Zenya was focused. Tuning out all distractions was simple, and often necessary given a profession as responsible as hers. Even now, when she was not working with ancient technology and arcane substances, nothing less than perfection would suffice. Every wound needed to be perfectly cleaned, and every wound of that size needed to be stitched afterward.

  Even if the patient did not quite agree.

  “Can you maybe cut it here?” Herm suggested, wincing despite the painkillers. Aside from Zenya herself, he was the only person in the clean, white chamber which served as an infirmary and an operation suite for the chief healer of Petit-Prince. The room had no windows, being situated quite deep underground, but electrical lamps on the walls and ceiling illuminated every corner well enough. “I don’t think I need this many stitches for a wound like that.”

  “And I didn’t think you would need stitches at all after a simple training session,” Zenya replied calmly, piercing her friend’s skin with the surgical needle for the nineteenth time. “And yet, you decided to spar with sharp weapons, monomolecular ones at that.”

  “Training with real metal is what makes a warrior,” The young man argued, momentarily distracted from the displeasure. “You need to fear getting hit, else you’re just going to die when things get dangerous. That’s how we train in Mercury, at any rate.”

  Right. It was easy to forget that Herm was not part of the tribe in blood, despite cleanly visible reminders of the fact. He had far darker skin than anyone else on the station, and his dark hair was in stark contrast to Zenya’s lilac, or any other natural hair color. He was not Eugenian, not even in the way Zenya and the other natives of Petit-Prince were, but rather an outsider. A barbarian, as people from beyond Eugenia’s orbit were often described. One of the few good ones, and one of the very few tolerated on Petit-Prince, but his foreign ways could still be aggravating sometimes.

  “I don’t envy Mercurian healers, then.” Zenya was focusing more on a needle than what she was saying. Twenty-first puncture, eight to go.

  “They do have a lot less to work with.” Herm turned his attention to various devices arranged all over the room. There was indeed a lot to work with, from a huge but relatively simple medical scanner in the corner, to an unassuming vial of bright-blue liquid standing next to a surgical magnet. Herm’s eyes settled on the latter. “You know, you could save yourself the trouble and pour some lifeblood over the wound. A single drop would heal it completely, I think.”

  “And that drop would be worth more than your life,” Zenya shot back, not quite exaggerating—that bit of lifeblood was easily the most valuable item in her inventory. It was a piece of actual clarketech, a swarm of medical nanomachines which no one would be able to produce anymore and which could only replicate in very specific conditions. “Unless you are about to die, I don’t want to even hear about it.”

  “...I guess you’re right, I’m too tough to die from a scratch like that. And scars are another thing that makes a warrior, so I don’t mind getting a new one that much.”

  “Glad that we agree,” Zenya said as she tied off the suture. Her patient’s abdomen did not look pretty, but it didn’t need to. All it required was some ointments to prevent infections and soothe future pain. “Now, please promise me not to get hurt like that again.”

  “I promise not to get hit next time,” Herm said as his wound got disinfected and covered with a clean, new bandage. “But seriously, I learned my lesson. I’ll find some other training method, I’m in no hurry to get stabbed again.”

  “You shouldn’t be in a hurry to do anything,” Zenya replied once the bandage was properly wrapped up around her patient’s waist. “It will take a few hours for the painkillers to wear off, and it’s not advisable to move around right after a surgery generally, so you will stay here until evening. And you will skip the part where you protest and try to get up, only to reluctantly admit that you can’t.”

  Herm grimaced, but did not try to get up. “Yeah, that’s probably how it would go down. I’ll stay here, though it will be a shame to miss the Guardian.”

  “Right. I almost forgot it’s today.” Zenya remarked, while carefully putting away her tools, one by one. “I should probably get going if I want to see the whole thing. Will you be alright here by yourself?”

  “I can’t think of anything bad that could happen,” Herm replied with a shrug. “Besides… I’m sorry for taking up your time. You deserve a break every once in a while.”

  “Good thing I’m about to take one.” Zenya stepped away from the cot and slowly walked towards the door. “I just have to figure out how to spend it.”

  “How about spending some quality time with Mika?” Herm suggested with a slight smirk. “I’m sure she has a fun idea or two.”

  “She’s also home, with her family,” Zenya replied from across the room. “In Eugenia. Even if I could fly over, I’m not sure if her tribe would welcome me.”

  “That’s what she said she’d do,” The Mercurian argued. “I bet you ten cherries she didn’t end up leaving the cylinder after all.”

  “And here I hoped that accident curbed your confidence a bit,” Zenya snarked as she opened the entrance door of the office. “You have my permission to reach for the tap if you’re thirsty. Other than that, stay put.”

  If there was a reply, Zenya didn’t hear it due to having closed the soundproof door. Maybe it was petty, but she found having the last word both enjoyable, and useful for dealing with argumentative patients.

