After it was all over, Amon told me he never had any intention of keeping his end of the bargain with the Dalfaen. His plan, from the moment Laerad informed him of the Rhodeshi prize, was to seize the embryos for himself. The negotiation itself was only a matter of hedging, that should things go wrong, should Amon be unable to seize humanity’s last chance for survival, that hopefully we would not be abused too harshly under the Dalfaen’s sponsership—a wistful fantasy that I had thoroughly disabused him of.

  But he couldn’t hope to take the embryos alone. Once he won the death games, he wouldn’t simply be able to load his prize into the Aphelion’s hold and take off, not without the Dalfaen attempting to stop him. And so, he needed assistance. He needed the help of the one organization in the galaxy both willing to commit a capital offense against the Dalfaen Ascendency and to not extort a similarly heavy price for such an act.

  Our journey took us halfway down the spiral arm to a small territory known as the Malavon Sector, otherwise known as the last battlefield of the Fifth Aberrant War.

  Most of the planets in this area of space were razed into burning hellscapes or otherwise shattered into mineral rich asteroid clusters. The Relays here had been rebuilt into basic Ring structures and opened the way back for lucrative mining operations. Never mind that this was supposed to be human territory, never mind that those were our worlds. The harsh truth was that we no longer had the capacity to defend what remained, and so the greedy eyes of the galaxy fell upon these systems to take what they could. The treaties were all violated before we could even send ships for the bodies, harvested from high orbit of the ruined planets they gave their lives to defend.

  Amon took us to a lonely system on the edge of the sector. We set down on a tiny moon orbiting a lava world. The burning planet, now known as Tartarus, had dozens of high-orbit drills burrowing through the crust and extracting raw material. This material was then taken to the single moon known as Cocytus, where it was refined and processed for shipping contracts across the spiral arm.

  Watching from a viewport, I saw a black moon drenched in crimson light from its blistering partner. The mining facilities were shaped like ghastly ziggurats, with long thin fingers across the surface. They were the only buildings I could see, poking above a diffuse cloud of pitch smoke that covered the entire moon. I learned then that smoke doesn’t rise in low gravity. It simply spreads and spreads, staining everything it touches.

  In a way, not even barren Cocytus was spared from the war.

  The Aphelion set down on one of the metal landing strips. Clamps fastened onto the ship as hydraulics lowered the landing platform into an enclosed hangar. The iron groaned and screeched as the doors shut above and the interior space was pressurized. Unlike the pristine world of Naiad, this hangar was covered in ash and grease. Cables hung loosely from the ceiling. Great orange spotlights thunked on from the floor. The steel looked rusted and weathered under hundreds of years of neglect. And when the airlock opened, I tasted putrid air that was not dissimilar to that of Ghiza VI.

  We had arrived at Adjunct Refinery 57.

  …

  “Why must he go this time around!?” Ingrish clung to me as the landing ramp descended on the dingy platform. “It’s not for another assassination I hope!”

  “This place reeks, but it’s not dangerous,” Amon replied, tapping on his gauntlet screen. “In fact, it’s one of the few places in the galaxy I would feel safe having him wander around.”

  “Really?” Ingrish cocked her head at him unamused.

  Amon glanced up at her. “Where would you have him? Naiad? That place is ten times more dangerous for a human. No one on this dump is going to recognize what Vas is. Worst that can happen is that some low-life will mark him as a target. And then I’ll leave said low-life a bloodstain on a bulkhead.”

  “I know, but what if something—”

  “If Vas is going to stick with us on the Aphelion, and I mean for the long haul, I need him tough. If he can’t handle Cocytus, that’s going to be a problem. You and I both know we’ll be heading for far worse.”

  “He’s still a child!”

  “A child who survived Ghiza VI. If I didn’t think he would be up for it, I would’ve taken him to Sanctuary.”

  Ingrish crossed his arms, trying one last bid to win the argument. “But he still can’t understand words well, and I’m not permitted down, so he’s staying.”

  Amon nodded towards me. “What do you think? Do you want to come along with me?”

  Part of me wanted to stay on the Aphelion, true. But this seemed my only opportunity to enjoy a semblance of the freedom I had on Ghiza VI, and I did not know when such a moment would arise again. And besides, practically on first breath, this place was much more comfortable to me than Naiad ever was.

