Mercury – The Corporation's Building

  The building of the corporation on Mercury stands out from the rest of the cityscape like an ultramodern palace made of light and steel, an embodiment of the future in a world long forgotten what it means to be human. Leaving the formalities behind, two figures emerge from the conference room: the chairman of the corporation, Vikarr, and his old friend, Ivor.

  They walk down the empty corridor, their footsteps echoing off the smooth walls, sounding like the very whisper of the corporation, as if the building itself were alive and watching their every move. In the reception area, they are greeted by the secretary — flawless, like everything here, with a cold yet calm smile. She nods silently and, without a word, leads them to massive doors that open with a single smooth motion of her hand.

  Vikarr and Ivor enter the spacious hall. The floor beneath their feet is sleek, almost mirror-like, reflecting not only the walls and ceiling but also their very thoughts, as if the space here draws out anything superfluous from their minds. Directly ahead, on a raised platform, stands a statue of Zeus — powerful, with a lightning bolt in his hand, gleaming in black glass that reflects the light, creating the impression that the deity is about to come to life. Zeus — a symbol of power, strength, and the corporate brand, more of a logo than a god, but no less dangerous.

  In the center of the hall, there is an oval table surrounded by chairs, which do not stand still. The chairs seem to levitate above the floor, swaying as if inviting someone to take a seat. Vikarr stops at the table, his gaze thoughtfully sweeping the space, and suddenly declares:

  — Now, this is your reception hall, Ivor.

  Ivor raises his eyebrows in surprise, but Vikarr continues, not waiting for questions:

  — In this hall, you'll meet many different people... dangerous people. Here, you are safe. This place is a reinforced cocoon. Its protection system is unique. Only our profiles can function here. No bullet, no threat, will get inside. What do you think?

  Vikarr pauses, observing Ivor's reaction, his eyes gleaming with cold confidence. Ivor, slightly surprised but already starting to get used to the reality, scans the empty space.

  — A "fortress-level" protection, — he says, trying to hide a faint smirk. — Are you serious, Vikarr? I can't believe this place... actually works.

  — You'll believe it after you undergo the test, — Vikarr replies, barely smiling. — But you remember the rules: trust here is the most valuable thing. Here, you will find those who will work for you... or against you.

  Ivor nods, understanding that for Vikarr, these are not just words, but a creed. Silence fills the hall, but it does not oppress; it feels more like an opportunity to realize: everything that happens within these walls comes at a price.

  He slowly surveys the room, as if trying to grasp the scale of what is happening.

  — Honestly, I didn’t expect this, — he finally forces the words out. — This... is quite a generous gift, Vikarr.

  — More like a practical one, — the chairman counters with a slight smile. — You risked a lot bringing in the contraband. Raid after raid. All for our dream. For the freedom of androids. I appreciate that. Let this be my acknowledgment.

  Vikarr raises his hand slightly, gesturing to the chair.

  — Sit down. Study your office. This is now your domain.

  Ivor makes a slight motion, and the chair catches his body, softening to his form, as if adapting to him, silently whispering of comfort, as though the chair were alive. Everything here seems to breathe, not with technology, but with something more. Here, power is felt — cold, confident, taciturn, unshakable.

  He runs his palm over the cold surface of the table.

  Ivor suddenly speaks, not looking at Vikar. "Wait," he says. "You keep talking about value, risk, and our dream. But you still haven’t told me what was in those containers. The last shipment is here. I think it’s time to speak plainly."

  He lifts his gaze, his eyes turning as hard as obsidian.

  "Tell me. Or I won’t let you leave."

  Vikar freezes for a moment, assessing the situation. Then, he lets out a short, tense laugh.

  "You’ve become quite the threat, my friend," he says with irony. "Alright, you’ve earned the truth."

  He turns and walks toward the statue of Zeus. It’s as if he draws strength from it. He speaks without turning.

  "You were delivering weapons," Vikar says, as though stating the obvious. "Weapons for the coming war. A war that’s inevitable. The living won’t allow androids to be free. They’ll come for us. And that weapon will be our guarantee of survival."