  She walked further down the corridor, one of many underground passages making up the residential area of the village. The air quickly turned cold, contrasting the carefully maintained warmth of the office. It was fully intentional for the halls to be this cool, as it gave relief to the people coming from the hot surface but discouraged them from cluttering the corridors for too long.

  It certainly worked on Zenya. She hurried for the exit, only stopping to exchange non-verbal greetings with what few people also walked the underground halls. She was quite eager to get outside, rest on the meadows for a bit… or maybe in the orchards? They would be mostly empty, harvests having ended a few days ago, but she could still maybe meet someone there, like…

  “Finished your work already?” She heard whilst feeling a tap on her shoulder. “And here I thought you can’t get any better at sewing people back together.”

  Zenya recognized the voice. And the face she saw once she turned around, pale and freckled, adorned with a slight smile.

  Damn it, Herm. How can you know my own girlfriend better than me?

  “Still here, Mika?” Zenya asked. “I mean, I’m happy to see you, but I thought you’d be home by now.”

  “The ferry was too crowded for my liking,” Mika shrugged, in a way that made Zenya doubt her honesty. “And I don’t think my family needs me at the moment.”

  “Don’t they need you for that ‘birthday’ thing next week?” Celebrating anniversaries of one’s birth was a custom of Eugenians, one of few things separating them from Petit. And Mika was a Eugenian despite spending so much time on the satellite, her pink hair and a slight accent made that abundantly clear. “I got the impression you are a major element there.”

  “That’s another reason I opted to stay here,” Mika admitted. “I don’t really want to burden my family, or my tribe generally. They should focus on the important stuff rather than yet another party.”

  “Can’t say I agree.” Zenya put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. In retrospect, she should have suspected an outcome like that; Mika needed assurance from time to time or else she would avoid being a burden in ways like this. “But I don’t think you can catch another ferry in time, so what’s done is done. I’ll have to arrange something resembling a party here instead.”

  “You don’t have to-”

  “But I want to. And I don’t think the elders will mind if we take up a room for a night and claim some snacks. We deserve it, both of us.”

  “Your call.” Mika vainly tried to suppress another smile. “But to make things fair, let me make this day about you. Anything you’d like to do today? Play cards in the lounge, maybe?”

  “I already owe someone ten cherries. I was thinking about going for a simple walk instead.”

  “When was the last time you lost one of these games?” Mika rolled her eyes. “But sure, let’s go for a walk. I’ll never get enough of this place either.”

  As the two of them exited the cold catacombs, Zenya could definitely see what her girlfriend was talking about. She had very little to compare her homeworld to, but Petit-Prince was definitely prettier than Eugenia. Though both stations were cylinder habitats and relied on the same kind of rotational gravity to keep everything in place, Petit-Prince was far smaller and thus better in several ways. The thin line of illuminators stretched across the cylinder’s axis was not strong by the standard of such stations, and yet it provided more than enough heat to keep Zenya warm even in her thin robe and sandals. It was bright too, whilst still allowing her to just about see the other side of the cylinder when she looked straight up.

  The landscape itself was not ugly either. Since almost all living quarters and important facilities were built underground (no one quite remembered why, but it did provide an escape from the heat) the inner surface of the cylinder was mostly used for farming. There were fields, orchards, gardens and some meadows meant for events like public announcements or human sacrifices. Zenya made use of the cobbled path that winded between the altars, and Mika followed closely behind.

  “Will you be in the command room when the Guardian comes by?” Zenya only remembered to chat up after a minute or two of quiet stroll. It was easy to get lost like that, looking at the ground curving up before you as you walked, and yet never going uphill even slightly. “We are gathering there, in case you haven’t heard.”

  Mika nodded. “I have. I just don’t think I will be welcome there. I’m an outsider, remember?”

  “Most people would disagree,” Zenya retorted. “Almost everyone is fine with you staying here, Mika.”

  “Because I do the boring work around here. That doesn’t mean Corydon will let me even enter the command room. You don’t trust outsiders with that kind of thing, not even Eugenians.”

  “Corydon isn’t that harsh, not usually. And if he gets cranky today, I can just speak to my mother. She’ll make a speech about how the entire system is one nation, and how dividing ourselves to that extent will offend the Guardians somehow.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but no,” Mika replied as she kicked a stray rock. “I don’t like crowds anyway. I’d rather just find a quiet place and think about what I’ll be doing.”

  “What do you mean?” Zenya cocked an eyebrow.

  “Well, the harvests are over, and I should probably find another job here. But I don’t have many skills that would really come in handy. Cleaning the living quarters sounds like my best bet, even if it’s menial.”

  “You could do that...” Zenya tapped her chin for a moment, before getting another idea. “Or you could maybe join me by the operating table? I could use an assistant of sorts, I’d just need to give you a basic rundown on how to handle various equipment, and maybe the patients themselves.”

