WITH THE CLOUDS BELOW the lillipad, the open expanse above is crystal clear—a purple wash as bright as freshly cut fluorspar slides over the orange of the evening. The world up here is calm and quiet, save for the rustling of my environmental suit as I shuffle along the tarmac on Lillipad Eight toward the central Pistil. The enclosure glistens, reflecting the emerging stars with such perfection that it seems like the whole universe is contained within a giant glass egg.

My heart pounds slowly, and my enhanced musculature tingles with each pump of fresh blood. Even Vedmak is quiet. These serene moments never last long. A pain in my chest spreads outward to my limbs, slowing my pace to an amble.

What’s going on with Evgeniy? He’s been acting weird. Only sending one reply to my thousand messages: in person. I quicken my pace and approach the outer door. A Creed peacekeeper stands at the entrance in full KOS armor painted in avalanche blue camouflage. I worked on their exoskeleton during my master’s degree studies. Geminoids, while tougher than Graciles, are still relatively fragile and just as susceptible to puncture wounds inflicted by the outdated weapons of the Robusts. More than that, their internal servos are not strong enough to wield great weights. My exoskeleton upgrade, powered by Nikolaj’s power pack, bears the weight of the system as well as ancillary mission equipment. But I get no special treatment. To the Creed, I’m just another citizen to protect—or interrogate.

The geminoid pulls off its ballistic helmet. It’s a woman. Or at least it looks like a woman. She’s vaguely familiar. The robot raises a hand, signaling me to halt. The breeze whips her long auburn hair around her face, yet she never blinks. A placating, false smile sits awkwardly across her rubbery lips.

“Good evening, Doctor Demitri Stasevich.” The voice crackles over my headset.

Why use my whole name? It’s just weird. “Good evening.”

“What is your purpose on HAP Eight this late in the evening, Doctor Demitri Stasevich?”

“Just visiting a friend. Evgeniy Yarlov. He was injured in the attack today. I was busy at work and didn’t get to come earlier. You know, on the collider ...” She, it, doesn’t need to know these things. Stop blabbering, Demitri.

“Yarlov, Evgeniy.” Her head twitches as she accesses the neuralweb. “Yes, he is in the hospital section. Floor ten, ward seven, room five.”

“Thank you.”

“You have thirty minutes left of visitor time, Doctor Demitri Stasevich. Please vacate Pistil Eight within this timeframe.”

“Yes, I will.”

She backs away from me and replaces her helmet.

I enter the inner airlock and wait patiently for the chamber to pressurize. The next door pops and hisses open. I climb through and close it behind me before taking off my helmet and wedging it under my right arm. The Pistil of HAP Eight is deathly silent, lit only with dim spotlights embedded in the walls. There’s no one here except me. I’m alone.

You’re always alone, little puppet, always. Except for me. I’ll never leave you.

Vedmak. I thought perhaps I might have some peace.

There is no respite from who you are.

I tug at the zipper in my suit and yank it far enough down to reach the inner pocket. Using my teeth, I pull off my right glove—freeing my hand to fish around for my last hit. I find it immediately, and with a quick flick of my wrist, it pops into my mouth and slips down my throat. That’ll take a few minutes to kick in. “Then you won’t be able to bother me anymore, Vedmak.”

I have infinite patience. You cannot escape what you have been dealt.

I just need to get to Evgeniy. He’ll help me get more DBS. The foyer is silent save for a low hum from the cooling solar panels. The elevator door slides open. I should tell the computer floor ten, but for some reason, “Floor nine,” spills from my lips.

The elevator hisses to a halt and the door glides open. The corridor is quiet and dim. My legs are rubbery and my head swims in a fog. The DBS is kicking in. I meander on absentmindedly, but it’s an easy route. I’ve made this journey a thousand times and could navigate these corridors in my sleep—all the way to the neo-womb ward. Where I was born. Where we are all born.

The identity panel reads my iso-print. The same automated female voice responds, so loud the whole damn Pistil can hear it: “Welcome, Doctor Demitri Stasevich.”

The door slides to the right, granting me access. The main incubator room seems to open up exponentially as the walls push back into the darkness. Only the low light from a thousand glass eggs penetrates the gloom. They hang, suspended in midair, row upon row, each holding a tiny fleshy embryo and a synthetic placenta fed by the same artificial blood supply and cocktail of nutrition.

The embryo inside the closest egg can’t be more than a few months old. It has translucent skin and bud-like appendages. This was once me. Designed. Engineered. No parents. No family. Who is this little one designed to be? What place in society has he, or she, been granted?

The eugenic youngling evaluator, or EYE, skims past my head and stops abruptly in front of the embryo I’m studying. The EYE comprises a metallic orb with a single black lens attached to a long robot arm with multiple joints. There’s a low-frequency hum, followed by barely audible peeps and clicks. It’s scanning. My heart hammers again. The EYE backs away a meter or so, then projects a thin red laser directly onto the glass. The fluid inside rapidly boils. The clear liquid becomes a pink sludge. The embryo is gone. Satisfied its job is done, the EYE slips away into the dark expanse of the room as fast as it came.

About four seconds. That’s all it took for the EYE to decide this life was not worth sustaining. A waste of energy and resources. A genetic defect, maybe? Whatever it was, it was enough to deserve being Ax’d. My stomach knots, not for the little life that was just extinguished—but for my own.