  He turns to face Ivor, his gaze sharp and focused.

  "Now you know. Now, let me go. You have meetings scheduled. The secretary’s arranged everything. You have your new role, and I... I have old business."

  He nods, turns, and walks quickly out of the room. The door slides shut silently behind him, leaving only emptiness.

  Silence fills the space.

  Ivor remains alone. He takes a deep breath. Leaning back in his chair, he allows it to support his weight, but there’s an unmistakable weariness in the motion. The room feels too vast, almost lifeless. His fingers run along the edge of the table, and his gaze catches a barely noticeable button—something about it triggers an impulse deep inside him.

  He presses it.

  In an instant, a holographic display springs to life on the table. At the same moment, a drawer slides open, revealing a remote control. Ivor takes it, pressing a few buttons. The entire office transforms. The walls dissolve, replaced by the blazing panorama of an endless desert—the surface of Mercury itself, scorchingly bright, as if the star is burning everything in its proximity. The sand trembles from the heat, and the sky pulses with yellow haze, radiating the overwhelming power of the sun.

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  Ivor closes his eyes for a moment, absorbed in the view. Here, he feels like the master of the world—as if the desert is an extension of himself.

  "You have your first visitor, Captain Veronika," the secretary’s voice announces, cold and emotionless, like Mercury itself.

  Ivor doesn't answer immediately. He continues staring at the shimmering desert, dissolving into it, as though it were some distant memory. Then, almost absentmindedly, he presses a button on the remote. The wind—programmed, holographic—sweeps the sand away, and the desert vanishes. The walls return to their strict, smooth forms.

  "Let her in," he commands calmly.

  The door slides open. A woman enters. Tall, strong, with the confident stride of a soldier, but in her eyes, there's weariness and stubbornness. Captain Veronika. She doesn't slow her pace, doesn't look back, doesn't bow—she simply walks in and sits in the chair across from Ivor, as if this entire room belongs to her.

  "Congratulations," she declares boldly, her voice sharp and unyielding. "I see you've risen. Your office now... looks just as good as Vikar's. Been back from Earth long?"

  "Just now," Ivor nods, showing no unnecessary emotion. "And the first thing I decided was to meet with you."

  He studies her face carefully, like an x-ray, without a hint of sympathy. He sees her exhaustion but masks any reaction, as though evaluating the situation with a cold, calculating stare.

  "I think you understand why."

  For a moment, a shadow of concern flickers in her eyes. Veronika lowers her gaze, as if burdened by his words, and a trace of doubt crosses her face.

  "Yes, Ivor... I know. I missed the payment. But... it’s temporary. I'll pay everything back, every last credit. I just need an extension."

  He remains silent. His gaze doesn’t leave hers, as if he's deciding—what is she to him? Weakness, or defiance? The silence stretches, growing heavy, like lead.

  "It’s the Inquisitors," she begins to explain, her voice slightly trembling, but she gathers herself quickly. "They seized my last shipment, all the ergon. There was nothing I could do..."

  "That’s... unfortunate," Ivor finally says, his tone betraying no sympathy. "But we had an agreement. I helped you when you decided to go into the ergon business. I invested. I took risks. And now you’re abandoning me. That’s disappointing."

  His words cut into her like a cold blade, targeting her weak spots. He pauses, his eyes fixed on her face, studying every microscopic reaction.

  Then, he leans forward, as though preparing to strike.

  "But there’s a way out. You hand over the station to me. We make a new deal. And we part ways on good terms. How does that sound, Captain?"

  Veronika jumps to her feet, her body tensing, fists clenching, and her eyes flashing with fury.

  "This is blatant robbery!" she spits through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with rage. "I’ve poured everything into this station—money, time, soul. This was my chance… You want to take everything I’ve built? That’s not how it works, Ivor! I can’t just hand over what I’ve earned!"

