Capítulo 10: Chapter 10 - Galactic ulcer
The hum of the engines was the only sound that accompanied me during the flight. The endless emptiness of space stretched beyond the windows, occasionally punctuated by the light of distant stars. My quarters were filled with the dim light of holograms flashing before me.
I sat a desk, surrounded by virtual windows on which flashed lines of technical documentation, charts, anatomical diagrams, and other materials.
- Eridian, open the bioengineering archives, - I said, flipping through a page of a reference book.
- Already done, - the AI replied. A model of the alien structure unfolded on one of the screens: bones, chitin plates, muscle fibers.
My fingers slid across the interface. Everything I saw evoked a mixture of admiration and a strange, almost morbid interest. The materials that Eridian had extracted from the remains of the Alpha and the females held a potential I couldn't ignore.
- These creatures weren't just predators, - I murmured, zooming in on the chitinous cover. - They were war machines, created by nature itself. And if they were able to become that... why don't I go further?
Comparative graphs appeared on the screen: the structure of muscle fibers, the pulsation of nerve impulses, the rate of regeneration. The Alpha had all of these things ten times higher than any other creature I'd encountered.
I spent the next hour studying anatomy and tissue properties. I couldn't help but wonder if it could be combined. Intertwine the biology of these creatures with the technology I have?
I opened the surgery section. Instructions on implantation, nerve reconnection, biomechanical interfaces. All this information was forming a mosaic in my mind.
- Eridian,- I said, keeping my eyes on the screen. - These materials, they...
- Potentially suitable for creating a new organism, - he interrupted me. - However, it would require considerably more resources to realize.
I grinned.
- We'll find the resources. In the meantime, you prepare the calculations.
But once again, pain pierced my body. It was sudden, as if a current had struck every nerve cell. I inhaled convulsively, leaning back in my chair.
- Eridian, - I wheezed. - It's happening again.
- The transformation is still being completed, - his voice was cold, but there was a shadow of regret in it. - The pain is a side effect.
I slapped the table.
- Pain, - I repeated. - It's not just pain. It feels...like I'm being reassembled. Every time.
Eridian didn't answer. My status readings were flashing on the screen, but I didn't want to read them.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
- One more thing. Why don't I want to sleep or eat or drink? It all... seems unnecessary, even though I keep doing it.
- Your biological processes have changed, - the AI said. - Iodzium nanorobots provide regeneration and support for your internal systems. Sleep and food are no longer critical to your functioning.
That should have calmed me down. But instead, it made me feel even stranger.
***
The ship began to slow down, smoothly exiting the hyperspace jump. On the screens I saw a world that was both mesmerizing and frightening - Omeos 9. It's not just a planet. It's the epitome of a galactic ulcer, bleeding with criminal energy. A hive city, a metastasis city, sucking life in, refining it into toxic fuel to feed an endless cycle of vice.
Its surface was hidden beneath a dense layer of megastructures whose bulky spires soared into the acid yellow skies like rotting monster teeth cutting through a poisonous atmosphere. Lightning strikes ripped through the clouds, illuminating the dead metallic expanse with bright flashes. The cropped silhouettes of buildings looked like scars on the body of a dying giant. This urbanized mass seemed more than just sick - it lived, suffered, and agonized, like a sentient being eaten away by its own ambition.
Thousands of ships circled chaotically in orbit, from bulky cargo transports glowing with lights to tiny shuttles scurrying between platforms like insects. Orbital stations, scattered like sores, served as veins and arteries of this monstrous organism. They sustained life, if it could be called that, on this criminal citadel. Every second was filled with movement - streams of light from the ships, broadcasts of holographic advertisements, the chaos of radio messages. It all combined to create the cacophony of a civilization devoid of morality.
- Scanners, - I said, not taking my eyes off the dark, suffocating beauty of the picture.
- The atmosphere is toxic, - the AI reported nonchalantly, as if announcing a weather forecast. - High levels of heavy metals, acid vapors, radiation emissions within acceptable limits. Complete respiratory isolation is mandatory.
