Maximilian Barinov stood near the window in Elisa's office, back straight, gazing out at the sweeping crater beyond the base. The silver edge of dawn was just brushing the ridgeline, illuminating the vast expanse of dusty terrain. He looked every bit the composed CorpSec colonel—immaculate, unbothered, gentlemanly.

  “Commander Woodward,” he said. “I appreciate you making time.”

  “I always make time for policy concerns,” Elisa replied smoothly, stepping inside.

  Maximilian turned, smiling as if they were meeting for tea. “That’s reassuring. The chain of command has felt... more flexible than usual lately.”

  “Of course,” Elisa replied, matching his tone with grace. “Given the coordination we’re seeing between field and base operations, I thought it best we speak directly.”

  He offered a smile. Polished. Controlled. “Yes, the rest stop has proven to be a strategic asset. Efficient work from your people. The cryopod retrieval teams are performing admirably.”

  “As are the CorpSec squads,” Elisa said. “Though I was told some of the pods have been flagged for prioritized return. Without my authorization, and without consulting the officer in charge of the expedition.”

  A slight lift of his brow. “Standard Company protocols. I'm sure you understand. Chain-of-command requirements, personnel prioritization lists—these precedents were established long before either of us woke up.”

  “Still,” Elisa said, her tone light but with an edge, “I would’ve appreciated being informed.”

  “Forgive me. I assumed such details were being handled at the operations level.” He gestured slightly with one hand. “Naturally, I wouldn’t expect the Commander of this colony to involve herself with every logistical item.”

  Elisa offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And I wouldn’t expect a CorpSec colonel to preempt the strategic leadership of the colony without coordination.”

  The silence stretched between them for a moment—civil, cold, and sharpened like a knife under silk.

  Maximilian offered a faint smile in return. “Elisa, let’s not mistake protocol for hostility. We are both acting in the colony’s best interest. And that includes adhering to the operational structures we were given. If we start improvising with Company directives, we risk... undermining trust.”

  Elisa nodded once. “That’s very considerate. You’re absolutely right—trust is paramount. Right now, I think what I’m most concerned about,” Elisa said, keeping her voice calm, “is how all of this—these protocols, these ‘directives’—are being used as cover for political maneuvering.”

  “Politics are not optional, Commander,” Maximilian replied. “They are a layer of structure—especially amongst Topscalers. These games, as you call them, are not about being nice or getting things done in the short term. They’re about building the structures that shape outcomes in the long term. That’s what power is.”

  Elisa frowned. “Outcomes that favor the few.”

  Maximilian raised an eyebrow. “Power is what keeps you safe. And you’ll need more of it. Whether you realize it or not.”

  “I don’t need your kind of power,” Elisa said coolly.

  He smiled again, warm and even. “You might want to reconsider that position.”

  She studied him carefully. “You’re here to co-opt me.”

  “I’m here to offer a path forward, Commander,” he said. “A path that acknowledges the reality of where we are. You are holding this place together by force of will, but it won’t last. The moment more officers are awake, the question of legitimacy will come up. And they’ll want to talk to someone who understands the structure that once kept Sol, Luna, and Proxima from tearing each other apart.”

  Elisa’s tone sharpened. “That structure did tear us apart. Slowly. Quietly. Just because it didn’t explode outright doesn’t mean it worked.”

  Maximilian nodded thoughtfully. “And yet, you’re still bound by its bylaws. Your authority exists because of the Company. Because of its frameworks. The very same one that gives me the right to organize my officers and prioritize essential personnel.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Elisa said. “But there’s a difference between using policy to create an optimal outcome for the people that make up this colony and using it to seize control.”

  “I have several suggestions with regards to producing optimal outcomes for the people of this colony,” Maximilian said. “But they’re best discussed when the rest of our leadership cohort is active. Once the reinstatement cycle is complete, we can hold a formal strategy session—determine how best to divide responsibilities, reestablish chains of authority, and ensure the Provider’s influence is managed appropriately.”

