[Terrestrial Date: 30 October, 2136.]

  [Galilean Date: November 303rd, 2.]

  [New Bran Castle, Power of Europa.]

  [19:16. UET - Universal Europa Time.]

  ——

  A glistening, gray pipe, newly fabricated for a single function, rested against the crate on which Jordan Astros' arms impatiently rested. "Anytime James! I won't keep asking!" Jordan barked, staring dryly at James frozen in place before him, shaking his sand-haired, overgrown head from side-to-side like a leather bag.

  James Astros stood 178 centimeters tall in front of the door. He was born short, by the Clan's standards, and stocky like his and Jordan's mother. His chest, arms, and legs were heavy and stacked with dense muscle like he'd spent of childhood on Earth; obvious results from a childhood of fighting sports, training, and competition amongst the Clan. Despite his mass, he still appeared to be little more than a large child in Jordan's eyes as he stood there, shifting his button-like eyes between Jordan and the pipe he knelt beside with increasing fervor.

  "I - I can't do it." He finally muttered under his breath.

  Jordan's chest flared at the sound of James' words. Flashes of irrational heat rose from his gut to his face, curling his usual indifferent visage into a resentful scowl. "Why?" He demanded, soft and cold in juxtaposition with his emotional display.

  James stared back with a kind of pity in his eyes that Jordan was believed aligned more with feelings of disgust than sympathy. James had an outstanding poker face, but the light in his eyes didn't lie, so Jordan pushed himself from beside his crate to stomp before James, straightening his face to its usual phlegmatic disposition before repeating himself softly. "Why?"

  At 189 centimeters, Jordan physically looked down on his older brother, and had done so in all other aspects since they were children. Whereas James' hair was like beach sand, worn long and unkempt, Jordan's was like the bark of a hardwood tree, tapered into a fade that matched the color gradient of his hair, shifting to black near the ears. Besides being leaner and holding a longer reach, according to his opinion, Jordan was at least an order of magnitude more intelligent than all but a few of his siblings. Despite their wildly varying personalities, however, many of them were slightly tuned mirror images of their father. Subtle differences, such as more or less fat around the face and neck; variations in skin tone like the cream, light leather skin shared by James, and their brother Jacques; different colored or textured hair, and so on. It was almost as if the entire clan were playing a video game and picked the same character; forcing different colors or features onto the avatar of choice while still retaining the sharp cheeks, pointed chins, and piercing eyes that seemed to look through the world just as much as they looked down on it. Subconsciously, like that of a feline.

  Jordan stared at the spiral loop of hair on the crown of James' head as his brother turned beneath the pressure of his gaze. His bulging chest heaved frustratingly; fumigating the relatively small tool shed with the sour stenches of coffee and pastries until his displeasure became an almost physical manifestation. "You're my little brother." James finally said with a weary sigh.

  "Little brother!" Jordan rocked back as he snorted out a disgraceful laugh. "You have six little brothers, James! And that number will only rise over the months!"

  "Bah!" James growled back, waving off Jordan's comment with his hammer-like hand. "We brothers, along with Jacques," he gestured to the two of them, "were born on the same day. You're different." Pulling back with a shrug, he peeled his lips to expose his freshly bleached and uncomfortably straight teeth. "To the others, maybe." He shrugged again, then shook his head. "To you? Never."

  "Tch!" Jordan pouted, brushing past James with deliberate stomps. "If you won't, I'll find someone who will!"

  "No one in the clan will." James' voice and heavy steps echoed from behind Jordan just moments after he emerged in the hall. "No one."

  Jordan wordlessly continued walking, ignoring his brother as he moved through a side door and paused as the warm, late afternoon light splayed across his face. The courtyard he found himself in sat square in the middle of the Clan’s estate. Rectangular, 100 meters by 250 to a side, and arranged with seating benches, pavilions, and an endless array of flower beds, vineyards, and square planters blooming with vegetation at the center of the voluminous towers of their castle. While scanning the area for any would be volunteers, Jordan's eyes drifted naturally toward the horizon. They bounced across the rolling hills and winding creeks until the very land curved upwards on itself, rising high behind the clouds until the slanted rooftops of the neighboring city was peering behind the gargantuan axial truss, glowing with daylight and the thin layer of sparse clouds surrounding it.