That flat tone was annoying. He sounded too indifferent, as if he didn't realize where we were.
- You bet, - I muttered, looking at the graphs that filled the screens. - You can't even keep air in your pocket here without consequences.
The flow of ships traveling to and from the planet's surface was like an endless river. Massive cargo ships slowly, like lazy predators, moved through the atmosphere, leaving behind them smoke plumes of burning chemicals. Tiny shuttles - fast, unpredictable - circled between them like blood-sucking parasites.
Amidst the chaos, there were even luxury cruisers, gleaming as if their owners wanted to defy the filth that surrounded them. But even these symbols of power were lost amidst the vast mass of industrial structures.
Orbital docks stretched from the planet into space like giant fins, creating the illusion that Omeos-9 itself was trying to reach out to the stars to devour them. Spiral-shaped corridors, resembling scars, connected the upper spires to the platforms in orbit. Rare advertising holograms flashed against them, bright but insignificant compared to the scale of their surroundings.
One of them managed to break through the filters and flashed in the corner of the screen, offering "goods for every taste". Shifting images showed arsenals of weapons, exotic creatures, and advanced technology. Too advanced for a place like this. The contrast between the glitter of the advertisements and the rottenness of the planet was cutting to the eyes.
Eridian had talked about the planet a lot. Now I realized that his stories were restrained, even soft.
Omeos-9 had once been the jewel of the supersector. A world located at the crossroads of trade routes, it thrived as a marketplace where all who sought profit, technology, or allies met. Graceful ships descended from orbit, glittering with the holographic crests of their owners. Humans, droids and other races intersected here, creating a fusion of cultures, technology and ambition.
The hive cities were symbols of this prosperity. Their spires pointed skyward, their spires shone with clean lines, and the air was filled with the scents of spices and fresh plants imported from all over the galaxy. The trading houses built their grand buildings, striving to outdo each other in luxury. In those days, the upper levels of the hive truly symbolized the pinnacle of success, while the lower levels were the foundation, the solid ground of this world.
But all that changed when one day the route that Omeos-9's life was traveling closed. The cause was an anomaly in quasi-space. No one knows exactly what happened. Some say it was a glitch in the very structure of space itself, caused by ancient technology left over from a long-vanished civilization. Others blame a neutron star whose gravitational field distorted the hyperjumps.
The fact remained that ships attempting to pass through this section of the route either disappeared or returned destroyed. Traffic dried up like a dried up stream, and with it went prosperity. The trading houses gathered their capital and left for other planets, leaving the planet to bleed its empty streets.
At first, Omeos 9 struggled, trying to refocus the economy. But without an outside influx of resources and traders, it proved impossible. Those who could afford to leave left the planet, leaving behind empty neighborhoods and helpless workers.
Prosperity was replaced by lawlessness and chaos. The void left by the departure of the trading houses became a tidbit for crime syndicates. They quickly realized that the isolated location and lack of control made Omeos 9 an ideal base of operations.
The planet was now a haven for smugglers, slave traders and drug lords. The lower levels, once home to warehouses and factories, had become a labyrinth crawling with poor people, mutants and slaves. The upper levels still retained traces of their former grandeur, but they were now occupied by gangs, crime lords, and those who ran the madness.
No one spoke of Omeos as a jewel anymore. It was now called the "black heart of the galaxy," a place where you either obey the rules of the shadow world or disappear.
But still, faint glimmers of past greatness remained in this darkness. Occasionally, walking through the dilapidated streets or exploring the ruins of old neighborhoods, one could find ancient artifacts and technology that reminded them of a time when Omeos 9 was the pride of the galaxy.
Now the place is but a shadow, a reminder of how a great power can turn to rubble if stripped of its source of life. And yet, paradoxically, Omeos-9 lived on, changed beyond recognition, but retaining its purpose: to be a place where ambition collides with madness.
- It's... more like a vein punctured by a needle, - I said, breaking the silence that felt sticky and suffocating.