  There it was. Subtle, but unmistakable, Elisa thought. Provider technology is something that needs to be 'managed'. Not just made available to any random bottomscaler.

  Elisa remained still. “You believe the Provider is a risk.”

  “I believe,” Maximilian said carefully, “that reliance on alien technology without oversight introduces uncertainty. You’ve seen the debates. Some in the colony are already unsettled by how much control ARI has taken on. That sentiment is growing.”

  “Of course,” Maximilian continued smoothly. “I am suggesting cooperation. There are people coming back who you’ll want to know. People who shaped the old structures. Topscalers. Directorate advisors. Officers with portfolios that still matter. They will expect a certain... orientation. It would be better for you to be included at the table.”

  Elisa narrowed her eyes slightly. “So you are saying I can be a part of the old club, if I agree to play by its rules?”

  “I’m not asking for loyalty,” Maximilian said. “Just pragmatism.” He stepped away from the window and folded his arms. “When the CorpSec officers and the rest of the Topscalers return, I’d like to have a full and open conversation about direction and governance. I’d like you to be there.”

  “You mean you’d like me to agree with executing their directives,” Elisa said.

  He didn’t deny it.

  Instead, he simply smiled. “The people waking up now… they remember a different kind of order. They’ll want to understand where you fit into it.”

  Elisa was quiet for a moment, weighing the words behind his words.

  “I’ll consider your offer,” she said finally.

  For a moment, the room was silent.

  Maximilian inclined his head. “That’s all I ask. And when the others are revived, we’ll discuss everything openly—like professionals.”

  And with that, he turned and left—still smiling, still immaculate.

  ===

  The mess was quiet this time of day, its usual low murmur replaced by the mechanical clinks of utensils and the soft hum of the air recyclers overhead. Only a few clusters of personnel lingered over half-finished meals or work tablets. Most were still out in the field or resting between shifts.

  Elisa sat across from Ervin at a corner table near one of the windows, where the filtered sunlight trickled in as a faint golden haze through the protective shielding. Between them lay two trays—stew made from processed fungi and lab-grown meat, dense bread, and a rare luxury: brewed coffee.

  She stirred hers absently before speaking.

  “You’ve dealt with people like them before, haven’t you?”

  Ervin looked up from his plate, fork paused. “People like who?”

  “You know who,” Elisa said with a faint smile. “The topscalers.”

  Ervin nodded. “Not by choice, but yes. My holdings were under the Jehangir-Shawiri Great Family, although I mostly dealt with their intermediaries.”

  “How did you handle them?”

  Ervin leaned back slightly, chewing thoughtfully. “Well. The first thing to know is they don’t usually do anything without a long-term angle. Every compliment is a soft probe. Every favor has a price tag. They’re not necessarily malicious—but they’re always invested. That’s how they stayed on top.”

  Elisa stirred her stew idly. “So what do I do? Play along?”

  “Not exactly,” Ervin said. “You hold your ground. You don’t pretend to be on their side when you’re not—they can spot that. But you also don’t act like you’re giving in. Keep your values clear. Be transparent when you can afford it, and when you can’t—say less. Not more.”

  He pointed his spoon at her. “And don’t expect any gratitude if you compromise and give them what they want. They don't think in those terms. But usefulness, they understand. If you’re useful, you’ll stay relevant. If you’re not, they’ll maneuver around you.”

  Elisa nodded slowly, absorbing it. “That feels like no matter what I do, they’re going to try to reassert control, either through me or around me.”

  “Oh, they will try,” Ervin said. “They’ll dress it up in policy and structure and language like ‘stability’ or ‘long-term benefit, but it will come down to expanding their influence. But you have influence too, Elisa. You have allies. You have the common people in this colony that have not only had a taste of freedom, but also immortality. Everyone is invested in the long term now.”

  Elisa studied him. “Where do you stand, Ervin?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes dropped to his food.

  She tried again, softer. “When it comes down to it… will you side with them? Or with me?”

