camera at an eye, “but a completely different function. Argon eyes don’t follow the RGB system like Terrans. They use RYB.”
“RYB?” I frowned.
“Red, Yellow, Blue,” Greg explained. “Yellow takes the role that green has for Terrans. This shifts color perception. A rich green for Terrans often appears olive or yellowish to Argons. Conversely, Argons can distinguish nuances between yellow, ochre, and amber much more finely.”
Rosa pointed to a high-resolution image of the iris. “Brown eyes often have golden undertones, gray eyes a warm, amber shimmer. Green eyes appear olive or yellowish, and rare variants show violet.”
I leaned forward to examine the details. “Violet? Really?” I thought of Valentina.
“Yes,” Greg confirmed. “Purple arises from the interplay of red and blue in the iris, enhanced by light scattering and structural pigments. In the diffuse light of Argon Prime, it appears subtle, elegant, never harsh. Completely natural.”
“And perfectly normal for Argons,” Rosa added. “For us, there’s no social value, no symbolism. For Terrans, it often seems exotic, striking, sometimes even dangerous. Misunderstandings are inevitable.”
I leaned back, letting the images sink in. “So… the eyes aren’t just colors. They filter reality differently. They see the world differently because their perception is shifted.”
“Exactly,” Greg said, “and that’s a fundamental difference. You’ll notice that even small things-like a leaf in the light-look different when seen through Argon eyes.”
Rosa smiled slightly. “If you want, we can analyze your eyes too, to see how they respond to Argon colors.”
I swallowed, curious and uncertain. “That would be… interesting.”
We spent the next hours shining different light frequencies into my eyes, observing and documenting reactions to yellow and red tones. I felt like a lab subject, but also like someone getting a tiny glimpse into an entirely different perceptual world. In the end, one thing was clear: eye color here wasn’t just a detail-it was a window into another reality.

I sat in the sterile lab, the glass window open toward the sea, while Rosa and Greg stood beside me. On the table lay samples of plants, fruits-and following one of my spontaneous ideas, we had also collected a few strands of Argon hair to analyze. I carefully placed the strands under the microscope and adjusted the lighting so the structure became more visible.
“I’ve noticed that the hair here isn’t just black, brown, or blonde,” I began cautiously, “but… well, there are green, blue, and turquoise tones. Without any artificial dye.” Rosa nodded, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses.
“That’s correct,” she said. “The color variations arise from the microstructure of the hair fibers. Light is refracted, reflected, scattered. We can see it here.” She pointed to the microscope, where the light passed through the structures like tiny prisms. “The colors appear matte, earthy, almost unobtrusive unless you look for them specifically.”
Greg leaned back, arms crossed, and grinned slightly. “Sometimes Terrans think they see artificial colors when they encounter Argons. Everything is completely natural. Young Argons have stronger tones, older ones darker. No Argon dyes their hair for attention.”
“And it hardly changes over a lifetime?” I asked, carefully placing another strand under the microscope.
“Only minimally,” Rosa explained. “Slightly lighter, a bit less light refraction. The base tones remain.”
Greg pointed to a green strand. “See these structures? The light is refracted so it appears green. A Terran would probably ask immediately if it’s dyed. But no, pure nature.”
“And turquoise?” I lifted a strand that shimmered almost blue under the lamp.
“Turquoise forms similarly,” Rosa said. “It’s the interplay of light refraction and fiber density. There’s hardly any pigment involved. In practice, this means Argons perceive themselves and their surroundings differently-subtler, more finely graded.”
Greg leaned over the table. “That explains why Terrans are always confused. It looks fashionable, provocative, artificial. For Argons, it’s simply normal. Evolution, adaptation to light and environment. No symbol, no statement.”
“So it’s a kind of cultural misunderstanding?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Rosa confirmed. “And it’s important to know if you want to navigate society here. Even small differences like hair or eye color can be misinterpreted.”
I leaned back, examining the strands under the microscope, thinking of walks through Aru. People who seemed familiar, yet with hair colors I had never seen on Earth. “I never thought hair could be so complex,” I murmured.
“Almost everything with Argons is subtly different,” Greg said, patting my shoulder. “And this is just the beginning, Tori. Wait until we get to the eyes.”
I swallowed, feeling a mix of awe and curiosity. There was still so much to learn here.

I sat on one of the metal chairs in the lab while Rosa and Greg prepared the next batch of samples. This time it wasn’t plants, not food, but eyes-specifically the colors and functions of the Argon iris. I could hardly believe we were really doing this, but curiosity kept me engaged.
“I’ve noticed something,” I began cautiously, “Argon eyes… at first they seem normal. Brown, gray, blue, sometimes green. But if you look longer, you notice differences.” Rosa nodded, Greg raised an eyebrow.
“Not just differences,” Rosa said, aiming a camera at an eye, “but a completely different function. Argon eyes don’t follow the RGB system like Terrans. They use RYB.”
“RYB?” I frowned.
“Red, Yellow, Blue,” Greg explained. “Yellow takes the role that green has for Terrans. This shifts color perception. A rich green for Terrans often appears olive or yellowish to Argons. Conversely, Argons can distinguish nuances between yellow, ochre, and amber much more finely.”
Rosa pointed to a high-resolution image of the iris. “Brown eyes often have golden undertones, gray eyes a warm, amber shimmer. Green eyes appear olive or yellowish, and rare variants show violet.”
I leaned forward to examine the details. “Violet? Really?” I thought of Valentina.
“Yes,” Greg confirmed. “Purple arises from the interplay of red and blue in the iris, enhanced by light scattering and structural pigments. In the diffuse light of Argon Prime, it appears subtle, elegant, never harsh. Completely natural.”
“And perfectly normal for Argons,” Rosa added. “For us, there’s no social value, no symbolism. For Terrans, it often seems exotic, striking, sometimes even dangerous. Misunderstandings are inevitable.”
I leaned back, letting the images sink in. “So… the eyes aren’t just colors. They filter reality differently. They see the world differently because their perception is shifted.”
“Exactly,” Greg said, “and that’s a fundamental difference. You’ll notice that even small things-like a leaf in the light-look different when seen through Argon eyes.”
Rosa smiled slightly. “If you want, we can analyze your eyes too, to see how they respond to Argon colors.”
I swallowed, curious and uncertain. “That would be… interesting.”
We spent the next hours shining different light frequencies into my eyes, observing and documenting reactions to yellow and red tones. I felt like a lab subject, but also like someone getting a tiny glimpse into an entirely different perceptual world. In the end, one thing was clear: eye color here wasn’t just a detail-it was a window into another reality.

I sat on the metal chair in the lab while Rosa and Greg stood beside me, their eyes fixed on my irises. For them, it was routine; for me, a strange mix of curiosity and unease. I, a Terran, caught in an examination meant to reveal the differences between my perception and that of the Argons.
“So, Grau-san,” Rosa began, “we want to see how your eyes respond to Argon color tones.” I only nodded silently. Greg directed a soft light onto my eyes, gently reflecting and highlighting the iris. I felt the subtle movements of my pupils, each flicker of light across the retina.
“You see, Terrans perceive colors according to the RGB system: red, green, blue. Everything else is mixed from these,” Greg explained. “Argons use RYB: red, yellow, blue. Yellow effectively replaces your green.” I furrowed my brow, trying to consciously perceive the difference. Rosa held my hand as if to reassure me that nothing would go wrong.
“Look at these test cards,” Rosa said, holding several color swatches before my eyes. “Notice which differences you detect.” I blinked, focusing on the various shades. Some colors seemed slightly distorted, others flared more vividly in my perception, even though Greg and Rosa explained that in their RYB system, they were perfectly centered.
“Do you see the difference between this yellow and this green?” Greg asked. I nodded hesitantly. To me, it was a shade of green, slightly yellowish. Rosa smiled. “For us Argons, that is a rich yellow; for you, just an undefined green. Your eyes interpret the wavelengths differently.”
Then Rosa showed me a violet swatch. “Rare, but present. Violet in Argons results from the combination of red and blue components, with light scattering enhancing the effect. For us, it appears subtle, not harsh.” I stared at it and immediately noticed that it felt like a skewed tone in my mind, something that challenged my visual logic.
“And one more thing,” Greg said, moving the camera. “Your Terran eyes react differently to metallic reflections in the iris. Golden or amber undertones, like we see in Argons, are only faint color nuances to you-they get smoothed out by your brain.”
I swallowed. “That means… I see the world differently. Not worse, not better, just… differently.”
“Exactly,” Rosa confirmed. “When you interact with Argons, you’ll notice that our color perception is subtly weighted differently. A leaf that appears green to you might be a mixture of yellow and red for us, shifting depending on the light.”
I felt something shift in my mind as the realization sank in. Not just food, not just taste or texture-even the way colors were perceived was a fundamental difference between me and the Argons. I was a stranger in their eyes, and even in something as simple as color perception, it felt profoundly real.
Rosa smiled gently. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. But it helps to understand that our world is subtly different. Not alien, just different.” I nodded, trying to process the information as Greg slowly dimmed the light. My Terran eyes felt small and out of place, yet at the same time, it was fascinating to learn the world from this new perspective.

I sat in the driver’s cabin of the small electric transporter as the streets of Aru passed beneath the wheels. The evening sun cast long shadows between the houses, the narrow alleys seemed to arch under a golden light, and yet I couldn’t shake the thought that had been gnawing at me since my arrival. Something was different here. Not tangible, not immediately visible, but constantly present. I had always noticed it-the colors. At first, it seemed superficial: the clothing of the people, the shop signs, the flickering holograms that hovered in the air for a few seconds like light paintings. Everything was somehow… different. Not wrong, not artificial, just shifted.
Then I realized it wasn’t merely a matter of aesthetics. I studied the blue-green fabrics of the passersby’s clothes, gently fading into turquoise, the reds in the advertising boards carrying more yellow than would be possible in a Terran RGB system. Suddenly, I understood why these subtle nuances had been unsettling me for weeks. It was the Argonian way of perceiving and arranging color-subtle, organic, in a way I instinctively understood without being able to name it.
My gaze fell on a child wearing a lilac-colored hat. To me, it was a striking shade, almost unnatural. To Argonians, it was plain, everyday, just another nuance among many. The realization hit me like a soft blow: everything that seemed foreign to me-food, taste, sounds, even social cues-had a reason deeper than the surface. The world here was woven with a color system, a perception that filtered and reordered my own. I took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of awe and relief. Finally, I understood why the feeling of “something being different” had accompanied me, even when I couldn’t put a finger on it. It wasn’t the things themselves, but how they were seen and interpreted. A tiny difference, yet so fundamental.
As the transporter covered the last meters to Roland Caprio’s house, I felt a new clarity. Perhaps it was precisely this perception that could help me navigate this alien reality-not just with food, but in everything. I was no longer merely an observer; I was beginning to understand.

I activated the holo-connection, and Valentina’s face appeared before me, almost as clear as if she were sitting in the room. She wore a simple light-blue sweater, her hair loosely tied back, and her gaze seemed focused, as if she had just finished a shift.
“Hello, Tori,” she began, her voice familiar and calming. “How are thou? Experimenting in the kitchen again?”
I leaned back, crossed my arms, and watched the slightly flickering hologram. “I’m fine. I… I’ve noticed something over the past few weeks that only now is really becoming clear to me.” I paused briefly to gather my words. “It’s not just about intolerances. I think it has to do with the perception of colors.”
Valentina raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Colors? Thou mean how thou see the food?”
“Exactly,” I said. “Argonians perceive colors differently - not just clothing or signs in the city, but also fruits, vegetables, everything thou eat. It’s like with hair and eyes: everything is subtly shifted, but consistent. The color layers, the nuances that we Terrans see as striking or wrong, are normal for Argonians. And I think… this different color perception is part of the reason I’ve gotten into trouble so often.”
“Trouble?” She frowned. “Health-wise, or…?”
“Yes, but not only that. I mean, it put me at physical and mental risk. When I ate something I thought harmless, they interpreted it differently through their color perception - texture, ripeness, composition. Things invisible or inconspicuous to Argonians could nearly kill me. I wonder if that’s true.”
Valentina nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Argonian senses are tuned to different signals - not just taste and smell, but visual cues thou wouldn’t even notice. If thou can’t interpret them, thou are automatically at a disadvantage.”
“Exactly,” I said, my voice tense. “I always thought I was unlucky or just careless. But maybe it’s because my perception simply isn’t compatible with their natural environment. With everything produced in Argonian systems.”
Valentina leaned back slightly, folded her hands, and looked at me seriously. “If thy suspicion is correct, Tori, that explains a lot. Every meal, every fruit, every new ingredient was like a small minefield. Not out of malice, but simply because thou couldn’t see them the way an Argonian does.”
I nodded, letting the words sink in. “Then I have to learn to recognize and assess these differences. I can’t avoid everything, but I can learn to understand before it’s too late.”
“Exactly,” Valentina said gently. “And I will help thee with that. We can look together at which visual cues are important for thee - so thy body won’t be surprised anymore.”
A small spark of relief passed through me. “Thank thee, Valentina. I think this could change everything.”
“Just be careful, Tori,” she warned with a smile. “The system is subtle. Thou see what thou see, but the world works differently. Don’t forget that.”
I nodded. The hologram flickered briefly before her image slowly faded. I remained sitting for a moment, my thoughts swirling, but for the first time I felt as if I had a real point of reference for surviving in this world.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 8 - Visions

I sat there, between Valentina and Vanu, watching as both women tasted my newest creations. Their faces were focused, silent, yet I could see the small reactions - a slight furrow of the brow here, a nearly imperceptible twitch of the lips there. It was as if every bite triggered an invisible contest between them. I felt the tension, almost tangible, even though not a single word was spoken.
Valentina seemed calm and composed as always, but her eyes followed Vanu closely, almost evaluative. Vanu, on the other hand, radiated energy and curiosity, not unfriendly, yet intense. I could see her enthusiasm for the new dishes, but behind every smile flickered a spark of jealousy - or was it merely the typical silent contest between Argons who knew each other well? I did not know. I only knew that any wrong move on my part could trigger a chain reaction.
Six months had passed since my arrival. The adjustment to Prime’s 25-hour day had continued to alter me in subtle ways. Everything felt slower, decelerated, while outside life in Nathania and Aru continued to pulse. I had changed during that time - more focused, more deliberate, yet still cautious when it came to interpersonal dynamics. Vanu did not always understand that. She wanted my attention, my reactions, my closeness. Valentina, by contrast, maintained an analytical gaze, even in moments like this.
I thought of the small expansion of Vanu’s shop. Our joint project - the credit consolidation, the modest food counter that benefited from my lab and her kitchen. A dozen guests could be served; the room was narrow but functional. I watched Vanu’s hands glide across the work surface, decorating small plates, while Valentina observed each step in silence. The air felt electrically charged, and I sensed that a careless word or an overlooked glance could tilt the atmosphere within seconds.
Roland, Gal, and Tahl stood slightly apart. They spoke quietly, occasionally laughed, and their presence had a stabilizing effect. I felt somewhat safer, yet I knew the women kept their eyes on me - not only because of the dishes, but also because of the unspoken tensions.
When I folded my hands in my lap, my gaze fell on the light streaming through the large windows onto the tables. It reflected on the glass surfaces and intensified the colors of my ingredients. I realized that colors played a far greater role here than I had ever imagined. They were not merely ingredients, not merely flavor - they formed an entire world of perception that I was only beginning to understand. Argonian eyes, Argonian light, the nuances of ingredients, the colors of plates, even the clothing people wore. Everything was interconnected, influencing one another - often subtly, sometimes explosively.
I took a deep breath. I was in the middle of it all - a Terran in an Argonian world, surrounded by people whose perception fundamentally differed from mine. And I knew: the better I understood it, the more control I would gain over my experiments, over my surroundings, over the invisible tensions at this table.
Yet I had to remain careful. One thing was clear: every movement, every word could disturb the balance. And the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that it was not only about the dishes - it was about the people, their perception, their insecurities. About the subtle signals Argons embedded in their everyday language, signals I still had to learn.
I leaned back, letting the scene settle around me, and thought: “Half a year. I have learned much - and yet I still have no idea how deep this reality truly goes.”

I sit at the table, my fingers lightly intertwined, a quiet tension in them, as Valentina and Vanu suddenly begin to clash. I watch as both women end up on the floor, their legs tangling, arms striking wildly through the air while they roll across the ground. My heart starts pounding. “What the-?” escapes me as I try to steady myself, but the other guests demand just enough of my attention that I cannot immediately grasp the reason for the turmoil.
Gal and Tahl move in at once, stepping between them, gripping their shoulders and separating them swiftly, efficiently, without unnecessary words. Their movements are fluid, almost rehearsed. Valentina and Vanu sit upright again, hair disheveled, faces flushed, both breathing heavily. Their eyes meet mine, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. The looks are sharp, venomous, and it feels as though they are both expecting and challenging me at the same time.
Rosa, seated in a corner, understands the situation within seconds. Her sly smile says enough, but instead of embarrassing me with a remark, she smoothly changes the subject. “Tori, what are your plans for the future?” she asks in a soft, curious tone. I feel the atmosphere at the table tighten. Valentina and Vanu sit down at some distance, posture rigid, their gazes still fixed on me. It is not merely an invitation to decide - it is almost a threat.
I draw a deep breath, ignoring the flashes of tension running through my body, and let my thoughts unfold. For weeks, since the idea of the small food counter had first arisen, I had been developing plans. It had been only a first step, a beginning. But by now I knew I wanted something larger: to prepare food of all species for all species - accessible and tolerable for everyone.
My voice remains calm but firm as I speak. “I want to prepare food of all species for all species. Safe, enjoyable, for everyone.” Instantly the mood at the table shifts. The poisonous looks give way to an expectant, almost acknowledging silence. The project I have now spoken aloud is large, ambitious, and the tension falls from me like a heavy weight. I sense that everyone understands the moment - the magnitude of the vision, and that it is not a game, but a plan beginning to take shape.
I feel the weight of hands resting on my thighs and cannot pull my gaze away from the two women beside me. Valentina on my right, Vanu on my left, both carrying that self-assured, almost provocative calm, as if they have no doubt that I notice. My heart beats faster; warmth rises into my cheeks. I try to relax my shoulders, breathe deeply, yet inside I feel like I am balancing on a wire: one wrong glance, one careless movement, and everything could collapse.
The dim party lighting does the rest. It shifts slowly between warm yellows, soft oranges, and cool shades of blue. The colors reflect on the faces of the guests, making everything appear softened, almost surreal. I am grateful that no one but me can see the hands on my thighs. The intimacy between the three of us remains concealed, confined to a small, private sphere only I perceive.
I wish the hands would simply remain where they are, without wandering further upward. I have no longing for the complications of relationships, no desire for jealousy, conflict, or obligations. A friends-plus arrangement suits me - uncomplicated, without drama. Yet I know that later I will have to speak with both of them alone. Valentina and Vanu will not approve of my stance. Not after everything that happened today, and not after the subtle hints I have given over the past weeks and months.
A thought sends another chill through me: it is only a matter of time before I receive slaps from both women. I can only hope that I choose my words carefully and convince them that I am serious - that I do not nurture false hopes, but neither evade responsibility. Between the shifting party lights, the whispering guests, and the soft clinking of glasses, my mind becomes a whirl of caution, calculation, and restrained anticipation.

I sat at the table, the foreign hands still hidden beneath it on my thighs, and watched as the discussion flowed through the group like a current. Everyone spoke at once, tossing thoughts into the air that collided and scattered again. I could barely follow all the conversations. Even when I forced my gaze away from Valentina on my right and Vanu on my left, it kept drifting back to them. Then, without warning, Roland struck the table with the flat of his hand. The dull impact echoed through the room, and suddenly everything fell silent. The judge had taken control. Vanu’s and Valentina’s hands jerked back as if they had just committed a mistake under observation.
Roland looked at me seriously, his eyes glinting. “Thy vision is bold. To implement it, thou wilt need substantial capital.”
Valentina leaned slightly forward, her brow furrowed. “If thou dost not want to offer mass-produced goods but original products, thou wilt need specialized greenhouses where thou canst cultivate them under their respective environmental conditions. That is only feasible in space.”
Vanu nodded energetically. “The entire logistical effort will be enormous and expensive.”
Tahl crossed her arms, her voice calm but firm. “This could overturn the entire economy.”
Gal added, her eyes sharp, “Not to mention industrial espionage.”
Greg, however, was the most animated. He leaned forward, speaking almost feverishly. “If species-specific food suddenly became available to all species, there would first be a market boom, as previously exclusive products such as algae and seaweed, Chelt meat, or soy delicacies would be demanded by new consumer groups. Prices would rise short-term, the black market would flourish, and logistics and transport services would see heavy demand. Mid-term, producers would expand capacities, develop automated processing techniques, and standardize universally tolerable food. Long-term, prices would stabilize, luxury and specialty products would remain exclusive, while interspecies-compatible staples would become widespread. At the same time, cultural tensions, trade barriers, and regulatory interventions could arise, since some peoples might consider the mass consumption of traditional foods by others problematic.”
Rosa interrupted him gently but decisively. “Thou art overlooking something. What is currently produced is standardized mass goods for the domestic market. If production had to serve other species as well, entirely new facilities would have to be built, under different conditions.” The others nodded in agreement, brows furrowed.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility on my shoulders, and spoke again. “I do not intend to enter the current mass market. I want to offer specific products.”
Valentina summarized it with a faint smile. “Subtle.” I looked at her, unsure whether the word truly fit.
“I think we must promote Anshin Shokudō first,” I said at last, my voice firmer now, my thoughts structured. “We begin small and refined. Our customers spread word of mouth, we distribute flyers. Then we will see whether our clientele expands. After that, we can assess how to proceed. If the numbers are promising, we could open additional locations on Prime, perhaps even on trade stations and beyond.”
Vanu glanced at me, faintly flushed, and murmured quietly so that only I could hear, “We need to discuss who is actually in charge here.” I nodded without speaking. We would have to define roles clearly later.
The discussion dragged on for quite some time before the voices gradually subsided and we finally left the establishment. The night was mild; the streets of Aru lay under dim, diffuse light.

Valentina and Vanu strode past Roland at a rapid pace, almost marching, their movements rigid with pent-up anger. Gravel crunched under their feet. Roland lay motionless on a terrace lounger, hands clasped behind his head, his gaze resting calmly on the blue sea. Only when I sank down heavily beside him did he turn his head. His eyes examined my face, lingering a moment too long on my cheeks. Two clear handprints glowed there, still warm, still burning.
Roland raised an eyebrow with a faint smirk. “Both at once?”
I grunted, somewhere between defiance and self-pity. “All my life hardly any woman showed interest in me. And now suddenly there are two.” I rubbed both burning cheeks as if I could wipe the situation away. “I only said that I do not want to choose. Because I do not want to hurt or favor either of them.”
We both looked down toward the beach. Valentina stood a few meters from the water, throwing pebbles into the sea with short, sharp motions, each impact a muted splash. Vanu kicked at the sand, carving furrows into it as if trying to crush something intangible.
Roland chuckled softly. “That was the most foolish thing thou couldst have done and said.”
“I know,” I muttered. My throat tightened; tears burned behind my eyes, not only from the stinging blows. Both women had strength. And accuracy.
Roland made a thoughtful sound, then turned back toward me. “Why not conclude a marriage contract with both of them?”
I stared at him, confusion written plainly across my face, an inarticulate sound escaping me somewhere between disbelief and overload.
He pushed himself up slightly, resting his elbows on the lounger. “What I am about to tell thee comes from a Goner archive. It is not officially acknowledged by the Argonian government. By the Terrans, however, it is.”
My back tensed. The story sounded familiar, like a fragment from an old file in my memory. Lore. Knowledge from a game. Yet I had long since learned that this reality was different. Real. Sharp-edged. I said nothing and listened.
“Before the Argons settled on Son’ra 4, they were Terrans. Colonists who had left Earth to settle Taurus.” I gave a faint nod. Roland continued, his voice steady but heavy. “During the Terraformer War, Taurus was devastated. Of the twelve million settlers at the time, scarcely four million survived. The young died aboard the ships of the defense fleet that fought the Terraformers.” He paused briefly. “Few of the young remained. Many were traumatized. Radiation, chemicals in Taurus’ atmosphere. Damage. Illness.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine. That had not been in the lore. But it made sense. Too much sense.
“Of the four million who fled to Son’ra 4, half died of old age within a decade. Another quarter from diseases such as cancer. The suicide rate rose exponentially.” His tone remained factual, which made it worse. “Humanity stood on the brink of extinction. The provisional government had to act. Many ethical and moral conventions were discarded.”
I did not know where he was heading, but I listened, captivated. The knowledge felt raw, unfiltered.
“One of those conventions was monogamy,” Roland said at last. “Since the founding of the Argonian Federation, there has been no law prohibiting a citizen from having more than one partner. Over time, monogamy reasserted itself socially. But that is a cultural current, not a legal obligation.”
I became alert. “If, back then, everyone was essentially free to be with everyone,” I asked slowly, “was there not a serious risk of inbreeding?”
Roland gave a crooked smile. “Good question.” He nodded approvingly. “According to the Goner records, there was a genealogical registry. Before a couple was permitted to reproduce, it had to be verified that no close kinship existed.” He waved a hand dismissively. “That registry still exists. More as a… hobby. Tradition.”
I nodded slowly, my gaze drifting back to Valentina and Vanu. They now stood silently beside one another, at a distance, each lost in her own thoughts. Inside me, something shifted. Not only about relationships, but about culture, history, survival. Perhaps I had just understood something that went far beyond two burning handprints on my cheeks.

In the following days and weeks, I began to notice how my approach was taking effect. At first, the regulars arrived, taking their usual seats with practiced ease. But day by day, new faces appeared, curious about what we offered. Anshin Shokudō filled quickly, shelves emptied fast, and people spoke among themselves about taste, quality, and the variety of dishes.
Vanu beamed when she saw the numbers. The small eatery expanded, queues forming out onto the sidewalk. I could not help but notice-it was not only Argons who came, but Teladi and Paranids, sometimes even Split and Borons, all eager to test their palates. An unrestrained pride spread through me. Our vision was becoming visible, tangible, and I realized we were laying the foundation for something greater.
Valentina’s visits gradually became rarer. In the first months after her doctoral defense, she had still come by regularly, but now she seemed fully absorbed in her new routine. As a doctor on a trading station orbiting a planet, there was always something to do, and I could imagine how tight her schedule must have become. Still, a quiet rumor occasionally reached me-that she intended to settle nearby, searching for a suitable building for her practice, to work more independently. It gave me hope that one day she might come close again, even if only for fleeting encounters.
I sent her a message, reporting my progress at Anshin Shokudō and cautiously asking how she was doing. But no reply came. The silence weighed heavily. On one hand, I understood that she was busy; on the other, the uncertainty gnawed at me. The thought that Valentina might be settling elsewhere made me uneasy. Time and again, I checked the comm device, hoping for a small sign of life-but none came.
Weeks later, the front between Valentina and Vanu had changed little. I observed them entering the shop side by side or running errands together, yet the air between them remained electric-whenever Valentina even showed up. A fleeting glance was enough to reveal that they could barely tolerate one another. I had long since realized that the matter of a double marriage was not worth discussing and left it to Roland. Since then, a more or less silent tension persisted between me, Vanu, and Valentina. When we spoke, it was only about trivial matters or things unrelated to our private lives. Work at Anshin Shokudō had become a safe anchor for me.
I had invested around 50,000 credits in the small annex, with Vanu and Roland contributing slightly less. The first months had been nerve-wracking. For a while, it seemed Vanu might indeed throw me out because of the tensions between her, Valentina, and me-but thankfully, that did not happen. Instead, we agreed that I would officially be recorded as the owner of “Anshin Yatei” and function practically as a tenant of the annex. Vanu could not run the eatery herself; her store and the property had always belonged to her. So we agreed that 70% of the earnings would go to her. Thanks to the steady influx of customers and growing revenue, Vanu could afford extra staff, while I pursued my own plan.
I bought a used delivery hover truck for about 25,000 credits. Every evening after work, I drove the staples and some standard dishes to people who were no longer mobile or had no one to bring them food. Handling it was a challenge. I had since obtained the license at evening school. The truck was heavier to maneuver than a car, but lighter than a plane. I remembered once sitting in a helicopter as a child. All the displays, buttons, and warning lights still demanded my respect.
As I floated through the streets of Aru, I observed the calm, rural buildings, animated by holographic wayfinding systems and scattered drones. Each stop brought a small conversation, a smile, or a word of thanks-sometimes even distrust, for the residents were used to relying on themselves. I felt that my deliveries brought more than food; they brought connection, a small piece of normalcy in this alien world. And as the hover truck glided gently over the gravel path in front of a house, I thought briefly of how much my life had changed-a half-year in this reality, and yet I was still at the beginning of everything.