How did I survive? Why was I not Ax’d in the neo-womb? Could the EYE not see me for what I am? Vedmak is silent. The DBS has quieted him for now. Somehow it’s lonelier than ever. I storm out of the incubator room and into the elevator.

* * *

EVGENIY'S ROOM IS DARK but for a lamp by his bedside and a heart monitor blipping a neon-blue line repeatedly across a black screen. There are no wires, no tubes. A bioscanner monitors his status, waiting for when the effort to keep him alive is greater than his potential for society.

“I’m not dead yet.”

My heart skips. “Dammit, Evgeniy, you scared the hell outta me.”

He opens his eyes and beckons me closer. “Come, young Demitri. Take a seat. How nice of you to visit.”

I saunter in on unsteady feet, then pull up the rolling chair next to his gurney and sit. My helmet clunks to the floor. Despite this somber moment, the DBS has plastered a stupid grin on my face.

“Well, I had to see how you were. When I heard about the Robust attack, you were my first thought ...” My tongue slaps against the roof of my mouth, slurring my speech.

Evgeniy studies me. His brown eyes hold a cool wisdom, critical and unforgiving. As an older Gracile, some forty plus years, he’s seen much. Perhaps that’s why he’s always been aloof and distant. It suits me fine.

“You’ve taken a hit, haven’t you?” he asks.

“Ummm.”

“You know how many times I’ve seen that look, Demitri? You can’t lie to me.”

My palms are sweaty again.

“Thought as much.” He eyes me, then sits up in his cot. “And you panicked. With me dead, you wouldn’t be able to get any more. Correct?”

Any answer is going to be a foolish one.

“Let me ask you this, Demitri: Why do you take it at all?”

The high of the DBS is snatched away. He’s never asked me that before. What the hell? We had an understanding. “I ... I uh ... just need to relax sometimes. Work can be ... It’s stressful.”

“Indeed, work is stressful. Let me ask you another question. Do you believe the Robusts attacked my lab?”

“What?” Damn, my head is foggy. Did he just ask that? “What has that got to do with the DBS?”

“Answer the question.” He fixes his gaze on me.

“I don’t know. I guess. I mean. Honestly, I did wonder. Why they would want to bomb your lab. You’re a theoretical physicist. But the Leader said—”

“Indeed. The Leader said.” He sits back, a little more relaxed. “But still, you wondered.”

“I guess.” Is this a trap? I need Vedmak. He’d know how to handle Evgeniy’s questions.

“You wondered. And that’s why I chose you, Demitri.”

“Chose me? For what? You chose me to be an addict?”

“No. I chose you because you have your own mind. Your own thoughts.”

If only he knew.

“You take the DBS because you find our life—however privileged—hard, don’t you? You need it for relief.”

“Sort of.” It isn’t a total lie.

“I’m sure of it. Demitri, whether or not I am fit to survive, you and I both know I won’t be allowed to live.”

“Your injuries don’t look that bad. You should be all right.”

“My injuries aren’t so bad. But I’ll be Ax’d anyway.”

What the hell is he talking about? “Why? What’s going on?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, of course.”

He smiles. “Good. To understand the truth, you have to go down to Lower Etyom. Go and meet with my contact, Yuri. He has the answers.”

“Wait, why can’t you tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did. You’re skeptical, remember? Some things you have to see for yourself.”

The DBS is fading fast, my euphoria evaporating. “You want me to go down there? Among those creatures, in the filth and rotting buildings? Not to mention the NBD. Are you crazy?”

“You want more DBS, no?”

He has me backed into a corner, and he knows it. “Yes, of course, but don’t you have more up here? In a safe place, perhaps?”

“You think I just keep it lying around to be found?” He hacks a laugh. “I deal to order, young Demitri. Bespoke service. There is no more.”

My buzz is almost completely gone. Adrenaline courses through me, wiping away the endorphins. “I can’t, I mean, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Yes you can. And you will. You must.”

That wasn’t a command, it was a plea. “And if I go, I’ll get more DBS?”

“Yes. But you’ll also collect something else. A data package.”

“A data package? Why isn’t it accessible via the net?” As the question leaves my lips, I know the answer already.

Evgeniy’s eyes are fixed on me.

“What do I do with the data package, once I have it?”

“Access it, and then give it back to the handler. Your heart will tell you what to do next.”

“The handler? My heart? This is crazy talk.”

“Is it?” Evgeniy replies. “We rely heavily on logic and reason. If studying the fabric of the universe has taught me anything, Demitri, it is that she has a personality—a will. You just have to open your heart to see it.” He smiles and begins to fish around under his bedsheets.

“It was good to see you, Evgeniy. But I can’t go down below. I just can’t. And right now you’re just rambling stuff that could get us both in trouble. My time is up anyway; I have to go. You’ll be better soon, and we can resume business as normal.”

Evgeniy flicks a small metallic capsule at me. I catch it in midair.

“What is this?”

“It’ll help you get into my apartment. You’ll find clothes and equipment there to disguise yourself for the journey. It will also tell you how to get down and meet with Yuri. Tell him I sent you. Ask him about the package.” He leans back into the cot.

I clench the object in my fist and pick up my helmet, then turn and leave for home.