The AI didn't answer, its silence more eloquent than any words. I knew one thing: I had to stay alert in this hellhole. Omeos-9 doesn't forgive mistakes.
I looked at the landing data.
- Docking platform C-12. Set standard codes.
- I'm on it, - Eridian replied, his voice calm, almost indifferent.
My gaze fell back to the screens, where the endless levels of landing platforms spread out. The landing platforms spread out as far as the eye could see, a complex dance of order in chaos. Thousands of ships were continuously landing and taking off, their trajectories intersecting on the verge of collision, but diverging as if on an invisible signal.
Some ships had just touched the surface, others were already soaring upward, and others - old, worn and unusable - remained in place like unwanted memories. Each carried a different story: some had been here for trade, others to hide, still others might never take off again.
These ships were as varied as their owners. sleek, aerodynamic masterpieces of corporate design with polished armor plates were juxtaposed with rough, dilapidated wrecks assembled from rusted sheets and cables as if assembled at the last moment before an explosion. Some looked like works of art, others like reanimated nightmares ready to fall apart. Heavy cargo drones scurried between them, glowing with lights like fireflies, pulling bulky containers inexorably on their arms.
The overall pace of what was happening was astounding. Humans, creatures of all possible shapes and sizes, and automated machines moved with mad haste. Engineers and technicians clad in protective suits were troubleshooting, welding machines were shooting sparks, and voices and shouts created a background of noise that was like an accompaniment to a symphony of survival. Someone was arguing loudly, someone was being dragged forcibly off-site. This orchestra of chaos was playing its own tune of survival.
- Successful docking, - Eridian announced as the ship's landing gear touched the metal surface. The locking clamps clicked and the landing was complete.
The speakers carried the indifferent voice of the local dispatcher:
- Welcome to Omeos 9, - came the cold, emotionless voice of the dispatcher from the speakers. - Remember: you don't ask questions, we don't ask questions. You have the enas - we have everything else. Violators are subject to immediate termination.
The warning sounded stern, but I only grinned, indifferent to this obvious reminder of local laws. Omeos-9 was a living organism with predatory instincts, and anyone who set foot on its surface had to realize that its rules were simple: don't break them and you'll survive.
I approached the gangway. There was the familiar click of the locks, and the hatch began to open slowly. A rush of air hit my face like a lash. It was dense, damp, and full of a metallic tang that mingled with the scent of cinders, grease, and something barely discernible but clearly rotten. The odor was part of the planet, its breath as poisonous as its atmosphere.
As I inhaled, I noticed that my body didn't react in any way. No coughing, no dizziness, no familiar rubbery lungs that anyone else would expect. Just the quiet realization that I no longer belonged to ordinary mortals.
Still, personal protection was a must. I put on the helmet of my power armor, feeling the filters activate, isolating me from the hostile environment.
Stepping onto the platform, I looked around. There was life bustling all around. Cargo platforms were unloading, cars hummed, and drones continued their endless routes. An artificial haze of exhaust fumes and tiny particles of metal hung over the platforms. Somewhere in the distance something that looked like a fire broke out, but no one even looked in that direction. That was the norm here.
The shadows of huge structures towered above all this chaos. Metal bridges and pipes connected the different levels, creating a veritable network. The sharp flashes of light emitted by the spotlights created the illusion of an anthill in which every element worked for some unknown common purpose.
I checked my equipment once more, the strength of my crate of goods, and then activated the communication channel with Eridian.
- Stay in contact. Lock down all systems until I return. Trespassers can be destroyed without warning. If anything goes wrong, you know what to do.
- Orders accepted, - he confirmed.
With these words I moved to the nearest elevator to go down into the depths of this giant hive.
Giant screens, like the eyes of an all-seeing predator, lined the edges of the platform, illuminating the space and hypnotizing the eye. On their bright surfaces flashed subjects that would have been unthinkable on any civilized planet, but here were perceived as part of everyday life. Advertisements for implants offered with cynical candor "solutions" for anyone who felt they weren't good enough:
"Your nerves can't handle it? Replace them with ours!"