  The Astros Clan's home, and the first orbital habitat, or 'Island,' to orbit Jupiter's moon, Europa, was New Bran. An O’Neill Cylinder, orbiting high above Europa's surface, consisting of a pair of counter-rotating cylinders attached to one another via a static scaffold, of sorts. Each cylinder, or drum, completed almost half a rotation per minute to provide the illusion of gravity through centrifugal force. Being 4 kilometers in radius and 32 in length, each cylinder yielded around 800 square kilometers of surface area on its interior surface alone and boasted an additional two sub-layers beneath the primary; usually reserved for storage and livestock above the radiation shielding.

  “Ah, the young masters, James and Jordan.” A rasped voice recalled Jordan's eyes to the hunchbacked man crouched over himself at his feet. The gardener had thin, wiry hairs protruding from his chin line and a radiant spot of skin centered square on the top of his head, half hidden behind an ancient leather hat that seemed as wrinkled as his skin. He cradled an assortment of flowers in his free hand while he rose courteously to take a bow to both James and Jordan. “What may I have the pleasure of helping you gentlemen with today?” He croaked as pleasurably as he could.

  “Good morning, Mr. Dakaan.” James bowed, gesturing to the flowers when he rose. “Someone of interest?”

  “A little gift from myself to you three.” Mr. Dakaan's face creased into a smile warmer than the artificial sun gleaming overhead. “For your trial.”

  “That's exactly what I need your help with, Mr. Dakaan.” Jordan shoved in front of his brother. “My trial.”

  “Aye.” The gardener tilted his worn leather headpiece down over his eye. “I understand your eagerness, Jordan. But how am I supposed to help?”

  “I want to do things the right way - I want to experience it as our father had done to him.” Jordan gestured to his brother. “That's the entire point, after all - to learn the lessons our father did. But…" Jordan blew out a raspberry, accompanied by an exasperated sigh. "James here won't help me."

  "Only a sadist would!" James shouted from behind him.

  The gardener's leathery brow folded over his beady eyes as his head tilted to the side, eyes darting to and from Jordan and his older brother. "The right… way?" he hesitantly asked. "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

  "You know what our trial is, right?" Jordan asked semi-rhetorically; to which Mr. Dakaan nodded feverishly. "Well, I left my pipe back there in the closet. But…" Jordan grinned, took a step back, and outstretched his arms to his sides. "Well, you have a spade or something. Right?"

  Like a video in slow motion, Mr. Dakaan's face churned from its wrinkled, confused state to the taut-skinned, wide-eyed, quivering visage of a truly terrified geezer. "Oh? O- oh! Dear God! No!" He shot upwards, furiously shaking his head and bowing at the waist repeatedly. "Apologies, young master! That's the one thing I can't help with. Unless you want the Don to end me. Permanently, that is." He muttered, rushing away faster than the boys had ever seen him move in the Jovian year and 5 months they'd been alive. “Now, if you'll excuse me!"

  A sudden, hoarse laughter erupted behind Jordan without delay. He didn't need to turn to see James rocking back then keeling forward, holding himself on his knees while he laughed loud enough for anyone nearby to have to look.

  Ignoring James and bowing after the departing gardener, Jordan stepped off toward the door leading back into the castle. "So be it."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Their Clan's estate was the namesake of the habitat it stood within and resembled a large castle significantly lacking in edges or flat surfaces out past the walls. The main keep was fat, squat, and round like a leviathan's cauldron potted with a slightly offset lid to vent the steam of its unruly innards. It was nestled neatly in the rear wall of the habitat, and the perimeter wall as well, with half of its body protruding into the rear grounds and the other half extending into the courtyard. Like a massive Christmas tree made of carbon fibers, ceramics, and metals, smaller, similar spheres repeated along the length of the terraced tower, rising through the clouds to the axial truss extending horizontally across the hab.

  "As I said, no one will help you." James snickered as he caught up to Jordan once again. "You may as well help yourself."

  "I very well may." Jordan snorted dryly. "But first, I'll ask the man himself."

  "Hah!" James croaked. "You think Dad will help you? He'll kick you for asking."

  "Nah." Jordan snorted louder, shaking his head. "He's with the kids. He wouldn't want them seeing such things."