I lie on the bed, arms outstretched, eyelids heavy as lead. My whole body feels as if I’ve been crammed into an ejection seat. The late-summer heat outside seeps through the half-open window, mingling with the faint scent of fried vegetables and algae, still lingering from my last inspection of the Yatei. I can barely think clearly. Every muscle protests, yet I cannot simply switch off. Sleep is a luxury I cannot afford. Not now.
Slowly, almost mechanically, I reach for my ID card. It rests on the nightstand, cool and smooth, as if it has been waiting for this moment. I slide my thumb over the metal, activate the account, and see the numbers on the screen: –30,500 Credits. Debt. I had never experienced this in my old reality. No credits, no negative balances, no constant accounting for every expenditure. Here, all of that exists. My heart tightens at the thought that all this work, each day, each hour in the Yatei and on deliveries, manifests first as a negative number.
I let the card fall and stare at the ceiling. The ceiling lamp casts a dim, warm light, softly illuminating the edges of the room. I can feel fate pressing down on me. Am I insane, I ask myself, to push myself to this point for something that may never bear fruit? For a dream I cannot even grasp?
Despite the fatigue, I force myself to think. Vanu was right. We had run the numbers, smoothed out each income and expense, accounted for possible fluctuations. Three to four months, she had said. After that, I should be in the black. I trust her. I trust her more than myself in this regard. She does not want the Yatei to fail, nor for the Shokudō to suffer. I feel a mixture of gratitude and respect for her ability to calculate everything so soberly, while I often rely solely on instinct.
I turn my head to the side, looking out the window. The setting sun paints the rooftops of Aru in deep gold, the sea sparkling like molten copper. I could lose myself in this sight, let myself fall, yet the reality of the Yatei calls me back. Every day I do not deliver, do not cook, do not manage, is a day the debt grows and my dream crumbles.
I press my lips together and take a deep breath. My hands tremble slightly-not from fear, but from exhaustion and pure tension. I think of the customers who waited patiently in line, of the Borons, Teladi, Split, and Paranids delighting in the new dishes I served. Of Vanu’s first critical remarks, which I have since come to value, and of Roland’s occasional, quiet nod, giving me the sense that I am on the right path.
With a soft sigh, I slip the ID card back into my pocket. The debt is there, yes. But it is not the end. It is a measure, a test. I can do this. I must simply continue. Continue planning, continue delivering, continue hoping. Perhaps, just perhaps, this dream will one day be more than negative numbers and endless deliveries. Perhaps it will become a place that makes everyone happy.
I close my eyes. Just briefly. A moment of calm before the next day begins. And as I lie there, breathing deeply, I feel that despite the exhaustion, a spark burns within me-a spark that will carry me far beyond the debts and worries.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 9 - Dreams

I stood on the terrace of Roland’s house, my hands tightly gripping the edges of the railing, and let my gaze drift across the frozen beach. The Blue Sea was partially iced over, a thin layer of frost glimmering faintly in the pale winter light. A sharp wind swept in from the water, driving my hair into my face and making me shiver, though my rigid posture was not due to the cold but to the unease I still felt in the presence of Valentina and Vanu. I could not say exactly why. Perhaps it was the closeness, perhaps the silent tension between them. Their relationship was complicated, laced with subtle rivalry, and I sensed every nuance, every fleeting gesture.
Valentina clung to my right side, her elbow lightly hooked into mine, her fingers pressing almost imperceptibly against my forearm. On my left, Vanu mirrored the movement, and my hand felt the pressure of her elbow in return. I remained stiff as a board, uncertain how to move without offending anyone or disturbing the delicate balance of the situation. My eyes followed the movements of both women - every gesture, every slight lift of an eyebrow, the interplay of their lips as they spoke, even the faintest twitch of their hands. It was unsettling, almost paralyzing.
Three steaming cups rested on the railing before us. Two of them, filled to the brim with keffa, belonged to Valentina and Vanu; mine held tea. The scent rose to my nose, bitter and earthy, and for a brief moment it carried me back to the warmth of the kitchen, to the bustle of the Yatei, the clatter of pots, the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables. I swallowed my tea, letting the warmth flow through me as my thoughts drifted.
Valentina had since opened her own practice in Aru. I still remember her mentioning that she had originally wanted to settle in the capital, Gunnia, on the other side of the planet, near her family. She came from Iru, a small suburb, and I could not help thinking about the names. Nathan R. Gunne, the savior of humanity, and now places bearing his name - almost as if history had left its marks upon the landscape. I thought of how our first meeting had unfolded, how we had begun as patient and doctor, then acquaintances, friends, and finally… yes, what were we now? A love interest? Just thoughts, no words I could dare to speak without igniting the storm of jealousy and rivalry between the two women.
Valentina had once told me she never believed in marriage contracts. Partnerships, she said, should arise from deeply felt emotions, not from social obligation or pragmatic reasoning. She had received offers, rejected them all, and I could see the pride in her eyes, the quiet statement that she would not be bought or bound. Vanu listened in silence, nodding occasionally, her expression neutral, yet I could detect the subtle agreement, the recognition that she too refused to submit. She had her own experiences, her own rules.
The three of us breathed, and the white cloud of our breath rose into the frosty air. Each exhale was a tiny signal of our presence, a visible thread between us as we slowly made our way away from Nathantia, toward a dense stretch of forest. The trees stood bare, their branches like black skeletons against the pale sky. I felt the cold on my cheeks, but it could not smother the heat in my chest, born of the restless closeness of the two women.
Vanu had listened quietly during the conversation - that was her way of analyzing things. She was my age, older than Valentina, yet she carried a maturity beyond her years. She spoke of her own experiences, limited relationships, the brief marriage she had annulled, the physical attraction, the intense yet fleeting emotions. Then, after a miscarriage, only more arguments and accusations. I listened, trying to read the nuances, her body language, the slight tension in her shoulders, the occasional tightening of her lips when she thought of the past.
Valentina asked questions, gentle yet direct. Vanu answered openly, honestly, without filter, and I felt the tension vibrating between them. It was as though an invisible thread of competition, respect, and a certain astonishment at their own youth stood between them. I could not help filling the silence now and then with a quiet remark about the trees, the ice on the sea, the steam rising between us. My voice was calm, almost meditative, but inside me a thousand thoughts were swirling.
We walked on, each step crunching in the frozen snow. I observed the way Valentina buried her hands deep in her pockets, her gaze lowered as if she wished to sink the cold into the earth. Vanu, by contrast, arms crossed and shoulders upright, walked like a warrior - confident and unyielding. I felt my heart beat faster, sensed the invisible tension between them, every twitch of a hand, every fleeting glance. I knew I would have to endure this winter not only physically, but emotionally as well.
We reached a small clearing. Sunlight filtered through the bare branches, casting delicate patterns upon the snow-covered ground. I sat down on a frozen tree stump, Valentina beside me, Vanu on the other side. I felt the warmth radiating from our bodies - not much, but enough to loosen the ice in my limbs slightly. The silence was not unpleasant, but charged, filled with unspoken words and emotions.
Vanu turned her head toward me, her eyes that unmistakable Argon green, which shifted toward yellow or olive depending on the light. “Tori,” she said softly, “I have often thought about it… about thou, about us.” Her voice was gentle, yet penetrating. I could sense the tension in her hands as she clasped them together.
Valentina nodded faintly, her gaze fixed on the ground, her voice barely more than a murmur. “Thou are… hard to read, Tori. Sometimes I wonder whether thou even realize what thou mean to both of us.”
I swallowed, feeling heat rise to my face. I wanted to speak, to find words that would explain everything, but they would not form. Instead, I felt my heart pounding faster; the cold outside suddenly seemed irrelevant. I could almost physically feel the emotions of the two women, the shared field of tension enveloping us.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, my hands resting on my knees. “I… I do not know how to put it,” I began, my voice rough with strain, “but I value you both. Not only as… friends, not only as colleagues, but… you matter to me. And I do not want to hurt anyone.”
Valentina smiled faintly, a shadow of relief crossing her face. Vanu lifted her head, a smile - almost mischievous - flickering across her lips. The tension eased slightly, like ice beginning to thaw beneath the warm sun, piece by piece.
We sat like that for a while in silence, the only sounds the creaking of the trees around us and the distant murmur of the partially frozen sea. I could not say how long we remained there; time lost its meaning in that fragile balance between closeness, uncertainty, and the quiet promise that somehow we would all move forward.
And as I sat there, I felt that this winter, harsh and unforgiving though it might be outside, might also thaw something within us - the walls we had built, the barriers between our hearts. I knew we still had a long road ahead, that the conflicts between Valentina and Vanu would not simply disappear, that my own uncertainties were far from resolved. But for a moment - just this one moment - there was peace, there was hope, there was the gentle awakening of a dream larger than any of us.

The warmth of the holographic campfire reflected in the clean lines of the living room, even though the flames were nothing but projections. Roland sat in his worn but comfortable armchair, his head slightly tilted back, eyes closed, breathing steady - almost like a stone. His face looked relaxed, almost childlike in the calm of a man who had control over everything around him. I watched him for a moment as he sat there, the glow of the holographic flames gliding softly across his features.
Vanu moved smoothly between stove and counter while I assisted her. We chopped, stirred, and checked ingredients, every motion precise, every movement coordinated as if we were a well-practiced team. I paid attention to her gestures - how she tilted the pan to turn its contents, how she sprinkled salt slowly from her palm - precise, almost ritualized. She was focused, yet her eyes flickered toward me again and again, a silent question: are you watching over me? It made my heart stumble, though I tried to remain composed.
Valentina sat at the kitchen island, her tablet propped up, fingers gliding over its surface as if merging with the technology. I placed several snacks beside her - cup after cup made from Scruffin tubers that we had developed together with Rosa and Greg. Chips, lightly salted, crisp, a familiar texture that reminded me of Earth. She reached for the first cup, her eyes flashing briefly, and before I realized it, it was empty. I set down the next, then another. She chewed with concentration, lips slightly pressed together, her face marked by complete focus. Her breathing was shallow, her cheeks faintly flushed from the effort of observing and tasting at the same time.
“Hm… interesting,” she murmured between bites, and I could not tell whether she meant me or the chips. I simply smiled, too proud of what we had created to question it.
Meanwhile, Vanu and I prepared additional dishes. The scent of Scruffin mash, delicate Boron algae, and fresh wheat filled the room. I could not help feeling faint echoes of my old reality - my own kitchen experiments, the occasional failure, the triumphant success of a dish. Cooking was more than preparation; it was a moment when the world stood still and everything made sense.
As we plated the food, Valentina checked the medical sensors on Roland and me. She leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed, lips parted, eyes marked by reflections of light. In those seconds she was not a friend, not a companion, but a doctor. Her entire posture radiated precision, focus, duty. I quietly placed a few snacks beside her - Scruffin trilogy, Boron algae purée, steamed Scruffin grains. She reached for them almost mechanically, ate, checked sensor readings, ate again, her head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on the tablet.
“Another cup?” I asked softly, my voice barely more than a breath.
“Yes, thank thou,” she replied curtly, without lifting her gaze from the displays. I nodded and moved on, helping Vanu slice algae strips, checking the consistency of the Scruffin grain porridge, testing the temperature of the wheat infusion. Everything had to be exact, textures perfect, temperatures optimal, so the dishes would be universally compatible.
I thought of the menu we had created. Every dish had been tested, tasted by us. I remembered the nights when we tried variations, adjusted the Boron versions, refined the humanoid recipes, checked textures again and again. I felt the pride rising within me as I thought of how we were building a bridge between cultures, creating something that worked for everyone.
I watched Valentina chew her chips, rhythmic, almost meditative, the fine lines of her face vibrating slightly with each bite. Vanu sliced Scruffin pieces, her movements precise and calm, each cut a small act of perfection. I handed her spices, blended textures, checked temperatures. My hands smelled of Scruffin, of wheat, of the ocean frozen outside.

Roland snored softly in his chair, the holographic fire flickering, reflecting in the windows. I could feel the warmth even though it was simulated. It soothed me, gave me the sense that despite the effort, everything was right, that we were doing something meaningful here.
The kitchen filled with sound - chopping, stirring, the faint clinking of dishes, Valentina humming quietly to herself as if singing the sensor values displayed on her tablet. Vanu murmured brief comments now and then, a “that’s fine” or “a little more,” and I nodded silently, adjusted the heat, checked the texture once more.
In these moments I was both part of chaos and order. Everything flowed, everything fit, and yet I felt the tension between the women, the quiet rivalry, the inevitable small frictions born of proximity. I had to stay focused, do the work perfectly so no distraction, no friction would endanger the quality of the dishes.
Every plate, every ingredient, every motion was an expression of precision, passion, and the desire to create something lasting. I thought of the guests at the Yatei, of their faces, of the joy we brought them. And while Valentina continued emptying her cups, while Vanu prepared the next portions with concentration, I felt that all this effort, all this meticulous work, all these silent hours of preparation were something larger than me, larger even than the Yatei itself.
The kitchen was a microcosm of X-Reality - diversity, adaptation, harmony despite differences. I observed the colors, the textures, the sounds. I saw the Scruffin mash become creamy, the wheat slowly swelling, the algae glistening in the light steam. I felt life in every dish, the connection between ingredients and people, the joy they would bring.
And as I stood there, hands busy, eyes resting on Valentina’s faint smile as she checked the sensor readings beside me, I knew that right here, in this very moment, I was in the right world.

The Anshin Yatei was still closed. The sliding doors stood silent in their tracks, the exterior holograms deactivated, the interior bathed in cool, quiet morning light. I sat alone at one of the front tables, my hands resting on the newly revised menu. I ran my fingers across the surface one last time, checking structure, arrangement, the balance between tradition and function. Every section was deliberate. No gimmicks, no theatrics. Texture, temperature, biological compatibility. That was the line. My line.

APPETIZERS / LIGHT COURSES
Mineral Boron Essence
Clear, warm algae infusion from deep-sea cultures, mineral-rich, lightly bound, fibrous-gel texture. Traditional for Boron, served as broth or emulsion for humanoids.

Grain Broth
Slow-cooked wheat infusion, emulsified with Nostrop oil, mildly earthy, universally compatible. Prepares the digestive system for main courses.

Scruffin Trilogy
Steamed tuber in three textures: fine purée, tender slices, roughly crushed. Natural starch, unseasoned.

Tempered Algae Tissue
Layered Boron algae of varying density, served cool. Texturally diverse, neutral in flavor, traditional for Boron.

Steamed Scruffin Cubes with Microgreens
Small tuber cubes, steamed, lightly aromatic, universally edible.

Miso Fusion
Mild broth of Boron algae with pickled Scruffin pieces. Light, mineral, nourishing.

INTERMEDIATE COURSES / FINGER FOOD
Wheat Flatbread
Crisp exterior, soft interior, brushed with Nostrop oil. Served with soups or as a snack.

Boron Algae Purée
Creamy paste of multi-layered algae, optionally warm-bound. Traditional for Boron, lightly seasoned for humanoid guests.

Scruffin Grain Mash
Purée of tubers and wheat grains, creamy, warm, universally compatible.

Algae Strips
Served raw, fibrous. Traditional for Boron, optional as snack or soup addition for humans.

Steamed Scruffin Slices
Lightly browned, creamy, as snack or side.

MAIN COURSES / SAVORY VARIANTS
Argnu Braised Cut in Grain Stock
Slow-cooked meat served in wheat broth, protein-rich and sustaining. Optional without plant components for Split.

Paranid Triple-Grain Dish
Three grains, slowly cooked, emulsified with Nostrop oil. Warm, even, texturally balanced.

Split Protein Plate
Pure meat, dry-cooked or served in clear broth. Maximum protein density, minimal plant content.

Boron Algae Complex
Multi-layered algae preparation, semi-bound or fluid. Mineral-rich, traditional for Boron, lightly seasoned humanoid version available.

Scruffin Purée & Grain Compote
Creamy tuber purée accompanied by lightly cooked wheat. Simple, filling, universally edible.

Döner
Grilled Argnu or Chelt meat wrapped in wheat flatbread, optional Boron algae strips. Also available with algae filling only.

Sushi / Algae Roll
Boron algae sheets wrapped around Scruffin purée or thin Argnu slices, raw or lightly steamed.

Sashimi
Finely cut mineral algae strands, served raw. For Boron, optional for humans with Scruffin purée.

Burger
Pan-seared Scruffin slices as patty, in flatbread, minimal oil, optional Argnu meat slices.

Wheat-Algae Stew
Reduced wheat broth with algae pieces, slow-cooked, mineral, functional for long-term missions.

Fusion X
Blended Boron algae with Scruffin purée and wheat grains, creamy, served warm or cold.

SIDES
Steamed Deep-Sea Algae
Mineral-rich
Cooked Wheat Grains, loose, earthy

Scruffin Slices
Lightly browned, creamy
Micro-Tuber Salad, seasonal

Scruffin Purée
Neutral

BEVERAGES
Isotonic Solution
Neutral, electrolyte-balancing

Warm Grain Infusion
Mild, caffeine-free

Cold Algae Extract
Mineral

Scruffin Juice
Lightly starchy

KITCHEN PHILOSOPHY
No stimulants
Flavor derived from texture, temperature, and combination of base ingredients
Biologically compatible for all species
Dishes for daily life, diplomacy, and long-term missions
Traditional preparations for Boron, Split, and Paranid are respected, humanoid versions adapted

One year.
I leaned back in the chair, let my head rest against the backrest, and stared at the ceiling where the light panels were slowly adjusting to the morning brightness. One year in this reality. In the beginning, I had perceived every step as potentially fatal. I woke each day with the sense that I could be enslaved, sold, or torn apart by some predator at any moment. Every shadow had been a threat. Every unfamiliar voice a risk.
I still see myself on the trading station, trying not to stand out. Deliberately narrowing my shoulders. Avoiding conversations so as not to be exposed as an ignorant outsider.
Now I had a home. Friends. Partners.
That word alone made me close my eyes briefly. Partners. Not property, not contract, not convenience. Real closeness. Complicated, sometimes exhausting, but real. My circle of acquaintances grew almost daily. Suppliers, regular customers, diplomats, technicians, merchants. I was no longer a foreign body. I was part of the structure.
And my debts-I had to smile involuntarily-were history.
It had taken longer than planned. Of course it had. Unforeseen repairs on the hover truck. A two-week shortage in Scruffin deliveries. Seasonal fluctuations in customer volume. But I had endured. Month after month. Calculated. Adjusted. Saved.
Now the balance sheets were steadily in the black. Not spectacular. But consistently growing.
I straightened up again, took the card, and slid it into the terminal’s document scanner. A soft hum, then the file appeared on the display. I checked the metadata, added updates, synchronized it with the Federal Information Network.
“Confirm upload?”
My fingers hovered over the surface for a moment. Then I tapped.
Confirmed.
As soon as I opened the Yatei, the exterior holograms would switch automatically. The new menu would appear in translucent script bands above the façade, adapted to species preferences, translated into multiple syntax systems. And in the FIN it was already accessible. Important for preorders. Important for my evening closing tour with the hover truck.
I stood, walked to the front window, and looked out onto the street of Aru. Cold, clear, busy.
One year.
I returned to the counter, pulled my compact planning pad from my pocket, and sat down again. The display awakened immediately. Tables. Projections. Construction costs. Material prices. Energy demand analyses.
My next objective.
A breeding facility of my own in space.
Not for the mass goods that already circulated on the market in industrial standard quality. But for original flora and fauna. Authentic variants. Pure lines. Ingredients with character. With origin. With history.
I wanted control over the source.
I enlarged a cost table. Construction of a small modular agricultural station. Docking segments. Life support. Gravity unit. Biosphere domes. Transport logistics.
The total at the bottom made my facial muscles stiffen involuntarily.
Astronomical.
I ran a hand over my face, felt the slight roughness of my skin, the fatigue that never fully disappeared despite success. Even with my positive balances, I would need years. Or investors. Or both.
“Too far away,” I murmured quietly.
But immediately I contradicted myself.
Was it really?
A year ago, my past self would have considered my current situation unattainable. A business of my own. Debt-free. Social bonds. A functioning network.
I still remembered that feeling-that dull survival mindset. Today my horizon was broader.
I leaned forward and entered new figures. Scenario analysis. What if I initially acquired only a stake in an existing facility? Minority shares. Access to production lines. Option for later takeover.
I paused.
Perhaps I was still thinking too much in game mechanics. Buy. Upgrade. Take over. Scale.
This reality was more complex.
I had compared it for too long to the franchise I knew. Similar names. Similar species. Similar structures. But this was not a system of prefabricated rules. There were nuances here. Political dynamics. Contracts with clauses not explained in tooltips. Emotional bonds. Networks of trust.
I exhaled slowly.
“Stop treating it like a game,” I said quietly to myself.
The pad vibrated briefly-automatic update from the FIN.
Curious, I opened the trade segment and began to scroll. Space stations. Production complexes. Repair docks.
I had honestly not expected to find anything relevant. New stations were expensive enough. Used ones? Hardly conceivable.
Then my finger stopped.
“Agricultural module type B-17 – used – structurally intact – 63% lifecycle remaining.”
I blinked. Scrolled back.
It was not an isolated case.
There were indeed used space stations and space factories. Decommissioned facilities. Insolvency cases. Corporate mergers. Military decommissions.
Not only buying. One could rent. Lease. Acquire shares. Obtain majority stakes. For an additional fee, even have them relocated-complete station cores including propulsion sections.
My pulse accelerated noticeably.
“This… is absurd,” I murmured as I scrolled through the details.
Transport costs separate. Re-anchoring permit required. Biosphere recalibration mandatory after relocation.
This was not a menu in a game. This was economics. Real economics.
I leaned back, hands clasped behind my head, and stared at the floating interface.
How long had I limited myself because I assumed certain things were simply not intended?
A quiet laugh escaped me. Not loud, not euphoric. More a dry exhale.
“You idiot,” I said to myself. “You’re still thinking in fixed paths.”
This reality was not only more complex-it was more open.
I leaned forward again and zoomed into an offer. Participation model. 12% stake in a semi-automated breeding facility in the outer sector. Moderate entry costs. Quarterly profit participation.
My fingers began calculating automatically. Capital commitment. Risk. Cash-flow impact on the Yatei.
My gaze drifted briefly through the room. Empty tables. Quiet counter. Dimmed light.
This was my foundation.
I must not endanger it.
But I must not stand still either.
I felt that familiar pull in my chest-not fear. Ambition. Vision.
A year ago, I had fought for survival. Today I was thinking about space stations.
I closed the pad briefly, set it on the table, and folded my hands in front of it.
Slowly. Step by step.
Perhaps not my own station immediately. Perhaps participation. Expand the network. Secure supply chains. Build exclusive ingredients.
I stood, went to the door, and activated the interior lighting fully. The Yatei awakened.
Outside, the holograms began to form. New menu structure. New display.
I paused for a moment and observed the result through the window.
One year.
And I was still here.
Not as a survivor.
But as someone with plans.

The evening was quiet. No wind. No traffic noise. Only the soft hum of the building’s structure and the muted crackle of the holographic campfire in the living room. I sat at the low table before the sofa, my pad turned off before me. Roland had, as so often, retreated into his armchair, a glass with a dark, barely identifiable liquid in his hand. The fire cast flickering reflections across his face, making the lines around his eyes appear deeper. Valentina was still at her practice. Emergency. She had only briefly written that she would not make it today. Vanu was at the Shokudō, conducting inventory with her staff. Month-end closing. She too would not be coming by today. It was rare that Roland and I were truly alone.
“Thou hast been staring at this pad for ten minutes without turning it on,” Roland finally said, without looking at me.
I lifted my gaze. “I am thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
A thin smile crossed my face. “Yes.”
I leaned forward, clasped my hands. “I want to expand.”
Roland did not react immediately. He took a sip, set the glass down, leaned back. “How far?”
“Breeding facility. Own raw materials. Not standard goods. Original flora. Own lines.”
Now he looked at me directly. His eyes sharpened. Alert.
“In orbit?”
“Yes.”
He was silent for a moment. The fire flickered between us.
“Thou hast only just paid off thy debts,” he said calmly.
“I know.”
“Thy balance is stable, but not overcapitalized.”
“I know.”
He studied me longer. “So it is not about short-term profit.”
I shook my head. “It is about control. Quality. Independence.”
Roland nodded slowly. “And risk.”
“Yes.”
I reached for the pad, activated it, and projected some data into the air between us. Used agricultural modules. Equity participation models. Transport costs. Roland’s gaze moved across the numbers. No visible reaction, but I saw his pupils react slightly. He was calculating.
“Thou dost not want to build anew,” he noted.
“Too expensive. I am thinking participation. Minority shares. Perhaps takeover later.”
Roland folded his hands over his abdomen. “Hast thou examined the legal framework?”
I made a slight grimace. “Superficially. Ownership structure. Shareholding models. But I need…” I took a breath. “I need legal security. I do not want to overlook hidden clauses.”
Roland leaned forward. Now he was fully present.
“What exactly dost thou want from me, Tori?”
His voice was calm, but direct. No room for evasion.
I met his gaze. “Contacts. Someone who truly understands trade and property law in the orbital sector. Not standard consultation.”
Roland studied me long. Then leaned back again.
“Thou meanest someone who reads not only contracts but power relations.”
“Yes.”
He was silent. I felt my heart beat faster. Not from fear. From tension.
“Why dost thou tell me this?” he asked finally.
The question struck me unexpectedly directly.
“Because I live here,” I said slowly. “Because I do not want to blindly sign something that affects us all. And because I know thou seest more than I do.”
Roland raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
I swallowed briefly. “And because I know thou hast contacts.”
Silence.
The holographic fire crackled softly.
Roland reached for his glass, turning it slowly between his fingers.
“Contacts are not favors,” he said finally. “They are currency.”
“I know that.”
“If I activate someone for thee, then I owe something. Or thou dost.”
“I would balance it.”
“With what?”
I paused. I had expected this question. And yet it felt heavy.
“With time. With participation. With access to production lines. With exclusive rights to certain deliveries.”
Roland looked at me very carefully for a moment.
“Thou dost already think like an entrepreneur,” he said calmly.
“I am one.”
A very faint smile appeared on his face. Appreciative. Not warm. But respectful.
“What is thy greatest risk?” he asked.
I answered without hesitation. “Misjudgment of the political situation in the sector.”
He nodded immediately. “Good.”
I breathed slightly freer.
“And thy second?” he asked.
I thought briefly. “Liquidity shortage in the Yatei due to capital lock-in.”
“And thy third?”
I looked briefly at the fire, then back to him. “Overestimation of my own competence.”
Roland was silent. Then he nodded once, slowly.
“That was the correct answer.”
A brief moment of silence.
“I can connect thee with someone,” he said finally. “Trade lawyer. Specialized in orbital property law. Works discreetly.”
My pulse quickened.
“Cost?”
“High.”
“That is acceptable.”
“He will want to see thy balance sheets.”
“That is acceptable.”
“He will want to know who stands behind thee.”
I hesitated.
“No one stands behind me,” I said.
Roland’s gaze hardened.
“False.”
I felt my back stiffen slightly.
“Thou dost live here. Thou art connected with two influential women. Thy supply network grows. Thou art no longer an isolated trader.”
I said nothing.
He was right.
“If thou goest into orbit,” Roland continued, “thou dost enter another league. There, people will take interest in thee.”
I felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement.
“Is that a warning?”
“No. A statement.”
He slowly stood, walked through the holographic fire to the window, and looked out into the darkness.
“Thou art no longer the boy who appeared here a year ago,” he said without turning. “Thou hast adapted quickly. Too quickly for some.”
That made me prick up my ears.
“Dost thou mean that negatively?”
He turned partially toward me.
“I mean growth attracts attention.”
I nodded slowly.
“Then I should do it properly.”
“Yes.”
He returned and sat down again.
“I will make the connection,” he said calmly. “But thou dost lead the conversations. Thou dost make the decisions. And thou dost bear the consequences.”
“Of course.”
He studied me once more.
“And Tori.”
“Yes?”
“If thou seest that it endangers the Yatei-abort. No ideals. No dreams. Foundation first.”
I felt something solidify in my chest. No resistance. Agreement.
“Understood.”
Roland nodded. For a moment, we sat silently. Two men in the flickering light of an artificial fire.
“Thou hast come further than thou believest,” he said finally, softly.
I looked at him, searching for irony. Found none.
“A year ago,” he continued, “thou wouldst not have dared to ask me this.”
I thought briefly. He was right. Then, I had survived. Now, I planned. I reached for my pad, turned it off, and set it aside.
“Thank you,” I said.
Roland only raised the glass slightly.
“Make something of it.”
Outside, the night remained calm. And for the first time, my next step did not feel like a leap into the unknown-but a calculated ascent.

The afternoon was unusually bright. Cold, clear light streamed through the large windows into the living room, the holographic fire deactivated. Instead, a sober business atmosphere filled the space. The low table had been pushed aside; Roland had cleared the long dining table instead.
I stood at the head. My pad was linked to the projector; several semi-transparent layers already hovered above the table surface-diagrams, organizational charts, timelines, capital requirement curves.
Roland sat upright, hands clasped. Beside him, Valentina, focused, legs crossed, her own tablet ready. Vanu had a folder in front of her, held closed, but her fingers rested on it as if thou could intervene at any moment.
Selenir Nimrodel seemed a contrast to all of us. Slim, precisely dressed, bright Argonian hair tightly tied back. His eyes were calm, analytical, without any visible emotion. He had not spoken a word since Roland greeted him.
I drew a deliberate breath.
“Thank you all for being here,” I began. My voice sounded firmer than I felt. “Today I wish not only to speak about a breeding facility. But about structure.”
A swipe across the pad.
The first diagram appeared.
Universal Nourishment Organization – UNO
“The parent company,” I said. “Administration, customer service, contract management, marketing, strategic planning. No operational production. Only oversight.”
I saw the first reactions. Valentina blinked slowly. Vanu raised an eyebrow slightly. Roland remained unmoved. Selenir barely nodded.
I switched the layer.
“Research division: XeNutra Incorporated – XNI. Development of new nutrition profiles, biological compatibility studies, optimization of textures and nutrient densities. Cooperation with medical institutions possible.”
Valentina actually lifted her gaze. “With medical institutions?”
I nodded. “Long-term nutrition for species with special metabolic needs. Convalescence products. Mission rations.”
She leaned back slightly. No objection. Just thoughtfulness.
Next projection.
“Breeding and procurement: Exo-Harvest Corporation – EHC. Own orbital cultivation facilities. Additionally, strategic acquisition of rare flora and fauna.”
I noticed Vanu’s fingers now closed more firmly around the folder.
“Processing and sales: Omni-Food Products – OFP. The operational heart. Includes the Anshin Yatei as a pilot operation. Later, additional locations.”
Roland’s gaze flicked briefly to me. No criticism. But clear acknowledgment.
I continued.
“Transport and logistics: Bio Logistics Division – BLD. Own delivery fleet. Temperature- and pressure-controlled containers. Intersectoral supply chains.”
Another layer.
“Security service: Sustenance Security Agency – SSA. Protection of facilities, transport routes, and data.”
Now real silence arose.
I let the projections linger briefly. Lines connected the units. Arrows indicated capital flows. Timelines stretched across five, ten, fifteen years.
“This is not a short-term expansion plan,” I said calmly. “This is a structural build over years. Modular. Scalable.”
No one spoke.
Selenir leaned forward slightly. “Capital requirement for the first five-year cycle?”
I zoomed in. “With conservative calculation-including acquisition of a used orbital agricultural structure and minority participation in an existing logistics line-about 38 million credits.”
Valentina inhaled audibly.
Vanu looked at me as if I had just announced the purchase of a moon.
Roland, on the other hand, only asked: “Financing model?”
“Mixed structure,” I answered. “Equity from ongoing profits. Strategic participation. Possibly silent partners. No complete external financing.”
Selenir clasped his hands. “Liability structure?”
“Each division legally secured independently. The parent company as a holding. Risk isolation between operational units.”
Now they all looked at me. Not dismissive. Not enthusiastic. But… overwhelmed.
I felt it myself. The density. The complexity. All the nights I had calculated. Built models. Played out scenarios. Worst-case simulations.
“That is…” Vanu began slowly, “extremely detailed.”
Her voice was not critical. It was cautious.
“Did thou plan all of this alone?” Valentina asked.
“Yes.”
Roland leaned back. “Since when?”
“About six months.”
Silence again.
Selenir cleared his throat quietly. “Legally feasible, yes. However, thou art operating a private security agency in regulated zones. Weapon permits, licensing, sectoral agreements.”
I nodded. “The SSA would initially be unarmed. Focus on asset protection and data security.”
“And later?” Roland asked.
I met his gaze. “Later, situationally.”
Valentina now stood and slowly walked around the table. She studied the projections from another angle.
“This is no longer a snack bar,” she said quietly.
“No.”
“This is a corporation.”
I said nothing.
Vanu looked at me for a long moment. “And where are we in this plan?”
The question hit directly.
I exhaled calmly.
“Everywhere-if thou willst. But none of it is a requirement. This is my vision. Not thy obligation.”
Roland snorted softly. “Vision is the right word.”
Selenir moved some projection layers with precise gestures. “The structure is well thought-out. Remarkably ambitious for someone with one year of experience.”
I felt heat at the nape of my neck. Not from shame. From tension.
“Is it realistic?” I asked.
Selenir looked me directly in the eyes. “Technically: yes. Economically: dependent on capital access. Politically: exposed.”
Roland nodded slowly. “Exposed is the keyword.”
Valentina stayed standing beside me. “Thou willst not only cook,” she said calmly. “Thou willst change the system.”
I thought briefly.
“I want to help shape it.”
Again, silence.
Vanu released the folder. “And if it fails?”
I answered without hesitation. “Then the Yatei remains. The foundation remains untouched.”
Roland lifted his gaze. “I cannot guarantee that,” he said matter-of-factly. “If thou reachest this scale, the Yatei becomes visible. And visibility creates pressure.”
I nodded slowly. “That is why I wanted this meeting.”
Selenir closed his folder. “Thou needest first a holding structure. Cleanly separated accounts. Clear participation models. And absolute transparency with potential partners.”
“Canst thou support that?” I asked.
He looked at Roland, then back at me. “Yes. For appropriate remuneration.”
Roland smiled faintly. “Of course.”
I looked once more at the floating diagrams. Lines, numbers, names. UNO. XNI. EHC. OFP. BLD. SSA.
Six abbreviations. Six building blocks.
And in the room lay a feeling I could scarcely describe. Not rejection. Not approval. But the awareness that this was bigger than a thought experiment.
Valentina briefly laid her hand on my arm. “Thou hast not only overwhelmed us,” she said softly. “Thou hast surprised us.”
Vanu nodded. “In a positive sense. But I need time to digest it.”
Roland finally stood. “Good. Then we do not start with dreams.”
He looked at me directly.
“We start with structure.”
Selenir activated his pad. “First step: founding the holding company.”
I felt my heart calm.
No longer just vision.
Now it began to become real.
And the room was filled with a mixture of overwhelm and the quiet knowledge that something great was just taking its first official breath.