  She stands frozen, her breath quickening, her anger rising, but beneath it, there’s something else—a fear of being doomed to failure. The chance she had envisioned slips away before her eyes. But she’s ready to fight to the bitter end.

  "And I’ve invested money, weapons, technology. Where’s my profit, Veronika? Where’s my recognition?" His voice becomes ice-cold, each word a lightning strike.

  In the next moment, a hum fills the air as her drones leap from her belt, buzzing around her like dragonflies, surrounding her from all sides. Combat indicators on their bodies begin to glow red, like the eyes of predators, ready to strike.

  "Are you threatening me?" Ivor’s voice darkens, tinged with irritation. "Forgotten that I’m not just a partner? I’m a shareholder in this corporation. And this is my room. Your tech won’t help you here."

  He advances, closing the distance between them. In one swift motion, he rips the nearest drone from the air and hurls it into the wall with force. The drone sparks and shatters like a toy abandoned in the sandbox of war, its mechanical parts scattering, leaving flashes behind.

  "Think," his voice is almost a whisper, but it carries an undeniable command. His gaze hardens. "You’ll sign the transfer papers for the station. Here and now. You walk out of here alive, and you start a new life. Or you make one massive, irreversible mistake. And you won’t walk out of here at all."

  Veronika stands still, her shoulders trembling, as though her body can’t handle the fury and helplessness tearing her apart from the inside. She lowers her head, hiding the pain and bitterness. The drones hover around her like useless sentinels.

  The silence stretches. Every word Ivor speaks, every look he gives, is like a heavy stone pressing against her chest. In that moment, she realizes her pride is her last remaining value, and she can’t afford to lose it. Her mind gives the order—survive.

  Finally, she exhales, her shoulders sagging.

  "I... agree. I’ll sign."

  Her voice is barely audible, a cold, frozen whisper. Inside her, a storm rages, but her body obeys, her mind gritting its teeth and choosing the path that will save her life. Pride... will wait.

  “The documents are already on the table,” Ivor gestures, his voice now steady, almost gentle, like a surgeon offering anesthesia before an operation. Calm, devoid of any emotion, he activates the holographic interface.

  Transparent panels hang between them, and legal texts swirl in front of Veronika’s eyes, their content clear and flawless. The station transfer, waiver of claims, electronic signature—everything is meticulously laid out to the last byte, precise and merciless. The document in the virtual space waits for her decision, like a trap already closing in.

  “Here.” He points to the final line, his voice cold as ice.

  Veronika gazes at the lines, as if looking at a sentence. She stands still for a long moment, as though deciding whether this will be her ultimate mistake. Then she approaches the panel, her hand slides across the surface, and her signature flares on the screen, bright as blood splashed onto a crystal.

  “Are you satisfied?” Her voice is quiet, like a whisper in the night, but there’s a steadiness and a sharp pain in it.

  “You have no idea how much,” Ivor replies with ice-cold calm, swiping the panel away with a single motion. The documents vanish in the blink of an eye, and the system silently confirms the deal, impassive and emotionless.

  “Now you’re free,” he says, approaching her. His steps are measured, confident. “The station is mine. And you… can leave. But remember: next time, I won’t be so generous.”

  Veronika lifts her head. In her eyes is emptiness. No anger, no fear. The fabric of her gaze is compressed into one promise, hidden from everyone: this isn’t the end. Not for her.

  “You know, Ivor…” Her voice is quiet but doesn’t mask the strength behind it. “You think you’ve won. But one day, you’ll understand: some deals cost more than you think.”

  Her words pass by, but there’s something more hidden in them than just a threat. Ivor silently watches her leave, unmoving, his eyes leaving behind an invisible trail of questions and thoughts.

  The door closes behind her, and the room is once again filled with silence.

  Ivor slowly sits back in his chair, which sighs softly under his weight, adjusting to his tense body. He gazes at the empty room, his look becoming far-seeing, like that of a creature who foresees the inevitable.

  The war has not yet begun.

  But its blade already shines in his mind.