  I nodded my head.

  Amon shrugged his shoulders. “See? He understands well enough. And if you’re still concerned, call for Kybit. She’s a good enough translator in the meantime.”

  Ingrish flashed an annoyed eye at Amon before stomping back into the Aphelion. Amon pulled his pistol out of his holster and checked it. In a strange way, I suddenly felt a new kinship with him. We were both comfortable treading in the dark places of the galaxy, although for entirely different reasons.

  Turning to me, Amon hesitated before he spoke, trying to choose simple enough words for me to understand. Finally, he looked me in the eye. “She wants to protect you, more than anything. I do too. But I can’t have you weak, I’m sorry. We humans can’t be weak anymore.”

  It was not the content of his words that shook me to my core. Rather, it was that this was the first conversation I grasped in full without Ingrish’s help. I was so astonished that I turned around expecting her to still be there, translating in the background. For myself, I had never known language to be something of clarity of comprehension, and I was so startled that all I could was nod in response.

  Several minutes later we were joined by Amon’s Nekomata. Unlike Maia, Kybit was entirely sculpted as a human. Her porcelain features were just as expressive, and her neural cables were tied back in a long braid that fell to her waist. She wrinkled her nose at the air and straightened her white jumpsuit, evidently disgusted with the state of the Refinery.

  “Follow and watch over Vas for me.” Amon ordered and he started walking down the landing ramp, his boots thudding heavily on the slanted surface.

  I followed quickly behind with Kybit wringing her hands.

  Amon approached a cog door at the end of the hangar. Shaped like two consecutive gears with grimy plates of reinforced glass in the center, they were two layers of extra protection against breaches and atmospheric failures. He tapped on a flickering keypad and the cogs hissed as they unsealed and rolled into the wall.

  Behind was a long promenade filled with shops and aliens. The segmented ceiling was low and covered in holo-advertisements and faded banners and graffiti. Vents hissed loud steam as the throng of the busy concourse deafened my ears. Most of the aliens were of a furred, snarling species with broad snouts and beady eyes. They wore dirty spacesuits that seemed caked in layers of sweat and grease and whatever other foul substances there were on this world.

  Eyes glanced our way, but surprisingly, no one seemed to pay the strange newcomers any mind. It seemed odd visitors were not uncommon on this moon. Amon pushed his way through the crowds and we tailed him. Although, it was difficult for me to both keep an eye on Amon as well as gawk at my surroundings. I saw vendors peddling baubles from makeshift stalls of sheet metal. I saw crusting ration dispensaries with long, trailing lines. I saw bars and gambling dens and other establishments, filled with raucous activity. Muffled banging music seemed to rise everywhere in cacophonous battle, and the place burned the nose after a while.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Amon walked purposefully with a destination in mind, only occasionally taking a turn at intersections or pausing to let a particularly large rabble pass by. I noticed Kybit had entirely dropped her disgusted demeanor, it itself merely a personality heuristic to endear her to conventional species. She strolled with an entirely flat expression with no care for the sights or sounds except scanning for potential threats and making sure I was behind Amon.

  At last, Amon stopped in front of some sort of storage repository in a more quiet part of the promenade. A neon sign out front said something in words I could not read. Though looking through the steel grate window, I saw a low-lit lounge and a counter. A single feathered alien, not unlike Rykar, manned the desk. Behind him was a wall of many lockers, and off to the side, a thick steel door—presumably to a vault.

  The alien perked its head up as Amon entered. He squinted eyes at the man, as if not believing they were telling him the truth. The alien was incapable of smiling, and yet its beak somehow smirked.“Amon Russ,” the alien slowly said, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Amon glanced around, unimpressed. “Where’s Kokoa?”

  “Kokoa died three decades ago. I’m Dezra, his son,” the bird cackled, tapping his taloned finger on the desk. “When I took over the business, he made me memorize all the special customers. You were the last one to make an appearance too. Was wondering when you would finally come calling.”

  Amon blinked. “Is it safe?”

  “As safe as can be.”