The afternoon was gray and heavy as I moved through the storage room of the Yatei, among crates full of Scruffin tubers, deep-sea algae, and wheat pellets. The light was dim, the room smelled of earth, algae, and faintly of oil. I let myself sink onto one of the low crates and stared at the quantities available to me. My heart sank. Once again I had counted the deliveries-and it was nowhere near enough for Phase 1. Not for the planet-wide expansion. Not for the planned branches. Not even for the optimal supply of existing customers.
The Argons had reduced their quotas, the Borons arrived only sporadically, the Split and Paranids delivered even less, and the Teladi had other priorities anyway. I felt my shoulders grow heavy, as if the weight of the entire X-Reality had suddenly settled upon me. I had imagined so clearly how the system would function, how the processes would run smoothly, how I would have control-and now? Now everything was viscous, like the wheat broth in my pot.
A bitter taste spread in my mouth, not from food, but from the realization: I could not implement my vision if I could not even guarantee basic supply. Phase 1, the planet-wide expansion, suddenly seemed absurdly distant. I leaned back and let my head sink into my hands. How could my dream take shape if I could not secure the fundamentals?
I felt the despondency as a physical presence pressing on my chest. For minutes I stared at the crates without forming a clear thought. Then my mind began to consider the options-coldly, analytically, because emotions in this situation would only paralyze. Self-sufficiency. That was the only way. If I could not guarantee external supply, I would have to control the sources myself. But immediately I recognized the vicious circle: to become self-sufficient, I needed capital. Capital I had intended to draw from the planet-wide expansion.
I let my hands slide from my face, rubbed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I had to rethink. Every minute of brooding achieved nothing; I needed solutions, not a spiral of self-pity. I sat up and began to speak aloud, as if I had to defend my thoughts to myself. “So… what remains?” I murmured. “Resources… capital… potential…” I drew schematic lines in the air, as though I could make my thoughts visible.
Suddenly it struck me like lightning: if I could not obtain sufficient quantities on this planet, then I must change planets. I must enter space, seek other locations, other resources, other partners, other potential. Other planets, other traders, other possibilities. Perhaps even places that no one had yet considered for such projects. I felt a spark of energy again, a small surge of determination, though the weight of uncertainty still pressed heavily.
Then the gazes of my trusted companions joined me. Vanu had been watching at the entrance; she crossed her arms and leaned lightly against the doorframe. “And now thou willst… jet through the sector on a whim again?” Her voice was calm, but the undertone betrayed skepticism and concern.
Valentina, just returned from the practice, entered the room. She closed the door behind her, sat on the next crate, and crossed her legs. “Tori… thou knowest this is not without risk. Other systems, unknown traders, foreign planets. What if thou standest halfway and the resources fail? What if…” She broke off, looked at me, her eyes seeking mine.
I met her gaze, trying to appear calm while my inner self raced. “I know it is risky. But I have no choice. Either I attempt to secure the capital and resources myself, or my dream remains stuck on this limited basis. I do not want merely to react; I want to control what I can control.”
Vanu shook her head, half amused, half resigned. “Thou art crazy.” She smiled, but it was not a friendly smile. “But… perhaps this is exactly the madness we need.”
Valentina leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “I will not stop thee, Tori. But I tell thee honestly: I have no good feeling about this. We must plan, secure, check networks. Thou dost not go into space without a solid plan.”
I nodded slowly, hands clasped firmly on my knees. “I know. This will not be blind flight. I will gather data, seek partners, analyze risks. I… I want not merely to survive. I want to grow.”
For a moment it was silent. Only the faint hum of the heater, the weak sun rays falling through the large windows, and the distant roar of ships over Nathantia. Then I stood, stretched my arms, felt the muscles that had borne the stress of the past weeks, and spoke quietly but firmly: “We start from scratch. This time I plan not only the Yatei, this time I plan the system. The expansion, the resources, the capital-everything from my own hand. I will find ways.”
Vanu looked at me, then slowly nodded. “If thou art serious, I will help thee. I will not allow thee to bear it all alone.”
Valentina raised an eyebrow, her gaze piercing. “No half measures.”
I felt a mixture of relief and pressure. Two reliable partners, willing to support me, though not enthused. But that was exactly it-no blind enthusiasm, but critical companions. Perfect for the first stage of the next big step.
I sat again, took a pad in hand, and began sketching the first plans: potential planets, resource analyses, trade routes. Every name, every number, every variable was a small building block for the reality I wanted to create. And despite the weight on my shoulders, despite looming uncertainties, I felt something I had long missed: control over my own destiny.
The sun slowly sank behind the glittering rooftops of Nathantia, and I knew: tomorrow I would prepare the first steps to travel into space. Not blindly, not alone, but resolutely. The dream was not lost-it had merely gained a new dimension.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 10 - Plans

Vanu lay in her bedroom, I could see the door slightly open, and Valentina in the other next to it. Both had made clear that they would remain on Argon Prime, to secure the foundation of my plans with Anshin Shokudō and Anshin Yatei. I knew this was meant to be some kind of farewell, in their own, special way. The thought made me both smile inwardly and flush. I had suggested, without thinking, to do it all together, a proposal so clumsy and unconsidered that my own mind immediately rebuked me for how inappropriate it had been.
Both women responded with iron calm, the chill of their shoulders making me feel the shame. Vanu and Valentina made unmistakably clear that they were not the kind of women to be impressed by such suggestions. They accepted each other’s existence, but that did not mean everything had to be shared. Especially not the special farewell night. The thought that my impulsive suggestion might have offended them made my throat briefly dry.
I heard the faint rustle of fabric as they left, and the moment the corridor became quiet again, I felt the tension inside me grow. I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes briefly, and tried to calm the heartbeat that suddenly drummed in my ears. My thoughts raced, sometimes on how I had managed to act so recklessly, sometimes on how much I respected them both and yet wanted more than the situation allowed.
Only a few minutes later they reappeared. Valentina looked determined, almost cool, her eyes briefly fixed on me before she stepped into her room. Vanu followed, a trace of silent consent in her gaze, and the atmosphere in the corridor changed noticeably. I felt the tension rise, my breath accelerating involuntarily as the reality of the impending situation pressed down on me.
Valentina was the first, they had decided. Not because she wanted to gain the upper hand, but because she had known me first, a tacit logic that settled somewhere deep inside me. I only nodded, silently, out of respect and tension alike, and stepped back to give them space. My body reacted to every small movement, every gesture, every barely perceptible smile or frown from both women.
It was a moment full of expectation, tension, and respect. The cold of the night outside seemed to settle on the air in this corridor, yet inside burned something else, a quiet fire that condensed everything we had experienced so far. I knew this was not merely a physical togetherness. It was a farewell, a symbolic gesture for the time to come. And as I watched the door to her room close behind Valentina, I felt that I must learn to be even more careful, both with my words and with my impulses.
Every breath, every step, every movement was charged with meaning. I leaned against the wall, hands pressed to my sides, and let the seconds pass, feeling the silence spreading between us. My thoughts swirled around the future, my plans, the responsibility that weighed on me, and at the same time around what was about to happen. I could do nothing but wait, observe, learn, and hope that the balance between my vision and my personal connections would not break.

The door to the bedrooms lay before me like a separating veil between what I had just left behind and what awaited me. My limbs still felt heavy, aftereffects of the previous night, every movement made me feel the soreness that ran through my body like tiny needles. I stood in the corridor, breathing deeply in and out, hands buried in my pockets, feeling a strange tingling in my chest, swinging somewhere between excitement and tension.

I stood on the wide forecourt of the spaceport, surrounded by the endless hum of ships and the swirling voices of countless species. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the metallic floor panels and making the gleaming hulls of departing and arriving spacecraft sparkle. Everywhere beings hurried past – Argons in their shimmering uniforms, Borons with their fine, fin-like movements, Paranids with their sharp eyes, and Teladi busily carrying packages. The chaos was overwhelming, almost intimidating, and I felt a knot growing in my stomach.
I had set out for space too quickly, my plans were ambitious, too ambitious to ignore the details – yet that was exactly what I had done. Now I stood here and realized that I had completely overlooked the essential steps. I wished to reach orbit, to inspect new planets, to scout resources, to examine potential breeding stations – but I possessed no ship of my own. Not even a chartered one, let alone the necessary flight license to navigate safely.
My hands clenched into fists, and I paced restlessly, watching as a small shuttle landed elegantly while a massive freighter lifted off. The hum of the engines vibrated through the floor and into my chest. I breathed deeply, trying to stay calm while my thoughts raced: how dost thou reach it? Even if thou obtain a charter, can thou fly it? Who could accompany thou?
Suddenly my gaze caught on a terminal, its holographic displays flickering between sparkling flight options. An impulse overtook me: perhaps thou couldst simply charter a ship. I stepped closer, swiping my fingers over the displays that moved like living panels before me, studying the scheduled flights between orbital stations. The connections were varied – short hops between trading stations, longer routes to nearby planets, even some interstellar jumps.
My heart began to beat faster as I discovered a suitable symbol: a direct flight to Trading Station Alpha 1. My fingers trembled slightly as I confirmed the selection. A holographic window opened, showing departure time, craft type, crew, and security protocols. I scrolled through the options, checking prices, travel time, and possible layovers. At last I pressed Book. A short, bright tone confirmed the reservation.
I leaned back, exhaled deeply, feeling the knot in my chest slowly loosen. Yet before relief could fully settle, reality struck. Even with the flight booked, I could not pilot the ship myself. I would need a pilot, someone I could trust. The responsibility weighed heavily on my shoulders, and I knew that I must plan the next steps carefully, lest I risk everything for which I had worked.
I looked up again, gazing at the departing ships and the busy crowd around me. A shiver ran down my spine. Everything was possible, yet it was dangerous. With one last glance at the terminal, I turned away, my goal fixed firmly in my mind, and made my way to the control offices to finalize the details of my journey. This time I would account for everything, every smallest variable, before I set out again.

I felt the passenger craft lift slowly. The G-forces pressed me into the seat, yet the damping field stabilizing the flight made it bearable. Still, I felt a slight tug in my stomach – so unusual was it for me. I fastened myself more tightly, hands on the armrests, while I stared out the window as the landscape below grew smaller. The blue freshwater lakes and green continents of Argon Prime reminded me of Earth, my distant home, and a small sense of nostalgia spread through me.
"What is that?" I murmured quietly as a small, deep green patch in the northern latitude caught my attention. From space it seemed a tiny dot, yet I knew it must cover several square kilometers on the surface. I could hardly take my eyes off it.
An older Argon sitting beside me had heard my murmur and leaned forward curiously. "Those are algae and other marine plants that thrive there, he explained calmly. Argnus are bred there, and their remnants are very fertile."
For a moment I felt breathless. My thoughts raced in all directions, and then the realization struck me like lightning. Of course! This is it! I could not help but shout aloud, though I immediately noticed the other passengers looking at me in irritation. Quickly I lowered my voice and apologized hastily, yet my heart pounded wildly with excitement.
Suddenly everything felt clearer. I needed not invest expensive capital to search space for exotic flora and fauna. I needed not spend months recruiting reliable personnel. Instead I could search for resources on Argon Prime itself, analyze them, and work with them. Algae were edible, and who said they had to be Boron? I could build the market locally, export, and step by step realize my concept without immediately claiming the luxury and risks of space.
Hours later, as we docked at Alpha 1, I had already worked out my plan. Every idea, every number, every logistical consideration lay clear before mine inner eye. Without hesitation I immediately booked a ticket back to Argon Prime. I scanned the crowd, eyes searching for familiar faces, and there I caught a fleeting glimpse of Tahl. He seemed to be searching for someone, and as our eyes met, he waved. A relieved smile spread across my face, and I waved back, then turned and entered the passenger craft again.
Behind me I saw Tahl standing, his expression astonished, as if he had not expected that I would simply turn back. My heart leapt as I realized he had been waiting for me.
Back at the spaceport I was intercepted by Gal, Tahl’s half-sister; apparently he had contacted her. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and a hint of concern. "What is the matter? Why hast thou returned so abruptly?" she asked, hands on her hips.
I could not help but beam. The joy and excitement over my plan reflected in my expression. "I had overlooked details – but now I have it clear!" I said, and in my voice there lay an unmistakable sparkle of relief and anticipation. Gal furrowed her brow slightly, yet the brightness in my eyes let her know all was well. For a moment we stood there, the energy of the port vibrating around us, and I felt that a new phase of my plan was unfolding before me.

Valentina and Vanu looked toward the door at the same moment I entered the living room without warning. The surprise on their faces hit me immediately. Roland, who had been sitting at the table, also paused.
"Thou are back?" Valentina asked at once. "Did something happen?"
I raised my hands in reassurance. "Yes. But nothing bad."
I remained standing. Had I sat down, I would probably have exploded with energy. My mind was still running at full speed. So I told them. About the launch. The uncomfortable lift-off. The orbit. The view of Argon Prime. The blue freshwater seas. The green continents. And finally the patch in the north.
The algae fields. The Argnu breeding grounds. The closed nutrient cycle.
"We are searching in the wrong direction," I said finally. "Not in space. Here. In the north. If the biomass can be seen from orbit, then we are not talking about a marginal phenomenon."
I looked back and forth between Valentina and Vanu. "Would thou accompany me?"
Vanu crossed her arms. Not defensively. Deliberately. "No. I cannot simply leave the Anshin. Responsibility is not fully delegable."
Valentina shook her head. "And I will not close my practice for a spontaneous expedition."
I nodded. I had expected resistance. Still, it hit me.
Until then, Gal had remained silent. She had come with me from the spaceport and had stayed in the background. Now she stepped forward.
"I will accompany thee."
I blinked. "Thou? I thought thou had enough to do as an agent."
"The area has been on our agenda for some time," she replied calmly.
My gaze sharpened. "In what way?"
Valentina looked at me. "Tori. One does not interfere in intelligence matters."
Vanu nodded briefly. "That rarely ends well."
Gal remained composed. "Several companies there show economic irregularities. Inconsistent revenue figures. Deviations in export protocols. The police got nowhere. So a department took over."
She paused. "Since it is not a high priority, the matter has lain dormant for months."
I felt my pulse quicken. Algae fields. Nutrient cycles. Irregularities. Companies.
Within a few hours, my plan had shifted. From interstellar departure to local analysis. And now I was apparently involved in something larger than mere agricultural economics.
I had been looking for potential.
Perhaps I had found it.

The orbital glider accelerated almost silently. Over ten thousand kilometers became a mere footnote. Takeoff and landing took longer than the actual flight.
Gal sat motionless beside me, studying data on her tablet. Diagrams. Satellite images. Tables. Her face remained neutral, focused. She spoke not.
I also felt no need to speak. My forehead rested lightly against the window as I watched the surface of Argon Prime pass beneath us. Coastlines. Mountain ranges. River deltas. Everything appeared ordered, measured, cataloged.
I searched for something unusual. Another green patch. An irregularity in the pattern. Yet from this height, even the unusual became a geometric structure. Everything fit together.
The glider began its descent. Seconds later we touched down. The engine field shut down, and the cabin unlocked with a soft signal.
On the tarmac I turned to Gal. "Could we circle the planet once? I would like to observe it completely."
She looked at me briefly. "Why dost thou not use the FIN for a live view?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Federation Information Network. Real-time satellite coverage. Multispectral. Freely accessible for civilian queries." She lifted the tablet slightly. "Thou shalt receive every point on the surface in higher resolution than possible through a cabin window."
I remained silent for a moment. Then I nodded.
Of course. A civilization running interstellar routes monitored its own planet without gaps.
My wish to view Prime from a distance had been romantic. The reality was functional.

As we drove through the rural area, endless fields of delexian wheat passed by. Golden expanses stretching to the horizon. Only upon closer inspection did I see they did not all belong to the same company. Fences separated the plots clearly. Clear boundaries in a landscape that at first glance seemed homogeneous.
Gal had shed her unobtrusive agent appearance. Instead, she wore a professional business outfit. Clean lines, subdued colors, nothing that drew attention. She played the role of a representative of a small, emerging company seeking new clients.
Before the drive, she had given me brief instructions. We were business partners. We scouted the market. We examined potential collaborations. No political questions. No accusations.
I felt this disguise reflected my own plans-only strategically extended. Perhaps it was even beneficial. In this role, I needed not improvise. I could focus on numbers and opportunities without risking revealing more than intended.
Our target was a company that bred Argnus and cultivated delexian wheat on a large scale. Officially a model operation. Efficient. Productive. System-relevant.
Unofficially, however, serious allegations existed. Local farmers and ranchers accused the company of improperly storing production residues. Waste had allegedly seeped into the Northern Sea-or been deliberately released to save disposal costs.
Fishing operations had suffered massive losses. Quotas had declined. Water quality had changed. Penalties had been imposed, yet as far as I knew, little had improved.
I looked out again at the fields. Gold in the wind. Ordered. Productive.
And I wondered how much of it was facade.

Gal parked the rented hovercraft on a designated visitor lot in front of the extensive company grounds. Low production halls lined up behind one another. Silos and cooling modules rose into the sky beyond. A high fence with integrated sensor rails marked the boundary between public space and the controlled zone.
At the security terminal, Gal registered us. Company name. Purpose of visit. Contact person. Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. Nothing happened afterward.
I looked at the closed gate. "And what if they simply ignore us?"
Gal remained relaxed. "Patience. Those who have something to hide rarely respond immediately. But they respond."
Fifteen minutes later, a side airlock opened. An employee in neutral security attire stepped out, verified our identities again, and guided us across the grounds.
The meeting room was cool and air-conditioned. Instead of real windows, large holographic projections displayed shifting images: emerald-golden wheat fields in sunlight, gray-lilac Argnu herds on open pastures, then neatly packaged Cahoona blocks on conveyor belts. Efficiency. Naturalness. Control.
Shortly after, an Argon woman entered the room. About fifty years old, short, pinned-up hair, a simple gray uniform with no visible rank insignia. Her smile was correct, but not warm.
"Welcome. How may I assist you?"
From that moment, Gal took over. She asked about supply chains, scaling potentials, by-product utilization. Harmlessly phrased, precisely placed. Production volumes. Storage capacities. Disposal cycles. Regional cooperation.
The woman responded routinely. Technical details. Legally sound formulations. References to sustainability certificates. Her tone remained controlled.
I tried to keep up, but after some time I lost the thread. The terms grew more specific, the connections more complex. I did not know whether Gal recognized anything between the lines. Her face revealed nothing.
Finally, I intervened myself.
"We have noticed that significant amounts of algae accumulate in the northern coastal area", I said. "My company examines possibilities for biomass use. We could harvest regularly for a moderate fee. A continuous supply would be a requirement."
Silence.
The woman looked at me more closely. "You mean external utilization?"
"Yes. For food processing. We would relieve pressure and at the same time guarantee a stable purchase volume."
Behind her the projection switched again to wide wheat fields.
"That is fundamentally interesting", she said at last. "However, I cannot decide on this alone. Such cooperations require internal review."
"Of course", Gal replied.
"We shall contact you for a further discussion."
No date. No timeframe.
The meeting ended formally. Handshake. Polite nod.
When we left the air-conditioned room and stepped again into the clear northern air, I did not know whether we had moved a step forward-or merely been politely dismissed.

I took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline slowly fade as I rose beside the hovercraft and let my gaze sweep across the fields. The green shimmer of algae on the water sparkled like an alien, calming splash of color in the otherwise monotonous landscape. I let my shoulders drop, felt the cool air fill my lungs, and sensed the stiffness from hours of sitting gradually ease-first in the orbital glider, then in the hovercraft, and later in the company offices. Stretching felt good.
"I must answer nature’s call", Gal said suddenly, her tone dry but with a hint of humor. Reflexively, I turned, expecting something, yet nothing appeared among the trees. I leaned back, resting against the hovercraft, hands on the metal, and let my eyes roam over the fields again, toward the Northern Sea where the algae shimmered in the sunlight.
Then her call broke my calm. "Tori!" My heart leapt. "Come quickly!"
"I hope thou art dressed", I managed, half in jest, half out of reflex. Gal only replied with a sharp "Aho", which startled me briefly-serious or teasing? I decided not to question it.
I jumped over a small ditch, fought through the dense underbrush, and followed the tracks Gal had left. The grove was small, barely a few dozen meters across, and I reached it in moments. Gal was already kneeling, motioning with one hand for silence and for me to kneel as well.
I obeyed, my gaze following hers, and then I saw it. A massive creature, reminiscent of an oversized cow, stood a few meters away. A single curved horn protruded from its forehead.
"What is that?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"That is an Arg­nu cow", Gal replied calmly.
I swallowed hard. "The creature is over two meters tall…"
"Be glad it is not a bull", came the brief answer, but before I could ask, she continued, "They are even larger-and have three horns."
Yet the danger was not the cow alone. My gaze fell on an Argon girl at the edge of the fence, about twenty meters away. She crawled away in panic, seeking safety, but the distance was too great for immediate rescue. Several smaller Argnus ran uncontrolled. Their gray-leathery hides gleamed lightly in the sun, short, scruffy lilac manes bouncing as they ran. They were the size of full-grown dairy cows.
"Calves", Gal murmured, eyes fixed on the girl. "She must have done something that triggered the mother’s protective instinct."
I wanted to intervene immediately, hands clenched into fists, pulse racing. But Gal grabbed me by the collar, her grip firm and controlling. She sensed what I intended.
Before I could react, drones appeared. They buzzed through the air, metallic in the sunlight, while electric arcs crackled, sparks flying, ozone mingling with the dusty smell of earth. The cow reared, lost balance, and fell with a heavy thud.
Before I could respond, Gal was already at the girl, pulling her under the massive fence. They ran toward my direction, ducking at the same time as the cow tried to rise again. A shrill scream cut through the air, the animal slammed its head against the steel fence repeatedly before trotting off with its calves.
I stood breathless. The fence was remarkably intact, only a few scratches marking the impact. The girl sat on the ground crying, her white dress completely soiled-mud, feces, urine. I watched the little Argnus follow their mother, and a shiver ran down my spine.
If they had broken free… I thought, cold fear running through my limbs… then I would have soiled myself as well.
Gal stood beside me. Her presence calmed, but simultaneously reminded me of control and caution. I knew I should not have interfered-or rather, that any reckless action would have put us all in mortal danger. Reality was merciless. I breathed heavily, feeling tension slowly ease, yet the image of the girl and the enormous cow burned deep into my memory.

I still felt the aftershiver of adrenaline and tension as we helped the girl to her feet. Her knees trembled, hands clenched at her clothing, and her eyes were wide-too shocked to speak. I knelt beside her, cautiously extending my hand, but each time I tried to learn her name or get any contact from her, she remained silent. Gal did the same, calm, controlled, yet equally unsuccessful.
She opened her small bag, that inconspicuous thing she always carried. I could never be certain whether it contained only personal items or some agent equipment-perhaps both. With a mix of pragmatic care and deft tact, she handed the girl a few small cleansing tools. She helped her clean herself at least minimally and then had her sit in the back of the hovercraft. I watched as the child hesitated, took a seat, hands folded on her lap, still frozen with shock.
Gal positioned herself in front of the door, looking at me calmly. I only nodded and turned away, stepping into the brush. "I must also answer nature’s call", I muttered, half in jest, half in truth. After all the excitement, I actually felt the pressure that had long been ignored.
When I returned, my heart nearly stopped. Not only was the girl again in front of the hovercraft, still dirty, the smell unchanged-as if nothing had altered-but also a small group of Argons had gathered. The girl ran to a woman, and both embraced. I paused. Mother? Perhaps older sister? I could rarely estimate Argon age correctly. They lived longer, aged slower-some seemed ageless, some completely different than expected.
I stepped beside Gal. She handed me a damp cloth without a word. I wiped my hands, amazed that she appeared prepared for everything. But what else could I have expected from a woman of the intelligence service?
A man detached from the group and approached us, voice warm but serious: "Thank you for saving my daughter." Gal waved it off almost casually, explaining calmly that the shock drones had distracted the cow and that the girl had already been near the fence. "We had arrived merely by chance, following nature’s call."
Then an older woman arrived, resembling the man. I assumed she was the mother. She squinted, gaze wary. "You are not telling the full truth", she said sharply, insistently. The drones had cameras; she could see that Gal moved like a military unit-no couple’s pretense could hide that. Gal nodded, her posture shifting immediately: away from the businesswoman, back to the professional agent. "We are conducting an investigation", she admitted. "This stop here was still only coincidental."
The mother stepped closer, tears in her eyes, thanking us with sobbing breath. I felt awkward speaking even a word. I remained silent, hands in pockets, shoulders slightly forward. The local group then looked to the gray speck on the horizon-the distant operation-and a quiet murmur passed among them.
They then invited us to their farm and offered to clean the hovercraft. The girl had already told her mother that we had allowed her to clean herself minimally in the vehicle. I understood the invitation, but more intriguing was that they whispered conspiratorially that they had much to tell about the operation. I could not gauge how much truth was in it, but Gal nodded almost imperceptibly. Every chance to gather information was a tool for her-and I realized I had simply to comply. I stepped closer to the hovercraft, wiped the dirt from its surfaces, and felt the air heavy with tension, full of unspoken stories lying somewhere between us, the Argons, and the gray operation in the distance.


* aho / baka - japanese: idiot (fool, stupid, dummy)

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 11 - Action

I paused for a moment and stared at the old Argon on the veranda. He sat in a rocking chair, eyes closed, letting the smoke of a pipe drift slowly into the cool air. Something about his face made me hesitate. It was not human - at least not entirely. A narrow, ridged crest ran from the bridge of his nose between his eyes, across his forehead, and far down his back. I felt my pulse quicken briefly as the image of the Argons from "Beyond the Frontier" immediately came to mind. The first design - unmistakable. In the later games, the developers had softened their appearance considerably so that players could relate to them more easily. But here it stood before me, real and tangible, and I wondered what the explanation in this reality might be.
I turned to Gal, intending to ask her, but as we crossed the yard, the farmer spoke instead. He was a man who appeared more human than Argon, his voice calm and steady.
"Due to the consequences of the Xenon Wars, Terraformer radiation occurred. At least, that is what we call it. The altered atmosphere triggered mutations, expressed in reduced body hair, a slimmer yet taller physique, and slightly different pigmentation."
I felt a knot in my mind loosen. I looked at the old man again. Indeed - taller, more slender than the other Argons around him, his bald head dull in the sunlight, his gray skin appearing patchy, almost like eczema. One generation after another showed different traits, but this drastic? Fascinating and unsettling at the same time.
"The first generations after such conflicts always have a somewhat different appearance, but it does not remain stable over generations," the farmer continued. "Most also choose cosmetic treatment. Out here in the countryside, thou can still see Argons with crests, though not as often as before."
Gal glanced over her shoulder, her voice factual, slightly distant. "In the cities, almost not at all. Or only extremely rarely. As far as I know, these mutations may reappear after generations, but in a weakened form, which likely means they are evolutionarily insignificant."
I nodded, a sense of awe mixing with my hunger for knowledge. "Thank you," I murmured, my eyes still fixed on the old Argon. His posture, his calm, the slowly rising curls of smoke - it all felt like a living relic of a past age.
We stepped onto the veranda and into the farmhouse, where we were immediately offered seats. Glasses of cool water and light refreshments were set out. The warmth of the house, the scent of wood and hay, mixed with the faint metallic aftertaste of the farm machinery outside. I sank into the chair, feeling the tension of the outside world slowly leave me, while Gal sat beside me, her posture still focused on security and control. I took a deep breath, glanced once more at the old Argon, and thought that knowledge sometimes reveals itself precisely here - between generations, in the details - in a way no report could ever convey.

I was almost half lying on the chair, eyes half closed, when a sigh escaped me. "A pity that the Argons erased all knowledge of Earth." The words slipped out almost automatically, a mixture of fatigue and frustration. The journey had taken more from me than I had realized. The long hours of flight, the observation of the fields, the encounter with the Argnus - all of it now lay on my shoulders like a heavy veil. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, my breathing slow, my mind drifting into that thin layer between wakefulness and sleep.
Then suddenly, a bright, unmistakable laugh broke the silence. I snapped my eyes open and saw the woman who had earlier accused us of not telling the full truth. She stood there, her lips curved into a wide, slightly mocking smile, her eyes sparkling. My heart skipped a beat - not from fear, but from the sudden shift of attention.
"Thou truly believest that a government could forbid or even erase the knowledge of an entire civilization? Thou believest the Goner would have existed if information could be deleted so easily?" Her voice was firm, the words carrying that mix of amusement and seriousness that immediately stirred my thoughts.
I straightened up, the fatigue vanishing like smoke as I tried to grasp the weight of her words. There was truth in them. I had always found it strange that an entire colony would collectively decide to erase its own past. It had seemed absurd to me - too vast, too complex, too impossible to be truly realistic.
I thought of the genetic differences between humans and the native flora and fauna. Even with consistent terraforming over decades and centuries, it would be scientifically impossible to prove that the Argons had originated on Son'ra 4. One could adapt plants, animals, entire ecosystems. One could introduce foreign species, cross them, replace them. But that was a process spanning generations. A complete erasure of knowledge? No, that did not sound like something realistically achievable - at least not entirely.
I let the words echo within me, feeling both tension and exhaustion at once. The woman laughed again, a short, warm laugh that drew an involuntary smile from me. Despite the weight of the day, despite the confusion left behind by the girl and the Argnus, I felt a small spark of curiosity return. The world was larger, more complex, full of unwritten stories. And perhaps - just perhaps - that was exactly what kept me moving, what kept me curious, what drove me to dig deeper and keep searching.

I leaned back slightly, hands resting on my knees, letting my eyes wander over the family. My heart gave a small jump when the girl, so young and yet clearly marked by the chaos, introduced herself. "I am Julia. That there is my Okāsan, and that my Otōsan, and that my Obāchan, and outside sits Ojīchan."
I could not suppress a faint smile. Gal, usually so controlled and cool, showed the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth. It was barely visible, but I saw it - a brief moment of genuine humanity between us that eased the tension of the day.
Julia stood there, slightly bowing, her long blond-green braids swaying with each movement. I noticed my hands tighten slightly as I watched the adults gently pat her, calming her, their presence forming a protective wall around her.
The mother stepped forward, her long emerald-green hair falling loosely over her shoulders. "I am Melanie," she said, her voice calm, friendly, yet grounded. The grandmother followed, her blond hair cut short, her eyes framed by a quiet smile. "Diana," she introduced herself, and immediately added her husband, who sat outside on the veranda, seemingly absent yet part of it all. "Florian."
Then the blond man at Melanie’s side spoke, polite and reserved. "I am Sebas."
I absorbed the scene. The family, simple at first glance, had revealed a complexity in the past minutes that fascinated me. I felt myself relaxing slightly - the strain of the flight, the hovercraft, the drones, the cow, the danger and the tension all faded into the background, at least for a moment.
Then, as a brief silence settled, I felt a warm sense of connection, even though I was only a guest. I gave a slight nod, cleared my throat, and spoke. "I am Tori. It is a pleasure to meet you." My voice was unusually quiet, almost careful, as if I wanted to respect the space, the people before me.
Julia looked at me, her eyes wide and curious, and I caught a spark of trust flickering between us. I knew I had to be careful, that every movement, every word carried weight - but at the same time, I felt that here lay an opportunity to learn more, to understand more. About the family, about the region, about this X-reality that had gripped me so strongly for hours.

I sat somewhat stiffly on my chair, hands resting on my knees, trying to focus on the plate in front of me. The Argnu steak looked juicy, the scent strong, slightly earthy, and I immediately felt my senses react with tension. I could not simply eat without observing. The Van Count sat around me, each carrying a presence that felt both grounded and authoritative. Julia seemed small and focused in her blue overalls, the lilac long-sleeve shirt suiting her surprisingly well. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, sometimes shy, always attentive.
Florian entered slowly, supported by his cane, and my gaze immediately fell on the pale pink color of his eyes. My heart skipped briefly, the thought of an albino crossing my mind, but I dismissed it at once. I knew too little about Argon norms, and Gal sat beside me, observing me quietly. As I looked at him, he appeared impressive despite his fragile frame. A contrast of age and presence.
Gal leaned slightly toward me, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Canst thou tolerate it?"
I replied quietly that Grag and Rosa had developed a pill that partially broke down incompatible proteins. She nodded, a brief twitch at the corner of her lips, then a nearly inaudible laugh.
Florian gave an approving hum, his voice deep, warm, and steady. "The natural meat is different," he explained slowly, almost thoughtfully. "Quite different from the mass-bred. Preparation also plays a role."
I saw Diana glance at him in surprise. "Since when art thou so kind to strangers?" she asked, her tone tense, almost teasing. Florian only smiled faintly, his eyes glinting as he replied, "Tori hath a particular presence. I find him likable."
All eyes turned toward me. I felt my cheeks grow warm, my heart beating faster. I cleared my throat and briefly stared at my cutlery, unable to respond at once. A sense of embarrassment mixed with surprise. I was not used to being the center of such attention, especially not in a house unfamiliar to me, with people who seemed both curious and reserved.
Julia glanced at me briefly, then back to her plate. Florian leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, yet his presence remained imposing - not through harshness, but through the calm that emanated from him. I sensed that this moment, uncomfortable as it was, somehow shaped me. That sympathy was sometimes not spoken, but simply felt.
I carefully lifted my fork, took a piece of the steak, and bit into it. The taste was strong, unfamiliar, yet good. Gal gave me a look, one eyebrow slightly raised, as if to say, "You see, no problem." I nodded almost imperceptibly, a small, inward smile crossing my face. And for a moment, I forgot how foreign everything here was, how much I still had to learn, how much this world challenged me.

