Half an hour later, Athra waited for her brother in the customs zone by the docks. It was the only place with wide viewing windows. To the right, a corner of the landing pads was visible—quiet, empty. Most local ships were working the asteroid belt. She'd come here to pick up components for the family business, a welcome distraction from her stalled project. When her mother agreed, she'd jumped at the chance.

  People passed behind her. Athra stared at the stars, waiting for the glow of thrusters. Sometimes her gaze caught her own reflection in the glass: auburn hair twisted up, swamp-green eyes, the slight slant of her family. A dark-beige work tunic.

  When someone gently embraced her shoulders, she flinched and turned.

  "Amazing concentration," Matias whispered, bending to kiss her temple.

  "I was thinking. I love the dress uniform!"

  "Last time you'll see it. More on that later. Markus here?"

  "Yep."

  "Not surprised. Did he come himself, or did our parents send him?"

  "Both."

  "And you don't want to tell me anything?" He touched her chin, turning her face. "If you're not telling our parents you're dating, at least don't leave marks."

  "I don't…"

  "I know. Let's eat. What's around here?"

  Athra nodded toward a passage. "So why the uniform change?"

  The nearest cafe, simply named "CAFE," was a five-minute walk.

  "Let's sit over there. And better tell me about yourself. What are you doing? Who's your next target for entertainment? Since when have you been sleeping with Markus?"

  Athra laughed and shook her head.

  "Better you don't know. I'm the most dysfunctional Amatin—capable of tarnishing anyone's reputation. And you're so proud of yours."

  "You remember Una got a smack from me when she said that? You're the smartest Amatin, Athra. The most talented. The most beautiful." He said it with a soft smile, confident.

  "And the cruelest, unfortunately…" he added quietly, expecting an answer in her gaze but receiving only slightly tense silence. "And while all attention is on me, I want to hear about your successes and plans, not talk about my failures. So answer the questions asked."

  "The designer in our lab and Markus as a lover—not topics for conversation, Mat. And as for entertainment," Athra looked around, "Pete, that clingy little dog of Markus's, has annoyed me since childhood. Did you know he's in love with Mark?"

  "Good Lord, Athra, I was just joking." Matias's cheerfulness evaporated.

  "Oh… alright then. I said nothing."

  "You're not planning any nastiness toward Pete, are you?"

  "No, of course not." Athra smiled sweetly, and Matias's sigh signaled disbelief.

  He preferred to change the subject.

  "So, it's true, your friendship with Markus has turned into something more?"

  "No, it's just partially moved to the bedroom. Is it really that important to discuss?"

  "Don't want to warn you, Ath, but still… does Mark really mean so little to you that you…"

  "Topic closed."

  "So, he understands everything perfectly himself?"

  "He's not stupid. And knows me perfectly well."

  "Alright, what's this excuse with components? Why are you here?"

  "It's not an excuse. I just needed a distraction from the factory floor. True, Mom forbade our ship captains from taking me off the station, and I haven't exactly… earned my own ship yet, so I left on a transport."

  "Could have used my account."

  "Mat, access to everything you own implies trust, but not unjustified spending on my part."

  They entered the cafe. Matias pulled out a chair for her—gallant, as always. Athra smiled and sat. In the corner, a projection frame showed a replay of yesterday's Anachron Battles match. Matias followed her gaze, then ordered coffee and breakfast, giving her a minute to watch.

  "So, you're officially a corporate designer now?" Matias smiled.

  "Industrial facilities architect-engineer."

  "Never understood what a girl must have in her head to study that," he teased. "Though you always did rearrange things, annoying Grandma."

  "She never admitted my solutions were better."

  They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then, casually:

  "Sometimes I think I'd give up my immortality just not to be your brother."

  Athra's head snapped up. For a second, something raw flickered in her eyes—then she caught herself, looking away. When she met his gaze again, it was a demand: take it back.

  "I'm joking, silly." His smile softened. "I just want you happy. More than anyone."

  A waiter brought their order. Athra shook her head, dispelling the tension. She'd forgotten how good Mat was at provocation.

