A ghost above the sun.
Solar orbit.
The outer ring of the Aspida battle cluster.
A covert stronghold of Mercury's deep fleet.
The airlock opens without a sound.
Three figures step into the hatch's dim glow—Yulia, Alex, and General Jamal.
The air inside smells of cold metal and ozone—like the breath of lightning.
We're inside the heart of a secret, Yulia thinks as she crosses the threshold.
A place that officially doesn't exist.
The station lives in permanent shadow.
Among their own, it's a legend.
To the rest of the world—just a rumor.
A phantom.
Step. Another step.
The central chamber unfolds before them—
and their breath halts,
as if diving into deep water.
No walls.
No ceiling.
No visible anchors.
Only stars.
The holographic dome erases all boundaries.
Pure space floods in—endless, voiceless, unbearable in its beauty.
The solar corona burns like a wound torn open in the sky.
Orbit lines, distant stations, silent beacons—
all adrift in slow-motion ballet.
A light so holy it makes you want to cry. Or pray. Or run.
Yulia stumbles.
Her hand instinctively reaches for Alex's.
Their fingers brush—barely, but enough.
He squeezes her hand once, short and firm.
Blinks, like someone surfacing from a dream.
"…God," he exhales, voice barely audible.
I've never seen space like this, he thinks. It's not us looking out. It's space looking back.
You could dissolve here. Lose yourself. And never want to return.
General Jamal stands a few paces away, half in shadow.
He looks carved from obsidian.
His face is still, but his eyes are blades.
A crooked smile touches his lips.
"When I first stepped in here," he says, his voice rough, tinged with irony,
"I thought I'd died. Or at the very least, stopped being an android."
Yulia tears her eyes away from the stars, turns to him.
Her voice wavers, not quite joking:
"So what, you decided to share the experience? Or just scare the rookies half to death?"
Jamal steps closer.
The holographic light slides across his face—
and something glints beneath the skin.
Not just an officer.
Not just an android.
But a system.
A weapon.
"This isn't a trick," he says, voice leveling.
"This is our view.
The station monitors a ten-million-kilometer radius.
Magnified a hundredfold.
Every object—ion trails, debris fragments, molecular shifts—is tracked."
He pauses. His gaze sharpens.
"All of it can be obliterated. Within fractions of a second. Molecule by molecule."
Yulia shakes her head, slowly.
Awe creeps into her voice.
"So Aspida isn't just a station. It's a predator."
But Jamal's expression hardens.
Something switches off.
The man disappears.
Only the commander remains.
"That's enough.
No more sightseeing.
Form up."
His words fall like hammer blows.
Even the silence feels heavier.
The stars seem to lean in, listening.
Yulia and Alex snap to attention.
Alex buries his awe.
Yulia freezes, hyper-focused, tuning to the tone in Jamal's voice.
"From this moment," he says, "you are Aspida's operators.
You're under my command.
For as long as the station stands.
For as long as you breathe."
A pause.
Thick. Almost tactile.
"First order: training. Immediate."
"Yes, General!" they reply in unison.
Their voices synchronized.
Like something's already aligned in them.
"To your stations, operators.
You'll have plenty to work with."
He gestures.
From the floor, two chairs rise—bathed in cool blue light.
Control panels, screens, and data arcs unfurl like flowers—
as if the station isn't constructed, but grown. Or awakened.
Yulia and Alex exchange a glance.
There's no turning back.
Either you become part of the machine—
or you become dust in the vacuum.
They sit.
The holographic interface envelops them like a glove fits a hand.
Aspida wakes.
Displays flare.
Data floods in like solar wind.
It blinds—but they do not blink.
Around them: flame and ice.
Threat and revelation.
All at once.
This isn't a dashboard, Yulia thinks.
It's a living organism. It's testing us.
Maybe it'll accept us.
Maybe it'll erase us.
Every wire pulses like a vessel.
Every symbol—like a heartbeat at war.
Alex stares into the screens.
His breath stills.
What is this world?
And what have I become?
This isn't the academy.
This isn't a drill.
He's inside the eye of war.
But the fear begins to fade.
Curiosity rises—slow, but steady—
and takes its place.
He feels it now:
This isn't the start of training.