Followed by even darker suggestions that reeked with the chill of criminal impunity:
"Brain nanorobots: complete control over the body."
"Memory erasure - fast and without a trace!"
I held my gaze on one of these announcements. Its holographic letters changed color, pulsing with the mechanical noise of the platform. They seemed to whisper: anything is possible here, if you're willing to pay.
The entire spire lived its own twisted, unbridled life. Freight elevators and passenger cabs moved up and down it, their vibrations shaking the metal decks of the platforms. Drones scurried over the platforms, their bright lights cutting through the smog that filled the air.
Trucks hummed, exhaling clouds of steam, discharging containers of goods onto mechanical arms that immediately transferred them to another transport. From somewhere came the clinking of metal, sharp and almost painful to hear.
Underfoot, the lower levels peered through the grated floor. Deep below, everything was flooded with an ominous red and yellow light, like the glow of giant furnaces. There was life even more foul than here. I held my gaze on the sight.
A strange feeling came over me. A mixture of disgust and hypnotic attraction. These depths seemed to call to me, promising something that none of the upper levels could give. They whispered of power, of freedom, of truth that had no place up there.
The metal walls of the elevator rattled as the cabin began its descent. The huge cabin, covered inside with graffiti and dirty handprints, moved downward with a sharp metallic scrape. One of the messages on the wall read:
"Kill or Die."
Another, in smaller handwriting:
"Strangers don't come out."
Crooked arrows drawn with something black indicated gunshot scars in the metal partitions.
Through narrow windows in the walls, I watched the levels flicker past. The upper floors of the hive city looked almost decent: the glowing neons of advertisements, the mirrored panels of facades, the storefronts shining with luxury.
Here dwelt the elite of Omeos-9, those who made money from criminal schemes or were powerful enough to bend others to their will. Their lives were dangerous, but dazzlingly rich.
Advertisements for assassins and bodyguards, offers to hire entire pirate crews, and access to exclusive technology flashed on holographic screens. People dressed in expensive suits or jeweled armor moved silently between shiny offices and luxurious restaurants. Here power was not only bought, but flaunted. Power as fragile as glass but as dazzling as the sun.
But the elevator continued downward. The lower I went, the more this place showed its true nature. The dazzling facades were replaced by bare metal, rust-ravaged. The neons dimmed and the advertising holograms became stark and crude.
Money still mattered here, but with each level its value dropped. I gritted my teeth, feeling the cabin sink ever lower. The elite of the upper floors could flaunt it, but the real game began here, in the depths, where the only rule was its absence.
When the doors opened, I was greeted by a world of absolute chaos. The narrow corridors, lit by dim lamps and neon signs, were crowded with people, mutants, and droids. The humidity and heat immediately enveloped me, as if I'd entered the gut of some monster.
The walls, dented and rusted, were pockmarked with pipes that oozed stinking liquid into gutters that hummed with a hidden stream. The air here seemed heavy, viscous, as if it wanted to suffocate you.
The lower levels of the hive were a nightmarish maze. Pipes laid chaotically, oozing dirt and liquids whose nature was clearly not safe. Cracked walls, gunshot marks and blood, long dried, adorned every other partition. Here, in the shadows and haze, lived those who could not make it higher: the dispossessed, the mutants, the victims of endless wars and slavery.
Crowds of creatures jostled in the narrow corridors, their faces hidden by dirt, implants or masks. Children with mutated limbs or without a few limbs ran from one shadow to another like rats, and nearby scavenger robots rummaged through piles of garbage, gathering parts for resale. Human forms were almost lost in this crowd, giving way to races whose appearance was either the result of evolution or a chemical nightmare.
Voices, screams, groans, sounds of blows and gunshots merged into an agonizing chorus. There was no wealth or ambition here, only a struggle for survival. Those who could not adapt or find a place in the food chain of this world became its victims. No one stopped. No one helped.
