Chapter 16

  Captain Manuel’s rescue ship flies over the surface of Mercury, heading toward the border between light and shadow, crossing from one side of the planet to the other. The ship is hidden from orbital observers, overcoming the last barrier — the boundary of the eternal dawn, where two worlds meet: the industrial and the residential.

  In this region, Mercury has become an ideal place for the headquarters of the "Mercuria" Corporation. Majestic mountains shield the valley from the scorching rays of the sun; behind them, a dome of diffused light illuminates a valley filled with residential structures.

  Captain Manuel’s ship speeds over this stunningly beautiful landscape, its engines humming softly. Then a gentle vibration — the ship touches down lightly on a smooth metallic platform directly adjacent to the corporation’s colossal building.

  "Soft landing," Manuel notes with satisfaction, unbuckling his harness and glancing at Pietro and Maria. His voice is easygoing, but his eyes are sharp and focused, as if sensing the tension around them. "Now we need to sell the ergon quickly. Before someone comes for it. It's prime goods. And there’s never a shortage of those who want to snatch it for free. That’s just the law of space: if you don't mine it — you steal it."

  Maria frowns skeptically.

  "Again Ivor?" she asks warily. "Honestly, I don't like him."

  "Do you have someone better?" Manuel smiles slightly, his voice calm with a faint challenge. "He’s reliable. Plays by the rules. And that's rare these days."

  "He's a slippery one," she mutters, her instincts prickling. "You never know what he's really thinking."

  "Careful not to fall for him, princess," Pietro teases, his tone playful, though a shadow lurks in his eyes. "Girls love the bad guys."

  "Already have," she snaps back with a slight threat in her voice, narrowing her eyes as if he hit a nerve. "Got a problem with that?"

  "Not at all," Pietro shrugs, leaning back casually in his seat. There’s an easygoing note in his voice. "You’re as free as a vacuum."

  "Rogue," she mutters under her breath, her voice tinged with annoyance — but more amusement than anger.

  "Enough," the captain cuts in, rising to his feet. His expression turns serious, his gaze piercing both of them. "We’re here."

  The hum of the engines fades away. The crew steps onto the landing platform, bathed in Mercury’s natural, filtered light. In front of them looms the corporation’s building. Inside — cool air, the echoes of footsteps, and the whisper of air filters, as if this world lives by its own hidden laws.

  They move through wide corridors, the walls softly lit in green — the color of authorized access. Everything around them seems orderly, perfect, as if the world is designed for the chosen few.

  Ivor’s secretary leads them to a reception room: a hall whose walls are seamless holograms. A meadow stretches out, with white sheep wandering lazily, as if carved from clouds. The illusion is nearly perfect: the scent of fresh grass, the rustle of wind, even the warmth of sunlight.

  Yet beneath this idyllic scene lurks something alien, unnatural — a subtle sense that all this beauty is just a shell hiding emptiness. Against this backdrop, Ivor reclines in a dark leather chair, his face shadowed, though his gaze is already palpable. He twirls a silver remote between his fingers, like a conductor tuning an orchestra.

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  "My friends," he drawls, rising and making a welcoming gesture, as if they are old acquaintances. "It’s been ages."

  Manuel and his team settle into chairs designed for relaxation. Comfort and luxury surround them, but the atmosphere feels overly idealized, almost too tightly controlled.

  "Long time no see," Ivor remarks, switching off the hologram. The sunny day vanishes, replaced by soft, cold lighting. "Tell me — what brings you here? What have you got?"

  "You've got a gorgeous office," Manuel notes, glancing around, his eyes catching on the details. "All this must cost a fortune."

  "Captain," Ivor says with mock humility, pressing his lips together in a modest smile. "I'm just a cog in the great corporate machine."

  He slaps his forehead in an exaggerated gesture.

  "What kind of host am I! Haven’t even offered you a drink," he says, theatrically.

  At a gesture with the remote, glasses and a tall bottle filled with shimmering amber liquid rise from the table.

  "Rum for androids," Ivor says proudly, pouring the drinks. "Tastes like the touch of space itself. To our friendship. May it be strong... and honest."

  They clink glasses — but beneath the gesture lies something heavier than mere greeting. The drink sparkles on the tongue, leaving a feeling of unreal warmth, as if it slows time and softens space itself.

  Maria freezes, then whispers, almost in disbelief:

  "Incredible... This is the best rum I've ever tasted."

  Ivor smiles, though a distant, ruthless glint flashes in his eyes. The moment lasts only an instant, but it feels suspended in time.

  "Now — to business. What do you have?"

  Manuel clears his throat; his voice becomes firm, professional, as if he’s reasserting his command over the situation:

  "Received a distress call from a private station. When we arrived — there was nothing. Just ashes. The crew self-destructed. Thermal grenade. Seems it’s about the ergon."

  Ivor exhales quietly, a shadow of concern darkening his face.

  "Strange..." he says almost in a whisper, as if pondering something far more serious than mere loss of life. "What were they guarding so fiercely?"

  Manuel doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze sweeps the luxurious reception room, checking for eavesdroppers.

  "Inquisitors. They were there. Tried to rob us afterward, breaking corporate law. Failed. But we found what they hid — an autonomous container drifting in space. Inside — ergon. Half a million credits' worth."

  For a moment, Ivor seems to forget his professional detachment, his eyebrows lifting slightly. But instead of showing surprise, he simply nods.

  "And what do you want from me?"

  "A deal. Four hundred thousand, and the whole container is yours. Out of old friendship."

  Ivor slowly steeples his fingers, considering the offer with a philosophical air. His reply falls like a cold sentence:

  "One hundred thousand. It's worthless without documentation on the market, Captain."

  Silence fills the space, broken only by the gentle drip of the fountain. Time seems to slow.

  "Three hundred and fifty," Manuel says firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Not a credit less."

  Ivor studies him, a thin smile playing on his lips. He pulls out a stack of credits and tosses it onto the table. Then another.

  Manuel’s gaze never wavers.

  "One hundred fifty. For friends."

  Manuel stays silent, his eyes cold. He pulls out an amulet and places it on the table before Ivor.

  "Take a look."

  Ivor scans the amulet. His eyes widen. He falls silent, his lips twitching slightly.

  "Where did you find this?"

  "Same place. And nowhere else."

  Ivor, as if forgetting everything else, reaches for the amulet — but Manuel is quicker. His hand covers it. Their gazes clash, sharp and electric.

  Ivor grabs Manuel’s wrist and pulls it aside. He seizes the amulet, examining it like a precious gem hiding a deeper secret. His gaze flickers to Maria’s neck, where the glint of a second amulet catches his attention.

  "I’ll take both," he says, voice unexpectedly firm.

  Maria, unmoving, answers sharply and confidently:

  "No," she says, placing her hand over her amulet. "This one’s mine. A gift from the Captain. Not for sale."

  Ivor falls silent, studying her, his eyes narrowing. Then he calmly lays more credits on the table, as if preparing for a final bid. His face remains unreadable.

  "Two hundred fifty thousand. And one amulet."

  Manuel doesn’t hesitate. He extends his hand, and their palms meet in a decisive handshake.

  "Deal," Manuel says with a slight smile. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ivor."

  They shake hands — a flash of energy in the gesture. Rum once again fills the glasses, the flashes of crystal light reflecting a sense that time is finally moving forward once more.