Ethan stepped into his suite at The Spire View Hotel, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft, airtight hiss. The silence that followed was immediate and deliberate, thickly insulated, engineered to mute the ever-present hum of the space station beyond. What little sound remained was distant, like a whisper caught behind several layers of glass. He paused just inside the threshold, letting the quiet settle over him.
With a tired motion, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it across the back of a low, angular chair. Its frame sculpted from polished alloy, cushions upholstered in something too soft to be synthetic. He walked slowly toward the center of the suite, his steps muffled against the adaptive flooring, his eyes drifting across the smooth surfaces and ambient lighting.
Every corner of the room exuded subtle opulence: curved walls pulsing with soft hues and display panels seamlessly embedded into the decor.
The air was warm, perfectly calibrated by the suite's atmospheric regulators. A soft floral scent lingered in the background, diffused through the ventilation system with precision. It was the engineered bloom of a Sorellian skyvine, known for its clean, calming notes and impossible fragility in open air.
It was a sharp contrast to where he'd just been, crawling through vents, ducking patrols, dragging a hostage out of tight corners. The grit of that infiltration still lingered on his skin and in his thoughts.
The grit of that infiltration still clung to him, in his pores, under his nails, embedded in the corners of his mind like residual static.
Without a word, he made his way toward the bathroom. The motion sensors caught him, lighting his path with soft, adaptive glow panels embedded in the floor. The walls, a gentle curve of polished alloy and dark glass, reflected the ambient glow of soft blues and violets.
The tub began filling with a low hum, water drawn from recycled reserves and run through an ionized mineral filter that made it shimmer faintly as it rose. A touch of steam curled into the air, laced with trace relaxation compounds. A perk of high-tier suites aboard The Spire View.
He slipped in without hesitation. The water was perfectly heated, reacting to his biometric readings to maintain optimal comfort. His body sank deeper, muscles slowly uncoiling as tension drained away. Jets along the tub's interior pulsed gently against his spine and shoulders, simulating zero-G muscle therapy. He let himself float, half-submerged, arms resting along the edges, eyes closed.
He enjoyed the silence and peace after a long day of socializing and mercenary work.
Later, swaddled in a pressure-woven robe softer than anything he'd ever felt planet-side, he reclined against the memory-form pillows on the bed. The sheets adjusted their density automatically, reading his posture and vital signs. The ceiling above glowed faintly with starlight, a real-time projection of the starscape outside, powered by a dedicated micro-satellite array.
He reached for the glass of synth-wine resting on the sleek, obsidian nightstand. The drink was chilled to the exact degree specified by its maker: a dry blend from the domed vineyards of Ramakh'aish. Cool and faintly metallic, it kissed the tongue with a layered complexity, aged notes simulated through quantum fermentation, the bite of fruit that had never seen soil.
Krell's voice came first, not loud, not urgent, but heavy. The governor had spoken clearly in their meeting, laying out a fractured Orion Federation, splintering from within. Extremist factions on one side, moderates on the other, neither strong enough to silence the other or completely overpower the centrists.
And caught between their struggle were places like Kynara, rich in resources, poor in power. Systems and planets squeezed and stripped until there was nothing left by paranoid and greedy politicians, heartless corporations and criminal organizations..
Ethan exhaled through his nose.
He remembered Krell's eyes, tired, deliberate and the underlying truth and passion in his words: no one was coming to help the outlying systems but his moderate faction. They were mostly on their own and at the mercy of extremists and their shady alliances. If they couldn't protect them, they would be consumed like many places were.
His mind shifted to Raevis. The bar had been low-lit, warm, a good setting for their conversation. Between the drinks, they'd spoken about ship engineering, different type of vessels, the evolution of and many other things . Small talk, on the surface. But beneath it, insight. Pieces Ethan had been missing filled in. The engineer knew her stuff. And her honesty, the casual delivery, made it stick.
He stared at the glass for a moment longer, feeling the weight of its emptiness, mirroring the hollow space he often felt inside. It was easy to get lost in all this, to let the vastness of the galaxy overwhelm him.
He put it down and leaned back deeper into the pillows, eyes scanning the ceiling. The industrial ring came back to him next, flashing like a series of still images. Cracked flooring. Hissing pipes. People with hollow eyes, bent spines, moving like machines on the verge of collapse.
They reminded him of home.
Of Earth.
Of fluorescent office lights and unpaid overtime. Of long nights under stress, answering to managers who saw him as nothing but another replaceable gear in a bloated machine.
He'd escaped that life. Barely. And only because he'd been somehow transmigrated to another universe.
He leaned forward, pulling his legs off the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the cold floor. His fingers drummed lightly against the surface of the mattress, thoughts swirling faster than he could keep up with them.
He wasn't the same person anymore. The man who had once sat in dull offices, punching in hours to the hum of fluorescent lights, was gone. In his place was mercenary who could navigate the chaos, someone who knew how to use his wits and his will to carve out his place in a universe that hadn't been made for him.
But he knew, if he let himself grow soft, he could become one of them again. Scraping by. Surviving. Powerless. And that thought, more than any speech or statistic, kept him moving.
The starry ceiling above felt impossibly distant, like a void. The galaxy stretched beyond it. Wide. Dangerous. Unfair. But he was in it now. And if he wanted to stay ahead, to control his fate, he'd need more. Rank. Status. Resources. Allies. A reputation that made people think twice before crossing him. expand this