Slaves. It was hard to immediately distinguish them in the crowd until the eye clung to the flashing collars or chains on their arms. Their faces were scorched - blank, with a cold resignation that replaced personality. They hauled loads, built structures, or simply stood, waiting for new orders. Some clutched bowls with shaking fingers, hoping their owners would leave them something edible.
I stopped in front of one of the markets, trying to suppress a lingering revulsion. Here, amid the cages, the screams of merchants, and the mutants, it was possible to buy any kind of life. Slavery wasn't hidden-it was part of the system, as open as a storefront. The vendors shouted their offerings enthusiastically, as if they were ordinary things, not people:
- Mutants! Working without fatigue! Completely under control!
- Implanted workers! With no memory of the past!
My gaze locked on a cage just off to the side. In it sat two children. Girls, thin to the point of transparency, with large eyes that seemed to stare through the bars. One of them, the youngest, who looked to be about six years old, had her arms wrapped around her knees and was rocking quietly, staring into the void. Her face was almost emotionless, but in every movement there was a sense of fear, hushed somewhere deep inside.
The older one, about two or three years older, sat next to her, holding her sister by the shoulder.
The face of young one was covered in dirt, but even that couldn't hide the uncanny resemblance...
I couldn't take my eyes off her. The facial features, the cut of her eyes, even the line of her chin - they seemed frighteningly familiar.
The world around me disappeared. The shouts of the vendors, the noise of the crowd, the smells - all this became just a background for one thought that slowly crept through my mind:
- "Why do they look like I know them?"
- Fresh merchandise! - shouted the vendor, noticing my attention. - These girls are hardy, silent. The older one can work, the younger one ... well, you'll find a use for them.
My fingers involuntarily clenched into fists, but I restrained myself. If I showed even the slightest sign of emotion, it might draw too much unnecessary attention.
- Do you want them, stranger? - The salesman's voice became more insistent. - I have a good discount for the likes of you.
I turned away, pretending to lose interest. But the image of the girls remained before my eyes. Their eyes followed me even as I walked away. Or was it just my imagination?
I felt everything inside clench with a mixture of anger and cold understanding. As much as I hated the sight, I knew that such emotions were useless here.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to suppress pity and disgust. This was their world. And now I was part of it.
The contrast with the upper levels, glowing with wealth and power, was deafening. This world knew no justice or morality. Omeos-9 was a balance of madness: where the top drowned in gold and influence, the lower levels became expendable to support their ambitions.
The crowd moved chaotically, clashing, swearing, interjecting in dozens of languages. Merchants shouted their offerings with the enthusiasm of hungry beasts, "Weapons! Best in the sector!", "Failure-free implants! 90% survival rate!" came a muffled female voice with a metallic tinge.
Some were pulling strange, glowing devices out of their backpacks and showing them off to potential buyers. Others waved weapons, equipment, or unknown substances in sealed capsules. Sometimes their "presentations" were interrupted by flashes - gunshots and explosions that quickly subsided, as if no one wanted to attract attention.
Several shadows flashed across my path, and then there was the sharp crackle of a plasma shot. A flash illuminated the hallway, and charred bodies collapsed to the metal floor. One of the passersby lazily walked around them, not even slowing down. The cleaning drones took their time, too.
- This is hell, but hell with rules, - I muttered, watching the crowd. Every movement, every sound, every look here was permeated with fear and lust for profit. This place lived off its vices, but the rules-oh, yes, there were rules-kept it afloat.
A giant screen that took up an entire wall was flashing with bright flashes. Scenes changed on it: exquisite implants, weapons with sparkling muzzles, jewelry glittering with emeralds. The last frame showed a golden phrase:
"We sell everything. You just pay."
My journey to the massive dome began with the winding corridors of the lower levels of the spire, lit by neon advertisements. From time to time along the way there were individuals whose gazes lingered on me a little longer than I would have liked. But the weapon and the helmet with the reflective visor did their job: no one dared to approach.