  "So," she changed the subject, "why the uniform change? What happened?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Didn't read the little letter… ahem, Alpha's official decision from the day before yesterday?"

  "I open your mail only if you make me worry about you. Out of anxiety, not curiosity."

  "Ahm-m…" He closed his eyes, raising an index finger in a sign of attention. "You said 'worry'? 'Anxiety'?" Even white teeth were revealed in the widest smile.

  "Don't portray me as a soulless monster, Mat. I manage just fine on my own."

  "On the contrary, little sister. I'm trying to draw your attention to what you feel. And this is not a mask. Right?"

  Athra shrugged.

  "So, the psychocorrection wasn't completely useless, and your resentment toward Mom is largely groundless. I remember you, Ath. Better than you remember yourself. Believe me, the changes are evident."

  Athra smiled politely. And that was a mask. "The peculiarity of my nature is that I don't know what resentment is, Mat. So stop worrying about Mom and tell me what happened.

  "Alright," Matias sighed. "General Emerson, whose funeral I just came from in this snow-white dress uniform, was an idiot. Only an idiot… I know, Alpha, back off," he brushed off the voice in his auditory canal, "so, only an idiot, without being at least an R-synch, would fly into a hostile sector in person. The army has enough technology to protect personnel from fatal outcomes. High officer rank and not a synch don't go. That should be forged as a slogan over the Academy doors. He just died, and it looks like suicide. At the same time, chain of command is everything. It's simply not my rank to teach an Alliance Army general and forbid him from doing stupid things. But they're blaming me for his death. The fact that it was an ambush directly points to a leak on our side. But I'm still guilty because on The Trapper I couldn't handle a fleet of two heavily armed 'leaders' with a dozen destroyers and frigates present mostly as backup dancers."

  Matias's fury flushed his cheeks scarlet, making him stumble.

  "And now what?"

  There was no point talking about the fairness or foresight of such accusations or decisions. Except perhaps for sympathy or support, but… Matias, as usual, didn't count on that.

  "Alpha directed me to an interview with Colonel Jane. As I understand, he functions as a sorting center for personnel. A pilot might be assigned to fly an inter-system, hopefully not intra-system, transport. Or to a police unit, either general or corporate, if there are requests and an opportunity to hand a professional military pilot over to a corporation. A trooper or infantryman again to police or corporate security… In short, it's the end of service, the end of a career, and now it's unlikely you'll wash it off. It's easier for them to get rid of me than to admit there's a leak in the army or that Emerson was an idiot."

  Matias glanced sideways, listening to Alpha's admonitions.

  "Maybe you should just disable the speech analysis function instead of growling at Alpha?" Athra smirked. "I did that at fourteen."

  "Yeah, and you swear like an old sergeant-major. I can't allow myself that."

  "Right, the polite-to-the-marrow Matias Amatin, a pragmatic careerist under Alpha's gentle supervision. Well, eight years down the drain?"

  "I console myself that six years of service for a synch is a drop in the ocean. And the academy was useful no matter what. And still, I'm not a hundred years old not to worry."

  "I understand you perfectly," Athra smiled.

  Matias picked at his food, anger still trembling through him. Athra pulled her plate closer, her mind elsewhere—probably on Markus. But Matias was thinking about sincerity. About how much of this mess he should actually share.

  He was furious at being made the scapegoat. But the outcome? It might suit him perfectly. He'd been planning to leave the service anyway.

  The army used Alpha as a tool—an advisor, an analyst. Useful, but secondary. People made the calls. People played games. And games, as he'd just learned, could end a career overnight, no matter how much charm or diplomacy you had. Grandma had always predicted he'd be a politician. She was wrong. He didn't have the stomach for the dirt.

  But the police—the police were different. Fire, medical, transport, security: all run by Alpha herself. No backroom deals. No scapegoats. Just algorithms, psychological profiles, a lifetime of data. And if you rose high enough in a structure Alpha controlled, you didn't just get a rank. You got access. Petabytes of it. Unlimited resources.

  The thought made his knees tremble more than the anger did.

  And why not? He'd paid his debt. Six years of brutal training, exhausting labor, his own deaths and resurrections—the army had compensated him well for it. More than most. The ledger was clean.