The "no problem" I had forced out at the table with a strained smile ended up in the toilet not long after. I braced both hands against the edge of the sink, breathing in through my nose in a controlled rhythm and slowly exhaling. It was not as bad as it used to be - no burning pain, no complete collapse of my system. Rosa and Greg’s pills were working. They did break down part of the proteins, reducing my body’s harshest reaction. But I had overdone it. The Argnu steak had been juicy, rich, with a subtle smoky note, and the delexian bread had a faintly sweet crust. I had not stopped in time. First the portion, then the second helping. My determination not to appear weak had once again overridden reason.
When I stepped outside, the cool evening air hit me. It was dry, carrying the scent of earth and metal, of machine oil and ripe grain. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the freshness brush over my face, forcing my circulation to settle.
Julia stayed close to Gal. Like a small satellite, she orbited her, looking up to her, imitating her posture, her way of standing. Admiration filled her gaze - and something that almost resembled reverence. Gal, however, seemed tense. Her shoulders were slightly raised, her expression carefully neutral. She was not used to being idealized. Julia’s mother eventually noticed, stepped out of the door, and called the girl inside with a quiet but firm tone. Julia cast one last longing look at Gal, then disappeared into the house.
Gal and I stood facing each other without truly looking at one another. It was as if we had both decided to avoid eye contact. Instead, we studied the surroundings. Drones hung in their charging stations, humming softly. Autonomous harvesters stood with open panels, as if laid bare under surgical light. The rented hovercraft had been cleaned; even from a distance, I could see the polished surfaces. Order. Structure. Work. And yet, a sense of slow decay lingered over everything.
A quiet creak made me turn my head. Florian settled into his old rocking chair. The wood groaned under his weight as he packed his pipe with deliberate movements. A lighter clicked. The first draw made the tip glow orange. His eyes were half closed, as if he were looking into a memory.
"The factory was built decades ago," he began, without looking at anyone directly. His voice was deep, warm, carried by a calm bass. "At that time, it belonged to a good friend."
I felt my full attention settle on him.
"He inherited his ranch from his parents. As I did this farm. Generations passing it on." The chair rocked in rhythm with his words. "Year by year, he made more profit. And at some point, the rancher became an entrepreneur. But his heart always belonged to the Argnus. And to the environment. He always bought wheat from us and the surrounding farmers."
His voice changed. It lost some of its firmness.
"But one day, he miscalculated. A bull gored him with its three horns." He paused briefly, drawing on his pipe though it barely burned. "He died before the rescue arrived."
I swallowed. The image was too clear. Three horns. Flesh pierced. An end within seconds.
"He left behind his wife. A fourteen-year-old son. And a twelve-year-old daughter." The rocking slowed. "His wife took over the business. But she died a few years later from Terraformer syndrome. The daughter inherited everything. But she had no talent for it. How could she? She was never involved."
Without thinking, I heard myself speak. I described the woman Gal and I had met that morning - her posture, her tense expression, the way she pushed numbers in front of her as if they were bothersome insects. Florian nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said quietly. "That is her. The daughter."
An uncomfortable tension spread through my chest.
"She has been trying her best for years," Florian continued. "But she has neither the business sense nor the practical knowledge. And she does not accept help. False pride."
Gal spoke up, her voice factual, precise. "So the unclear figures and the condition of the operation are due to mismanagement."
Florian grimaced slightly, as if he disliked the word. "I would call it ignorance." He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "She never had any ranch training. Her parents intended to pass everything to the son. But when he came of age, he disappeared with the entire family fortune. Untraceable to this day." He exhaled audibly. "The poor sister had neither the money nor the time to acquire the necessary knowledge."
Silence.
I felt my gaze drop to the ground. Gravel crunched under my shoe as I shifted my weight. In my mind, the pieces rearranged themselves. Debt. Decay. Unclear balances. No structural foundation. No transfer of knowledge. No support.
Gal said nothing further. Neither did I. There was no clever remark that could soften the tragedy of this development. No quick solution I could offer without sounding arrogant.
The smoke from Florian’s pipe drifted in thin strands into the darkening sky. Somewhere, a drone hummed softly, as if confirming the transition into night.
I had thought we were dealing with a purely economic problem.
Instead, we stood before a family tragedy.

The night pressed heavily upon me, the heat clinging to my skin like a damp veil. Each breath burned as I felt the stark contrast between Nathaniel in the south, where winter reigned, and Uros in the northeast, where midsummer raged. The heat pressed down, the air almost vibrating under the silence of the night. Uros was no village, no town – it was a vast land of scattered ranches and farms, islands of light and shadow in the darkness.
We stood before the silent operation. Florian held the old access card of his deceased friend, and I watched him hesitate as he touched the scanner. My hands were slightly damp, a strange pull in my stomach telling me I was unsure whether this was entirely legal. Gal, however, seemed completely relaxed, her eyes skimming over the property as if she could already see every corner. Then the scanner clicked, a soft glow confirming access. Without alarm, without complication, we crossed the entrance. I felt a tug in my lower abdomen – a mix of tension and disbelief.
Inside, the air was surprisingly clean. No stench of waste, no trace of decay. My heart raced, my hands tingled as we moved deeper into the breeding area. I almost expected to vomit, yet the sterile cleanliness confused me. Only a dozen Argnus were there, no bulls, no calves – far from what I had imagined. My brow furrowed, my gaze searching between Florian and the few animals. What on earth was happening here?
Florian knelt at a control console, his fingers moving with practiced precision. Suddenly lights flickered on, first sporadic, then increasing until they coalesced into complex holograms. Argnus, visualized in every data stream, wove like ghostly shadows through the room. My stomach dropped. This was worse than the rumors. Much worse.
A sudden clatter behind me made me flinch. My pulse spiked. I turned and saw her – the owner. She stood at the console, deactivating the holograms, eyes wide with shock and fear. She had knocked Florian aside. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. She demanded to know what we were doing and how we had gotten in.
Florian rose slowly to his full height, pulling the old ID card from his pocket and holding it up for the woman to see. His hand trembled slightly with a mix of anger and determination. Then he slammed his cane onto the metal floor – the loud echo slicing through the silence of the hall. "What have thou done? How could it have come to this?" His voice was firm, strict, nearly breaking under the weight of emotion.
The woman collapsed. Her knees gave way, and she sank to the floor. Tears ran down her face, her body trembling as she sobbed, calling out: "Help me!"
I stood frozen, the air heavy and hot around me, my hands clenched into fists. Reality hit like a blow – this woman was on the ground, overwhelmed by the consequences of her own decisions, and I was in the middle of it. My heart hammered, the heat burned even stronger, and a strange mix of disbelief and urgency constricted my throat.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 12 - ReAction

We sat in the office after we had somewhat calmed Shishido Mari – so she had introduced herself in a brittle voice.
The room was functional, almost austere. A couch that could be folded out into a bed with minimal effort. A desk whose surface could slide and expand into a dining table. Several simple chairs of metal and plastic. On the walls, monitors displayed various areas of the operation – stall aisles, storage areas, the entrance, empty corridors. Everything seemed quiet, controlled, almost lifeless.
The large panoramic window dominated the opposite wall. Outside it was now pitch black, yet the sky was clear. Stars lay like cold shards in the darkness, and Lunas shone brightly, almost unnaturally calm over the fields. For a moment I lost myself in the view. So much expanse. So much indifference.
A large refrigerator stood in a corner. When I opened it, I saw it was nearly empty. A few drinks, some basic foodstuffs, hardly anything fresh. Still, I took a bottle of water, filled a glass, and handed it to Mari.
"Here," I said softly. My voice sounded strange even to me.
The ice broke faster than I had expected. Perhaps because it was already shattered into a thousand pieces around her. "Call me Mari," she had said. "Please."
She had calmed down, at least outwardly. But she was not fit. Neither physically nor mentally. Now, in casual clothing, without the professional composure from the morning, she seemed like a shadow of herself. Hollow cheeks, clearly visible collarbones, thin trembling fingers. Her clothing hung on her like scaffolding.
I remembered the woman from this morning – upright, groomed, controlled. A difference like day and night.
Gal crossed her arms, studied Mari for a long moment, then said calmly: "Thou used a holo-device to appear differently."
No accusation. Only observation.
Mari lowered her head. "Yes," she whispered. "I could not… I did not want anyone to see."
Florian sat down beside her. Slowly, carefully, as if not to break anything. He put an arm around her shoulders. In that moment, her whole body began to tremble. Not just her hands – everything. It was as if his touch had removed the last support that had kept her upright. She bent slightly forward, sobbing, her forehead pressed against his chest.
And then she began to speak.
No one had to prompt her.
She told how she had gradually sold the Argnu cows. First single animals. Then several. Always thinking it was only temporary. She needed liquidity to stabilize the operation. To buy Delexian wheat for feed. To pay for repairs. To settle old bills.
"I thought, if I reduced production temporarily, I could maintain quality," she said in a hoarse voice. "Fewer animals, lower costs."
But the fixed costs remained. Energy. Maintenance of the facilities. Staff she eventually had to lay off. Loans that continued to run.
She had taken on debt early because her starting capital after her mother’s death had barely been enough to continue at all. Banks had lent her money only under harsh conditions. Private investors withdrew as soon as they realized she had no experience.
"I did not want to fail," she repeated over and over. "Not after everything my parents built."
But each animal sold reduced production capacity. Less production meant less income. Less income meant new loans. New loans meant higher interest.
A downward spiral.
To maintain appearances, she installed holograms in the stall areas. Virtual stock that suggested stability to investors and inspectors. She manipulated projection data, shifted delivery dates, declared planned purchases as existing reserves.
"I thought I could buy time," she whispered. "Just a year. Maybe two. Until I learned."
But she did not learn fast enough. And she was alone.
Her brother was gone. The wealth vanished. Mother dead. Father too.
"I did not know whom to ask," she said, glancing briefly at Florian, as if just realizing that help might indeed have been possible.
I sat there, hands clasped, feeling a mixture of compassion and unease. This was not deliberate fraud out of greed. It was fear. Pride. Overwhelm. And the desperate attempt to save an inheritance for which she had never been trained.
Gal remained calm. Observing. Analytical. But I knew her well enough to see that even she registered how far the situation had already progressed.
Mari lifted her head, eyes reddened. "I wanted to hurt no one," she said. "I only wanted time."
I looked at the monitors on the wall. Empty stall aisles. Muted light.
Time was precisely what she no longer had.

I sat there, fingers interlaced, feeling my gaze shift repeatedly between Mari and Gal. Mari seemed fragile, almost translucent in the cold light of the monitors. Her shoulders slumped as if every support beam had been removed. Florian sat close beside her, his arm still around her, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her upper arm.
I swallowed. My mouth was dry, even though I had just taken a drink.
"Gal," I said at last, turning to her. My voice sounded quieter than I intended. "Will she… get in trouble?"
Gal looked at me. Not answering immediately. Only that assessing gaze, weighing every variable before responding.
I leaned forward on my chair, resting my forearms on my knees. "I mean… legally. Because of the holograms. Because of the manipulated stocks. Is there anything that could exonerate her? Anything that could be argued in her favor?"
Mari slowly lifted her head. Her eyes searched my face, as if my question already carried judgment.
Gal exhaled calmly. "That depends," she said matter-of-factly. "Did she actively deceive investors? Submit false figures? Obtain government grants under false pretenses?"
Mari pressed her lips together. "I doctored forecasts," she said in a brittle voice. "But I did not defraud state subsidies. Only… bought time."
Gal nodded almost imperceptibly. "Time gained through misrepresentation is legally problematic."
I felt my stomach tighten. "But no environmental violations? No illegal disposal?"
Mari shook her head vigorously. "No. I reduced production precisely to avoid mismanaging waste. That’s why the sales. That’s why the scaling down."
That made me exhale briefly. At least that.
I ran a hand through my hair. "So it’s… economic mismanagement? And omission-based deception?" I hated how technical my words sounded. As if I were speaking about a report, not a woman collapsing in front of me.
Gal crossed her arms. "If she cooperates, provides full transparency, and reports herself, it can mitigate penalties. Especially if no major material damage occurred."
"Major damage," I repeated softly, looking at the empty stalls on the monitors. "The damage is already done."
Florian looked at me. In his pale pink eyes, there was something between pride and sadness.
I turned back to Gal. "Is there any way to restructure the operation? A temporary administrator? A recovery plan?" My voice gained urgency. "She did not act out of greed. She was overwhelmed."
Gal raised an eyebrow slightly. "Being overwhelmed does not protect from consequences."
I felt the impact of that, even though I knew she was right.
"But," she added, "it does make a difference in the assessment."
Mari began trembling again. "I did not want to lie," she whispered. "I just did not want to lose everything."
I leaned slightly toward her. "Perhaps not everything is lost," I said, more cautiously this time. "If thou disclose how it really is. If thou let thyself be helped. By Florian. By the neighboring farmers."
Florian nodded slowly. "Thou only had to ask," he said softly. No accusation. Only observation.
Mari closed her eyes, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
I looked back at Gal. "If she reveals everything tomorrow – numbers, stocks, debts – would thou… would thou consider that cooperation?"
Gal studied me for a long moment. Then looked at Mari. Then at the monitors.
"Yes," she said finally. "But it will not be without consequences."
I drew a deep breath. It was not a rescue. But it was not a final judgment either.
And in that moment, I clung to that narrow line between consequence and possibility, as if it were the only thing holding us steady in the night.

I looked at Mari. Her gaze had gone empty, not because she felt nothing, but because it was too much. Her fingers clawed into the fabric of her own pants, as if she needed to hold on to something to avoid slipping further. Then my eyes moved to Florian.
He still sat calmly beside her, his arm heavy but protective across her shoulders. His face looked older in the light of the monitors, the shadows accentuating the lines around his eyes. And yet there was something unshakable in his posture. Grounded. Full of history.
I straightened slightly, rubbed my face briefly as if to sort my thoughts, then looked at him directly.
"Florian," I began, feeling my voice firm. "Could thou help?"
He lifted his head slowly. His pale pink eyes met mine.
"I do not mean only… morally." I gestured lightly with a hand, searching for the right words. "Are there people? Other ranchers? Old business partners of thy friend? Someone with experience in recovery or operations management? Perhaps a cooperative? A way to support the operation together?"
Mari now looked up at him as well. Her gaze held something dangerous: hope.
Florian was silent for a moment. Only the quiet hum of the monitors and somewhere outside the faint creak of cooling metal could be heard.
"The neighboring farmers," he said finally, slowly, "still have an interest in a functioning supply. If the operation runs stable, we all benefit."
He removed the pipe from his mouth, although it was long extinguished, turning it thoughtfully between his fingers.
"There is the possibility of a cooperative," he continued. "A transitional administration by multiple parties. Transparent books. Shared risk."
I felt my pulse quicken slightly. "And would thou support that?"
He looked down at Mari. "If she is willing to give up control."
The word hung heavily in the room. Control.
Mari swallowed. Her lips trembled. "If I keep it, I lose everything," she said softly. "If I give it up… at least I do not lose the operation."
I nodded slowly. "It is not about stripping thee of authority," I said cautiously. "But about giving thee time. Real time. With structure. With guidance."
Gal watched the scene with her arms crossed. "An external audit of the books would be required," she said matter-of-factly. "Full disclosure. And a clear restructuring plan."
"That would be acceptable," Florian replied without hesitation. "But only if she is not publicly shamed."
I noticed myself holding my breath unconsciously.
"There are still two old associates of my friend," Florian continued. "One handled technical matters. The other finance. Both retired. Both never forgave the boy for what he did." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Perhaps now is the time to put things back in the right hands."
I felt a cautious optimism stir within me. No triumph. No guarantee. But a start.
"And the debts?" I asked quietly.
"Renegotiate," Florian said succinctly. "With realistic numbers. No more holograms."
Mari inhaled shakily. "I… I would disclose everything," she said. "If thou help me."
I looked at her. For the first time this evening, she seemed not only broken, but determined. Fragile – but honest.
I turned again to Florian. "And if the banks do not cooperate?"
He studied me for a long moment. "Then," he said calmly, "we shall see what this region is worth if it stands together."
I felt my shoulders relax slightly. It was not a finished plan. No guaranteed outcome. But it was more than despair.
And in that night, between empty monitors, an almost empty fridge, and a woman on the edge of collapse, a 'more than despair' was perhaps exactly the beginning we needed.

I felt the thought slowly take shape inside me, first vague, then clear and pressing. This was exactly why I had come to Uros. Not for formalities. Not for inspections. But for a solution.
I straightened, looked at Mari, then Florian. Their faces bore the same expression—exhaustion, doubt, a trace of hope that did not dare show itself. I took a deep breath.
"I can offer you something," I said finally, calmly.
Both looked up. Mari wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, Florian tightened his arm around her shoulders as if to stabilize her.
"I would not only take part of thy Argnu meat, Mari," I continued, looking directly at her, "but also some of thy Delexian wheat, Florian."
For a moment, silence reigned. I could almost see them trying to process whether I was serious.
"In fixed quotas," I clarified. "Long-term supply contracts. Predictable. Transparent. No hidden clauses."
Florian’s brow furrowed. "Why?" he asked simply.
Of course, they did not know why I had originally come. To them, I was only an outside observer, perhaps a curious idealist. I clasped my hands loosely in front of me to ease my own tension.
"I seek food in its original state," I explained. "Unaltered. Not synthetically adjusted. Not genetically standardized to interchangeability."
Mari lifted her head slowly. Her eyes appeared large in her gaunt face.
"Primarily for humans with intolerances," I continued. "For people whose bodies react to highly processed food. And secondarily…" I hesitated briefly. "…to prepare it so that it can also be consumed by alien species."
Florian blinked. "Aliens."
I nodded. "Interspecific exchange will increase. But nutrition is one of the greatest obstacles. Different biochemistry, different protein chains, different micronutrient needs. If we understand food from the ground up and adapt it gently instead of replacing it artificially, we can greatly improve tolerability."
I felt myself grow more structured, more factual—almost automatically. This was my terrain. Planning. Supply. Future.
"I need samples of thy plankton," I added, turning again to Mari. "Unprocessed. If it is edible or modifiable, I would take that as well."
Mari frowned. "Plankton?"
"Microorganisms are often easier to adapt than complex organisms," I explained. "And nutrient-dense."
I leaned slightly forward. "Are there algae stocks here? Cultivable species?"
Florian nodded hesitantly. "In the coastal regions. Hardly used so far."
"Would the fishermen be willing to cooperate?" I asked. "Not just selling fish. But perhaps a partial transition. Algae and plankton farms. Diversification instead of dependence on a single market."
Now it was Florian who looked at Mari. A silent exchange passed between them. Hope against risk. Courage against fatigue.
I raised my hands in a calming gesture. "I do not speak of immediate restructuring. But of a gradual buildup. With investment on my part. Technological support. Guaranteed offtake."
Mari exhaled shakily. "That… would mean we would not have to keep selling."
"Not everything," I said calmly. "Perhaps even rebuild."
I saw her narrow shoulders, still trembling slightly. A few hours ago, she had been ready to let everything go. Now at least an alternative was on the table.
"I am not here to control you," I said softly. "I am here to create structures that make you independent."
The office was silent. Outside, stars glittered over Uros, and Lunas’ pale light reflected in the panoramic window. In that moment, my journey finally felt meaningful.

I watched Florian rise. Each step seemed deliberate, as if his entire body had to reluctantly obey the impulses of movement. I noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the muscles braced against the gravity of age. He walked carefully a few times around the sofa where Mari still slumped, her body trembling slightly, hands clasped together. Despite all differences, she seemed entirely at ease with him, like a father-daughter pair. Her features bore the precision of her Asian heritage, while Florian’s face carried the gently curved lines of Argon physiognomy—differences obvious at first glance, yet an unspoken closeness bound them together.
Florian approached the desk, his fingers moving slowly over the keypad, every motion deliberate. He entered a code, and I could hear the determined pressure on the keys, the faint clicking. The connection remained silent. No beeps, no voice, only stillness. I could tell he wasn’t disappointed. It was late; no one would respond. Instead, he left a carefully composed text message, each sentence measured, like the careful placement of a final puzzle piece. Then he sank back next to Mari, gently placing an arm around her to stabilize her body. She leaned slightly into him, her breathing calming. I could see the sense of security in this simple act, almost tangible.
An idea rose within me. I could no longer remain idle. I reached for my device, beginning to contact someone. Mari noticed the movement and turned her head questioningly. I answered briefly, but clearly: “Roland Caprio.”
Her reaction was immediate and intense. She screamed, eyes wide, then suddenly collapsed, fainting, her hands clenching slightly. I sprang up to support her, but Gal was faster. She interjected that the name was hardly a guarantee of support within the Argon Federation. The mention had been a mistake, a risk we had now taken. Still, I felt that any help we could secure might be crucial. I knelt beside Mari, checking her breathing, feeling her warm breath on my cheek, and couldn’t help thinking that we were in a reality whose rules we only partly understood.
I straightened again, my heart racing, while Florian simply watched me calmly, his eyes the very essence of composure. Gal stood next to me, arms crossed, expression hard but focused. I knew decisions had to be made now; there was no time to hesitate. One last glance at Mari, slowly coming to herself, and I felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on all of us. The night was dark, the air oppressively warm, yet a grim clarity had settled in: we were in the midst of a chain of events no one of us could have foreseen.

I observed Mari curiously looking at Florian, her brow slightly furrowed. “Who did you want to contact?” she asked softly, her voice hesitant, as if she could hardly process the answer. Florian leaned back, face calm, hands folded. “One of my sons. They’re no longer here in Uros. I’ve asked Martin to come.”
Mari’s face immediately flushed, deep red, the heat almost palpable.
Gal furrowed her brow briefly, asking cautiously, “Are you alright?”
Florian chuckled softly, and I looked over, curious.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked, eyes narrowed, as if trying to see behind his grin.
“Well,” Florian began, his laughter lingering, “I once caught Martin and Mari as teenagers in the barn. They were playing ‘Doctor and Patient.’”
I stared between Florian and Mari. The emphasis in his voice, the quiet chuckle, Mari’s bright red face—it was clear that what they had done back then had not been innocent. A knot of embarrassment and disbelief tightened in my stomach as I tried to piece the scene together in my mind.
It took several minutes for Mari to calm down. She breathed deeply, wiped her hands across her face, and sat upright again, though I could still see the slight trembling in her shoulders. My gaze moved to Gal, whose eyebrows were slightly drawn together, silently waiting.
Then, suddenly, the room itself began to warp around us in the middle of the office. My heartbeat quickened. The air seemed denser, pulsating around us, the walls flowing slightly like liquid metal. I felt my stomach tighten, a strange tingling running through my arms.

The Multi-Spatial Transverse System was no ordinary teleporter. It didn’t disassemble matter, nor did it transmit anyone as a mere arrangement of molecules, as some old science-fiction stories suggested. Instead, it folded space itself. The person entering the system remained intact, every breath, every heartbeat unchanged. Around them, reality shifted, as if the world itself dissolved the distance between departure and destination. One moment you stood on the bridge of a ship, the next you were on the surface of a planet, as though the universe had simply erased the space between the two points.
In the past, engineers had tried a teleportation method that broke bodies into molecules and reassembled them at the target—just like in old series. But that approach proved too unpredictable: people returned disassembled or in strange combinations. The new space-folding technology was safer, faster, and—most importantly—it left no chance for the universe to misassemble your molecules.
The system relied on manipulating local spacetime. Sensors calculated the structure of the space between the origin and target coordinates, while the system spanned a kind of cosmic bridge. Inside this corridor, movement was instantaneous—no travel time, no risk of molecule loss. Yet the system was unstable: any disruption in the fabric of space could collapse the transverse corridor, with fatal consequences for anything inside. That’s why the device was used only for short to medium distances, and every activation demanded absolute precision.
For a person entering the system, the experience was strange: the world seemed to warp, to flow, yet simultaneously freeze. A shimmering tunnel of light and shadow, visible only to the user’s eyes, connected two points that would otherwise be light-minutes apart. The teleportation was instantaneous yet tangible, a spatial phenomenon that seemed to bend the universe itself to neutralize distance.

When the effect ended, a man in a military uniform stood in the center of the room. I immediately recognized his posture, the way he scanned the environment, taking in each of us in a single, rapid glance. My heart leapt. He had to be Martin Van Count. His gaze flicked over Florian and Mari, then to Gal and me, each movement precise yet full of concern. Without hesitation, he surged toward Florian and Mari, hands outstretched, face tense, eyes wide with worry.
I stepped back, feeling the tension in the room, the weight of the situation. Florian’s hand rested reassuringly on Mari’s back, but Martin was like a storm sweeping through the space, the air electrified by his presence. Mari twisted slightly, tears in her eyes, lips trembling as she struggled to breathe. I felt a rush of urgency and fear course through me. Everything we had achieved up to this point now seemed at stake, and I could hardly grasp the thought that we were witnessing the return of a long-absent force—a son who could change everything.

Time passed in a blur. I felt the tension in my shoulders slowly ease from the long hours, yet a new flood of thoughts rose within me. Outside, dawn was beginning, at first barely noticeable. The sky remained black, but along the horizon it was darkening to deep blue, gradually brightening, as if pulling the night away. A cold breeze drifted through the open window, tingling my skin and sweeping away the last remnants of fatigue.
Inside, we all sat together, and Martin listened intently as Florian, Mari, and Gal explained how the situation had unfolded. I watched the subtle changes on his face as he absorbed the story of Mari, the farm, the Argnu cattle, and the endless bureaucratic entanglements. His brow furrowed, jaw muscles tensed, fingers drumming impatiently on the table.
Then something happened that made me catch my breath. Florian, usually calm beyond measure, had joked that Martin should marry Mari and take over the farm together. I saw the spark in Martin’s eyes—the moment a thought ignited. He struck his chest, eyes gleaming, lips forming a determined smile, nodding as if to convince himself: “This is exactly what I will do.” His voice was firm, clear, and passionate, like he was taking an oath.
I sensed Gal registering the moment with sharp attentiveness. She tilted her head slightly, searching his gaze. “And the teleportation was legal?” she asked, her tone neutral but cutting like a scalpel. I saw Martin hesitate, then his face sank into uneasy silence, lips pressed lightly together, eyes briefly shifting away. No words came, yet in that silence was the answer. The beads of sweat on his brow, the faint trembling of his hands—all spoke volumes.
I leaned back for a moment, hands resting on the table, watching the scene unfold. Martin was resolute, without question, yet the weight of the night, the teleportation, and the legal gray areas still pressed on him. I felt an involuntary tug in my chest—a mix of relief, tension, and fascination. I could vividly imagine the challenges ahead: getting the farm running again, assuming responsibility, managing debts, organizing the cattle, handling the algae-based samples we had discussed—all of it resting on them.
My gaze shifted to Mari, still slightly slumped, hands clasped, lips pale. I could see relief on her face, mingled with a new uncertainty. Florian sat beside her, hand reassuringly on her shoulder, eyes fixed on Martin. Gal observed everything, leaning slightly forward, as if she wanted to catch every thought in the air.
The tension in the room lifted as Martin finally looked up. His gaze passed over Mari, then Florian, then the rest of us. A brief smile flickered across his face—a look that held both uncertainty and resolve. I could see the internal conflict, the urge to act immediately, and at the same time the weight of taking responsibility.
The first rays of morning cast faint shadows across the office, illuminating the monitors, the couch, the desk. I inhaled deeply, feeling the cool air brush my skin. For a moment, everything was still. The night was over, dawn had gently lit the world, and before us lay reality—complex, challenging, but somehow full of possibility.
I felt my heartbeat settle, the tension slowly ebbing. Yet I couldn’t help but watch Martin gather himself, shoulders straightening, fists clenching. It was the moment before the leap, and I knew he was ready. I felt a tingling in my fingers, eager to jump up and set everything in motion, but I also knew this was his step—his path, his action, his responsibility. I leaned back, eyes fixed firmly on him, and waited.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 13 - Advancement

I lay back on the warm wooden veranda, my back pressed against the cool support, while Valentina and Vanu, my two wives, dozed gently in my arms. Their bodies rested against me, breathing in rhythm with my own lungs, and the light breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms to me, a blend of sweetness and fresh earth. Above us stretched a sky of deep blue, almost shimmering in the sunlight. The petals swayed softly in the air, some drifting like small pink butterflies across the veranda. I let my gaze wander through the play of colors, felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, and listened to the quiet hum of insects, the background sound of a spring morning.
Two years had passed since I came into this reality, and within me it felt like twenty. The days had blurred into a stream of new impressions, new responsibilities, and constant possibilities. I knew I had only scratched the surface: Argon Prime, the trade station Alpha 1 in orbit, everything else known only through the databases of the Federal Information Network. It was exciting, overwhelming, and in a strange way deeply satisfying to understand this world piece by piece.
My thoughts drifted back to Uros. The events surrounding the Argnu operation had changed everything. Selenir Nimrodel, the legal counsel arranged for me by Roland Caprio, had stepped in immediately. I still remember the initial hesitation - the exorbitant credits he demanded made me question whether it was worth it. But looking back now, I knew every single credit had been more than justified. The operation had been restored, the farmers, ranchers, and fishers had regained their prospects, and Shishido Mari had avoided prison - under the watch of the authorities, who at least agreed to a structured repayment. Martin Van Count had married Mari, and together they had rebuilt the operation on stable foundations.
Gal, as always pragmatic and composed, had used her contacts to prevent a dishonorable discharge from the military. The teleporter she used was declared a "private intelligence request," and although everyone knew it was a fabrication, it resolved the situation without drawing public attention. I could not help but admire her for that precise manipulation.
A year later, after all the events and challenges, I had founded my own company. The expansion to Argon Prime had not been rushed, but deliberate. More than a dozen Anshin Shokudō had been established, each with an attached Yatei that had long outgrown the idea of a simple food stall and taken on the scale of a small restaurant. Our locations were chosen strategically: just outside the spaceports, close enough to the main transit routes to attract Argon passersby, yet appealing to foreign aliens curious about our cuisine.
I closed my eyes briefly, felt the heartbeat of my wives against my chest, and sensed pride in every part of me. Pride in what we had achieved, in the challenges we had overcome, in the people who had supported us along the way. Everything we had built was the result of hard work, careful decisions, and unshakable partnerships. A deep sense of satisfaction spread through me, almost tangible, as I gently rested my hands over Valentina and Vanu, absorbing the spring sunlight, the cherry blossoms, and the warm breeze.
I took a deep breath and knew that this was only the beginning. There was still so much to see, to learn, and to create. And yet, for this moment, everything was perfect.

Yet for all the light of those two years, there was a shadow that could not be driven away. Roland Caprio was dead. It had not been a dramatic incident, no assassination, no plague. No headlines. Just his own body, which at some point could no longer continue. His intolerance - that complex, elusive reaction of his organism - had weakened him over years. No viruses, no bacteria. Simply wear. A slow giving way. Valentina had still attested improvement. I remember her matter-of-fact tone, the careful nod as she examined the readings.
“He is responding,” she had said. And he truly was.
My dishes had given him strength. I had seen it with my own eyes: more color in his face, a steadier voice, a clearer gaze. He had eaten again, with genuine enjoyment. But it had been too late. I had been sitting at his bedside when he slept. He looked peaceful, almost content. The next morning, he did not wake. No struggle. No pain. Only silence. When I received the news, I felt my chest tighten. I remember clenching my hands into fists, my jaw tensing. A part of me wanted to be angry - at this world, at time, at myself. Should I have come earlier? Could I have acted faster? The thoughts gnawed at me, even though I knew rationally that I had only existed since I arrived here. His funeral was unusual. Gal and Tahl came in person. That alone showed the significance Roland had held. He had wished for both of them to be present when his body was given to the Blue Sea. Within the Argon Federation, it had long become common to disintegrate the dead. Efficient. Clean. Practical. Roland had always despised that.
“I am not waste to be recycled,” he had once said dryly.
He wanted to be cremated. To return as ash to the world. To become part of it. Not a dataset in an archive. As the flames took his body, I stood motionless. My hands clasped behind my back, my shoulders tense. Gal beside me, her expression unmoving. Tahl, unusually silent. When the ashes were later given to the Blue Sea, a breeze came in from the water. I narrowed my eyes, not only because of the wind. A strange sense of finality settled over me. Roland had never been sentimental. And yet this farewell was fitting. Unconventional. Exactly like him. The reading of the will took place in his house. I was tense, even though I told myself there was no reason to be. The building still smelled of him - old wood, spices, and that faint metallic undertone of his surroundings. Then my name was spoken. He had left the house to me. For a moment, I was certain I had misheard. I straightened abruptly, felt my pulse quicken.
“That… must be a mistake,” I said, looking at Gal and Tahl. “It belongs to you. You were with him longer. You—”
Both shook their heads almost at the same time. “He knew what he was doing,” Gal said calmly.
Tahl only nodded. “He never made decisions at random.”
I exhaled sharply. It did not feel right. I had known him, yes. Helped him. But a house? His house? I offered it to them. Seriously. Almost insistently. But they refused. Without hesitation. And I knew any further discussion would be pointless. Roland had clearly seen something I did not yet understand myself. With the money, it became even stranger. Roland had decreed that his entire fortune was to be divided equally between Gal and Tahl. Fifty-fifty. Under one clear condition: I was not to lay any claim to it. Should I do so, everything would be split into three parts. I could not help but smile faintly when I heard that. Typical. Even in death, he was still playing strategic games. Of course, I could have used every credit. Expansion cost. Growth consumed capital. And yet, something tightened in my stomach at the thought of claiming even a fraction. It felt wrong. Unearned. As if I were taking something that was not mine.
“I decline,” I said without hesitation.
Gal studied me carefully. Tahl watched my expression. But I meant it. It was not a gesture. Not a performance. It was certainty. And then came the final point. Knowledge. Roland had left me all his contacts. All of them. Not only the useful connections. Not only business addresses or political channels. But also information on who owed whom. Who was dependent. Who could be pressured. Who was loyal. Who could be bought. When the data was handed to me, I could almost feel its weight. It was not a physical object, and yet it felt heavier than any fortune. I looked at Gal. At Tahl. Both understood immediately. This was not a gift. It was responsibility. It became instantly clear to me that this inheritance was worth more than any amount of money. Money was finite. Influence was not. And knowledge - strategically applied knowledge - could move entire systems. Roland had not left me wealth. He had given me leverage. I stood in the living room of his house, which was now mine, and slowly ran my hand along the backrest of a chair. My expression was calm, but inside, everything was in motion. He had tested me. Until the very end. And now it was up to me to prove that he had not been mistaken.