The dome I was heading toward stood out even against the local architectural anarchy. It was huge, like a mountain made of translucent metal covered with rust and cracks. At the base of the dome, noxious fumes swirled, dripping from pipes jutting into the base of the structure.
Massive figures stood near the main entrance, some in battle armor, some with mechanical limbs, and some mutants whose ugly forms stood out even among the most fearsome of Omeos' inhabitants.
The sign above the entrance flashed red, word by word forming the name: Terra Deala. The narrow entrance was open to the eye, lined with guards with eyes of indifference and aggression.
According to Eridian, this store belonged to House Sar'Tan, the wealthiest and most technologically advanced crime syndicate of Omeos-9.
Their story is a legend that is hard to verify, but even harder to disbelieve given their influence and success. There are no official records of the Sar'Thns' rise, but the Eridian archives had their full history.
According to this information, the Sar'Tans started out as the usual band of scavengers that hundreds and thousands of them roamed the lower levels of hive cities in search of scrap metal, old technology, or anything of value. In those days, they were nothing: no means, no authority, no future.
But that all changed when they decided to go where others were afraid to even look: the lowest levels of the hive. These places are steeped in myth and fear. The darkness there is absolute, the light and sounds from the upper floors do not reach these depths.
Here, in the dungeons, reign monsters and mutants, so creepy that even an armed squad of supers does not risk to go there. But as we know, the greater the risk, the greater the reward.
The Sar'Tans took the risk. They made their way through the maze of canals and rusty corridors, avoiding fangs and claws, and came upon something unimaginable: an ancient Federation of Light colonial ship.
The ship lay forgotten, abandoned thousands of years ago, but its hull still retained an imposing appearance. Inside, beneath layers of centuries-old dust, they found what would become their destiny: a partially working database, preserving the secrets of technology available only to the first colonists.
Along with the database, they got a mountain of high-tech artifacts: weapons, implants, control systems, and other devices whose functionality they couldn't even understand at first. But the find was cursed. Once activated, the systems began emitting powerful radiation that slowly killed anyone who came too close.
This could have been their end. Radiation sickness began to turn their bodies into pitiful shadows of themselves. Their skin was burning, their internal organs were failing, and their bones were breaking from simple movements. Anyone else would have given up, cursing their decision. But not the Sar'Tans.
Database had full assortment of augmentation and prosthetic technologies. With them they not only replaced what they had lost, but made their bodies stronger, tougher, faster. Mortally ill, they turned their mangled bodies into machines, half flesh, half metal.
Fortified and armed with technology that surpassed anything they could find on Omeos-9, they returned to the top. The rest was a matter of time: competitors and rivals fell one by one. None could resist the weapons that easily pierced armor and sizzled flesh. Implants that increased reaction and strength made the Sar'Tans almost invulnerable.
But their power was not only in technology. They realized that the techologies market was a gold mine. As they began producing and selling implants, weapons, and devices, they became incredibly wealthy. Their goods were expensive, dangerous, and often imperfect, but it didn't matter. Omeos-9 was a place where life cost nothing and power meant everything.
Now the Sar'Tans are more than just a house of crime. They are a family for whom flesh is but a tool and technology is their deity. Rumor has it that there is so little of their original human nature left that they cannot exist without technology. Each of them is a walking machine, packed with the secrets of the Federation of Light.
If anyone could appreciate what I'd brought, it was them.
The air around me was dense, heavy with a richness of odors-heated metal, decaying organics, machine oil. The slight tang of ozone, reminiscent of an electrical storm, lingered on my tongue with a metallic tinge. I held my breath for a moment before forcing myself to relax. Here, like everywhere else on Omeos-9, fear was a commodity no one would buy.
Inside the dome was a mess, but one that screamed of a predatory system that knew its place. The market spread out like a living organism, with a chaotic but clearly defined structure. Instead of vegetables and fabrics, the tables were littered with weapons, crystals, implants whose origins were questionable and sometimes alarming. Some of the devices looked like the creations of madmen: clumsy shapes, naked chains, the dim flicker of ominous light. Others, by contrast, spoke of their high nature, as if they had been plucked from the laboratories of advanced science stations or stolen from ancient ghost ships. Still others were covered in fresh blood mixed with the filth of Omeos, reminding them that this merchandise was the result of someone's demise.