  The cool air licked at Jordan's pits as they entered the castle. Their steps echoed across the stone, as always, and the perpetual hum of air conditioners and carbon scrubbers loomed through the halls like the endless chants of a monastic temple.

  "I'm gonna miss this," James sighed almost nostalgically. "A quiet castle."

  "We'll be gone soon, anyway." Jordan snorted as he waltzed through one of too many formal sitting areas towards the main elevator. "And why are you following me?" He barked, tapping away furiously at the console before James could enter.

  "I-" James started, then rushed to slide inside before the door hissed shut. "Well, I know Dad won't help you. I just wanna see what he says. See what you'll do." His chest heaved as he let out a dumb sounding laugh from the depths of his chest.

  Jordan studied his brother while his mind lazily moved to form a response. James Astros was looking more and more unkempt these days. He was often found wearing the same clothes and his hair's been raggy for weeks, growing to such a length that it hung low over his ears and eyes like he was some delinquent. He was never one to care about his appearance, but it was getting out of hand. Especially when one considered who their mother was.

  "You-" Jordan started, then shrugged after meeting James' pretentious gaze. ‘Whatever.’ He mentally rolled his eyes, turning away to tap his toes on the floor.

  A slightly perceptible hum rippled through Jordan’s feet as the magnetic soles of his boots engaged; and with a series of deep breaths, he cleared his thoughts to watch the castle distance itself from the glass floor.

  Almost 40 Earth-years ago, shortly after the birth of the Galilean Powers, the patriarch of the Astros Clan had his orbital habitat constructed in orbit of his Power of Europa, and then constructed New Bran Castle within a modest corner of the residential drum. Despite owning the structure in its entirety, he relegated the Clan to live secluded lives in their estate, surrounded by high walls and surrounded further by a perimeter of thick forests. His father had only asked for privacy from the other inhabitants for providing security and prosperity for their budding villages. Now, those villages had grown into cities; and while the castle had changed, it hadn’t much grown much from what Jordan’s elder siblings described from their childhoods.

  "Morning boys." A soft voice, seemingly cold and devoid of emotion, welcomed the brothers before the elevator had even hissed open.

  Jordan stepped carefully into the open recreational space in the upper reaches of the castle, allowing the tug of his magnetically locked boots to pull him across the surface. Within the rotational axis, there was no apparent gravity granted by the spin, giving Jordan an ever-present reminder of where they truly dwelled - in a massive metal can filled with air, spinning on end as it endlessly orbited Europa at around a kilometer a second. Moving about couldn't necessarily be described as walking in such an environment. It was more like stepping carefully and having your heel unwillingly slam onto the surface once the magnets took hold, then stepping forward to allow the fabric of your boots to keep you from drifting away from the floor; an awkward sensation, it remained, despite how many times Jordan experienced it.

  "Dad." James bowed after coming to a rest beside Jordan.

  One of the 20 founders of the Galilean Powers, the Don of Europa and head of the Astros Clan, Villan Astros, smiled warmly as he bowed at his two sons. Standing at over 2 meters in height, their father towered over everyone in the clan, no matter the gravity or orientation. Despite being over 60 Earth-years old, his face was unmarked and broken apart only by a mid-length goatee that stretched a few centimeters below his chin. Off-white skin, like milk with a splash of coffee, peered and spied from the neck and opened collar of a basic button-up shirt, rolled up to the elbows to reveal a pair of glistening, black cybernetic arms resting silently in his pockets.

  As usual, his father's penetrating eyes invoked feelings of cold-heartedness and the unconscious visages of certain nefarious, nocturnal monsters to plague Jordan's mind's eye while he gave a courteous bow. "Good afternoon, Dad." Jordan gulped; then, catching some movement, craned his neck to better see the three toddlers orbiting their father. Each of them was splayed out in various orientations, screeching and slapping at their father gleefully as they struggled to work out their space legs. Witnessing such a sight, it was hard for Jordan to see the cause of fear that so many individuals like Mr. Dakaan had for his father. It was hard to even see him as one of the founders, let alone believe the stories of his past. As much as he studied the man, as much as he learned about him, bonded with him, Jordan could never see him as the Don of Europa. Only as his kind, oddly over-affectionate father.