I saw Kon Mah for the first time as he stepped through the narrow hatch of the hangar and approached us. An Argon, tall and muscular, his posture calm, almost too calm, and yet I could feel the discipline in every step. Martin had arranged him, and that was clearly no coincidence - the man carried that military aura like a second skin. His gaze rested briefly on me, then he gave a short nod, as if to say: “I know what I am getting into.”
I had hired him not out of luxury, but necessity. Transport costs had exploded over the past year due to third parties. If I wanted to retain control over my supply chains, I needed to own a freighter myself. I had purchased a used, atmosphere-capable freighter, and Kon was to pilot it - not only for transporting wheat and Argnu meat from Uros, but also algae, plankton, and occasionally fish. I was not willing to risk mistakes, no delays. Kon seemed to understand that.

It was also around that time that a Boron appeared, and I almost had to laugh. “Bi Fi,” he said, and the name alone made an unexpected grin cross my face. He raised a tentacled limb, which I immediately interpreted as polite, and asked why I was laughing. I could not help myself and admitted that in my childhood I had eaten a snack called Bifi, made from smoked Argnu meat. Vanu’s and Valentina’s gazes flickered between me and the Boron, trying to prevent any possible offense. Fortunately, Bi Fi seemed to understand this small cultural anomaly and attributed it to differences in language and origin. I looked at him more closely. He hovered about half a meter above the ground, supported by an antigravity unit integrated into his environmental suit, as Borons could not survive outside their natural habitat. His lower body reminded me of an octopus, numerous tentacles, flexible, but without suction cups. His upper body and head resembled a seahorse, elegantly curved, with an almost childlike curiosity in his gaze. He demonstrated that some Borons could stiffen their primary tentacles to grasp objects. Others could intertwine several tentacles as if they were hands. I was more impressed than I cared to admit. Bi Fi then explained his purpose. He was a junior representative in the Boron diplomatic service. They had heard of someone who made food consumable for all species. The Anshin Yatei, he explained, attracted not only Argons but also Borons, Teladi, Split, and Paranid, a small yet highly intriguing mix. Then came the offer: a journey to Kingdom End, the Boron home system, and an audience with Her Excellency Popo Da on Ni’sha’la, their homeworld. At the name, I had to suppress a laugh, pressing my hand to my mouth to hide my amusement. They were so different, and yet I immediately felt a certain fondness for these peculiar, almost endearing beings. When Bi Fi departed, I looked at Vanu and Valentina. Their expressions immediately revealed that they were envious, that they wanted to come along.
“And your jobs?” I asked carefully.
Both lowered their heads, admitting they were fully committed. But they did not want me to travel alone and immediately began reaching out within their network. Gal could not come. She was away on an assignment, which I respected. Tahl, however, surprisingly agreed. Even though no one quite understood how the head of security of Trade Station Alpha 1 could suddenly take a week off, it was reassuring to know he would be there. I simply nodded, my heart beating a little faster at the thought of the journey ahead. It would be different from anything we had experienced so far. I felt a tingling sensation, a mixture of anticipation and tension, spreading through my chest. Bi Fi had opened a door, and I knew I had to step through it. I stood before a Boron ship for the first time, letting my gaze travel across the personnel transporter. Seeing the living vessel in person was strangely intoxicating. It looked like an oversized shrimp, I thought, and the longer I observed it, the more details I noticed. The crystalline skeleton was indeed covered with biological tissue grown on a substrate, every centimeter pulsing faintly as if the ship were breathing. Not consciously, not like a sentient being, but still an unusual, organic form of life. Neural nodes were distributed throughout, and I instinctively felt that they allowed the ship to respond faster than any pilot or computer of other species ever could. The dark green tones of the exterior felt pleasant, calming to the eyes. I turned to Tahl and asked how Argons would perceive these colors. He barely shrugged, his gaze fixed on the biological elements.
“Dirty green,” he said simply. “Earthy.”
I nodded, taking in the information, and for a moment closed my eyes to absorb the calm, organic presence of the ship. The interior was just as organic as the exterior. Everything felt grown, as if it had emerged from the same biological matrix. Luminous lime-colored strands ran through the walls like neural pathways, encased in a transparent membrane and an equally transparent fluid. I could almost feel the energy flowing through them, a kind of subtle life rhythm of the ship expressed in a steady, calming pulse. Bi Fi had informed us that the journey to Ni’sha’la would take approximately two tazuras. I had to calculate briefly, two tazuras equated to roughly two and a half days. Our stay in the Kingdom End system would take one tazura, just over a day, and the return journey another two tazuras. In total, we would be traveling for five tazuras, nearly six and a half days. I let the number settle in and felt a slight nervousness in my stomach, mixed with a strange anticipation. Tahl and I sat comfortably in the seats of the rear passenger section, relaxed, though we knew we carried responsibility during this time. Bi Fi swam in the separated forward section, the transparent membrane and reinforced force field dividing him from us. His body moved elegantly through the water, each motion fluid and precise, as if he were part of the ship itself. I could hardly look away. The distance between us felt both close and foreign, the boundary between water and dryness, between us and Bi Fi, tangible and yet invisible. I leaned back further, clasped my hands behind my head, and let my gaze drift through the greenish shimmering cabin. The organic structures, the glowing tissue, the pulsing neural pathways, everything was new, fascinating, and slightly unsettling at the same time. I felt a crackling anticipation in my chest. This journey would be unlike anything I had experienced before, and I was ready to embrace the unfamiliar, living transporter.

I had the feeling that this journey would offer me not just new markets, but new perspectives. While Tahl sat next to me—now with closed eyes, arms loosely crossed, his breathing deep and steady—my gaze kept drifting back to the transparent membrane behind which Bi Fi floated in the water. His movements were calm, almost meditative. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees, and cleared my throat lightly.
“Bi Fi,” I began, striving for a neutral tone, though I could feel genuine curiosity stirring inside me. “I’d like to learn more about your people. Not for… strategic reasons. I’m just genuinely interested.”
His large eyes, rotating independently, fixed on me. A few of his tentacles contracted slightly—a sign of attention, as I had come to understand. “You seek knowledge?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. “Everything you can share.”
He acknowledged this, and I leaned back a little, clasping my hands together as if to force myself into patience. Yet internally, I was fully alert. Then he began to speak.

“You want to know how we became who we are? Very well. I will tell you our story—as far as it has been passed down through the memories of our genes and the signs of the seas.
Our world was once little more than a chain of flat, shimmering oceans, dotted with islands of minerals and coral. There, between the currents and in the shadows of underwater mountains, what we now call the Boron people began. We were small, vulnerable, almost nothing more than plankton eaters, weaving through the waves. Everything we did had one goal: survival. Predators circled us, larger and faster, their teeth and claws always a threat. Every movement we made, every color we displayed, could mean life or death.
Our bodies began to change, slowly, over countless generations. We needed agility, but also stability. The lower bodies of our ancestors developed tentacles, allowing us to grasp, push, and even float when the current carried us. At the same time, the upper body formed—a raised, strong torso with a head that perched over the tentacles like a mast above a boat. Our eyes grew on these heads, large and mobile, rotating independently, so we could see everything around us without turning. In this panoramic vision lay our salvation: movement, shadows, patterns—we could recognize them all before a predator reached us.
Our color vision, limited as it may seem to you, is perfect for our world. Blue and green dominate the waves; light penetrates these wavelengths most deeply. Red—the glow of lava or some luminous creatures—does not appear to us as a color like you know it. We perceive it more as darkness, a contrast signal, a warning of heat or danger. It is a tone in the great symphony of light, alerting or surprising us, not a food source or a social message.
But we do not see with our eyes alone. Our bodies communicate with ourselves and each other in ways you cannot even imagine. Hormones flow subtly but unmistakably. A drop here, a ripple there—and instantly we know how a member of our community feels, whether it fears, rejoices, or bears a warning. This chemical language, combined with our eyes, our tentacles, our posture, allows us to live in complete harmony. Conflicts are minimized, cooperation is fostered, and we remain inconspicuous to the predators circling around us.
Our evolution was not a pursuit of power, nor a search for prey. We did not need to hunt; we did not need to be eaten. Everything we became, everything our bodies and senses formed, was a response to constant threat. Every tentacle, every eye, every chemical signal—each arose under the pressure to survive. We are the peaceful children of the sea, yet our peaceful nature is the product of millions of years of vigilance and precision.
The world taught us patience. We learned to read currents, to recognize patterns in the waves, to anticipate movement. The depth and breadth of the ocean shaped our thinking as much as our bodies. We understood that not every fight must be fought, that survival favors those who hide, observe, and perceive before reacting. And thus arose our people, the Boron: not strong through violence, not powerful through hunting, but clever, cautious, and sensitive, connected by the silent signals of hormones, the flowing movements of tentacles, the sharp eyes, and the calm presence of our bodies.
When you see us, you may perceive us as peaceful and fragile. Yet we are the survivors of a world that constantly tested us. Our evolution was an endless dance between predator and safety, light and shadow, the water that nourishes us and the waves that threaten us. Everything about us—our bodies, our vision, our chemistry—is a response to these trials. This is our story, written in our genes, in every drop of our water, in every breath we take.
So do not see us merely as creatures of the ocean. See us as the product of constant vigilance, the result of millions of years of evolutionary decisions that allowed us to survive without ever needing to hunt. This is the path by which we became what we are—Boron, children of the sea, ever watchful, ever connected, ever peaceful.”

I had barely blinked during his story. My hands now rested openly on my thighs, as if I had unconsciously let go of a defensive stance. In my mind, images formed: vast oceans, shadows beneath the water, eyes that saw everything.
But Bi Fi was not finished.
“There is something else you need to know before you think you understand who we are,” the Boron continued. “Our story is not only that of currents and predators. Before us, there were others, older beings—the ones we call the Helpers. They came long before we saw the sky over our seas, long before we learned to build our first ships. Some call them gods, others wanderers between the stars. To us, they were teachers.
The Helpers showed us things we could never have learned on our own. They gave us the first rules of physics, explained the power of fire, which we later used in our mines, and showed us ways to shape materials without destroying them. It was not a gift of power, but of understanding—knowledge we had to apply ourselves to survive. We could not simply take the tools; we had to learn them to master them.
And yet, as much as they helped us, they remained alien. They moved in a world inaccessible to us, beyond the water and our senses. We learned from them, but we never imitated them. Everything they gave us was filtered through the lens of our own existence. Tentacles and fins shaped our tools, eyes and chemistry shaped our methods. What was simple for them became for us a new way to see, comprehend, and shape the world.”
The Helpers eventually left, as they had come, leaving only traces of their knowledge. Yet we carried their teachings within us, interwoven with what the currents, the predators, and the plants had taught us. They helped us not by fighting for us, but by enabling us to understand, decide, and survive on our own. Our progress has therefore never been purely our own—it is a dance between the old and the self, between the stars and the waves.
So when you marvel at our tentacles, our eyes, and our BGP vision system, remember: we did not develop these tools merely to survive. We developed them while learning to understand the gifts of the Helpers. Everything in us carries the memory of those who taught us and the world that tested us. It is a story of caution, of learning, and of the relentless pursuit of survival while growing and unfolding at the same time.”

My heart quickened. I had completely forgotten that I knew things I was not supposed to know. That in my questions I might have been too precise.
“These Helpers,” I heard myself ask, my fingers entwined to hide the restlessness inside me, “how… exactly did they reach you without being discovered?”
Thal did not move. He slept. Bi Fi, however, answered without hesitation.

“You want to know how our teachers—the Helpers—managed to reach us without the Elders ever directly observing us? I will explain, though even for us, the scale of their power is almost unimaginable.
They harness the energy of an entire star. Not like us, carried by currents and waves, but truly, truly wielding it, directing it, concentrating it. The sun itself flows through their devices, through their tools—enough force to bend spacetime around planets. From that power, they create… doors. Small holes in space, stable only long enough for them and us to slip through. We call them wormholes, but they are not permanent. They flare open as long as needed, then vanish again before anyone who might threaten us notices.
Their ships are barely more than shadows, even to us Borons, who see as well as we do. Energy we would normally detect with every light reflection is absorbed, redirected, hidden. Even if we look closely, we see only the sea of our star system, the currents that carry us—and nothing of what the Helpers are doing. We only notice that suddenly knowledge, tools, or ideas appear, like seeds carried by water.
They are powerful, but deliberate. Not like the Elders, who see and control everything. The Helpers do not seek to rule; they want to teach—us, and other young peoples. We learn from them, from their doors, their tools, from the way they control energy, but we never follow their path. They appear and disappear like the currents themselves. No one except us notices that they were here—and perhaps we prefer it that way.
If you ask why they give us only what we need, and no more, then you understand their caution. They know the Elders watch everything. One false step, and the attention of the Elder race would fall on us. So they grant only what we require, only what allows us to grow without drawing notice. It is like a dance underwater—precise, quiet, invisible to the eyes of those who could harm us.
This is how their world works: wormholes, energy, concealment. Knowledge we can absorb because we are prepared to be cautious, as we have been since our beginnings. We learn, we understand, we use, but we never see them directly—only the traces of their teachings. And so the Elder race has never found us, and we thank the Helpers for guiding us, as children of the sea, so that we could survive while learning.”

I leaned back slowly. My throat was dry. I had asked too much—and yet received everything. A question rose in me before I could even form it into words. It hovered on my tongue, almost burning. Wenendra. Gigantic bodies beneath dark waters. Slow, dignified. Like earthly whales, but older, stranger, larger. Pacifists. Unaware of what lurked beyond their oceans. Discovered by the Borons—by chance or fate—at the edge of the Queen’s Realm, far from any route, far from any curious probe. I knew it only because I carried knowledge from another reality. My fingers clenched lightly into the cushioning of my seat. I forced myself to breathe calmly. Asking now would be foolish. The Borons treated the existence of the Wenendra not just as a secret—they treated it like a fragile membrane, one not even to be touched by their own people. Even many Borons knew nothing of them. If I asked Bi Fi directly, there were only two possibilities. Either he truly knew nothing—which was likely. Or he knew…and would go on alert. Hormones. Body language. Chemical signals. I might not even notice consciously, but he would analyze me. Then I would have to explain how I knew. I let the thought go. With effort. Instead, I slowly raised my head and looked across the transparent membrane at Bi Fi. His body floated motionless in the water, tentacles slightly spread, as if listening not only to my words but to my heartbeat. I forced my voice into a calm, neutral tone.
“So one cannot say what the Helpers are,” I said slowly. “Machines. Arachnoids. Primates. Or… something entirely different.”
As I spoke, I watched him closely. Every subtle change in his coloration. Every contraction of a tentacle. Bi Fi moved barely at all. A slight pulsing along his torso, almost imperceptible. His eyes rotated synchronously toward me—a rare sign of full attention.
“Your conclusion is correct,” he said calmly. “We do not know what they are.”
I nodded slowly. “No visual data? No biological samples? No direct contact?”
I leaned forward slightly, hands clasped, elbows on my knees. I could feel how captivated I was by the subject. Not only because of the Helpers, but because of the structure behind it. Stellar energy. Wormholes. Concealment. Power on a scale that even I—with all my prior knowledge—could barely grasp.
“We see their tools,” Bi Fi said. “Their traces. Their calculations. But not them directly. Their appearance remains hidden.”
A barely perceptible shiver passed through his tentacles, like a ripple in water. No fear. More… reverence. I leaned back again. My brow furrowed lightly. Hypotheses formed in my mind. If they controlled stellar energy, if they could open and close wormholes precisely, if they remained hidden from an Elder race… Then they were technologically far beyond what even major federations could achieve.
“That means,” I murmured under my breath, more to myself than to him, “they could be anything. Pure energy forms. Biological beings with machine augmentations. Fully artificial intelligences. Or species whose biology we could not even classify.”
Bi Fi confirmed again with a calm, brief pulse. “We do not speculate,” he said. “We observe. And we learn.”
His answer hit me harder than I expected. No speculation. No attempt to force them into familiar categories. Only patience. I let my gaze wander through the organic interior of the ship. The lime-green strands behind the membrane pulsed steadily. Life in structure. Structure in life.
“So you accept that you are taught by something you do not understand,” I finally said.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. I felt my lips curve into a thin smile—not mocking, but thoughtful. “That is… remarkable.”
In many other civilizations, that fact alone would have triggered distrust. Fear. Paranoia. Military escalation. But the Borons… they filtered everything through caution and survival. Not to dominate. Not to provoke. Not to be seen. I thought briefly again of the Wenendra. Their massive bodies beneath dark waters. Their ignorance of stargates, empires, wars. And how precisely that ignorance protected them. I exhaled slowly.
“Perhaps,” I said finally, calmly, “it is sometimes better not to know what something is. As long as you understand what it does.”
Bi Fi remained perfectly still for a moment. Then his tentacles moved apart slightly. “That is a very Boron statement, Tori.”
I raised an eyebrow and looked at him directly. “Is that a compliment?”
A barely perceptible shimmer ran through his body. “Yes.”
I leaned back, arms loosely crossed over my chest, and let my gaze drift toward the cockpit section, where the two Boron pilots worked silently in the water. Five Tazuras. Not quite six and a half days. And I had just learned that somewhere in the universe, beings existed who tapped stars as we tap a power cell. My throat was dry again. But this time, I asked no further questions.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 14 - Negotiations

I sat in the rear section of the Boron passenger transport, my hands loosely clasped together while Tahl had sunk into his seat beside me. Outside, beyond the transparent membrane, the system of Kingdom End slowly came into view. I felt a faint vibration as we passed the final jump gates—four in total—each one collapsing the distance between stars into fractions of a second. My eyes followed the streams of light as the portal tore open behind us and sealed again, and I found myself wondering about the construction of those gates. Why were there sometimes four, sometimes six, sometimes only two? No one knew—except the Ancients themselves. I recalled the cryptic messages of the Sohnen, those strange sentient machine beings that appeared from time to time yet revealed nothing. Their presence was always brief, yet they left behind the unsettling sense that the universe itself had eyes—eyes one was never meant to understand.
As we approached the orbit of Ni’sha’la, my gaze drifted over the instruments. We had to pass the standard controls of the trading station, but everything proceeded smoothly. Friendly voices, precise queries, and we were cleared without delay. I let my shoulders drop slightly, feeling a quiet release of tension.
Then the planet moved fully into view, and I was immediately caught by the interplay of light. Two suns—Eo and Pala—bathed everything in a surreal spectrum. Eo radiated a muted green hue that enhanced the dark olive and emerald tones of the landscape. The photosynthesis of Boron flora must thrive under it, I thought, unable to ignore the blend of biological function and aesthetic impression. Pala, by contrast, shone in a near-neutral white, acting like a corrective that balanced the green tones and sharpened the depth of contours. My eyes traced the coastlines and island chains, absorbing the way green dominance and white illumination interacted, how shadow and brightness seemed to move in a quiet, fluid dance. My heartbeat quickened slightly—not only because of the beauty, but from a deeper sense of awe at how the Borons had adapted to such a luminous environment.
When we reached the trading station Blissful Delight and the transport docked, I briefly checked the systems. Everything was stable. I reached for my communicator to contact Martin. The exchange was short, efficient, purely transactional. He spoke about logistics, workflows, delivery schedules—clinical, as always. But when Mari came up, his tone shifted. His voice grew warmer, almost soft. I could almost picture the way his eyes would light up at the thought of her. They had a long history together—childhood, adolescence, fleeting romances—paths that had diverged over time. And yet something lingered in his voice, an underlying connection that had never fully broken. I lowered the communicator, the memory of it lingering like a brief, warm ray of sunlight.
Tahl barely moved beside me, yet his presence remained steady, marked by the slow rhythm of his breathing. Bi Fi floated ahead of us in the water section, his tentacles pulsing faintly, as if absorbing the atmosphere, taking in the first impressions of Ni’sha’la. I could sense his fascination even without words.
I leaned back, letting my head rest against the padding, and took a deep breath. The journey had been smooth, the stars had carried us, and yet there was a tension building in my chest—a quiet anticipation. Soon we would set foot on the planet, and everything we had only known through Bi Fi’s accounts would become real. I could not suppress the tingling sense of excitement, the mixture of curiosity, reverence, and the subtle awareness that something significant was about to unfold.
I looked at Tahl, then at Bi Fi, and finally back out into the system. A quiet thought passed through my mind: everything we had known, everything we had learned, had only been preparation. Now, the real journey was beginning.

I stepped carefully through the arrival area and immediately felt that strange sense of smallness, as if I barely mattered among all the unfamiliar shapes and movements. The tubes that allowed air-breathers like us to move through the station twisted like a labyrinth. I paused, looking out through the transparent material, and my heart skipped. Borons glided through their water at breathtaking speed, tentacles elegantly spread, eyes rotating independently in every direction. Their movements carried a hypnotic precision, as if they could sense every current in every inch of water.
Between them rose artificial coral reefs, their colors intense, fluorescent, almost too perfect to be real. Some structures resembled miniature worlds, where small plants and strangely shaped creatures drifted between the corals. I could not tell whether any of it was authentic or if the Borons had infused it with a touch of illusion and artistry to represent their home. Still, I stood there, momentarily forgetting that Tahl was beside me, letting my gaze wander.
The tubes led us into a more open area, and I immediately felt the shift in perspective. Wide, expansive spaces—yet still somehow small, dominated by the station’s curved architecture. Trees stood like miniature forests, flowerbeds added bursts of color, and small fountains murmured softly. I lifted my head and saw the vast dome above—a complex fusion of glass, membrane, and living biostructure. Boron shops were set into niches, shielded by bio-energetic membranes that held the water in place. I felt a faint draft tug at my hair as I touched one of them, curious how this technology managed to separate water and air so seamlessly at such close range.
Before we could continue on to Ni’sha’la, we had to wait. The transport was undergoing maintenance, sterilization—everything meticulously prepared to ensure that no foreign contaminants would reach the Boron homeworld. I used the time to study the shops in the air-breather section more closely. Many passed quickly before my eyes, but I lingered on the food supplies: Boron fungus, BoFu, tightly packed algae clusters, living plankton in crystal-clear containers. Even fish and other aquatic creatures were on display—some still moving, others suspended as if frozen in nutrient fluid. For the Borons, this was all food; for me and other air-breathers, it felt more like a strange collection of living souvenirs. I felt a tingling in my fingers, a mix of fascination and the urge to touch everything, to explore, to understand what was truly happening here.
Beside me, Tahl shifted slightly, a quiet rustle indicating that he was just as intrigued, though his posture suggested he was already preparing for potential danger. I could not help glancing at him, a faint, amused smile forming, before looking back out and following the Borons’ tentacles as they moved through the artificial currents. Every motion was a work of art, every glance a mosaic of perception that filled me with quiet awe. I absorbed every detail, knowing that I was experiencing something I would never forget.

I sat on the park bench, letting the alien environment wash over me. Before me, flowers spread out in shapes and colors I had never seen, their petals shimmering in hues that shifted between violet, blue, and nearly translucent turquoise. Behind me stood a single alien tree in deep purple tones, its branches glass-like, swaying gently in the artificial breeze. Everything felt foreign and yet calming. I had retreated to a small relaxation dome, surrounded by the smooth, transparent membrane holding the water. Around me, various Ni’sha’la aquatic creatures drifted—no Borons, just small, luminous fish, tentacled animals, and strangely shaped plant-like organisms moving through the water like graceful floating sculptures. There was something about the silence and the absence of Borons that made me feel as if they respected the concept of rest. I could almost feel the environment embrace me as I leaned back and took a deep breath.
Suddenly, Tahl appeared beside me. He sat silently on the bench, and we ate something resembling a burger, sold by an Argon vendor on the station. The texture was firmer than I expected, the flavors foreign but not unpleasant. Tahl muttered a quiet thanks, and I had to swallow—surprised that he had spoken at all. He was usually quiet, controlled, almost reserved—a trait he shared with his half-sister. I almost replied impulsively, even mockingly, but immediately regretted it. To my surprise, Tahl laughed. His nod, a brief motion, felt more sincere than words. “I guess I have more in common with my half-sister than I’d care to admit,” he said, leaning back on the bench, relaxed.
I tilted my head, studying him. Tahl exhaled softly and admitted that he had always seen Gal as a rival, never part of the family. Now, with their shared father gone, he didn’t know what Roland had seen in them both. I searched for a response but found none. Only the silence and the gentle movement of the leaves around us filled the moment.
Later, on the way back to the personnel transporter, I had collected some plants and foods, storing them in a stasis box safely aboard the ship. We could not depart yet, so I sat before the access hatch, the membrane in front of me distorting the view like a lens. I watched the Borons as they moved busily from one point to another, their tentacles elegantly extended, eyes capturing every motion. Some disappeared into the hull, others donned environmental suits to interact with the air-breathers. I could follow their swift movements almost meditatively, every turn, every sweep of a tentacle. The way they glided through the water was graceful, powerful, and unhurried—a perfect harmony of instinct, movement, and control. I leaned back, drew a deep breath, and felt a mix of awe and gentle fatigue as I simply watched the alien life pulse around us.

I sat strapped into my seat in the personnel transporter, hands resting loosely on the armrests as the docking mechanism released its hold. With a soft, metallic-organic click, the connection to the Freudenwonne trade station disengaged, and the ship slowly drifted backward. Light streamed through the membrane, fracturing into a thousand facets as the station receded. My heart beat a little faster—not from fear, but from the thrill of feeling the vastness of space unfold before me.
We entered orbit. The stars lay scattered like crystals on black velvet, and the system’s twin suns—Eo in muted green, Pala in neutral white—bathed the scene in an almost surreal spectrum. I could see reflections across the transporter’s smooth surfaces, the greenish light blending with the white from the second sun. The silence was overwhelming; only the faint hum of the systems and the gentle lapping of Bi Fi’s membrane compartment reached me. I let my gaze wander through the viewport, watching the first oceans appear below us—endless stretches of deep blue streaked with greenish glimmers, as if the light itself lived in the water.
We flew on over these vast oceans, unlike any I had ever seen. Scattered island chains emerged, their surfaces seemingly overgrown with coral, shimmering in pinks, turquoises, and jade. The structures appeared alive, though static, as if nature itself had designed architectural patterns. I leaned forward slightly, feeling the faint acceleration as we glided around one of the islands, laughing involuntarily at the surreal spectacle. The reflections of the water glittered across the hull, waves interacting with the twin suns’ light in a delicate dance.
Then the descent began. Slowly, precisely, guided by Bi Fi, the ship passed through the boundary between air and water. The membrane before me distorted my vision slightly, and the light shifted—muted, deeper, green-blue—as we sank beneath the surface. I felt the resistance of the water, heard its gentle rush along the hull. The underwater world seized me instantly: tiny particles drifted past, beams of light fractured into crystalline fragments, and small schools of fish darted through the rays.
And then, suddenly, the underwater city appeared. I froze. Everything seemed grown rather than built. Buildings appeared to rise organically from the water itself, like coral structures, but far larger, more complex, flowing in smooth, natural forms. Walls and towers seemed shaped by evolution itself, smooth, entwined, punctuated with luminescent structures glowing in soft greens and blues. I could see Borons gliding elegantly between the structures, tentacles extended, eyes alert to every movement. The city felt both safe and alive—a pulsating network of water, light, and living beings.
I leaned back, feeling the transporter tremble lightly as we hovered toward a large entrance, my eyes drinking in every detail: the shimmering membranes, the glowing filaments extending from walls, the aquatic creatures swimming between buildings, and the Borons watching us with curiosity. It was breathtaking. Excitement surged deep in my chest, a mix of awe and anticipation—we had truly arrived, and I knew I had never seen anything like it before.

I stepped cautiously out of the personnel transporter, the water around me glittering in the muted light filtering from above, and immediately felt the subtle currents weaving through the underwater city. Thal followed closely, his movements calm, almost meditative. Both of us wore suits that allowed us to breathe, yet I could feel the unconscious tension in my body—every muscle slightly coiled, careful not to brush against a Boron’s tentacle or a strand of living algae. Bi Fi swam gracefully alongside the transparent tube, his upper body leaning slightly forward, tentacles pulsing rhythmically. I caught him studying me repeatedly, as if ensuring we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves—air-breathers navigating underwater.
The tunnel we moved through was narrow but entirely transparent. Everything was visible: the city’s gently flowing walls, Borons gliding between the structures, schools of fish twisting past in whorls, and the glowing filaments streaming from the organic buildings. The light was a dreamlike green-blue, and I could see the reflections on the glass, my own face distorted by the curvature of the tube. I drew my shoulders in, sensing a slight claustrophobia, yet simultaneously felt safe—we had air, control, and Bi Fi watching over us.
We moved upward, slowly; the current helped a little, but I had to use my legs to maintain direction. I looked up at the structure before us: Popo Da’s building rose majestically from the sea, an organic spire piercing the surface and reaching into the air. My heart quickened. How could a Boron oversee two worlds at once—underwater, in its natural element, and above, where air-breathers like us existed? I could barely grasp the concept, but fascination held me firmly.
The tunnel led us into the interior of the building. The walls were smooth, faintly shimmering, and I could feel subtle pulsations, as if the building itself were breathing. Light streams ran along the surfaces, glowing in shifting green tones that changed with the rhythm of the water. I reached out to touch the tube, feeling the faint vibrations, the organic response of the material to our movements.
Finally, we reached the first level—underwater. Through the wall panels, I could observe the surroundings: Borons moved with elegant precision across terraces and platforms, tentacles gliding along smooth surfaces, eyes alert in every direction. It was almost a dance, a fluid coordination I struggled to comprehend. Thal walked beside me, expression concentrated, though I could see his fascination mirrored mine.
The second level rose above the waterline. I looked up to see the upper platform floating above us, elegantly shaped, exterior walls transparent so Popo Da could see the sky and sun while simultaneously monitoring the underwater world below. My head tilted up, then down again, and I had to swallow. It was a concept I had never encountered—two worlds observed at once. I wondered whether Borons regarded this as ordinary, or if it was an expression of status and power, a symbol for the diplomat who could understand and command both realms.
We continued upward through the tunnel, feeling every subtle pulse of the material beneath our hands. Bi Fi swam calmly beside us, composed and steady, and I tried to track every movement of his tentacles, every nuance of his upper body, every detail of his hovering. My gaze returned to Popo Da’s office—two levels, water and air—and I could not shake the mixture of awe and uncertainty. Was this daily life for a Boron, or a deliberate display of how power, control, and environmental awareness intertwined? I did not know, but I sensed that answers would come within moments.

I stepped into Popo Da’s office and immediately felt the diplomat’s presence. He hovered lightly above the lower level, tentacles pulsating gently, eyes alert and analytical. The upper level rose above the water’s surface, yet Popo Da appeared completely grounded, as if he had everything under control. Bi Fi swam close beside him, body slightly curved, ready to provide information, while Thal remained quiet in the background, hands clasped behind his back.
“Tori-san,” Popo Da began, his voice deep, flowing, almost musical. “Bi Fi has informed me of your ventures. Your Anshin Yatei project seems an interesting model. You wish to introduce Boron foods into your world?”
I nodded, placing my hands on the table, feeling the slight vibration through the organic material. “Exactly. But not as mass-produced goods. I aim to secure authentic Boron products—BoFu, BoGas, algae, plankton. I want the food to retain its natural qualities, unaltered, exactly as it exists in your world. For specific consumers sensitive to artificial additives, and to broaden culinary diversity.”
Popo Da tilted his head slightly, eyes following every movement. “I understand. Our food is part of our culture, our identity. Its integrity is important to us. Bi Fi, what can you report on feasibility?”
Bi Fi floated slightly forward, tentacles pulsing softly. “Excellency, Tori-san is an experienced entrepreneur. His enterprise is meticulous about quality and authenticity. He has proven capable of maintaining and handling foods in their original state without damage. Introducing them on Argon Prime would benefit your culinary diplomats, provided all protocols are followed correctly.”
Popo Da closed his eyes briefly, a gesture signaling calm and thoughtfulness. “If your products are evaluated over time by our diplomatic staff as advantageous and safe, this could form the basis for future, broader cooperation within the Boron sphere. Your intent is not mass production, but targeted, qualitative integration?”
“Exactly,” I replied, firm but respectful. “I want no mass-market compromise. I want quality. Every algae cluster, every plankton filament, every BoFu fragment must remain exactly as produced in your environment. If we handle this correctly, both sides benefit: your knowledge and products, our infrastructure and reach.”
Popo Da slowly lowered himself to the lower level, tentacles twitching slightly in thought. “You understand the balance between nature and control. Very good. Your philosophy aligns with ours: respect for raw materials, comprehension of biological particularities. Bi Fi, oversee this process. Ensure that the rules are followed.”
I nodded, a spark of excitement running through me. “Of course. We will document everything and ensure no alteration occurs. Everything remains natural, everything remains Boron.”
Popo Da inclined his head as if passing silent judgment. “Then this is a beginning. We will grant you access to our resources, so long as the collaboration meets our standards. Quality over quantity, respect over profit. I will observe the effect on your personnel, and if the feedback is positive, we may move toward long-term cooperation.”
The tension in the room eased. Thal leaned lightly against the wall, arms crossed, offering a subtle nod of agreement. Bi Fi hovered, tentacles flicking excitedly, clearly relieved that the negotiation had proceeded smoothly. I drew a deep breath, met Popo Da’s gaze, and said calmly, “Then we begin. I will personally ensure your products are handled correctly. Your culture, your food, your traditions—everything will be respected.”
Popo Da inclined his head once, almost imperatively, then fell silent. That was the signal: the negotiation concluded. We had a preliminary agreement. I could hardly wait to see the products, examine them, and determine how they would integrate into my world—and whether our philosophy, quality over quantity, would truly bear fruit.

