Chapter 1
The Pub
The last passenger shuttles of the evening drop down from orbit, weaving between the spires as their navigation lights pulse red against the hazy twilight.
From the 147th floor of Federal Tower, the city spreads out like a circuit board, streams of traffic flowing between megastructures that rise into the clouds. Far below, on the corner of Rhodes and 5th, The Cosmic Lark glows warm amber against the steel and glass monotony of downtown.
The ComSpec on his wrist chimes again. Third message from Yuki in as many minutes.
Get your butt down here. Linsi’s buying rounds and telling war stories again.
Adam Elwin swipes away the message and turns back to his desk, where training simulations float in crisp holographic detail above his workspace. Tomorrow’s sim needs finalizing, and he’s already behind schedule.
Another message appears—this time from Pitts, with a photo of the whole crew squeezed into their usual booth.
If he leaves now, he might make it before Linsi gets to the part about the dust storms.
He checks the clock—20:34, September 16th.
One more look at the door.
She’s not coming.
Tomorrow.
There’s always tomorrow.
He turns to swipe the sim closed until a browser tab catches his eye—the Genetic Match Registry still open from earlier, his status unchanged. He reaches to close it, but movement reflects in the smart glass. High heels on polished graphene, lab coat pristine despite the late hour, hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. The window automatically dims for privacy as the woman appears in his doorway.
“Working late?”
“Just finishing up.” Adam closes the registry tab with a quick gesture. “Everyone’s waiting at The Lark.”
“Good thing I caught you then.” she steps into his office, datapad in hand. “You have a little problem with tomorrow’s training sequence.”
Adam’s shoulders tense. “Can it wait until morning?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it could.” Lilith perches on the edge of his desk, the datapad’s glow illuminating her face. She swipes through several screens, her free hand tapping what seems like a countdown against the desk’s surface. “This… ion drive misalignment scenario.” Lilith brings up a complex diagram of engine schematics, pointing to the thrust vectors. “Your sim has an engine canting three degrees off-axis while maintaining stable thrust. It’s not physically possible.”
Adam frowns at the data. He’d spent weeks on this scenario, trying to create the perfect edge case. “The mag-field alignment should compensate—”
“Not at that angle.” She pulls up another simulation window, quickly manipulating variables. Her usually efficient pace is replaced by an almost casual deliberation. “Look. Even with maximum field strength, you’d get catastrophic cascade failure within minutes. The ship would literally shake apart.”
His ComSpec buzzes again. A livestream of Linsi’s face appears in miniature above his wrist: Elwin, you’re missing my best material!
“I should really—” Adam starts.
“We need this fixed for tomorrow.” Lilith’s voice is soft, reasonable. “Unless you want to teach them about an engine failure that could never happen?” she says, nodding to his ComSpec.
The crew’s laughter echoes from the device, and through the window, the pub continues to glow, warm and inviting, far below. Adam glances between the complex engine diagrams and the pub, caught between duty and desire.
“The cascade modeling is solid.” Adam leans forward, enlarging the holographic engine core. “See? I ran three hundred iterations. The field strength holds.”
“Your iterations assume perfect conditions.” Lilith’s fingernail traces a line of code scrolling past. “What about material fatigue? Micrometeoroid impacts? A single hairline crack in the containment housing—” She taps a command, and red warning indicators bloom across the simulation. “Complete structural failure.”
The ComSpec chimes again. It’s Yuki again: Boss, you’re killing me. Where are you?
Adam’s jaw tightens. “I’ll just ask Linsi to postpone. Besides, she’ll probably have a hangover anyway. Let’s table this for—”
“And that’s not all.” Lilith brings up another window, numbers cascading down the holographic display. She checks her watch again, her composed exterior cracking for just a moment. “The canting throws trajectory calculations off. Even a fraction of this misalignment at deep space velocities would send them parsecs off target.”
“That’s impossible.” Adam pushes back from his desk, the motion sensors dimming the holograms. “I triple-checked those numbers.”
“Check them again.” She hands him the datapad. “I’ll wait.”
The once-welcoming glow of the pub now feels like a taunt as he gazes through the window. Adam takes the pad, swiftly tapping and swiping across its surface. The equations are familiar—he’s been over them a hundred times. But now, looking closer, he spots a rounding error in the fourth decimal place. Tiny, but at this scale...
“Tosh.” He drops the pad onto his desk. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” she says with a smirk. “We can’t send them up with faulty training. Not with everything at stake.”
The ComSpec buzzes one final time. No message now, just an image: the crew raising their glasses in a toast, their faces bright with laughter. The pub’s amber lights paint their uniforms in warm gold.
Adam stares at the image until it fades. Then he pulls up the simulation’s base code and starts to type.
He doesn’t notice over the next hour how Lilith checks her watch, or the way her fingers drum against his desk—a steady countdown in the growing dark.
“There.” Adam pushes back from his desk, exhaustion creeping into his shoulders. “The canting calculations are fixed. We can fix the rest in the morning.”
Lilith studies the hovering diagrams, taking her time. “What about the mag-field harmonics?”
“Lily.” His voice carries an edge now. “It’s late. The crew—”
“—will thank you when this saves their lives.” She adjusts another variable, sending ripples through the holographic engine core. “Just one more thing.”
His ComSpec has gone silent.
No more messages.
No more photos.
Just the time display—21:47.
The simulation can wait.
He begins gathering his things, driven by newfound resolve. “I mean it. We’re done.”
“The harmonics, Adam.” Her voice carries a strange urgency. “Please.”
Something in her tone makes him pause. He looks at her—really looks at her—for the first time tonight. Her usual composure seems fractured, a cracked mask. Her fingers drum against his desk, but the rhythm feels less like impatience now and more like… anxiety?
“Are you alright?”
She blinks, and whatever he saw vanishes behind her professional smile. She glances at her ComSpec to check the time again. “Of course. We just need to get it right.”
“We should’ve caught this earlier,” he says. “You were supposed to review it with me this afternoon.”
“Meetings ran long.” The words come too quickly. She straightens a stack of datapads that don’t need straightening. “Besides, better late than never, right? I just want it to be perfect.”
“Nothing’s perfect, Lily. That’s why we train,” he says as he shoulders his bag.
He strides to the door, eager to salvage what’s left of the evening.
Behind him, Lilith drifts to the window, but her reflection takes a heartbeat longer to arrive. Her gaze fixes on the warm glow of the pub below, one hand pressed against the glass. She doesn’t move, doesn’t turn, just watches—still as a statue while rain showers down outside. In the glass, her reflection’s lips curve into a smile she isn’t wearing.
The elevator ride takes forever. Adam watches floor numbers tick down, each one a reminder of the distance between him and his friends. At the ground floor, he breaks into a jog through the lobby’s cavernous space, footsteps echoing off marble and steel.
Outside, the night air hits him like a wall. Rain streaks between the spires, early autumn’s chill settling into the city. The sidewalks glisten, refracting the city’s glow. The pub is just a block away. He can see its warm lights through the drizzle, a beacon in the steel canyon.
His pace quickens.
Through the pub’s windows, he catches glimpses of uniforms, of familiar faces. Yuki’s distinctive laugh carries across the street, almost inaudible over the hum of hover-trams and the patter of rain.
Yuki spots him through the glass, raises his hand in greeting.
Adam lifts his own hand to wave back.
The world goes white.