  Craning his neck further, Jordan pursed his lips at the cloud of triplets now screeching towards him. "Cassiopeia, Phoebe, Pandora. How are my baby sisters this fine afternoon?" Jordan's face cramped from a grin as wide as the habitat was long while his sisters rung bells in his ears with their near-incoherent greetings. After straightening himself out and returning his attention to his father, he started to address his cause of visitation with another bow. "I'd like your help with my trial," Jordan said quickly and matter-of-factly, while gesturing to his arms. "I don't just want them tied up for my trial."

  Villan's face somehow relaxed, became emptier, and even more emotionless than it already was as he gathered up the children in his arms, sending them drifting across the room with a gentle push. "Go play with your older siblings." He smiled, waving to the twin brothers born a few months before the triplets, Samson and Saros, playing alone in the far corner. Together, they drifted back to the elevator and descended to the castle with their father's augmented eyes trailing behind them each gravity-less step of the way.

  After a few seconds, the Don of Europa sighed a heavy sigh that Jordan couldn't quite place and turned back to his son with cold eyes. "You all grow up too fast." He sighed again.

  'Oh.' Jordan snorted to himself. 'So now you'll have more? How many siblings do you want us to have?'

  Wordlessly, Villan pulled off his shirt and presented his arms before him, raised in the air between himself and Jordan. Near the edge of his collarbone, his flesh seemed scarred and burned where it sealed with the smooth plates of his implanted arms. The harsh light scattered and glowed off the obsidian-like hands, reflecting Jordan's apprehensive expression as Villan turned and clenched his fists in silence for a few seconds.

  "It's one thing to have you all inherit arms like these.” His father finally said. "But do you understand why I have you go through these trials?"

  "To prevent complacency and hubris." Jordan nodded without hesitation. "To teach us that our hands are valuable tools. Gifts, but still tools. Like any tool, they can be taken by anyone; damaged or destroyed beyond repair, leaving us helpless and defeated. The trial is to make us understand how hard life without arms truly is - as you had to - so we don't end up abusing them or the power they give us."

  "That's the best answer I've gotten thus far." Villan grinned wide as he rested a cold, hard hand on Jordan's shoulder. "I'm glad you understand its importance as you should. And I approve of your devotion, even your decision. But... Jordan." He sighed, letting what little warmness within his cheeks fade as he shook his head. "You can't expect me to go along with this. I can't cripple my son. Even ignoring that, the circumstances wouldn't be the same. The cause of my arms being taken was overzealousness. Hubris, as you said." The corner of his lips curled into the faintest smile. Faint, yet filled to the brim with warmth. "My arms were taken by my enemies as punishment. A lesson that I certainly learned." Villan softly explained. "You, Jordan, are not overzealous. You have no enemies who'd seek to cripple you yet. And you shouldn't seek to make any. Understand?"

  "I understand." Jordan bowed at the waist until his face was parallel to the ground. After a long, nerve wrecking pause, he straightened his posture and returned his father's cold, piercing gaze. "However, I have to disagree," Jordan firmly declared. "A few months ago, I read that our first and worst enemies are ourselves. It's an enemy many will never acknowledge, much less face; not to mention conquer."

  Jordan turned without further explanation, deactivated his mag-boots, and pushed off the ground towards the array of magnetic crates stacked onto the wall. After having spent so many hours trying to get people to help disable himself, Jordan had a fair understanding of his physical dimensions and disengaged the mag-locks on the two closest crates. While keeping a cautious eye on his brother and father, curiously watching him as they mumbled among themselves, Jordan set the activated voice controls on the consoles, then meticulously twisted and translated the massive boxes into place, leaving them stabilized half a meter away from the wall with their respective consoles facing each other.

  "What the philosopher meant was this," Jordan began, eyeing James in particular as he slid between the crates to nestle himself between them and the wall. “Until you face that enemy - until you overcome yourself, one’s potential is unobtainable. So." Jordan inhaled a deep breath. "With this, I declare war on the enemy that is me!"

  Though his focus was on the boxes and maintaining the appropriate positioning of his arms, through the gap, Jordan could see the whitening eyes of his father and his cherry-faced brother lunging at him, gaping their mouths wide as soundless words escaped their lips; as veins pulsed on their necks and brows. But Jordan paid them no mind. With a resolve as hard as tungsten and a hiss of cold air rushing deep into his lungs, Jordan braced himself before screaming as loud as he could. "Lock!"