  He glanced at Athra. Should he tell her any of this? She didn't share his ideals—probably never had. But she was his sister. She'd support him regardless. Understanding? That was too much to ask. Respect? Maybe. But did he have the right to ask for more than her unconditional love?

  He decided he didn't.

  "That's not all," he said finally. "I was planning to leave anyway. The army... too many people, too many games. I'm hoping Jane sends me to the police instead. Alpha-run structures—fire, medical, security—they're cleaner. Less stench."

  Nothing showed on Athra's face. She leaned back and nodded. Mentioning Alpha reminded her they weren't alone. Mat wasn't simple—she knew that. There was always more beneath the surface.

  "That's basically all the news. This evening I have to report to Colonel Jane, and it's still a three-hour flight to his station. And even that seems like a farce and a public beating of a baby. They ordered me to attend the funeral, knowing Emerson's family would be there. They must have been told the pilot was a synch, and there he stands, the bastard, alive and handsome, while almost the entire crew along with the commander are permanently dead. That's, at the very least, vile and leaves little desire to serve under their command. Besides, they know perfectly well I have to get to a police outpost practically on the border with the League by evening. Hardly anyone expected me to stay for the memorial meal, but the whole thing looked very nasty."

  He wanted to say something else, reaching his hands across the small round tabletop and enveloping his sister's hands, freed from the cup. Athra noticed a swift movement behind her brother's back and looked up. Matias raised his head, planning to turn toward the figure that had interested his sister, and at that moment her palms slipped from his hands. Athra inhaled fearfully. In the next second she screamed, jumping up. A thin blue beam illuminated the lieutenant's epaulettes for just a moment, and the next Matias's snow-white dress uniform was flooded with thick, almost black blood. He wheezed, grabbing his throat and slowly tilting sideways.

  "Matias!" Athra froze, then dropped to her knees. Blood welled from his throat. His eyes were still alive, looking at her in surprise—asking forgiveness. For her having to witness this. For the blood on her hands. For the suffering.

  Meanwhile, the killer's trail had gone cold, and the cafe had practically emptied. Athra looked up, seeking support, but only two figures were in her field of vision: the Black waiter, watching the last seconds of the Alliance Army lieutenant with otherworldly enjoyment, and Markus, frozen not far from the entrance in springy indecision: whether to run after the killer or to her.

  Meeting Athra's gaze, Markus approached her and crouched beside her.

  "He's gone," Athra whispered.

  "Calm down. Mat's a synch. Immortal."

  "Yes…" Athra nodded.

  "You're covered in blood," Mark changed the subject. "Let's go to the room." Athra pushed her friend's hands away.

  "They'll take care of the body," Markus insisted. "Let's get out of here."

  "The biomass, you mean?" Athra's voice went cold.

  Mark flinched at the word.

  "In an hour he'll call, and you'll hear him alive and well, Ath," Markus insisted. "Don't mourn the living. Let's go. Alpha has surely already sent pursuit after the killer. They'll find him, catch him, and judge him, whoever he is and why he did it."

  An hour later, Athra sat on the bed, hugging her knees, coffee cold in her hands. Markus leaned against the counter, chatting with her brother via ElexGate’s connection.

  "Ath, maybe you'll talk after all?"

  Athra reluctantly joined the call, raising her gaze to the invitingly blinking face in her peripheral vision and giving the interface a command.

  "How're you?" His voice was calm, as if nothing had happened.

  "Fine. You?"

  "Not my first time, little sister. Emerson's kid—saw him at the funeral. Anyway… I just regret it happened like that… in front of you. Forgive me for that, Athra. Please, forgive."

  "I'll get over it. You have a meeting with Colonel Jane."

  "And now I'm without a uniform too. Flying back to base is already too late, as is returning to you for the ship and things. What a day…"

  "It should end well," Athra encouraged.

  "I'll believe it," he smiled. "Love you, dear. Again, sorry for ruining the day."

  Athra disconnected and looked at her friend.

  "No, this won't become a fresh story over a beer," Markus said with a sour smile. He wanted to hug her. But this was Athra. He stayed where he was.