  He looked up and met her gaze. Calm. Measured.

  “My faith teaches that all men are equal before God,” he said. “That a soul is not measured by its birthright, or by what it owns. Just what they do with the life they’ve been given.”

  He paused. “And now? With this tech? Life isn’t finite anymore. We have been given something sacred. And I won’t stand by while people try to hoard it.”

  “So you’re with me,” Elisa said.

  “I’m with what’s right,” Ervin replied. “If you keep this path—making this technology available to everyone, not just the powerful—you’ll find me at your side.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Elisa let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  Ervin softened a little. “You’re doing fine, Elisa. You have good instincts. Just don’t let the pressure turn you into them.”

  She smiled, finally taking a bite of her stew.

  “I’ll try,” she said. “But I might still need your advice on occasion.”

  “That you will have,” Ervin said with a smile.

  ===

  The base was changing. Growing. Thriving.

  The crater floor, once scattered with temporary shelters and jury-rigged industrial systems, now resembled a true settlement. Sizable prefab hab modules formed a ring around the headquarters, joined by elevated walkways and spacious corridors. Fleets of toploaders ferried back and forth to deliver raw ore from the digsite that had sunk into the far side of the crater.

  Across from it, nestled in a sterilized clean-structure beneath mirrored light filters, the alien substrate lab had become a point of obsessive attention. Slab after slab of pale-white biological material lay waiting in containment trays. ARI’s drones floated above them in quiet watchfulness, scanning and adjusting, maintaining internal conditions with a precision beyond human understanding.

  Life, it seemed, was becoming a thing one could manufacture. Like air. Like heat. Like food.

  Valeriya adjusted the clasps on her rebreather mask and slid the last tool crate into the cargo bed of the light hauler. The vehicle was loaded with canisters of processed fuel—enough to power the return flight of the long-abandoned lander that Pom had left to the south, back during the first desperate days of their survival.

  Hu fastened down the final container and wiped his hands on a rag. “She’s good to go,” he said, nodding toward the vehicle.

  Pom approached from the med center, eyes shadowed, but his movements were quick. “Should’ve been me going,” he said. “It was my lander.”

  Valeriya straightened and turned toward him. “And your wife’s printing is just about to start,” she replied. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  He didn’t argue. Not really. Just exhaled.

  Valeriya tilted her head slightly. “You take the implant yet?”

  Pom hesitated. “Scans yes, implants no.”

  She studied him for a second, then gave a small nod. “Waiting to see if it brings her back right.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Yes.”

  Pom looked away.

  Valeriya’s voice softened. “I hope you get her back, Pom. Really. I do.”

  He nodded, quietly. She didn’t say more. Some things didn’t need speeches.

  They were just getting ready to board when Casimir jogged up from the comms tower, suit fresh, hair too neatly combed, and carrying a small pack far too light for anything remotely practical.

  “Hey! Wait up! You’ve got a spare seat, right?” he said, panting just a little from the run.

  Valeriya turned slowly. “We do, technically.”

  Casimir smiled, proud, posture just a little too upright. “Great. I figured I’d tag along. You know, security. Dangerous mission, recovering high-value assets, could be nasty creatures out there…” He trailed off, flashing a quick look at Valeriya.

  Hu raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

  Casimir stepped closer. “Besides,” he added brightly, “I mean… after everything on the expedition, I’ve kind of proven myself, right?” He laughed lightly. “Otto’s been cool with me since. Sigrid even said I was a ‘real asset.’”

  Valeriya narrowed her eyes just slightly.

  Casimir chuckled awkwardly. “I mean, I died for the team. Blew myself up, took a bunch of them with me. Pretty dramatic, right? Kind of makes you wonder what else I’d do for the right cause.” He grinned, but his eyes flicked across her face, searching. Hoping.

  There was a long pause.

  Valeriya considered many ways to say no.

  She smiled politely. “We’ll be out there for a while. Long drive. Rough terrain. Tight quarters.”