This is initiation.
General Jamal stands slightly apart, watching their reactions closely.
His face is calm.
Only the faintest trace of a smile lingers at the corners of his mouth—so small, it's barely more than a ghost of expression.
He steps forward. His hand—heavy—settles on each of their shoulders in turn.
"Relax," he says lazily, with the faintest smirk, as if this were just another ritual he's long since stopped believing in.
"It's all simpler than it looks. With minds like yours, you'll settle in within hours. And if not..."
He pauses. Narrows his eyes.
"...the station will explain everything.
Once."
"Once?" flashes through Yulia's mind. What does that mean? Just once?
And if we don't get it? What the hell does the station do to people who fail the first time?
And then—
as if summoned by his words—
a sound.
Soft. Strange.
Almost... feline.
Meow.
The chamber freezes.
Even the lights seem to dim, just for a heartbeat.
Jamal narrows his eyes instantly, sharp as a drone's targeting scanner. His gaze scans the empty air, sweeping like a laser across fogged glass.
"Did I just...?" His voice drops—oddly tentative, almost uncertain.
It's as if the commander—so used to issuing orders—is facing something that doesn't fit inside any manual.
Silence returns.
Then, again:
Meow.
The sound rings out like a ghost in a vacuum.
And then—a flash of movement.
From behind a console, a gray-and-white blur bolts forward—a small ball of fur, charging at full speed.
A kitten.
Tiny, but confident, as if it knows exactly where it's going.
It races straight for Jamal, climbs up his leg with practiced ease—
and, without pausing, perches on his shoulder.
Then licks his ear.
Jamal… laughs.
Not a restrained chuckle. Not the dry bark of authority.
A real laugh—gravelly, unfiltered, breaking loose from somewhere deep.
For a moment, his face sheds its armor. Emotion flickers through it, raw and unmasked.
"You little devil... old stowaway," he mutters, lifting the kitten from his shoulder and gently scratching behind its ears, like handling a memory that might shatter if touched too hard.
"Who the hell let a cat sneak into a classified battle station?"
Yulia flushes, eyes lowered.
Still, she raises her hand.
Embarrassment colors her voice, but underneath it—there's no submission. Only quiet strength.
"General… I couldn't leave him. He was all alone.
Helpless.
He's my family.
Even if… small."
Jamal stares at the kitten. His eyes darken, just slightly.
Family, the word echoes somewhere deep inside him.
When was the last time I thought of that word… not in a debriefing or a funeral file?
He looks back at Yulia.
His expression stays neutral, but something surfaces in his gaze—
something rare, especially from a high-ranking officer:
Warmth.
Buried deep, wrapped in layers of steel—but real.
"Fine," he says, voice softer now, edged with his usual predatory humor.
"He stays.
Our new mascot.
Looks like the security filters weren't designed for fuzzy infiltrators."
Yulia allows herself a small smile. Almost invisible—
but it lands.
She feels it: something's shifted.
As if she's passed a test no one told her was happening.
"Thank you, General," she says softly.
The words carry gratitude.
And understanding.
Jamal straightens, as if remembering who he is.
The tone resets—crisp, official.
Words become orders again.
"He'll stay in the rec room. Keep him from distracting the interface.
When your shift ends… come collect him.
Personally."
His eyes linger on her a beat longer than protocol requires.
Not a question.
Not a warning.
Something between trust… and a challenge.
Yulia meets his gaze without flinching.
She knows—this is not a place for shrinking back.
"Yes, General. I'll come for him myself.
I promise."
Jamal nods, says nothing more.
He turns and walks away, still stroking the kitten.
The holographic doors slide shut behind him like a velvet wave over deep space.
Alex, sitting beside her, turns to Yulia.
He says nothing.
But his stare burns.
Not anger.
Not jealousy exactly.
Something more exposed.
Vulnerability—masked in armor.
Why is he looking at her like that?
Why her?
I'm here too. I've been here all along.
But it's like there's glass between us…
He says nothing.
Only watches.
The silence thickens.
Yulia pretends not to notice.
Returns her attention to the screen.
But something's changed.
A small shift.
A hairline crack in the flawless surface.
And that crack…
is starting to grow.