I followed Bi Fi through the crystal-clear tunnel connecting the surface to the submerged cultivation facility. Each of my breaths echoed softly in the transparent tube as I watched the shimmering reflections of the water on the walls. Outside the membrane, Boron glided gracefully past, their tentacles flowing like liquid ribbons through the currents, eyes tracking us curiously but without threat. Bi Fi moved with a gentle pulsation alongside the tunnel, his body radiating a calming light, pointing out details as I studied everything attentively.
The cavern itself was impressive. Naturally formed, the rock felt porous and damp yet solid, the ceiling dotted with glowing minerals reflecting the green and blue ambient light. Everywhere, BoFu cultures flourished, carefully cultivated by the Boron. The mushrooms themselves had a peculiar, slightly translucent texture, some in deep moss green, others with a warm golden glow, as if each colony possessed its own inner light. Bi Fi indicated the larger blocks where the mushrooms matured patiently. “These colonies are several years old. Quality and structure must remain precise, or taste and nutritional values will change,” he explained in his flowing tone, tentacles pulsating lightly to gauge the nutrient solution currents.
I stepped closer to one of the larger BoFu surfaces, letting my hand hover just above the membrane, observing the fine fibers ripple like tiny waves. I could almost sense the scent of the cultures—a mix of earthy, salty, mineral notes, strangely invigorating. Leaning forward slightly, my eyes scanned the texture and density of the colonies, and my mind raced: this quality, this purity—it had to remain intact if I was to introduce it to Argon Prime.
As I looked around, a pressing awareness struck me: the transport costs for such a sensitive supply chain from Königstal to Argon Prime would be astronomical. I raised my eyebrows, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the tube, as my mind began to form plans. Relying solely on external freighters would ruin my margins—and worse, make logistics so complex that regular delivery would be nearly impossible.
My gaze swept over the cavern, the meticulously maintained BoFu clusters, the careful movements of the Boron, and a thought solidified: my company had to expand. I needed my own freighters, my own pilots, trained to understand the peculiarities of Boron products and ensure that quality remained intact from the cultivation site to our Yatei. Excitement tingled in my fingertips as the plan took shape in my head.
Bi Fi swam beside me, pointing to the thin rivulets of nutrient solution that supplied each colony with perfection, and I nodded silently. I was still captivated by the precision, the devotion to detail, yet my mind raced ahead: storage, transport, cooling, trained pilots, freighters, route planning—elevating the company to a new level. I envisioned myself overseeing the freighters, personally inspecting deliveries while testing new products.
“Impressive,” I finally murmured, eyes fixed on the growing colonies, voice low and reverent. “This quality… I have to make sure it remains intact, no matter where it goes.”
Bi Fi nodded, tentacles flicking lightly, as if he had already anticipated my thoughts. “The Boron watch over it carefully. Anyone working here understands the responsibility. If you transport these colonies, you must be just as meticulous.”
I closed my eyes briefly, inhaled deeply, and felt determination rise within me. This was no longer just a trade agreement. This was the next step, the move that would transform my company from a local supplier into an interstellar infrastructure. The thought of owning freighters and trained pilots brought a confident smile to my face as I gazed through the tunnel at the pulsating cavern, BoFu presented like living treasures in its watery cradle.

As we stood again in Popo Da’s bifurcated office—half submerged, half above the waterline—the atmosphere felt different. Less awe, more businesslike. Thal hovered slightly behind me, hands clasped, eyes calm but attentive. Bi Fi floated near Popo Da, tentacles pulsing slowly and deliberately. I had prepared the numbers. Rough estimates, conservatively calculated: transport from Ni’sha’la to Argon Prime, cold chains, specialized cargo holds, insurance, tariffs, diplomatic fees. I projected the calculations onto the semi-transparent membrane surface of the office.
“These are realistic minimums,” I said calmly, though I felt my jaw tense slightly. “Even at optimized capacity, logistics costs are disproportionate to the current low sales volumes. We’re not talking mass distribution. Not yet.”
Popo Da’s eyes scanned the numbers slowly. His expression remained hard to read, but I noticed the subtle pause of his tentacles—a signal he understood the implications. Thal had warned me during the cave inspection. “This will eat your margin,” he had said. He was right.
I exhaled deliberately. “That’s why I have two proposals.”
Popo Da tilted his upper body slightly. “We are listening.”
“First,” I began, “the Boron negotiate with the Argon Federation to establish a space-based cultivation facility within Argon territory for Boron staple foods—BoFu, BoGas, plankton, algae. Produced locally. No interstellar transport chains.”
A moment of silence. Then Popo Da lowered his gaze slightly.
“Diplomatically complex,” he said calmly. “A permanent Boron production facility in Argon jurisdiction would require extensive contracts, approvals, security agreements, and ongoing Mazura contributions to the Federation.”
Bi Fi added matter-of-factly, “Those costs would be passed on to you, Tori-san. They must be accounted for.”
I nodded briefly, already aware of what that implied.
Popo Da elaborated: “The Queen’s realm would make ongoing payments, which would be reflected in your purchase prices. The result: an increase in the cost of your end products on Argon Prime.”
I pressed my lips together briefly. That was exactly what I wanted to avoid. My clientele accepted exclusivity—but not unchecked price spikes.
“Understood,” I said. “Then the second proposal.”
I stepped forward half a pace, hands behind my back. “Instead of Boron staple foods, we use Argon plankton and Argon algae, adapted to Boron dietary needs.”
Bi Fi raised his upper tentacles slightly, attentive.
“Essentially,” I continued, “almost all species on the Anshin Yatei consume mostly Argon-based foods anyway—supplemented with alien-specific ingredients. The real issue isn’t origin; it’s volume and supply continuity.”
I looked Popo Da directly in the eye. “Using Argon base resources drastically reduces logistics costs. We remain flexible and act in the best interest of the Anshin Yatei: adaptation to local conditions.”
Popo Da was silent for a long moment. His eyes shifted between me and Bi Fi.
“An interesting approach,” he finally said. “You propose applying Boron nutritional principles to Argon raw materials.”
“Yes.” I nodded firmly. “Quality lies in processing, not necessarily in the water of origin.”
I paused briefly, then asked the crucial question.
“How do the Boron currently source their food on Argon Prime?”
Bi Fi responded immediately. “The embassy operates several small cultivation modules. Autonomous. Closed systems.”
My eyes widened slightly. “Several?”
“Yes,” he confirmed calmly. “Sufficient for the diplomatic staff.”
Calculations immediately began running in my head. If functional modules already existed, then there was know-how, infrastructure, perhaps even surplus capacity.
“Then we could—”
Bi Fi raised a tentacle lightly, almost apologetically. “Production is sufficient only for embassy personnel. No significant surplus exists.”
I felt my shoulders tighten briefly. Naturally. It would have been too simple.
“Nothing can be diverted?” I asked anyway.
“Not without jeopardizing personnel supply.”
I inhaled slowly through my nose. Disappointment flashed briefly but immediately transformed into new calculations.
Popo Da watched me closely. “Your reasoning is efficient, Tori-san. You seek structural solutions.”
“I seek sustainable solutions,” I corrected calmly. “A system that supports itself. Without permanent deficits.”
Silence returned. Only the faint pulse of the organic walls could be heard.
In my mind, the next step already took shape. If the embassy could operate small modules, so could I. Perhaps not immediately on a large scale, but scalable. Modular.
I raised my gaze to Popo Da. “Then I will explore establishing our own adapted cultivation modules on Argon Prime, with Boron consultation.”
Bi Fi glanced at his superior.
Popo Da responded deliberately: “Consultation is possible. Production under your responsibility.”
I nodded slowly. Not a breakthrough—but a door. And doors were enough.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 15 - Considerations

I felt the water around me—heavier than the air I usually breathed, yet familiar after all the journeys with Bi Fi. My environmental suit adapted perfectly to my body, keeping me warm while allowing me to move freely. Beside me, Tahl glided calmly through the water, his expression neutral as always, only his eyes alert as they scanned our surroundings. Bi Fi hovered elegantly a short distance above us, his tentacles pulsing gently, as if guiding us forward without ever urging us on.
The cultivation facility stretched out in an impressive labyrinth of transparent tubes and dome-shaped basins. Green, blue, and reddish-orange light shimmered through the water, reflecting off the glass domes and creating an almost hypnotic interplay of shadows and color. Algae grew densely everywhere—some in long, narrow strands, others like bushy shrubs, almost resembling tiny underwater trees.
The supervising caretaker, a middle-aged Boron, approached us, inclined his body respectfully, and began to speak.
“You are welcome in our facility. Here, we cultivate the fundamental algae species essential to the Boron ecosystem. There is Chlorospec, a green, fast-growing algae rich in proteins and minerals—ideal as a staple food. Then Rubrocea, reddish-violet, slower to grow but highly concentrated in vitamins, particularly for strengthening the immune system. Blauflorens provides essential fatty acids and pigments, which we use in dye production, but also in food for flavor and coloration. Finally, Macroplanktos—large, shrub-like algae we use both as filtration media in the water and, when dried, as powder for nutritional supplements.”
With a gentle motion of his tentacle, he indicated a basin especially dense with growth.
“With these algae, countless products can be created: food, fresh or dried or compressed; nutritional supplements; colorants and flavor compounds; even medical preparations, as some algae contain bioactive substances that promote healing or increase resilience. We are also experimenting with fermentation to develop new textures and flavor profiles—highly suitable for the Anshin Yatei. In addition, they produce oxygen and help stabilize the water—a small but essential part of our ecological cycle.”
I slowed my movement, letting his words settle while studying each type of algae in detail. Their structures, their colors, the way they shimmered in the water—it was captivating. Tahl remained silent beside me, but I could detect the faint suggestion of a smile in his eyes. Bi Fi watched me closely, his tentacles slightly raised, as if ensuring I missed nothing.
The thought struck me with clarity: transport costs to Argon Prime will be astronomical. But if I plan this correctly… my own freighters, my own pilots, a continuous flow of algae and plankton directly from the Kingdom End system… A subtle thrill ran through me. Suddenly, the facility was no longer just a marvel to observe—it was a key to elevating my company to an entirely new level.
I gave Bi Fi a brief nod.
“This is remarkable. I need to consider how we can move all of this to Argon Prime efficiently. Tahl, I believe we truly need to consider acquiring our own freighters.”
Tahl nodded slowly, composed as ever. His hand rested briefly on my shoulder—a quiet sign of agreement.
Bi Fi drifted back slightly, his eyes reflecting the shifting light of the water, almost as if he understood that he was witnessing something greater: the first steps of a project that would extend far beyond the mere cultivation of algae.

I sat once more in Popo Da’s office, the glass front revealing a view of the gentle waves above the underwater city. The two levels of the room felt almost surreal—below, the water shimmered with algae beds, while above, the layer of air rested like a separate world. I leaned slightly forward, hands braced against the desk, weighing my words carefully before letting them pass my lips.
“Popo Da, Bi Fi,” I began, my gaze shifting between them, “I would like to take several plant samples—algae, BoFu, everything we have seen here—to evaluate how they develop in the environment of Argon Prime. I intend to test how they change, whether they remain viable, and whether new products can be derived from them.” I felt a faint flutter in my stomach, that familiar blend of respect and commercial focus, and pressed my lips together slightly as I waited for their reaction.
Bi Fi gave a small nod, his tentacles twitching subtly as if weighing the implications, while Popo Da folded his hands before his chest, his expression focused. I paused briefly, letting the next statement carry more weight. “In return, I offer the Boron diplomatic corps exclusive access to the new dishes before they are introduced into the menus of the Anshin Yatei. Your embassies would directly benefit from these developments.”
I leaned back slightly, drew a measured breath, and continued, my voice steady but not demanding. “Additionally, I would like to return to Ni’sha’la to expand operations here. This time not under the Anshin Yatei brand, but under Omni-Food Products, a division of the Universal Nourishment Organization. This would allow me to scale our work independently while respecting the existing Yatei structures.”
I observed how Popo Da’s brow tightened slightly, his eyes drifting toward the glass dome above before he gave a slow, deliberate nod, acknowledging the seriousness of my proposal. Bi Fi made a small movement with his tentacles, something akin to a restrained sign of agreement, before settling back into stillness.
A quiet sense of relief moved through me. The tension of the past days—the constant calculations, the scenarios, the weight of transport costs—condensed into a clear direction. I knew this was the next step in advancing my vision, and that I needed both Popo Da and Bi Fi aligned with it.
“Of course,” I added carefully, “all samples I take will be thoroughly documented, and I will report progress transparently. I want the Boron to be able to track every stage of development.”
The words settled into the room as the water around us shimmered faintly in the muted light of the twin suns. I remained still, hands subtly tense, waiting for their response.

I lowered myself into the transparent sofa, feeling the slight give of the water-filled cushioning beneath me. The membrane stretched oddly around my body, almost as if it could burst at any moment like an overfilled balloon. My fingers brushed lightly across the smooth surface, sensing the cool liquid and the gentle recoil of the material. Despite the unfamiliar sensation, I knew Boron engineering made such structures exceptionally durable. I could not recall ever damaging a membrane, and I was certain this one would withstand far more than my full strength.
Tahl stood as usual at a slight distance, calm, nearly motionless, though his eyes remained alert, tracking everything within the office. I watched him for a moment, then straightened and spoke. “Tahl, I intend to build an entire freighter fleet—a Bio Logistics Division. Argon goods transported to the Boron, Boron staples returned. Fully controlled. Efficient.” The word fleet carried both excitement and obligation as I rested my hands lightly against my tablet.
Tahl raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “And security? Who protects all of that?” His voice was calm, but edged with precision.
“That’s why I want to establish the Sustenance Security Agency,” I replied, emphasizing each word. I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice. “A dedicated security branch to escort our freighters. However… I’ve also considered analyzing other freighter routes—requesting shared corridors. Escort coverage for multiple ships. Reduced costs.”
Tahl rolled his eyes, his expression shifting between disbelief and restrained amusement. “And where do you intend to get the freighters, the personnel… and the credits?” His tone remained dry, not accusatory—just the weight of reality.
I lifted the tablet, its light reflecting across the membrane walls, and displayed my preliminary calculations. “The numbers are there,” I said evenly, fingers gliding across the surface. Then I leaned closer, my voice dropping almost to a whisper. “And in Roland’s files, I found… certain ‘options.’” I let the word linger, watching his gaze sharpen for a brief moment.
Before Tahl could respond, Popo Da and Bi Fi reentered the office. Popo Da’s tentacles moved in a composed pattern behind him as he inclined his body slightly, while Bi Fi’s tentacles drifted softly, as if reinforcing the moment.
“The samples of all food materials will be loaded into the personnel transporter,” Popo Da stated, his tone measured and diplomatic. “They will be placed in stasis. They will not degrade during transport.”
I leaned back, a sense of relief settling through me. The first barriers had been cleared; the logistical questions, at least for now, had answers. Tahl gave a short nod—still reserved, but no longer dismissive. I let my fingers move across the tablet again, already envisioning the future: a fleet crossing the trade routes between Argon Prime and Ni’sha’la, Boron samples secured in stasis, ready to mark the beginning of a new era of culinary and economic cooperation.

I leaned back into the seat of the personnel transporter, hands clasped loosely on my knees, letting my gaze drift across the opaque membrane in front of me. Behind it was Bi Fi—either absorbed in work or resting. I could not tell, and that uncertainty left room for speculation. I wondered what a sleeping Boron looked like, whether the tentacles hung motionless or continued to move gently, as if still drifting through ocean currents. The urge to take a closer look surfaced briefly, but I held back, respecting the privacy of this unfamiliar and fascinating being.
I turned to Tahl, who sat quietly beside me, arms loosely crossed, chin slightly lowered, his gaze fixed somewhere within the transporter. “Tell me, Tahl,” I began carefully, “why did you come along at all? You have obligations as head of security on Alpha 1, do you not?”
He exhaled sharply, not relaxed—more a restrained irritation at the question. “Accumulated overtime and leave,” he replied at last, his voice dry, factual. “I am using it to get away from my lamenting deputy. He has been in my ear for weeks.”
I nodded, letting that settle, then, since we had already crossed into personal territory, I continued more cautiously. “And… your family?”
His eyes narrowed, fixing on me as if I had crossed an unseen boundary. “How do you know anything about my family?”
“Publicly accessible,” I answered evenly, with a slight shrug. “It does not take much effort to find information.”
He exhaled again, this time with a trace of resignation. “This trip,” Tahl said more quietly, “also serves to put distance between me and my wife. Things are… strained. We have an older daughter and a younger son. The marriage contract was extended to ten years, but with the children, my line of work, and constant overtime, family life is gradually falling apart. My wife does not want the children growing up on a trade station.”
I remained silent, listening, taking in every detail. Tahl leaned back slightly, hands resting loosely on his legs, a faint shadow of concern in his eyes. It was clear why he had accepted the journey to Kingdom End—a chance to create distance, to clear his mind.
“So you used this,” I said carefully, “to travel with us without neglecting your duties on Alpha 1.”
He gave a minimal nod.
I continued, “Have you considered my offer? Leaving Alpha 1 and becoming head of the SSA?”
His expression shifted, as if caught off guard—brows raised, lips pressed together. After a moment, he nodded, a quiet admission. “Yes… this trip is also for that. To think.”
I placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling the firm tension beneath. “You should introduce me to your family,” I said calmly. “Then we can discuss the future together.”
Tahl nodded, a faint, almost uncertain smile forming. For a moment, silence settled between us—only the low hum of the transporter and the distant, muffled sounds of the Boron sections beyond.
I felt a measured mix of responsibility, relief, and quiet anticipation—as if a small door to a new possibility had just opened.

I blinked as I slowly emerged from a light haze of half-sleep. The steady vibration of the personnel transporter beneath me indicated we had already covered a considerable distance. Beyond the membrane, darkness dominated, broken only by the faint glow of distant stars flickering at the edges of my vision. I rubbed my face, stretched my arms, and noticed Tahl already watching me with one of his piercing looks—the kind that demanded immediate attention.
“Tell me, Tori…” he began, his voice calm but carrying a tone that left no room for evasion. “If you truly intend to expand into space, where would you start?”
I let myself sink back into the seat, thinking for a moment while my gaze drifted across the softly swaying cables and displays of the transporter. It was a question I had considered many times—often late at night, alone on the bridge near the Anshin Shokudō, or while planning deliveries.
“Two options,” I said at last, my voice still slightly rough from sleep. “The first would be to establish small stations at the borders of each species. From there, I could distribute products directly to their worlds and stations. Small, decentralized, flexible…”
Tahl nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing every word. “That’s not bad. Decentralized, easier to defend, no need for large fleets, and scalable as needed. Makes sense.”
I let that settle before continuing. “The other idea… would be Trantor. Build everything centrally. Control, distribute, manage from a single hub.”
I saw his reaction immediately. His posture shifted, shoulders dropping slightly, eyes narrowing, and a sigh escaped him. “Trantor?” he repeated, clearly unsettled. “Tori… since the Kha’ak attack, that place is barely more than a ruin. Cleanup and reconstruction are still ongoing, and it attracts pirates, smugglers, scavengers—every kind of opportunist. Security forces are already stretched thin.”
I nodded. “I know. But the abandoned stations, the damaged infrastructure—they would be cheap to acquire. Strategically valuable, if one is willing to accept the risk.”
Tahl shook his head, fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest. “That’s dangerous. From a security standpoint… you’d be inviting constant trouble.”
I exhaled, my gaze settling on the displays in front of me. “True. It has to be factored in. But the potential… the cost savings… it could enable rapid expansion, if security is managed properly.”
Tahl remained silent for a moment, studying me, then exhaled sharply. “Your ambition borders on reckless. But… I understand why you’re considering it.”
I leaned back, folding my hands behind my head, letting my thoughts drift. Two paths, each with distinct advantages and risks. One stable, flexible, gradual. The other volatile, demanding, but potentially transformative. I could feel my pulse quicken at the possibilities. And despite Tahl’s skepticism, I knew he understood—at least in part.
“No matter which path we take,” I murmured, more to myself than to him, “it has to be the one that advances us in the long term… not just the one that looks profitable in the short term.”
Tahl gave a brief, silent nod—typical of him—and I understood that we both knew the same thing: whatever decision lay ahead, the responsibility for it would rest with me alone.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 16 - Startrucker

Only a few days had passed since Tahl and I had returned to Argon Prime. The journey had brought us back into the calm familiarity of home, yet in me burned the question of how to take the next steps in interstellar business. I had barely had time to sort through anything, let alone review the data I had collected during the Boron mission. Tahl, on the other hand, seemed to pursue his own tasks with focused determination. I knew that in the days since our return, he had spoken with his wife—a conversation that apparently had some effect.
“I heard… you had a good talk,” I said when we found a brief moment alone.
Tahl nodded, a faint smile crossing his face. “Yes, some of the tension has eased.”
I studied him, surprised at how casually he delivered the words, as if it were entirely natural for me to be aware of this private part of his life.
“The discussion about the SSA offer… seems to have given her a sense of reconciliation, especially after you mentioned that everything could be managed from Argon Prime.”
His eyes looked inward, as if weighing the words for himself. I understood that, and I secretly hoped that he and his family, should Tahl accept my offer, would move closer to Nathantia. That would significantly reduce logistical effort and allow us more flexibility in supplying the trade stations and planning expansions. While Tahl turned back to focus on his family, I took time for myself—not only to attend to Vanu and Valentina but also to plan the strategic steps for my company. I pulled the data from my tablet, leafed through the notes I had brought from the recent missions, and let the numbers and possibilities sink in. During this time, Tahl had also been in contact with his half-sister Gal. I did not know how that meeting had gone—or if it had even taken place—and I had no intention of probing. It was his private matter. Still, I sensed a change in Tahl: more calm, a relaxed jaw, a subtle easing of his posture.

In Roland’s records, I came across a name that immediately caught my attention: Hoshino Kento. Roland had written about him in a report, still marked with the handwriting of his usual, meticulous notes. Hoshino-san had fallen into debt with pirates to finance his dream: a space station for constructing and repairing ships. Roland had helped him clear the debts by turning over all the pirates who had previously cheated him. On paper, the plan had been quite successful. I read through the old protocols, sensing the precision and courage required to stand up to pirates. But when Tahl, Gal, and I finally arrived at Hoshino-san’s station, the reality was far from what I had expected. Not a gleaming, orderly shipyard, but a jumble of metal, wrecks, spare parts, and loose construction elements. The station orbited Trantor, in the Presidents End system. I couldn’t help but wonder about the name—who had decided it should be called that? It sounded absurd, out of place, almost as if someone were trying to cover up the danger and chaos of the past. The freighter we had traveled in was the same one Kon Mah had piloted and that I had purchased used. It wasn’t heavily armed, but enough to get us to the destination without trouble. Patrols in orbit had signaled that criminal activity in the area had significantly decreased over recent years, in line with the Argon Federation’s reconstruction initiative. Still, one could never be too careless here.

Kon Mah remained aboard the freighter, ready to power it up at any moment. I watched his calm presence on the monitor as we approached the docking bay. The lack of gravity was immediate, and we had to use our antigravity boots. Each step was a physical effort, constantly balancing against the magnetic adhesion fields in the soles of the boots. I could feel the strain in my thighs with every step pushing against the artificial fields. Tahl moved with practiced ease, almost effortlessly, while Gal scanned the station’s structures with a critical, skeptical eye.
“Mostly intact,” Tahl remarked, his voice steady and factual, narrowing his eyes as he examined the systems. “Some repairs will be necessary, but nothing unmanageable.”
Gal, on the other hand, grimaced. “Outdated. Many systems are long obsolete. Technically only usable if rebuilt.” Her expression was sharp, almost severe, and I couldn’t help but question her assessment. Precisely why I was here: to verify the numbers, the ledgers Hoshino-san had left behind. I could see the revenue was declining, a clear downward trend. I recalled checking Hoshino-san’s financial situation through the FIN (Federal Information Network). The Federal Argon Bank had released parts of his assets so his debts could be settled—that was why we were even able to negotiate here. I knew exactly which assets were available, without relying on speculation.

Not surprising, given the Kha’ak attack years ago, which had destroyed or severely damaged nearly every station and ship. The insectoid Kha’ak had left merciless chaos in their wake. Since then, looters, pirates, and smugglers had spread throughout the area. Hoshino-san had allowed himself to be manipulated, attempting repairs and new ship constructions, but business was slow. His side venture—salvaging, repairing, or dismantling wrecks—barely covered operating costs. Most traders avoided Trantor, as it wasn’t on the routes of the four jump gates leading to neighboring systems. Only the gates to Elena’s Fortune and the Home of Light remained intact. The other two gates—those to Cloudbase Southeast and Energy Line—had been damaged in the Kha’ak attack. No one in the planetary community had the knowledge or technology to repair them, waiting instead for the Old Ones, the original gate builders, to intervene. The system’s isolation was thus technological, not political or economic. No wonder Hoshino-san struggled to attract clients or contracts.

I let my gaze sweep over the station through the transparent windows—over scattered wrecks, partially functional docking bays, and assorted debris. The thought of building something here was simultaneously fascinating and intimidating. Tahl stood beside me, focused, hands on his hips, eyes scanning the systems. Gal moved more deliberately, inspecting cables, connectors, and apparent malfunctions. I could feel that her sharp criticism reflected experience and technical expertise.
“If we want to invest here… we have to assess security. If negotiations with Hoshino-san even go in that direction, defensive measures are essential,” I said quietly, more to myself, though Tahl immediately caught the words.
He nodded, brow furrowed, eyes focused. “Exactly. Without proper safeguards, we could lose everything before it even becomes profitable.”
We continued, descending the docking bay, surveying spare parts, hull sections, sensor arrays, and engines scattered across the floor. I felt a surge of energy, the thrill that came with entrepreneurial vision, mingled with the reality of danger.
“We could modernize some of the station’s systems, dismantle others and repurpose the resources,” I mused aloud. “That would reduce costs while expanding capacity.”
Tahl nodded, and I could see his expression relax as he grasped the logic. Gal, arms crossed, remained skeptical, yet I could detect a spark of interest in her eyes—she relished the challenge. Here we stood, in orbit above Trantor, between the wreckage of the past and the possibilities of the future, weighing every step, every decision carefully.
I breathed in the station’s cool, dry air, the metallic scent of wrecks and machinery. “It will be work… a lot of work. But we can do it.” Tahl nodded, a quiet agreement this time, while Gal gave only a brief, acknowledging glance. I knew this was the beginning of something larger than anything I had planned before.
I looked out into the distance, stars shining through the station’s domes, and felt that familiar tingling in my stomach—the one that always came when opportunities presented themselves, opportunities carrying as much risk as potential. “Let’s see what we can salvage here,” I murmured, my voice echoing lightly over the empty metal plates.

The man in front of me had short, black, slightly curly hair and dark brown eyes—Hoshino Kento. When he turned toward me, his gaze held a mixture of disapproval and sheer surprise. His eyes immediately narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. I couldn’t even blame his shock. He clearly hadn’t expected anyone here at all. Moments earlier, he had been working with his back to me, half-floating between two open maintenance panels. As I approached from behind and calmly said, “Hoshino-san?” he practically jumped. His anti-gravity boots reacted before he could, and the short startled leap nearly sent him upward. For a moment, it looked as if he might drift into the ceiling. His arms flailed reflexively as the adhesion fields of his boots struggled to counteract the impulse.
“Damn—!”
It took him two seconds to recover, hastily adjusting his boots before coming down with a slight jerk onto the station floor. The metallic click of the adhesion fields confirmed they had gripped properly again. I raised both hands in a calming gesture.
“Sorry,” I said calmly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Hoshino stared at me a moment longer, as if he needed to process that someone was actually standing there. Then the surprise faded, replaced by unmistakable disapproval. His gaze hardened, scanning me critically, evaluating. His brow furrowed, jaw tightening.
“Who are you?” he asked sharply.
I took my time with the answer. “My name is Tori Grau.”
I said no more. That alone seemed to sour his mood further. He audibly exhaled, crossed his arms, and looked at me as if I had just barged into his living room uninvited.
“Do whatever you want,” he said coldly. “You can turn around and leave.” He made a brief hand gesture to the side, as if pointing me out. “I’m not selling.” His voice grew sharper. “And I don’t need a partner.”
I noticed his fingers clenching into fists unconsciously. Then came the real outburst.
“And that damn bank—” His voice boiled with anger. “—has absolutely no right to just sell my promissory notes! Without my knowledge! Without my consent!”
He took a step toward me, the anti-gravity boots clicking softly on the metal deck. “This is my business,” he continued. “My station. My responsibility.”
I let him speak. His anger was genuine. It showed in the tension of his shoulders, the deep furrow of his brows. His eyes carried that mixture of frustration and wounded pride, the kind you see in someone who feels their control slipping. He clearly expected resistance. I shook my head slowly.
“I must correct you, Hoshino-san.” He blinked briefly, clearly surprised that I didn’t match his tone. I now loosely clasped my hands behind my back. “The bank hasn’t sold your promissory notes yet.”
His brow knitted even tighter. “What?”
“They’ve only been offered,” I explained calmly, “preliminarily.” I watched his expression shift—not immediately, but first a slight hesitation, then a brief narrowing of his eyes. “That’s a difference.”
Hoshino said nothing at first. His gaze remained fixed on me, as if trying to discern whether I was lying. The air between us suddenly felt noticeably heavier.

“Otōsan!” The voice echoed through the docking bay, a bright, clear tone that immediately drew my attention. I turned sharply and saw a woman gracefully descending from one of the connecting tubes. Her body executed a slight flip, and she landed with perfect control, making no sound except the soft click of her anti-gravity boots on the metal floor. Her gaze swept over us—me, Tahl, Gal—with clear suspicion visible in the narrow line of her eyelids and the set of her jaw.
“You’re not pirates,” she stated flatly, arms loosely crossed.
I took a step forward, lowering my hands in a calming gesture. “No. We are not pirates.”
The woman appeared to be around thirty, standing upright, moving with a confidence that immediately commanded respect. Tahl, as always calm and controlled, folded his arms behind his back, observing her with his usual measured gaze. Gal raised her eyebrows slightly, a mix of skepticism and curiosity, her posture tense but attentive.
“My name is Hoshino Misora,” she introduced herself. Her voice was clear and firm, but not unfriendly. I nodded, and we went through introductions in order. Tahl and Gal were brief, while I offered slightly more information, gauging the atmosphere.
The small talk began cautiously. We exchanged superficial details about the station, our journey here, our connection to Hoshino Kento. Yet the tension remained; every sentence seemed carefully chosen, as if each of us were watching for hidden traps. When I pressed for more, the harsher truths surfaced. Hoshino Satsuki, Misora’s mother, had died in one of the last Kha’ak attacks. A bitter echo lingered in memory; Misora’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of the name. Her grandparents, on both sides of the family, had been killed in the very first Kha’ak assault in 2935. That had been 62 years ago. The year was now 2997. I could feel how the weight of the past briefly thickened the atmosphere, a moment of quiet respect passing between us.

We moved together into a section of the station with artificial gravity. I immediately felt the familiar weight on my shoulders, pleasant and steady, a stark contrast to the weightless bay we had left. Tahl, Gal, and I sat down, and we were offered drinks—clear liquid in shallow, practical cups, designed for use under gravity. I took the cup, held it briefly between my hands, noting the cool surface and light weight.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip. The glass felt comfortably heavy, the liquid fresh and clear, like purified water, easing some of the fatigue from the journey.
I leaned back, straightened, took a deep breath, and began to explain why I was here. “I’m looking for creative and reliable people,” I said, fixing my gaze on Misora. “People who can help build a freighter fleet for my company. We need experience, dependability—and the courage to work in challenging environments.”
I watched her eyes narrow slightly, evaluating my words. Tahl folded his arms again, his gaze on Misora, waiting to see her reaction. Gal appeared thoughtful, lips lightly pressed together, one hand resting on her glass. I felt the tension in the room, but also the possibility that a key ally could emerge here.
“We have… the experience,” Misora said at last, her voice firm but not aggressive. A barely perceptible nod toward her father, who remained slightly apart. “We’ve survived, repaired, built. We know how to work under difficult conditions.”
I nodded slowly, offering a small smile. “Exactly the kind of people I’m looking for. It’s not just about flying ships or loading freighters. It’s about establishing systems, creating workflows, and for that I need people who understand the gravity of the situation while seeing the vision.”
Misora let her gaze sweep over the group. I could see her weighing loyalty, skills, and risk. She set the cup aside, leaned back slightly, and I noticed a spark of interest in her eyes—a mixture of curiosity and willingness to seriously consider the offer.
“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll hear what you propose.”
A relieved but focused smile crossed my face. “Then let’s begin.”
The moment was quiet, yet charged. I knew this was the first step—a step that could transform our project. The weightlessness and metallic scent of the station faded almost into the background as we focused on exploring the possibilities before us.