  Casimir waved a hand. “No problem. I like traveling light.”

  “I don’t,” she said evenly. “And I like my space even more.”

  Casimir’s smile faltered. “I just thought it’d be good company, you know? You seem like someone who—”

  “I’m not,” she said, stepping past him and swinging into the crawler’s cockpit. “Not that kind of someone.”

  She added, just slightly softer, “This isn’t the mission for you.”

  He stood there, wilting. “Right. Sure. Yeah. Totally.”

  Hu, already strapping into the passenger seat, let out a small snort. He didn’t try to hide it.

  Casimir drooped slightly, nodded to himself, and turned around, trudging off without another word.

  Valeriya climbed into the rover, started the engine. The turbines whined to life beneath the seat. As they rolled out of the gate, past the high fencing and out into the great southern dust, Hu glanced sideways.

  “That was awkward.”

  Valeriya adjusted the throttle. “Better now than tossing him out halfway into the trip.”

  The vehicle hissed as it sealed, and the two of them pulled out from the dock, the south-bound horizon open and waiting. Behind them, the colony kept building, kept growing.

  ===

  The interior of the reconstruction chamber was silent except for the soft, rhythmic hiss of the ventilators and the faint clicks of medical instrumentation. The room had no harsh lights, no blaring alarms—only clinical sterility and quiet focus.

  Pom stood behind the observation glass, his arms crossed, his body as rigid as the metal railing beneath his fingers. Mei stood beside him, watching as the three Provider workers moved with slow, deliberate precision on the other side of the transparent partition.

  The remains were mostly hidden beneath a gently contoured white sheet. A slight rise where the chest might be. A tilt where the hips angled downward. A single lock of hair, dusty and matted, had slipped from beneath the covering and lay against the sterile padding of the platform.

  Mei caught Pom staring at it.

  ARI’s voice had offered no emotion when it reported Jocelyn’s pod had been found, damaged and partially compromised, and that there was sufficient biological material to attempt reconstruction. The tone hadn't changed when it confirmed the identity.

  But now that they were here, now that the remains were real—not just data or hope or fear—Pom had grown quiet in a way Mei had never seen before.

  The Provider workers, dressed in their white suits and reflective faceplates, moved around the body with an eerie grace. They weren’t using surgical tools in the conventional sense. Their long fingers manipulated small biological filaments that pulsed faintly as they slid across Jocelyn’s tissue, weaving through muscle and nerve, breaking down damage at the molecular level.

  They moved in perfect silence. No conversation. No instruction.

  Pom exhaled, a sound half sigh and half something else. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense.

  Mei reached out and gently touched his forearm. “You don’t have to watch this.”

  He shook his head. “I do.”

  She wanted to say more, but the words caught in her throat.

  Pom hadn’t slept the night before. She knew. She’d heard him pacing from the next room. He’d volunteered to help reinforce the perimeter wall at dawn, then gone straight to work in the greenhouse module, just to keep his hands busy.

  And now, as he stood here, looking at what was left of his wife, there was something raw about him. Not anger. Not sorrow. Something older. Something harder.

  “I thought she was gone,” he said quietly. “I made peace with it. Told myself she’d never suffered, that she just slept through it all...”

  Mei said nothing.

  “And now I’m standing here watching them put her back together like… like repairing a cracked panel.”

  Mei’s voice was soft. “It’s more than that. They’re restoring her. They’re giving her back to you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  And Mei couldn’t tell if it was hope or despair on his face.

  She looked away from the room, and instead watched him.

  Pom had been the one person in her life who ever truly saw her. Not just the clever medical doctor. Not just the lonely, efficient woman always buried in her work. But her. The fragile, human self beneath the layers.

  When they were stranded in the desert together, running out of water and clinging to each other under those freezing stars, it had felt like something more than survival. It had felt like fate.

  That someone like him would care about her.

  She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t believed she deserved it.

  But he had stayed.