The hum of the market was deafening. The voices of vendors shouting out prices mixed with mechanical noise, stomping boots, and harsh sounds - someone was clearly testing a new type of grenade. This place was quintessential Omeos-9: bargains and risk, captured in every movement, in every look.
- High-precision implants! Regeneration in seconds! - shouted a thin man with a mechanical face.
- Hyperjump fuel! Pure and tested! - echoed a robot with a rotating holographic projector for a head.
I caught a glimpse of an argument in the corner, one of the customers waving a blaster and threatening the salesman. But the guard droid nearby was already frozen, ready to intervene at a moment's notice. Chaos and tension reigned hand in hand here, but at their core were rules. Rules that no one broke. Break them, and it would be the last thing you did.
- Looking for something in particular? - A voice came from my right. A short man with metallic eyes that glowed with a dim but ominous light approached me. His skin was gray, as if burned by toxic fumes, and his thin lips curved into a smirk, revealing jagged metal inlays.
- Maybe, - I answered, not looking away from the market. As I looked through the chaos, I saw hundreds of items, from rare crystals to forbidden genetic drugs that could probably make a monster out of a man.
- Everything can be found here, - the man grinned. - Or lost. What brings you here?
- Contacts, - I turned my head, catching his gaze. - Suppliers and buyers.
He hummed, looking me over. His eyes stopped on the container I was carrying.
- Rookie, - he said, curling his lips. - I can tell by the attitude. And, you know, your container is emitting a dose that doesn't even need to be scanned. That's something valuable, isn't it?
I didn't answer, but I squinted faintly. His face stretched into a sort of satisfied smile.
- Okay. Follow me, - he said, turning and slipping between the rows.
I followed, holding back the urge to look at the merchandise. The feeling of danger came in waves. Every glance from the vendors, every semitone in their voices was predatory, wary. On Omeos, don't show weakness. Don't turn around.
We crossed the rows where gleaming display cases of implants neighboring the rough wooden tables. Guards in power armor in the corners kept watch. The shadows of the corner walls seemed alive, as if there were creatures lurking in them, ready to strike at the first opportunity.
The corridors grew narrower and the guards more and more serious. We passed massive androids, each limb emitting a neon light. One of them gave me a look, and I involuntarily touched the holster of my melt pistol. If a fight breaks out, I'm definitely taking one with me.
Finally, we were led to a room surrounded by force fields. The two thugs at the entrance looked like statues - huge, massive, with impenetrable faces. Their sensors flickered with scarlet light, detecting my every movement.
After the guide checked us in, we were let in. Inside, the light was bright and cold, the whiteness dazzling after the twilight of the corridors. The room was spacious but empty. Only in the center stood a black metal table, stacked with scanners and holographic projectors. Behind it sat a man, if he could still be called that: long, unnaturally thin arms, studded with implants, and skin as gray as ash. His eyes glowed yellow like searchlights, and he looked at me as if scanning me.
- Did you bring something interesting? - his voice was quiet, mechanical, as if devoid of emotion.
I walked over to the table, setting the container down. The biometric system registered my fingerprint, and the lid slid open, revealing the contents: twenty perfectly flat cubes of iodsium.
Silence engulfed the room.
Even the man's mechanical breathing seemed breathless. He carefully picked up one cube, placed it on the scanner. The device beeped green, transmitting information. Its glowing eyes narrowed.
- Impressive, - he said with a slight hoarseness. - We can discuss it. But you realize it would cause a lot of problems, don't you?
I held his gaze, cold, confident:
- I have enough resources for problems. I hope you have enough suggestions to surpass them.
The man laughed, but that laugh was as cold as everything in the room. The atmosphere changed, becoming even more tense. The deal had begun.
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