The discussions dragged on, slow and cautious. Misora was the one who opened up the most. She sat upright, hands resting lightly on her thighs, eyes attentive but never intrusive. She listened, nodded occasionally, asked precise questions, always careful not to jump to conclusions. Kento, on the other hand, radiated skepticism immediately. His gaze shifted from me to Tahl, then to Gal, and back again, as if trying to examine every word, every movement, for any potential threat to his shipyard. “You just want to meddle, take over my station,” he said sharply, eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed hard.
I raised my hands in a calming gesture. “No, Hoshino-san. See me more as a client. I want to place orders, multiple freighters—that’s all. No takeover, no control. We want to collaborate.” I tried to ease the tension with a slight smile, voice calm, factual, yet firm.
A hint of relief flickered across Kento’s face. His body relaxed just slightly, eyes still skeptical, but the ice had begun to break. Misora nodded in agreement, her fingers drumming lightly on the metal table, a subtle gesture of approval.
Then came the question of what type of freighter should be built, and immediately a debate erupted. I felt Gal cross her arms, brow furrowed, eyes scanning the plans. “Modern systems, encrypted communication units, cyber-resistant interfaces. Without those, every mission is at risk,” she explained, voice steady but commanding.
Tahl leaned back, eyes focused, lips pressed together. “The freighters must be armored; weapons cannot be neglected. Safety is paramount. Speed is secondary if security is compromised.” His tone was factual, almost military, hands planted firmly on the table as if to physically emphasize his points.
I nodded, acknowledging the different perspectives, and added my own: “I want fast freighters, optimized for food transport. Stable enough to secure cargo, but built to be efficient and swift. Our products need to arrive fresh.” I placed my hands on the plans, pointing out cargo holds, loading ramps, and climate control systems.
Kento shook his head, lips tight, but his voice had calmed. “Your demands, Tori, I can meet. Speed, capacity—no problem. But what Gal and Tahl want… that will take time. And cost. Some parts need to be sourced, some are difficult to obtain. That extends construction time and raises expenses.”
Misora nodded, eyes briefly flashing as she weighed the logic. She lightly placed a hand on Kento’s forearm, a soothing, almost mediating gesture. “We can do it,” she said quietly, “but every step must be carefully planned. Quality before speed.”
I leaned back, hands clasped behind my head, feeling the familiar thrill of an entrepreneurial challenge. Each of us had a clear vision, each our own agenda, and I knew only compromise and precise planning would allow progress. The station hummed softly, metal and machinery vibrating under artificial gravity as we continued our discussion.
Kento finally crossed his arms, forehead slightly furrowed, and nodded slowly. “We’ll do it step by step. Your requirements will be prioritized, but everything comes at a cost. I don’t build cheap—I build solid.”
I smiled inwardly, excitement rising. This was exactly what I wanted: a team bringing different perspectives, and freighters that would not just transport cargo but carry our vision. Gal nodded in agreement, Tahl slipped his hands into his pockets, tension easing slightly, and Misora leaned back, alert and ready to follow the next steps.
“Good,” I said at last, voice firm but calm, “then let’s finalize the plans and see how we can make all this happen.” I could feel that everyone in the room understood the responsibility, weighing the possibilities carefully. The spark of ideas was palpable—it was the beginning of something larger than a simple freighter order.

During the discussion, I kept noticing that Misora tried repeatedly to contribute. Every time she opened her mouth or raised a hand slightly, as if to voice a thought, her father would either preempt her or simply continue speaking as though she hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t an outright dismissal, more a persistent overlooking. A brief glance from her, a barely audible intake of breath—and the conversation moved on without her. I saw her fingers curl slightly at times, as if holding something back. After a while, a short pause emerged. No one said anything; Kento was examining data on his pad, Gal tapped at her interface, and Tahl sat with arms crossed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. In that moment, Misora quietly approached me. Her movements were cautious, almost as if she didn’t want to draw attention. She handed me a thin data sheet.
“Please take a look at this,” she said softly.
I took the sheet and activated the display. Immediately, holographic concept drawings, technical schematics, and diagrams unfolded before my eyes. I leaned forward slightly, studying everything carefully. The longer I examined it, the more a mix of surprise and excitement built inside me. The concept described a proprietary cockpit-ship system designed as a modular carrier platform. A small, lightweight, extremely powerful ship—essentially only cockpit, propulsion, controls, and minimal crew—built specifically to attach and detach freight modules quickly. Not a traditional freighter, but a sort of tractor unit. The modules themselves were independent, fully compatible with the system but intentionally incompatible with standard freighters of other species or factions. This created a natural deterrent against pirates—anyone capturing a module would be helpless without a compatible cockpit ship. Looking closer at the diagrams, the concept extended further. It employed multiple security strategies simultaneously: economic unattractiveness, operational efficiency, tactical adaptability. Proprietary docking protocols, redundant control systems, automatic separation mechanisms, emergency module jettisoning. Early-warning sensors, modular evacuation units, adaptive navigation. The infrastructure was part of the concept as well. Freight stations, maintenance points, and power supply would be specifically aligned to the system. All ran through authorized interfaces. Security was increased, and dependency on external structures reduced. I couldn’t help but grin as I read further. Two worlds instantly connected in my mind: a small drive ship pulling containers. Swappable modules. Fast empty runs, short turnaround times. In my old reality, this would simply be called trucks and trailers. Here, it could be described differently: space truckers.
I looked up from the data sheet at Misora. My eyes were probably shining. “You have to show this to the others,” I said.
She blinked, surprised. “Really?”
I nodded. “Absolutely.” I turned to the others.
“Misora has prepared a concept. I think we should listen.”
Kento immediately lifted his head. His expression already showed his displeasure. Misora stepped in front of the table, activated the projection, and began explaining her concept. At first, she spoke calmly and controlled, but as she continued, more energy came into her voice. Her hands moved as she outlined the system: the cockpit ship, the modules, the docking mechanisms, the security protocols, and the infrastructure. I observed the others. Gal listened attentively, brow slightly furrowed. Tahl sat silently, analyzing the projections with his usual sharp focus. Kento, however, eventually crossed his arms and deliberately looked away. When Misora finished, there was a brief silence.
Then Kento rolled his eyes. “Your concept is well thought out,” he said dryly, “but it has a serious flaw.”
I frowned. To me, it was the opposite—an extremely fast cockpit ship, able to dock with modules anytime. Efficient, flexible, scalable. Noticing my puzzled look, Kento sighed.
“Misora’s concept is meant to be a closed system,” he explained bluntly. “The freighters and docking procedures of the Planetary Community have been standardized over centuries so that each species can trade with every other.”
He gestured at the projection. “But this cockpit ship and these freight modules are incompatible with that.”
I looked at Misora. Her face twisted slightly. Her shoulders sank a little. She clearly understood that this was the biggest issue with her design. I looked back at the projection: a proprietary system, custom modules, its own infrastructure. My mind started calculating immediately—control over transport capacity, protection from pirates, fast turnarounds, scalability, and above all: independence. I slowly set the data sheet down on the table.
Then I said calmly, “Deal.”
All heads turned to me.
“Purchased.”
For a moment, there was complete silence. Gal stared at me. Tahl raised an eyebrow. Kento looked as if I’d lost my mind. Misora just blinked—utterly surprised.

I immediately saw that Kento was working internally. His face remained outwardly calm, but his eyes betrayed too much. They flicked over the projections, back to me, then to Misora, and finally returned to the data sheet. His fingers drummed slowly on the edge of the table—not frantically, but in that controlled rhythm that betrayed someone searching for a way out. He twisted subtly, like an eel slipping from a hand. I knew what he was doing. He was looking for reasons, technical objections, financial risks—anything that would let him cancel the deal without openly admitting he simply didn’t want it. A faint resistance stirred in me. I hadn’t intended to play this ace; it felt wrong. But then I looked at Misora. Standing quietly, hands folded in front of her, as if she had already braced herself for her concept to be dismissed again. I exhaled slowly.
“Roland Caprio.”
The name dropped into the room like a heavy metal weight. Kento froze. His fingers stopped drumming instantly. His gaze shot to me, sharp, probing. Misora reacted as well. Her eyes widened slightly, and I could see that she understood the implication. She knew. She knew about her father’s debt. For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Kento asked quietly, “How is he?”
The question hit me directly, unexpectedly. For a brief second, a tight knot formed in my chest.
“He’s dead,” I said bluntly.
The effect was immediate. Kento’s face drained of color. His shoulders slumped slightly, and his eyes dropped involuntarily to the tabletop, as if the information needed to be processed physically. Roland Caprio was no ordinary name. He had been one of the most respected judges of the Argon Federation. Clearly someone to whom Kento owed more than a favor. A few seconds passed, filled only by the soft hum of the station’s systems.
Finally, Kento lifted his head. His voice was calmer this time, though tension was unmistakable. “How do you know that I owe Roland anything?”
I clasped my hands loosely behind my back and spoke honestly. “I lived with him.”
Eyebrows rose around the table.
“For the last two years of his life, I cared for him,” I continued. “He was sick. Old. Someone had to look after him.”
Memories flitted briefly through my mind: the long conversations, his calm voice.
“When he died,” I went on, “he stipulated in his will that I should have access to all information he collected during his lifetime.” I paused briefly, then gestured to Gal and Tahl. “And these two… are his children.”
All eyes turned to them. Gal was first. Without a word, she opened her interface and projected her ID. The data appeared as a sharp, blue hologram in the air: name, origin, genetic verification. Tahl did the same. His projection appeared directly beside hers. Both datasets clearly confirmed their relation to Roland Caprio.
Gal folded her arms again. “Confirmed,” she said calmly.
Tahl nodded briefly. “All of it.”
Kento studied the projections for a long moment. His gaze traveled from one dataset to the other, then back to me. Finally, he exhaled slowly. He looked at me and nodded.
“If Roland Caprio trusted someone,” he said deliberately, “then that person is beyond question.”
The words didn’t sound reluctant. Rather… definitive. Yet an uncomfortable feeling rose within me. Roland had trusted me—without conditions, without ulterior motives. And now I had used his name to exert pressure. Even for a good cause. Even to give Misora’s concept a chance. Still, for a moment, it felt as if I had exploited the dead for my own ends. I said nothing. I simply watched Kento calmly, waiting for his decision.

When Kento finally nodded, the decision was made. It wasn’t an enthusiastic nod, nor a sign of sudden excitement—more a slow, heavy yielding. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if he had internally accepted that the direction of the conversation had irrevocably changed.
“Good,” he said at last.
A single word, but it was enough. The tension in the room eased noticeably, even though no one audibly exhaled. Gal leaned back slightly, Tahl relaxed his crossed arms just a little, and Misora… Misora still stood there, as if she didn’t quite trust the situation. I, however, kept my eyes on Kento. His agreement was genuine, I had no doubt. Yet I recognized that look on a father’s face. And the brief, sharp, loaded glance he cast at his daughter did not escape me. Short. Meaningful. He had been overridden, and I was fairly certain he would have a serious word with Misora later. Before the tension could build further, I raised a hand slightly and cleared my throat.
“The concept,” I said calmly, pointing to the still-floating projection, “doesn’t have to remain completely isolated.”
All eyes turned back to me. I clasped my hands loosely behind my back and circled a few steps around the table as I spoke.
“Misora’s core idea is excellent. A modular cockpit ship, autonomous cargo modules, rapid rotations.” I nodded in her direction appreciatively. “But that doesn’t mean there can’t be interfaces.”
Kento raised an eyebrow slightly. I continued.
“Certain adapter modules could be developed. Docking protocols that allow at least limited compatibility with the established freight docks. Perhaps not ideal for regular operations, but sufficient for transfer points in interstellar trade.”
I looked back and forth between father and daughter.
“This way, the system remains proprietary… but not completely isolated.”
Misora lifted her head slowly. I saw her eyes brighten again. Her mind was already working. Kento, meanwhile, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I shrugged lightly.
“Of course, these are details that need to be worked out carefully.”
I paused briefly.
“Best done on Argon Prime.”
Kento straightened slightly.
“You want us to go there?”
I nodded.
“The technical specifics, financing, potential design modifications… it’s easier to discuss on-site.”
I added, “And the financial formalities will have to be handled there anyway.”
That brought the conversation back to the original purpose of our meeting: the debt notes. Kento’s lips twitched slightly at the word, but this time he did not argue. After a few more minutes of discussion—much more measured than before—we agreed on the basic points. I would purchase the debt notes. The bank hadn’t sold them yet, but they were available. Once I took them over, I would be the creditor. All further formalities would be handled directly at the Federal Argon Bank on Argon Prime. There, the contract would be drawn up, and the financing for the new freighters—or rather, the new system—would be established. When we finally finished, a strange mix of relief and cautious anticipation settled over the room. A deal had been struck. But I knew precisely that this was only the beginning.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 17 - Developments

I sat in the living room, holding the warm tea bowl between both hands. The aroma rose slowly, a mix of floral notes and a faint spice that had become familiar over time. The steam curled upward lazily, disappearing somewhere into the soft lighting of the room. In front of me sat Valentina and Vanu. The seating arrangement almost formed a Y. I was at one end of the low table, while the two women sat opposite me, slightly offset. Between us stood a small dark ceramic teapot, from which thin tendrils of steam still drifted. I took a small sip. The tea was pleasantly hot, with that deep, aromatic flavor that unfolded slowly across the palate. I let it linger briefly on my tongue before swallowing. As I watched them, I couldn’t help but smile inwardly. It was almost comforting to see how much the situation had changed. In the beginning, the two of them had practically been at each other’s throats. Every conversation was a battlefield: jabs, sharp remarks, that polite but razor-sharp smile that really meant, “I can’t stand you.” I had genuinely feared at one point that the furniture might end up flying across the room. But now… now it was noticeably more relaxed. Valentina sat back comfortably in her chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her dark hair was loosely tied back, and she held her tea bowl with the calm self-assurance of a doctor accustomed to analyzing situations. Vanu, on the other hand, sat slightly more upright. Her movements always had an elegance, almost ceremonial. She lifted the tea bowl with both hands to her lips, took a small sip, and carefully set it back on the table. Between the two women, there was no longer any overt hostility. On the contrary—they were even collaborating. Valentina’s medical expertise now informed Vanu’s offerings. Vanu had adjusted her business model, developing new programs where health considerations played a much larger role: prevention, counseling, medically guided wellness. I had to admit—the combination worked surprisingly well. And yet… I could feel it. Something still lingered. Even though both had agreed to a double marriage, a subtle tension remained in the air. No open hostility, but a quiet rivalry, like a faint current flowing just beneath the surface. And I was fairly certain it would never fully disappear; it simply wasn’t in their nature. Valentina suddenly cast me a quick sidelong glance and grinned slightly.
“At least,” she said, with a barely audible undertone, “I was first.”
I sighed inwardly. There it was again—that little jab. She said it casually while sipping her tea, as if it were a completely neutral observation. But her gaze deliberately shifted to Vanu. Vanu reacted immediately—not with words, but by gripping her tea bowl slightly tighter, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She was older than Valentina. Significantly older, even. Yet that small remark still hit its mark. I could practically see her fighting internally not to respond. Honestly, I had once intervened in exactly this situation. I set my tea bowl down and raised both hands in a placating gesture.
“Alright,” I had said back then, “let’s settle this once and for all.”
They both looked at me simultaneously.
“Vanu,” I said, nodding in her direction, “is my number one when it comes to food and drink.”
Vanu had looked at me in surprise. Then I turned to Valentina.
“And Valentina is my number one when it comes to health.”
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Then Valentina rolled her eyes, and Vanu let a small, satisfied smile slip through. It had smoothed the waves—just a little. Because no matter how much both women accepted the situation, the… let’s call it relationship status… was not completely neutralized. I took another sip of tea and leaned back slightly, observing them. Sometimes, my life really did feel strangely surreal.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. Just moments ago, we had been calmly drinking tea, exchanging small jabs, and sharing that strange, now-familiar mix of ease and subtle rivalry. But now, something heavy lingered in the air. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but I felt immediately that something was off. Valentina and Vanu were behaving differently—not overtly tense, but… prepared. As if both had internally decided to bring up a subject they had been carrying for some time. I let my gaze flick between them, wondering briefly whether I should prompt them or wait for one of them to make the first move. Before I could decide, the choice was taken from me. Valentina straightened slightly. Her shoulders squared, her face assumed that calm, controlled expression I knew so well. It was the look of a doctor about to deliver a difficult diagnosis: professional, distant, objective. Vanu, by contrast, seemed the opposite. She sat beside her, nervously kneading her hands, fingers intertwining and then loosening, only to grip them again immediately. Her eyes darted briefly over the table, then to me, then away once more. I felt immediately that this combination did not sit well with me. I sank deeper into the chair—the same chair where Roland had once sat—and folded my arms loosely across my chest.
“I don’t like this,” I said dryly, looking at both of them in turn.
Valentina took a slow, deliberate breath, as if flipping an internal switch, and began to speak. “Tori,” she said calmly, “you’re a Terran.”
I nodded slowly. That wasn’t new information.
“Vanu and I are Argonians,” she continued. “Which, basically, are humans too.”
Again, I nodded. So far, no problem. But her tone told me there was more to come.
“But,” she said, pressing her fingertips together, “it’s not that simple.”
I raised an eyebrow slightly. Valentina went on, “Terrans and Argonians have developed separately for over eight hundred years.” She paused briefly to let it sink in. “And in that time, differences have emerged.”
I was about to say something when she lifted a hand slightly. “I don’t just mean eye color or hair color,” she added calmly.
Now I was truly alert. I sat a little straighter, studying her more closely.
Valentina glanced briefly at Vanu, then back at me. Her voice remained matter-of-fact. “We’ve been married for a year now.” I nodded automatically. “And there hasn’t been a result yet.”
I blinked. “Result?” I asked, puzzled. Honestly, I had no idea where this was going.
Valentina and Vanu exchanged a short look. One of those wordless glances where two people seemed to communicate an entire conversation without a single sound. Finally, Vanu cleared her throat softly and looked at me.
“Babies,” she said.
The word hit me like an explosive. For a moment, it felt as if someone had detonated a grenade in my head. Babies. The word echoed in my skull. My brain took several seconds to register what had just been said. My body reacted faster than my mind. I jumped to my feet abruptly. The chair groaned under the sudden movement.
“I… uh…” I managed, but my thoughts were scrambled.
Without fully realizing what I was doing, I turned and walked out. No—walked was an understatement. I practically fled the room. Somewhere behind me, I heard a tea bowl set down softly on the table, but I didn’t stop. I moved through the hallway, opened the door, and stepped into the front garden. The fresh air hit me immediately. Spring was slowly giving way to summer. The air was mild, and first blooms were already appearing in the flowerbeds. I paused briefly, ran both hands over my face, and then began pacing in circles. Across the small path and back again. I took deep breaths—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—again and again. I tried to bring my pulse down. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a family. Quite the opposite. But the subject had struck me with the force of an asteroid, and my brain desperately needed a few moments to catch up. So I continued pacing the garden, doing breathing exercises, trying to gather my thoughts again.

I paced in circles through the front garden for several minutes. The gravel path crunched under my steps every time I turned. To my left, low shrubs were beginning to sprout fresh green shoots among older branches. To my right, the flowerbeds were transitioning from spring to summer—some plants in full bloom, others tentatively pushing buds toward the sun. The air was mild, pleasantly warm, and somewhere an insect hummed lazily through the air. I drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and tried to sort my thoughts. Babies. The word still echoed in my head like a persistent reverberation. After a few minutes, I felt my pulse settle. My shoulders relaxed, and the edge of that frantic, almost panicked feeling ebbed away. Finally, I stopped, ran both hands over my face, and took one last deep breath.
“Okay,” I murmured to myself. “Get it together.”
I turned toward the terrace door, ready to go back inside, only to notice I wasn’t alone. Valentina and Vanu stood in the doorway, apparently having watched me for a while. For a moment, we just looked at each other. Then Vanu stepped forward first. Her hands were clasped in front of her stomach, shoulders slightly tense. Her usually confident expression held a hint of vulnerability.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Her voice was gentle, almost cautious. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you like that.”
Valentina followed, closing the door behind her and standing beside Vanu. Her expression returned to that controlled, professional look I knew so well—the doctor back in command.
“I should have phrased it more diplomatically,” she said calmly.
I immediately raised a hand defensively and shook my head. “It’s fine,” I said, taking another deep breath. “Doesn’t matter.”
I ran a hand through my hair and glanced briefly at the sky before looking back at them. “Yeah, you caught me off guard,” I admitted. “But honestly… I’m the kind of person who prefers being confronted directly rather than beating around the bush forever.”
I moved to one of the simple chairs on the terrace and sat down. The wood had warmed slightly in the sun. I leaned my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands. Vanu and Valentina followed me outside but didn’t sit in chairs. Instead, they lay down on the sun loungers beside the terrace table—Vanu on the left, Valentina on the right. For a moment, no one spoke. Only the soft wind through the shrubs and the distant hum of a small flying device high above the settlement could be heard. Eventually, Vanu sat up slightly on her lounger. She drew her legs close, loosely clasped her hands around them, and looked at me seriously.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our future,” she began. “And the desire for a child is growing stronger for me. I feel emotionally stable after the miscarriage with my first husband, and we both have the financial and partnership stability to take on that responsibility. My priorities have shifted—personal freedom is important, but the need to be there for someone weighs more heavily now. I would like for us to start a family.”
I listened carefully, studying her face. Her voice was calm, but I sensed the weight of thought and perhaps lingering doubt behind her words. When she finished, my gaze automatically shifted to Valentina. Honestly, I hoped she would speak, because I still wasn’t sure how to respond. She did speak. But she completely misread my look.
Valentina crossed her arms, looked directly at me, and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “I don’t want a child. Not yet. I want a few more years to enjoy my freedom and invest this time in my career as a doctor.”
I blinked. That wasn’t exactly what I expected. To give myself a moment, I returned to the subject she had brought up earlier.
“You mentioned earlier the differences between Terrans and Argonians,” I said evasively.
Valentina nodded immediately. I could almost see her switching internally back into medical mode.
“Argon Prime, Terra, and Aldrin belong to the Gaia class,” she began calmly. “A very specific category of Earth-like worlds.” She propped herself slightly on one elbow and looked between Vanu and me while she explained. “Gaia worlds are rare, paradisiacal planets with ideal or at least highly diverse climates and stable ecosystems. These systems self-regulate through complex feedback mechanisms.” She paused briefly before continuing. “But even though these worlds are similar… they aren’t identical.” Her gaze returned to me. “We’ve talked before about how they developed differently. Eye color. Hair color. Differences in perception.” She shrugged lightly. “But those are just the obvious things.” Then she looked at me with deliberate attention. “Tori, you’ve experienced firsthand that there are also organic differences.”
I nodded immediately. “My intolerances with Argonian foods,” I said.
“Exactly,” Valentina confirmed. “That’s just one of many traits that have developed over nearly nine hundred years.” She raised a hand briefly, as if organizing her thoughts. “But also the…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “…compatibility…” Then she continued. “…between Argonians, Terrans, and Aldrins is decreasing.”
I squinted slightly, studying her. “What are you getting at?” I asked directly.
Valentina answered without preamble. “It will likely mean that the three of us will need assistance.”
I flinched slightly. My mind was already racing through multiple scenarios at once.
Valentina noticed my reaction and immediately added, “What I wanted to say gently is…” She sighed softly. “…that natural conception will probably have to give way to artificial methods.”
I leaned back slightly, staring at her silently for a moment. A single question immediately popped into my mind: Was that just… a euphemism?

I was still sitting on the terrace chair, elbows resting on my knees, hands clasped together, eyes shifting between the two women. The sun had climbed a bit higher, casting a warm, soft light across the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the young leaves of the shrubs, and somewhere in the background a small creature chirped from the hedges. Despite the peaceful surroundings, my mind felt anything but calm. Valentina’s words about artificial methods still echoed in my head. I took a slow breath and scratched the back of my head thoughtfully before lifting my gaze.
“Honestly, I’m not sure if now is the right time for this.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I saw Vanu’s expression collapse. Her shoulders sank slightly, and a brief, hurt look flashed in her eyes—the kind people get when they feel like they’ve just been turned down. I immediately realized my words had landed completely differently than intended. I quickly raised a hand, trying to catch the situation before it spiraled further.
“But,” I continued right away, “there’s always a reason to delay something or avoid doing it.” I shrugged slightly and made an effort to keep my voice calm. “I mean that in general.”
Valentina and Vanu exchanged a quick glance, both nodding slowly. I could see they understood I wasn’t speaking solely about our situation—or at least not entirely. The tension eased a little. I leaned back slightly, letting my gaze drift across the garden, searching for the right words. Finally, I looked back at them.
“Would it be a problem,” I asked cautiously, “if we tried the natural approach a little longer?”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then something completely unexpected occurred. Both women flushed red at the same time. Truly simultaneous. It was almost synchronized, the color spreading across their cheeks. Valentina cleared her throat softly and glanced demonstratively to the side, while Vanu looked directly at me—and suddenly smiled. Not a shy smile, but a warm, almost mischievous one.
“As often as you want,” she said.
Her voice was gentle, and I noticed she had sat up a little more on her lounger. Her olive-green eyes now sparkled more vividly than a few minutes ago. Valentina, on the other hand, took a moment longer to regain her professional composure. She straightened slightly, brushed a teal strand of hair from her face, and returned that slightly distant doctorly gaze.
“From a medical standpoint, there’s nothing to oppose it,” she said matter-of-factly. Almost like a diagnosis. Yet I thought I detected the faintest, barely audible note of disapproval in her voice—though perhaps I was imagining it. She folded her arms loosely and continued as if delivering a scientific lecture.
“Different immune systems tend to attract each other,” she explained calmly. “And usually result in genetically healthier offspring.”
She looked directly at me with her purple eyes, as if to ensure I truly understood the scientific side of it. I couldn’t help but grin slightly. The situation was somehow absurd. Just minutes ago, I had panicked and fled into the garden because the word babies had hit my head like a meteor. And now we were sitting on the terrace, discussing reproduction like it was a scientific project—while both women blushed simultaneously. I leaned back a little further, letting my gaze sweep over the garden again, and exhaled softly through my nose. My life had a truly strange way of unfolding.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 18 - Expansion

As my shuttle glided through the upper layers of Argon Prime’s atmosphere, the planetary capital, Gunnia, already lay beneath me. From above, the city resembled a vast web of gleaming structures, wide thoroughfares, and green islands of parks and water features woven into the architecture. Argonian cities had a unique aesthetic: technologically advanced yet never cold or sterile. Everywhere, glass, metal, and vegetation shimmered together. Even from this height, I could make out the dense layers of traffic—flight paths glowing like luminous threads through the air.
As the shuttle slowly transitioned into its approach vector, I leaned back in my seat and let my thoughts drift to the past few weeks. Since my visit to Ni’sha’la, the homeworld of the Borons, several weeks had passed—enough time for developments to take shape on Uros. The production of algae and plankton had already begun last year. At first, the local fishermen were far from enthusiastic. Many had looked at me as though I were pitching the most absurd business idea imaginable. To them, fishing was a matter of experience, nets, and patience—not lab tanks and microorganisms. Rosa and Greg hadn’t helped either; their scientific lectures on ecological balances, microbial cycles, and nutrient chains usually caused the fishermen to mentally switch off rather quickly.
The breakthrough came only when old Florian took over the conversation. I remembered vividly how he had interrupted one of the discussions, hands on hips, and said dryly that they could make Credits from the whole endeavor. That was the moment the atmosphere shifted. Credits made sense to them. Eventually, they agreed to give it a try. In hindsight, that was probably one of the best decisions they could have made.
Algae and plankton weren’t just some side project—they formed the foundation of an entire food web. In natural waters, countless tiny organisms feed on phytoplankton—microscopic algae that produce nutrients through light. These are consumed by small crustaceans, larvae, and other microfauna, which in turn are the primary food source for many fish species. By cultivating algae and plankton deliberately, we indirectly increased the food supply for the entire chain. More microorganisms meant more small creatures. More small creatures meant more food for juvenile fish. More surviving young fish meant larger fish populations over time. This effect had begun to show in the waters around Uros.
After the initial tests succeeded, we moved to the next step: cultivating BoFu in artificial aquariums. Some tanks contained freshwater, others saltwater. The Boron fungi reacted surprisingly flexibly to different water conditions, as long as certain mineral values were maintained. Early results were promising. The fungi grew stably, were easy to process, and developed a structure close to the original BoFu. Still, the Boron diplomats who exclusively tasted the new dishes immediately noticed the difference. Borons had an incredibly refined sense for flavor nuances. I had realized that back on Ni’sha’la. Luckily, none of them complained. Part of that was likely because Bi Fi and I had made it clear from the start that these were experimental cultivations. No one expected perfection. While some Borons preferred the traditional BoFu, I was increasingly pleased to see the number of curious tasters grow day by day. More and more staff wanted to try the new variants—some out of scientific curiosity, others purely culinary. For me, that was a good sign: we were on the right track.
Not every experiment went smoothly, however. My next attempt failed completely. I had the idea to cultivate BoFu in thermal water, thinking that the mineral properties might enhance the flavor or produce new nuances. In theory, it sounded plausible. In practice, it was disastrous. The fungi reacted extremely sensitively to the chemical composition and the temperature variations of the thermal water. Within days, the entire tank collapsed. The fungi’s structures literally disintegrated, and eventually the entire colony died. I remember standing silently with Vanu, watching the water turn cloudy. It was one of those moments when science is simply frustrating.
Fortunately, subsequent experiments fared much better. We tested variants in sulfurous water and iron-rich water. Both produced surprisingly interesting results. The sulfur variant developed an intense, slightly spicy flavor that the Boron tasters appreciated. The iron variant, however, had a heavier aroma and was considered too dominant by many. Another idea of mine—BoFu grown in lightly carbonated water—produced fungi with a subtle acidic note, intriguing but too strong to serve as a main dish. Vanu and I decided not to feature these variants as standalone dishes. Instead, we used them as flavor components, adding subtle mineral or sour notes to other meals. The results were surprisingly versatile. Since none of the Borons experienced any health issues from the experiments, we could continue using the variants without concern.
Within weeks, Anshin Yatei’s menu had expanded dramatically: new dishes, new combinations, new flavors. As the shuttle descended into Gunnia’s lower traffic layers and the immense capital grew ever larger outside my window, I had to admit that I was quite satisfied with the progress. Much remained experimental. Much still needed refinement. But the path we had taken felt right.

I sat at a low table in the Anshin Shokudō with the attached Yatei in Gunnia. The restaurant was only a few blocks from the main spaceport, nestled between several multi-story complexes of glass and light metal. From the outside, the building appeared deliberately understated—broad windows, warm wooden panels, a simple sign with the familiar Anshin logo. Inside, however, the layout was designed to make guests of as many species as possible feel comfortable: varying seat heights, slightly different table shapes, separate water tanks for Boron visitors, and a section with wider aisles for larger species like Paranids.
The air carried the pleasant scent of fresh rice, fermented algae, and a hint of spices wafting from the kitchen. It was early afternoon, and the restaurant was busy. Several Argonian patrons sat at various tables, some in business attire, others in casual work clothes. Visitors from other species moved between them. A Boron floated lazily in its mobile water tank near one of the special stations. Two Teladi whispered heatedly over a bill, while a Split at the next table silently devoured a large tray of multiple portions. The revenue was far higher than I had originally expected. I had anticipated that Argonians with dietary restrictions would appreciate the concept—that had been one of the main reasons we had founded the Anshin Shokudō branches. But I had not foreseen so many aliens spontaneously coming in. Word clearly spread quickly when a restaurant offered dishes compatible with multiple species.
My appointment had not yet arrived, though I had been there most of the day. The staff seemed a little nervous about that. From the corners of my eyes, I noticed quick glances in my direction. No one approached me directly, but I could feel the tension. For them, the hierarchy was probably difficult to parse. Vanu was their immediate boss—overseeing the culinary operations, menus, staff, and workflows. But formally, I was above her. The Anshin restaurants were part of Omni-Food Products, which in turn was part of the Universal Nourishment Organization—a company I had founded and currently presided over. To the staff, it probably meant that the highest-ranking supervisor imaginable was quietly sitting in a corner of their restaurant for hours without intervening. No wonder they felt watched. I did my best to avoid giving that impression. I did not scrutinize anyone, observe workflows, or take notes. I was fully absorbed in my tablet. Over time, the tension in the room slowly eased. The staff realized I neither controlled nor evaluated them and gradually returned to their normal work.
I leaned back slightly and continued scrolling through the document on my tablet. It was the contract the Borons had sent me a few days earlier. Their offer was… generous, at least at first glance. They were willing to grant me a construction permit for a production complex directly in the Königstal system—a facility entirely dedicated to Boron-compatible food production. As a private venture, the agreement was fairly straightforward: I could build, produce, and sell, in exchange for regular payments to the Boron government—a classic licensing model.
One clause, however, caught my attention. The Borons explicitly allowed me to attach Argonian factories to the complex. That meant I could produce Argon-specific agricultural products on-site—Argnu meat, Delexian wheat, and other raw materials needed for our dishes—significantly reducing transport costs. I traced the next section with my finger and read it carefully. To make the offer even more attractive, the Borons provided free solar panels. Energy supply was normally a major cost for space stations, so this concession was significant.
Still, there was a problem. The space rental for the construction site was… high. Very high. I knew exactly why. The Borons had previously received transorbital accelerator technology from the Argons—enormous structures, commonly called “space highways,” connecting stations, planets, and moons within a system via extremely fast transport routes. For trade and logistics, they were invaluable. The Borons now used the infrastructure extensively. But many forgot: the Argons had not developed the technology themselves; they had received it from Aldrin, at significant cost and under political conditions. Aldrin, in turn, had received it free after joining the Terrans—a complex web of technology exchange, political interests, and economic obligations.
I leaned back and stared silently at the columns of numbers in the contract. Adding everything—construction costs, structural modules, production facilities, logistics—I estimated the project would cost roughly fifteen million Credits. A staggering sum, especially for someone like me, who had just managed to recover from multiple financial obligations. The construction would plunge me into debt again. No question about that. On the other hand, the market potential was enormous. Borons were discerning consumers, but once they accepted a product, loyalty was strong. If the complex became established, the investment would likely pay off within a few years. I slowly lowered the tablet and glanced through the restaurant windows. Transport gliders crossed the wide street outside, and Gunnia’s towers rose into the sky behind them. The contract remained open on my screen.