  The bird staggered around the counter and beckoned towards the vault. Clicking a few buttons on a remote, the metal hydraulics retracted and the door opened to a dark passage.

  We silently followed the bird down the unassuming corridor where we were made to stand in front of several scanners embedded in the wall, each checking us for unknown purpose. Finally at the end, the bird clicked another remote, and another door opened.

  We were ushered into a wide, dark space. It looked like it had been repurposed from a scavenged ship’s cargo hold, with a single walkway suspended in the center. The floor was comprised of storage boxes protected by a laser grid. Its low, greenish light was the only illumination in the room, probably to hide more discreet security measures. Dezra bowed and departed, leaving us to our own devices.

  Proceeding down the gangway, Amon was made to stand in front of a terminal that took a retinal scan. A hydraulic arm attached to the wall whined into motion as it dipped down and grabbed one particular box. It yanked back up and presented the container to Amon.

  The the last security measure seemed to be of Amon’s own design. A bulky clamp fastened the box shut, and taking the container into his hands, Amon spoke a single word.

  “Charys.”

  The clamp snapped open, and Amon put it aside as he opened the storage box. I got on my tiptoes to peek at what was inside the container. Tucked away on some cloth was a dark cube that could fit in the palm of one’s hand. Wiring ran along its surface that glowed a soft blue, and at the top was an opening for some kind of projector.

  “I’ll make an account here in your name in case you ever need this,” Amon told me as took the cube and gave me a closer look. “It’s called a Quantum Encoder. Human technology. It allows for communication with a paired sister cube.”

  Kybit’s translation was much shakier than Ingrish’s, but I understood it was a powerful communication device. Actually, it was the most powerful communication you could physically possible, able to work instantly across the known and unknown universe.

  “But for whom?” I asked, confused with who Amon would be talking with.

  Amon glanced down at me. “Someone who owes me a favor.”

  …

  Amon released me and Kybit to wander while he returned to the Aphelion to meet with his contact.

  I am sure many would rightfully question Amon’s judgement, and I do not blame those who do not understand the ways of humanity. Amon was not lying when he said Naiad was far more dangerous for me than the slums of a decrepit mining facility. Out there, in the midst of civilization, you had aliens with temporal fields and proton disruptors and targeted nano-paralytics. And all of them, with a quick check from a viviscanner, would be able to identify just how valuable I was.

  Meanwhile on Cocytus, there was nothing except slug-pistols, knives, and your own steel-fiber muscles. Let’s say the worst happened, and I was involved in a firefight. Immediately, Amon’s evo-suit would’ve injected him with adreno-stims, recently purchased and restocked from the reward money he obtained on Naiad. No one would be getting their weapon out of the holster, let alone walking from the room alive.

  It was, in a very twisted sense, far safer for me in the scum-dens of the galaxy than it was in the sparkling palaces of civilization.

  And so brazenly leaving me with Kybit? Yes, the Nekomata was my translator. But she—it, a standard maintenance unit mass produced and sold by the Dalfaen, also happened to be the most dangerous weapon in ten thousand light years.

  Yet, there was also one other thing that counted towards my protection. From what I’ve learned in antiquity, it was those who were clueless, the ones who stood out from a crowd that were the ones preyed upon. In the present, it is precisely the clumsy who are the most feared. Because be it out of sight, they were certainly wearing some sort of phase-shield or watched by invisible servo-drones, ready to disintegrate or tear apart limbs.

  I could’ve walked the length and breadth of Cocytus without someone daring to lay a hand on me. And on that promenade, I did.

  Even so, Kybit steered me away from the less reputable parts of the already disreputable Refinery 57, and instead we wandered down the long, winding bazaars. I was most fond of the vendors selling bits of technology, especially things that were flashy. I liked watching the whirring of power cores or listening to the melodies of neural chimes.

  Once or twice I had to be stopped by Kybit, trying to walk away with some shiny object in my hands. While I was aware of the concept of stealing, the Mantza do not have markets like other species. On Ghiza VI, it was assumed that if wares were out in the open like this, they could be requisitioned. And while I was still struggling to understand my new station in the galaxy, I understood that I was no longer a Xeno Urtaph, permitted only rations and water. It is a strange thing, how your world opens up when there is more to your life than your next meal.