  And now…

  Now, the part of him that had never stopped looking back—never stopped hoping—was finally being answered.

  Jocelyn was coming back.

  And Mei didn’t know what that would mean for them.

  The thought twisted in her chest like a blade. She had never held a relationship before Pom. Never even tried. And part of her, quietly and desperately, wanted him to stay hers.

  But she couldn’t say that. Not now.

  She didn’t have the right.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel,” Pom said, his voice a whisper.

  Mei stepped closer, her shoulder just touching his. “You don’t have to know. You just have to be here.”

  Another silence passed. On the other side of the glass, one of the workers adjusted the cranial support beneath Jocelyn’s head. A second worker unfurled a filament web and began scanning her neural cavity.

  Mei watched the process without blinking.

  She couldn’t stop thinking: She’s going to wake up. She’s going to wake up, and I’m going to lose him.

  And she hated herself for thinking it.

  “Thank you for being here,” Pom said softly.

  Mei turned, surprised by the words. He wasn’t looking at her. He was still staring into the chamber.

  But his hand brushed hers.

  And even that small contact sent a tremor through her.

  She didn’t reply. She just stood with him, side by side, watching the silent resurrection of a woman he had never stopped thinking about.

  The workers continued their procedure with careful diligence, but one of them paused and turned. Without a word, it moved to the control console on the far wall and began inputting something on an unfamiliar interface, its long fingers gliding over smooth, blank keys that lit up beneath its touch.

  Pom noticed immediately.

  He straightened slightly, his shoulders tightening as he watched the shift in pattern, the new presence at the console. It wasn’t part of the rhythm they had established—the near-mechanical choreography of reconstruction. This was different.

  “Something is wrong,” he said, voice low, strained.

  Mei glanced at him. “Pom, I’m sure it’s just part of the—”

  “Mei.”

  The voice came not from Pom, but from ARI.

  She blinked.

  “I must ask you to please leave the chamber. This is a private matter.”

  Mei’s heart sank. She didn’t want to leave—not now, not when she felt something unraveling in him—but she knew better than to argue with ARI at this moment. She gave Pom’s shoulder one last squeeze, then slipped quietly toward the door.

  Pom barely registered her leaving.

  His gaze was fixed on the console, on the subtle tension that had crept into the fluid motions of the workers. He felt it in his gut—the wrongness, the silent shift in rhythm that changed everything.

  “ARI,” he said, his voice tight. “Tell me.”

  There was a pause. Then ARI responded, carefully.

  “Jocelyn’s biological structure is sufficiently intact to proceed with full recovery. However, analysis of the preserved remains has revealed the presence of a secondary biosignature.”

  Pom’s stomach dropped.

  “...What?” he said, barely a whisper.

  “There is a secondary profile embedded within the tissue. An embryo. Its genetic sequence is not a match to yours.”

  The breath left Pom’s lungs in a single, ragged exhale.

  He swayed slightly, one hand gripping the railing as the floor seemed to shift beneath him.

  “No,” he muttered. “No, that’s not—no, she wouldn’t—”

  But even as the words left him, they felt false. Weak. Not because he didn’t believe in Jocelyn—but because some part of him had always known something did not add up.

  His mind raced—When? How? But then the answer came, not as deduction, but as memory.

  He had lived this answer. He knew what price desperation demanded.

  The money. The missing credits. The impossible last-minute approval that had gotten her aboard the colony ship when they had fallen short by tens of thousands.

  She had found the credits. But he had never asked how. Not then. Not when they were crying and laughing and holding each other like they had just beat the stars.

  And now, it was obvious. Sickeningly obvious.

  She had sold herself. Just like his mother had. Just like he had come into this world—a “whore-kid,” a resource child, property of the Human Resource Cartel and to be sold and leased for the rest of his life.

  And she had done the same.

  Pom stood there for a long time.

  He didn't cry. He didn't speak.

  He just watched as his wife—and the price of her passage—were brought back from the dead.

  And the ghosts of the old world watched with new eyes.