I let the tablet rest on the table for a moment and stared through the large windows of the Yatei at the busy street outside the spaceport. Transport gliders floated in regular intervals over the wide traffic lanes, while pedestrians of various species moved between the buildings below. The steady hum of engines and the distant roar of departing shuttles mixed with the muted chatter inside the restaurant. Normally, I found this background noise pleasant. Today, however, a different kind of noise ran through my mind—numbers, risks, possibilities. The Borons’ terms were attractive, no doubt about that. But they weren’t the only offer on my table.
I traced the display with my finger and opened the second file—the Argonian offer. The mere existence of this document had surprised me. Until now, I had dealt almost exclusively with local officials—spaceport supervisors, district administrators, occasionally an economic officer. People who did their jobs but rarely went beyond their jurisdiction. This offer, however, came from significantly higher levels of administration, officially from the Ministry of Economy of the Argonian Federation. I remembered the moment the message arrived. For a few seconds, I had just stared at the sender. Apparently, my idea had spread further than I had anticipated. Perhaps my name had come up in some meetings. Perhaps someone had read the reports on our projects. Or—this thought made me smirk slightly—maybe some high-ranking official had actually become a regular at one of our Shokudō or Yatei. The idea of a minister regularly ordering rice with algae was almost amusing.
I scrolled through the document. The Argons offered me construction sites at a surprisingly low rate. They, too, allowed Boron production facilities to be integrated into the complex, clearly understanding that the concept only worked if I could flexibly handle the biological needs of multiple species. What really astonished me, however, was the rent—how low it was. The price was far below comparable locations. Of course, I immediately understood that such an offer wouldn’t come without conditions. And indeed, it didn’t. I leaned back slightly, folded my arms loosely, and let my gaze drop back to the screen. The catch was in a single sentence. The Argonian officials had learned that I had commissioned a small private shipyard in orbit around Trantor in the Presidents End system to build several freighters. Someone in the administration had picked up that information and connected the dots. Their proposal—or rather, expectation—was therefore clearly stated: if I wanted to build a production complex, it should be in that very system. I let the name linger in my mind for a moment.
Officially, it was about economic promotion. The region was to be rebuilt, new businesses established, trade flows restored. Unofficially, it meant that I would serve as an economic catalyst—a small gear setting the larger mechanism in motion. Accepting the offer would cost roughly ten million Credits, five million less than building in Königstal—a considerable difference. Still, money wasn’t the only factor. I opened another map on the tablet and viewed the star systems. If I built in Königstal, transport routes to Ni’sha’la and the other worlds of the Boron Queen’s realm would be much shorter, a major logistical advantage. Freighters would cross fewer systems, spend less time in transit, and deliver goods faster. But that decision had a clear downside: the route to Son’ra would be considerably longer. I zoomed in and let the software calculate the routes—several systems lay in between.
In Presidents End, the situation was different. From there, Son’ra was practically around the corner—only a single system separating them, either Home of Light or Line of Energy, depending on which route was chosen. I shook my head slightly and snorted quietly. Whoever named these systems must have had either a poetic streak or a very peculiar sense of drama. I imagined some old explorer pointing at a star and declaring dramatically, “This shall be the Line of Energy!” A small grin crept across my face.
Still, the calculations were complicated. Producing in Presidents End meant every freighter to Königstal would have to cross five full star systems, not counting the further distribution of goods to other Boron systems. I exhaled slowly and lifted my gaze from the display. Distance was only part of the equation. Presidents End had other problems, ones the Ministry seemed to cover with generous incentives and low rent. Sporadic Kha'ak attacks still occurred—far fewer than before, but sudden, unpredictable raids appeared and vanished. The system’s reconstruction was slow. Sixty years after the major assault, much of the region still bore scars. Many areas remained sparsely populated. Trade stations were scattered, lacking the dense infrastructure networks found elsewhere.
Security was another concern. Presidents End had a reputation—a bad one. Smugglers used the system as a regular transit route. Authorities tried to intervene, but the space was vast, patrols limited. Plunderers had long operated there. After the Kha'ak assault, countless destroyed stations had left debris fields exploited over decades. Though most had now been cleared, the system’s reputation suffered. And one more issue: only one jump gate away lay the Elenas Glück system. Officially part of the Argonian Federation, unofficially it was a haven for those who disliked rules. Pirate factions used it as a base while the Argonian fleet attempted to assert control. The population consisted mostly of… I twisted my mouth slightly searching for a diplomatic term. Free spirits. That seemed the most polite description.
I leaned back again and folded my fingers on the table. Both offers lay before me, each with advantages and risks. And I knew I wasn’t ready to decide yet. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I already sensed that these two options were probably not the end of the story.

I lifted my head as footsteps echoed through the entrance. They waddled toward me with a deliberate, almost leisurely gait, every movement reflecting the characteristic posture of the Teladi. Their scales glimmered in the Yatei’s light, the color variations immediately apparent. The elder Teladi moved with a measured rhythm, his red eyes scanning every motion in the room. The two younger ones had yellow eyes with narrow, black-slit pupils, attentive to every detail while projecting a composed calm. A faint tingling ran down my neck—three years of trade language had taught me the basics, but their expressions, subtle gestures, all of it remained mostly foreign. I had to interpret without certainty.
The elder, Basilomas Thovareos, introduced himself first. His name made me pause briefly—I knew the Teladi naming conventions: three names reflecting bloodlines. Basilomas explained calmly that he had emigrated and established his own broodline with his partner. His tone was firm but not arrogant, rather proud of the independent development. I nodded, taking a mental note. Two of his descendants sat beside him, each exuding a presence that marked their role in the conversation. Basilomas Thovareos Nopireos, clearly male with bluish scales, straightened his shoulders, eyes fixed on me. Basilomas Thovareos Kavireas, clearly female with green-tinged scales, was more reserved but attentive, tracking every one of my movements.
The conversation started slowly, as expected. Every S and CH was elongated, a hiss accompanying nearly every syllable. I had to ask for clarification multiple times, repeat words, translate sentences back into trade language. Still, a certain rhythm began to emerge: the Teladi were listening, scrutinizing what I said, how I presented the offers. I laid both options on the table—the construction sites in Königstal and Presidents End—explaining costs, logistics, risks, and benefits.
The elder, Basilomas Thovareos, leaned slightly forward, red eyes narrowed, hissing: “Kosssteneffizzienzzz… mussss… langfrissstig gesssehen werden. Kurzzze Lieferwege… geringere Betriebssskosssten… ssstabilere Märkte… Risssiko mussss berechnet… nicht nur Creditsss.” I nodded, understanding that he analyzed the systemically, not emotionally, as I sometimes did.
Nopireos tilted his head toward the map, hissing: “Presssidentsss End… Transssport nach Boron… mehrere Sssysssteme… Invessstition geringer… Gefahr höher… könnte langfrissstig höhere Rendite bringen, wenn Sscchhutzmaßßßnahmen umgesssetzzzt werden.” I could see him calculating in his mind, the bluish scales shimmering in the light.
Kavireas, the younger, crossed her arms, leaning back slightly, a green scale-shield flashing subtly—a cautious gesture. She spoke softly, hissing: “Königssstal… weniger Risssiko… kürzere Wege zu wichtigen Märkten… höhere Miete, aber sssicherer… langfrissstig planbar… ssstabilere Infrassstruktur.” Her tone was measured, deliberate, like an experienced analyst weighing scenarios.
I leaned back, fingers steepled before my face, studying the three. Their voices, their inflections, the subtle generational differences—it was clear: the elder considered total costs strategically, Nopireos sought yield potential with calculated risk, and Kavireas valued security and predictability. Their responses couldn’t be read as mere numbers. Each reflected values, experience, and perspective I had to factor in.
Finally, I addressed all three: “So, if you look only at cost and efficiency, which of the two projects would you recommend?”
Basilomas Thovareos hissed a soft, elongated “Königssstal…”, Nopireos a nearly reverent “Presssidentsss End…”, and Kavireas repeated her argument for Königstal with an emphasis reinforcing her logic.
I let the silence linger. The choice still rested with me, but the Teladi analyses had expanded my perspective considerably.

[Rock Man Zero]

Chapter 19 - Overwhelmed

I didn’t make the decision easily, but at some point, I had to stop weighing the two offers against each other and start acting. I was still sitting in the Anshin Shokudō in Gunnia, the murmur of guests, the soft clinking of dishes, and the warm scent of broth, rice, and spices forming an almost soothing backdrop for my thoughts. Finally, I set the tablet down on the table and ran a hand over my face. I had decided to take a split approach.
The first production line would be established in the Königstal system, deep within the Borons’ sphere of influence, where demand for our products was already highest. At the same time, Presidents End would become the headquarters of the Universal Nourishment Organization. More specifically, I had my eyes on an old trade station orbiting Trantor—a semi-abandoned structure from before the great Kha’ak attack, still hanging in space like a steel skeleton. I wanted to purchase it, restore it, and gradually rebuild it—a symbol of something new rising from the ruins.
Yet as clear as the idea was, reality was sobering. Supporting both projects simultaneously was financially impossible. I stared out the large window at the Gunnia spaceport, where transporters continuously launched and landed. Credits were one thing, but time, logistics, and personnel were entirely another matter.
This was where the Teladi came in.
The family around Basilomas Thovareos had proven surprisingly valuable in recent days. During our multiple meetings, they displayed planning and organizational talent I had not expected. Honestly, they were true financial prodigies by human standards. By Teladi standards, perhaps merely average.
The reason was clear.
They came from Ianamus Zura, the original homeworld of the Teladi. Unlike the Teladi of the Planetary Community, whose culture had evolved almost entirely around profit maximization, the cultures on Ianamus Zura had developed differently—more emphasis on society, culture, and less ruthless greed. In a way, they reminded me of humans from Earth’s twentieth or twenty-first century: economically minded, but not wholly dominated by it.
I couldn’t help but smirk. Perhaps that was why they were interested in my organization. Or perhaps it was simply the food.
During their interview—and the subsequent negotiations—they had consistently refrained from Teladi-specific food. Instead, they systematically worked their way through nearly the entire menu of the Anshin Yatei. I remembered the faint hissing of their voices as they examined each dish, the concentrated gleam in their eyes when analyzing a new flavor.
They had tried everything. Really everything.
Soups, rice dishes, fermented vegetables, fish, even some experimental BoFu preparations. Kavireas, in particular, had shown remarkable curiosity. Every time a new dish arrived, she leaned forward slightly, observed the colors and textures, then tasted cautiously. What usually followed was a long, satisfied hiss.
When the discussion finally ended and we said our goodbyes, I thought the evening was over. Yet the three Teladi didn’t rise to leave. Instead, they turned together to the small sales section of the restaurant, the Anshin Shokudō, directly next to the exit.
I watched them from a distance as they moved through the shelves. Their claws picked up packages, turned them over, examined the labels.
Shortly after, they returned with an astonishing amount of 2Go meals—stackable boxes, vacuum-sealed dishes, even some preserved specialties intended for long space voyages. Basilomas Thovareos carried the entire collection with visible satisfaction in his claws.
I couldn’t help but smile slightly.
Perhaps my guess had been correct. Perhaps they had really come to work. Or perhaps… just to eat.

Hiring the Thovareos family proved to be the right decision far sooner than I had expected. I had assumed it would take months before their work made a noticeable difference. Large organizations usually changed slowly. Processes had to be adapted, responsibilities clarified, habits disrupted. Yet in my company, everything seemed to shift at a pace I could hardly believe. Only a few weeks after Basilomas Thovareos and his two descendants had started, clear changes were already visible. Revenues were rising—not explosively, but steadily, week by week. At the same time, our supply chains became more efficient. Shipping routes were recalculated, intermediate storage optimized, transport times shortened. I sat at my desk in one of the administration rooms of the Anshin Complex on Argon Prime, studying the latest figures on my tablet. The curves on the charts were slowly climbing. Alongside revenue, operating costs had slightly decreased. I shook my head almost involuntarily. It wasn’t just their financial talent—that I had expected from Teladi. What truly surprised me was their ability to communicate. The three lizards had an extraordinary knack for speaking with all sorts of people. Whether with Argon suppliers, Boron traders, or the more wary port officials—they always struck the right tone. They learned fast. Incredibly fast. I remembered how, in their first days, they had questioned almost every detail of our internal operations. At first, I thought they would restructure everything according to Teladi profit standards. Instead, they analyzed, asked questions, listened, and adapted. Their flexibility was impressive.
Even more remarkable was their teamwork. I had expected them to work independently, perhaps somewhat distant from human employees. Yet the opposite occurred. In a very short time, they had integrated into the various teams. The staff even began to appreciate their presence.
A light tap pulled me from my thoughts. The door to my office opened slightly, and Kavireas poked her head in. Her green-tinged scales reflected the overhead lights.
“Ssorri für die Ss…törung, Prässsident Tori,” she hissed.
I had to suppress a small smile every time she spoke; her sibilants sometimes stretched across several seconds. I waved her in.
“Just call me Tori.”
She stepped fully inside and briefly crossed her arms—a gesture I had come to interpret as a kind of polite attention.
“New contactss from Teladian trade partners,” she hissed.
I slowly set the tablet on the table. The connections Basilomas Thovareos and his family had established in just a few weeks were impressive. It was as if they had activated an invisible network that suddenly began to respond to my organization. My original vision—a company selling food across the entire Planetary Community—suddenly felt within reach.
And that, gradually, became a problem. I rubbed my temples with two fingers. One of these new contacts had developed into something I hadn’t anticipated: a Teladi investor. Some Teladian businessperson—probably a woman—had apparently seen potential in my organization. Not just as a supplier, but as a market. And now a new idea was on the table: Teladian food production. I stared briefly at the wall. Teladian agriculture meant completely different biological conditions, different production chains, different processing technologies. Another entire ecosystem.
“Sounds like a big opportunity,” I finally said slowly.
Kavireas nodded.
“Very profit…a—uh…” She paused, as if deliberately holding back a word. “…promissssing.”
I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms behind my head.
“The problem is,” I murmured, looking at her, “everything’s happening too fast.”
She tilted her head slightly, her pupils narrowing just a fraction.
I continued. “I haven’t even finalized the contracts with the Borons and the Argons.”
I raised a hand, counting the points.
“The production facility in Königstal exists only on paper.” One finger.
“Construction hasn’t even started.” Second finger.
“And I haven’t even decided whether to purchase that old trade station in Presidents End.” Third finger.
I let my hand drop and exhaled slowly.
“In a few days, I’m flying to Trantor,” I said.
“I want to see the station myself.”
Kavireas remained silent for a moment. Her eyes flicked back and forth, as if tracking multiple thought processes at once. Then she nodded slowly.
“Reasonable order.”
I had to smile. It was good to hear at least one Teladi not immediately fixated on profit maximization. I reached for my tablet again, while somewhere outside a shuttle launched, sending a faint vibration through the building. The next step lay in orbit around Trantor. And I had the feeling that this journey would decide far more than just the location of my headquarters.

Everything felt as if the pace of my life had suddenly doubled. Not long ago, I had made individual decisions, started projects, and spoken with a few people. Now, every choice seemed to trigger an immediate chain of developments: new contacts, new contracts, new problems. I knew that a company would eventually grow beyond the point where one could oversee everything personally—but I hadn’t expected to feel that way so early. Sometimes, sitting in front of the reports on my tablet, it felt like I was trying to organize an entire starry sky. That’s when I made the decision: responsibility had to be divided.
The Universal Nourishment Organization—UNO—remained the umbrella company and ultimately my responsibility. Strategic decisions, major directional shifts, political contacts—all of that still went through my desk. Marketing, however, I entrusted to Basilomas Thovareos. The longer I observed him, the more convinced I became that he had an extraordinary sense for trends. He could almost feel the direction of mass tastes. Even more important, he didn’t just react—he influenced it. When I once asked him how he did it, he merely hissed lightly and said that consumers didn’t just want to eat—they wanted to feel they were making the right choice. Since then, I watched him with growing fascination. I now regularly received detailed reports from the various companies grouped under UNO.
The research division operated under the name XeNutra Incorporated—XNI. Initially, I had intended for Valentina Esposito to take the lead. After all, she was a trained physician and scientist. But she had surprisingly declined—not out of disinterest, but honesty. She explained that she didn’t feel capable of handling the responsibility. Above all, she wanted to retain her independence and keep her medical practice. I remembered clearly how she had told me, arms crossed, her gaze serious but calm:
“I’ll gladly help you, Tori. But I don’t want to stop being a doctor.”
Ultimately, Rosa Morgan and Greg Watson took the helm. The two complemented each other remarkably well: Rosa analytical and cautious, Greg experimental and at times nearly chaotic. They were supported by Basilomas’s wife, who had developed an astonishing talent for sourcing new raw materials—often at prices that made me wonder how she managed it. These materials went to XNI, where they were analyzed and integrated into new products if applicable.
The breeding and procurement division operated under Exo-Harvest Corporation—EHC. I entrusted this entire sector to Kavireas. Honestly, I had felt uneasy doing so. I barely knew the young Teladi and wasn’t sure she could handle the task. Agricultural production chains, raw material markets, biological risks—it was not an easy sector. Still, I chose to trust her. So far, she had not disappointed. Numbers remained stable, supply chains functioned, and several new suppliers had been added. Perhaps I had underestimated her.
Processing and sales ran through Omni-Food Products—OFP. This area was under Vanu Atu. At first, she had struggled with relinquishing direct oversight of the individual Anshin Shokudōs and Yateis. She had built and personally managed each one. Yet deep down, she knew expansion would eventually demand it. When I entered her life, the process accelerated dramatically. I could see that it sometimes frightened her, yet I also sensed something else: hope. And pride. She knew something big was emerging.
Transport and logistics had been consolidated under the Bio Logistics Division—BLD. Lately, I had been working more closely with Kon Mah. His reputation with the Argon military was excellent, and Martin van Count had repeatedly confirmed his reliability. When Martin spoke in that tone, it carried weight.
Thinking of Martin automatically brought someone else to mind: Shishido Mari. The past months had been far from easy for her. The court had ruled against her—rightly, I had to admit. She hadn’t served a prison sentence, but the fines had been enormous, adding to her already substantial debts. Still, a light had emerged on the horizon. And not a small one. The van Count family and several local farmers had decided to help her, selling seeds, machinery hours, and other resources well below market value. For Mari, it represented a real chance to get back on her feet.
Security operations ran under Sustenance Security Agency—SSA, led by Tahl Brenna. After accepting the role, he moved with his family to Aru, though not near my immediate neighborhood. Instead, he settled at the far end of the small city. I quickly noticed that the distance suited him—he appeared more balanced, calmer, less tense. His half-sister, Gal Connar, still worked for the Argon intelligence service. I had offered her a much higher salary, but she was not yet ready to change positions. Still, even in her, something had shifted. Outwardly the same—cool, precise, controlled—but now and then, when she thought no one was watching, the corners of her mouth twitched upward. Brief moments, but they were there. Apparently, the conversation between her and Tahl had accomplished more than either was willing to admit.

I sat at my desk, reviewing the latest report from the agricultural sector. The numbers weren’t spectacular yet, but they were moving in the right direction. Exactly what I had hoped when I sent Nopireos there. The young Teladi was tasked with helping Shishido Mari stabilize her financial situation—reducing her debts, making her production more efficient, and ultimately returning to profitability. Only after this chapter was successfully underway would I fully integrate him into the Bio Logistics Division, where his talents would likely have even greater impact. As I traced my finger across the tablet screen, I remembered that the Thovareos family was actually larger than the four Teladi currently working for me. Basilomas had casually mentioned that their lineage included several other individuals. But from the very beginning, Thovareos had made it clear that he, his wife, and their two eldest offspring first wanted to see whether they felt comfortable within my organization. They wanted to observe, to work, to form their own judgment. Only afterward would a decision be made about bringing in additional family members. The contracts we had signed were initially set for five years—five years to determine if our visions were compatible, with the option to extend thereafter.
Still, one concern had accompanied me from the start—one I eventually felt I needed to voice. I remembered the conversation with Thovareos vividly. We had sat across from each other in a small conference room of the Anshin Complex on Argon Prime. The room was quiet, only the soft hum of the air conditioning breaking the silence. I had leaned slightly forward, hands clasped together, and looked him directly in the eyes.
“I need to address something.” The older Teladi tilted his head slightly, his red eyes studying me calmly. “I know Teladi are considered excellent businesspeople.” I hesitated for a moment before continuing. “And I also know that successful companies are sometimes taken over.”
There was a brief silence. Then Thovareos let out a drawn-out hiss, somewhere between amusement and understanding. His scales shimmered slightly in the overhead light as he leaned back.
“Such practices exist,” he said evenly. “But they would not align with the honor and moral code of my lineage.”
He emphasized the word “lineage” in a way that left no doubt it meant more than mere biological connection. It was identity. Tradition. Obligation. Still, I insisted that we address the issue not just in conversation but formally. So we included a clause in the contract: any attempt at takeover, sabotage, or economic subversion would automatically result in immediate termination. But that wasn’t all. The clause further specified that any resulting damages had to be fully compensated—including interest and compound interest. A formulation that made me swallow briefly when reading it. Interestingly, it hadn’t been me proposing such strict rules—it had come from the Teladi themselves. All four had actively worked to prevent these scenarios from the start. They added additional control mechanisms, suggested internal audit procedures, and incorporated multiple legal safeguards. I remembered flipping through the contract and slowly realizing how thoroughly they had thought it through. Their foresight impressed me to this day. While many businesspeople wait to solve problems until they arise, the Thovareos family seemed to habitually eliminate risks as far in advance as possible. I leaned back in my chair, staring briefly at the ceiling. Honestly, it was reassuring. Perhaps I had been too mistrustful. Yet at the same time, the experience showed me that trust in business works best when paired with clear rules—and in this regard, the Teladi and I seemed to fit together surprisingly well.

The flight to Trantor was far less eventful than I had anticipated. I had originally hoped to travel aboard one of Kon Mah’s freighters, but his transport lines between Aru and Uros were operating at full capacity. Demand for our products had surged, leaving no room for a break. Our only option was a public passenger transport.
The ship was large, functional, and entirely unromantic—a long hull filled with cabins, narrow corridors, and constantly humming systems. The interior smelled of recycled air, plastic, and a faint trace of machine oil. Humans, Paraniden, a few Teladi, and even a lone Boron moved through the corridors, none paying us any special attention. For them, we were just more passengers en route to another star system.
Vanu sat beside me, gazing out the panoramic window of the lounge deck into the blackness of space. The starlight reflected in her eyes as she leaned against the seatback with folded arms. A few steps away, Tahl stood with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the area with the precise attentiveness of a security officer.
Thovareos, in contrast, had settled into a seat, studying multiple data panels simultaneously. His long fingers glided over the tablet surface as his pupils rhythmically contracted and dilated.
During the flight, my thoughts kept returning to Nopireos and Mari. Before departure, I had arranged for the Anshin restaurants and shops to purchase Mari’s Argnu meat slightly above market price—not enough to drastically affect our finances, but enough to noticeably increase her income. The key was that the extra cost wouldn’t be passed on to our customers. Short term, this would reduce our profit, but long term, it accelerated her debt repayment. Once her debts were gone, she could lower prices, reducing our procurement costs—a self-sustaining cycle.
Nopireos had been enthusiastic about the plan, but for a completely different reason. A spark had flashed in his yellow eyes during our conversation. “Once the operation stabilizes, we could acquire it later.” I only shook my head. “Try suggesting that to Mari.” I could easily imagine how that conversation would go.
Upon landing on Trantor, Hoshino Misora was waiting for us. Her craft was parked slightly off the main landing pads—a compact, sleek shuttle, well-maintained with clean lines. As we approached, the boarding hatch hissed open. Misora stood in the cargo bay and greeted us with a short nod. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight braid, and her movements were precise, as though each one had been meticulously planned.
“Welcome to Trantor.”
We boarded, and soon her ship lifted off again. The journey to the trade station was brief. The planet receded beneath us as we ascended into orbit. When the station finally appeared, a queasy feeling settled in my stomach. It looked… dead. No navigation lights, no rotation, no energy emissions. Just a dark, motionless structure hanging in space like a skeletal remnant. Misora docked the ship at one of the airlocks.
Only one option remained: spacesuits. Donning them took some time. Once my helmet sealed, I heard only my own breathing and the faint hiss of life support. The airlock opened, and we stepped onto the station. The condition was immediately apparent. Corridors were dark; our lamps cast harsh cones of light over bare metal walls. No atmosphere, no sound, only the dull clack of our magnet boots. Walking felt strange—the boots adhered to the floor, but every step required more effort than usual.
I glanced around and had to run my hands over my head internally. This was not a renovation project. It was a wreck. Panels were torn open, cables hung from walls, device mounts were empty, entire consoles missing. Looters had done thorough work. The power core was gone, the life support completely removed. Numerous modules were dismantled—some cleanly, others violently.
Thovareos stopped beside me, inspecting a ripped-open maintenance panel. His tongue flicked over his teeth briefly before a drawn-out hiss came through his helmet speaker.
“This is not an investment,” he said slowly, turning toward me. “This is a construction project.” His claws tapped briefly on his tablet. “Preliminary estimate: five to ten times the purchase price.”
Five to ten. I swallowed hard. Tahl had also surveyed several areas; when he returned, he shook his head slowly. His voice was flat. “Junk.” He said no more.
Vanu, however, reacted differently. The station’s deplorable state seemed to excite her curiosity rather than deter her. Her eyes scanned every room we entered; she frequently paused, shining her lamp into side chambers or opening partially broken doors. Yet she never strayed far from us, making our exploration painstakingly slow. Hours passed as we covered only a fraction of the station. Repeatedly, we found names burned into metal walls—graffiti and marks, presumably looter signatures. At one point, I stopped at a name: Kuran. Familiar, though I couldn’t recall from where. The others looked equally puzzled, so I sent a message to Gal. If anyone could identify these names, it would be the intelligence service.
Misora moved methodically through the station, touching damaged metal edges, inspecting screw holes, examining scratch patterns. She finally addressed us.
“The components weren’t removed professionally,” she said, pointing to several grind marks on the metal. “Too many scratches.” Then she indicated an empty device mount. “But only a few systems were dismantled.”
I frowned. “You mean they tried to be careful?”
She nodded slightly. “Most parts were unscrewed.”
As I considered this, my gaze drifted to one of the large cargo halls. The enormous chamber was empty, save for support structures and old mounts jutting from the walls. Then an idea struck me. I turned to Thovareos.
“What if we don’t rebuild the station as a trading post?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Alternative use?”
I nodded slowly. “A greenhouse.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Thovareos let out a soft hiss. “Interesting.”
Vanu stepped closer, scanning the hall. “As an agricultural station?”
I gestured to the massive spaces. “We could use the structure for plant production in orbit.”
Thovareos considered this visibly. “Conversion would be cheaper than full reconstruction.”
Vanu crossed her arms thoughtfully. “There’s a problem.” She looked at me directly. “Different plants require different climates.” She paused. “And sometimes different gravities.”
I thought for a moment, then a new idea formed. “What about multiple rings?” All eyes turned to me. “Additional rotational rings. Different speeds. Different gravities.”
Misora immediately raised a hand. “Principally possible,” she said, hesitating briefly. “But multiple rings increase structural stress.” She added, “Rotation would need to be counteracting.” She drew a circular motion with her finger. “Even rings clockwise.” A second motion in the other direction. “Odd counterclockwise.”
Tahl crossed his arms, eyes sweeping the enormous, damaged structure. He shook his head. “One accident is enough.” His voice remained calm. “Or an attack.” He pointed to several old support beams. “If one stabilizer fails, the rest fall like dominoes.”
He left the sentence unfinished deliberately. Vanu exhaled audibly. Through her visor, I saw her briefly close her eyes, then shake her head. The idea was effectively dismissed.

We were still standing in the vast, dark cargo hall of the old station. Our lamps cast harsh cones of light over metal beams, abandoned docking mounts, and the empty skeletons of former installations. In the silence of the airless space, all I heard was my own breathing inside the helmet and the steady click of our magnetic boots as someone shifted their weight. Vanu’s audible exhale had effectively ended the discussion about rotating greenhouse rings. I had to admit that Tahl’s objection was difficult to ignore. A domino effect of breaking stabilizers was precisely the kind of disaster you only noticed when it was already too late.
I let my gaze sweep the hall again. The same story everywhere: bare metal, missing machinery, stripped modules. The station was no longer a building—it was a skeleton. And at that moment, another thought struck me. I slowly turned my head toward Misora. She was standing slightly apart, examining a damaged maintenance rail. Her gloves glided over the metal, as if she could feel every imperfection. I took a few steps toward her, the magnetic boots clicking heavily on the floor.
“Misora.”
She looked up. “Yes?”
I crossed my arms and cast one more glance across the enormous room. “Remember your freighter idea?”
She nodded slightly. That focused expression always appeared in her eyes when she thought about structural designs. I gestured slowly to the surrounding framework of the station.
“What if we didn’t rebuild this at all,” I said, pausing to let the idea settle, “and instead designed something entirely new?” I looked her directly in the eyes. “A completely new station structure.”
For a moment, she remained silent. Then she raised an eyebrow slightly. “New in what sense?”
I paused briefly, organizing my thoughts. “Not like before.” I pointed to several old docking segments jutting into the room. “No patched-together modules. No retrofitted attachments.” I shaped a rough structure in the air with both hands. “A station that is modular from the start.”
Misora’s eyes lit up immediately, as if a switch had flipped in her mind. The previously calm, analytical focus transformed into something far livelier. Her pupils widened, and she stepped closer.
“Modular, in the sense of expandable?”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
Her hands began to move unconsciously as she thought. “A central core…” She traced a circular motion. “…with docked segments… standardized interfaces…” She abruptly stopped, as if a flood of ideas had just hit her. I could see her mind working.
Behind us, Tahl cleared his throat quietly. When I glanced at him, his arms were crossed, and he wore the skeptical look he always had whenever someone started making big plans. Thovareos, meanwhile, had tilted his head slightly. His narrow eyes were fixed on Misora, attentively following the conversation.
Vanu moved closer and stood beside me. “That sounds…” She searched for the right word. “…daring.”
Thovareos let out a short, thoughtful hiss. “Very daring.” His claws tapped against his tablet. “Deviation from established construction concepts can scare off investors.”
Tahl gave a brief nod. “Standards exist for a reason.”
I let their objections hang in the air for a moment. They weren’t wrong—straying too far from established norms risked being pushed out of the market. But the thought made me smile. I looked at Thovareos.
“They said the same thing about the freighters.” The Teladi blinked slowly. I crossed my arms again. “New freighter design. Different cargo holds. Different logistics.” I shrugged lightly. “That was a break from norms too.”
Vanu studied me carefully. I shifted slightly to address everyone at once. “Besides, we aren’t building these stations for the open market.” A brief silence followed. I continued, “Our stations don’t need to appeal to outside traders.” I gestured toward myself. “They need to work for us.” Thovareos’ eyes narrowed slightly. I explained further. “The stations would be production facilities.” I made a short motion through the room. “Products go directly to our own distribution points.” I looked at Vanu. “To the Anshin Shokudō shops.” Then I turned slightly toward her. “And the Anshin Yatei restaurants.” She nodded slowly. I went on. “The same principle as with the freighters.” I gestured briefly toward Misora. “The ships deliver our goods.” My hand traced a line through the space. “Directly to our own locations.”
Another pause. Misora was still looking at me, but this time with an entirely different expression. Her eyes practically glowed. She hadn’t just heard an idea—she had seen an entire project. And I was fairly certain that the first sketches were already forming in her mind.