  Wandering, I do not what initially drew my attention to the Anansi, the hooded alien with whiskered black skin. It was sitting on a ragged carpet with nothing but an open lockbox filled with meal-chips. It had placed itself a distance from the other vendors, taking up a quiet corner as it sat and waited. I paused over the creature, watching as two segmented hands gripped its cloak tightly.

  Noticing my presence, the alien spoke in a language which Kybit translated, herself uninterested and scanning the crowds. “It is asking you whether you would like to know your future,” she said.

  “I do not understand,” I replied.

  “Future. It means your unresolved past.”

  I nodded to the alien, unsure of what to expect next. The Anansi held out its hand, evidently wanting something from me. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Kybit was forced to intervene.

  “There are a countless multitude of species in the galaxy, and none of them can tell the future. Not even your kind could peer through the time-sealed vortexes. This alien is trying to trick you out of value. I suggest we move on.”

  Ironically, Kybit had said the exact opposite of what would’ve dissuaded me from the alien. It did not matter to me that the creature was a fake. What fascinated me was how this alien would persuade me that it could see the future. In other words, I was far more interested in the idea of a scam than I was in its purported abilities.

  I pointed to the alien again, gesturing for Kybit to do whatever she needed for the Anansi. The Nekomata rolled her eyes and she lifted her wrist. Plucking a cred-chip from a slot, she dropped it in the lockbox.

  The Anansi gestured for me to sit down on the rug. It took out two or three scented candles and lit them, placing them in a triangle surrounding us. The wicks from the metallic canisters released a powdery incense that choked the throat. Swaying back and forth, the alien began chanting something that was unintelligible.

  I glanced back to Kybit, but she simply looked on, evidently not willing to entertain the alien’s gibberish. Turning back, I saw the creature had thrown off its hood. Its eyes were red and entirely opaque. A mandible jaw clicked in chorus with the sounds the creature made with its throat. It was shaking rhythmically, jittering to some silent song that only it could hear. Suddenly, it stopped, and it lifted its eyes to the ceiling holding its arms in the air, waving as if pull a prophecy from the air.

  Finally, after a long second, the alien looked down back at me. And it rushed, clicking as it tried to grab me.

  I was so startled I couldn’t react, but Kybit had her hand on the creature’s arm before I could blink. With a single twitch of her wrist, she lurched the alien’s arm in its socket and slammed the Anansi to the ground, grinding its head against the reeking rug.

  “You shall not touch him,” Kybit calmly told the alien.

  The wild energy of the Anansi was gone. The creature hastily nodded its head in agreement, deep in fear of the cold Nekomata. For myself, I crossed my arms, disappointed that the show was over before it really began. Kybit had broken the “mystique” and I knew then that the creature would not be able to persuade me it could see the future.

  Kybit slowly let go of the Anansi, and it reluctantly picked itself up. Evidently wishing to get the whole thing over with just as I, it raised its taloned fingers to my forehead—not touching me however.

  And here is the only really interesting thing about the Anansi.

  As I have learned, what Kybit said was true. No species of my time had the ability to see into the future. However, the Anansi had garnered something of a reputation because while they could not see into the future, they could impart memetic commands into the subject. The hypnotized person would go on to “fulfill” the prophecy. This little known secret was how they worked their trade and received repeat customers.

  The Anansi opened its mouth, but just as it was about to speak, its voice caught in its mouth. The alien suddenly seized, much unlike before. It was like it had lost control over its own body and was fighting to get free.

  Kybit had yanked me back in a split-second, getting me away from the Anansi before it could do anything else. The Anansi choked on its own breath and shrieked so loud that all the surrounding aliens turned towards the commotion.

  Kybit was pulling me as hard as she could, trying to get me as far from the scene as possible. I caught one last look at the Anansi. The alien was looking straight me. I had never seen such a frightened expression in my life. It was as if it looked upon some horror let loose from dread stars, like it knew some unimaginable, terrible secret that it could not speak. Whatever had seized the alien suddenly let go, and the creature shuddered with one last horrifying jolt.

  Blood spurted out of the Anansi’s eyes, and the false prophesier fell over on the ground dead.