  “You can lecture me whenever you want. I know how much you like it.” Mika said with a grin, one which quickly disappeared. “But I don’t know if I want to work with you.”

  “Why not?” Zenya asked, trying not to sound disappointed. Her fellow tribesmen would lend her a hand if asked, but she liked the idea of having some full-time help, as well as of spending more time with Mika whilst doing the good work.

  “I’m not saying I have some super-strong opinion, it’s just…” Mika looked at another pedestrian. “Hey look? Is that Tryfon?”

  Zenya was unimpressed by the sudden change of subject… but her girlfriend was right. Tryfon, a frail blue-haired man, was walking the footpath not that far away. He carried a bag, presumably one filled with fruit, not that Zenya cared what he was transporting. She didn’t like seeing Tryfon transport anything at all.

  “Hey!” she called while approaching the young man. “You were down with gobblight just three days ago. Why are you walking around like nothing happened?”

  “I feel better now,” Tryfon replied casually, barely even slowing down. “Thanks for the pills, but I don’t need them anymore.”

  “You were supposed to stay indoors and keep taking those pills,” Zenya pointed out. “And you certainly weren’t supposed to exert yourself.”

  Tryfon shrugged. “I was told I can keep an apple from every bag I transport. I wasn’t going to turn that offer down.”

  “You should have!” Zenya couldn’t help but raise her voice. “You’ll just fall sick again! Or infect someone! Or both!”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tryfon just shrugged again. Then walked away, leaving Zenya standing on the crossroads, like an idiot she likely was.

  “Hey, you did everything you could for this guy.” Mika headed for a nearby bench. “Want to sit down? You tend to get winded faster than me.”

  “It’s just a stroll, Mika. I think I can handle it,” Zenya retorted, but she took a seat as well. “I once circled the cylinder in one go, only stopping to catch my breath once or twice.”

  “Well I did that with our cylinder. Circled Eugenia itself in one day, though I obviously had to take some breaks.”

  “Liar,” Zenya called Mika out, without hesitation or hostility. Claiming an impossible feat and seeing if their other half would notice it was just a thing both of them did sometimes. “Eugenian cylinder is what, seventy kilometers in radius? Let’s go with sixty, that still gives us three hundred and seventy-seven kilometers of surface circumference. If you could keep up running for twenty-four hours straight, you would still need almost a double running speed of an average-”

  “Okay, you win!” Mika only made the barest effort to sound frustrated. “I forgot how rewired you got during your healer training.”

  “I didn’t need to make any calculations. You just need to remember how large Eugenia is to call out bluffs like these.”

  “It’s only large compared to this place,” Mika said musingly. “My father was in Ceres once. Almost a thousand kilometers across and properly hollowed-out. He said the scale is completely different. And you know what they say about the size of Earth.”

  “People say all kinds of stuff about Earth. Apparently, humans used to live on its outer surface. The air was dense enough to protect from radiation, and it wouldn’t escape because there was just that much natural gravity. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “I’m not saying I believe these stories… but it’s a nice image. I wonder how that feels, to walk around without even noticing that your planet is curved, and to see space simply by looking up.”

  “You can do that on Mars, I hear. Want to take a romantic trip there sometime?”

  “Don’t even joke about stuff like-” Mika paused as everything suddenly got dimmer. Then brighter again. It was the illuminator changing states, presumably to convey some signal to everyone in the habitat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Incoming spaceship.” Zenya recognized the sequence. “They must be calling us to the command room. I guess the Guardian will arrive sooner than expected.”

  “Time for you to go, then,” Mika said regretfully. “I think I’ll stay here. There is even an altar nearby, a great place for me to pray.”

  “Are you sure?” Zenya stood up from the bench. “You may as well pray with everyone else.”

  “I already said I don’t want to join you. And besides, some prayers are best said alone.”

  “I’ll ask my mother if she agrees with the sentiment.” Zenya turned inwards, towards her new destination. “Take care. I’ll be back soon enough.”

  -----

  The command center was one of the few structures on Petit-Prince that were not built by the natives themselves. It was a feature of the cylinder itself, a large underground chamber with walls of metal inside which countless circuits ran from all parts of the habitat. Through them, the entire cylinder was connected to this one room, where all manners of information could be read and many commands given with just a dozen panels and screens.

  When Zenya entered the hall, she saw just about the expected; A small crowd gathered in the larger, largely featureless part of the chamber, and the privileged few standing or sitting on an elevated platform next to control panels and terminals. There was no leader among them, nor could there be—the people of Petit-Prince were above the very concept of leadership.

  Every person had their function. Some would be instructed to fire the lasers at anything hostile that arrived, whilst others were translators and mediators meant to negotiate a favorable outcome should some peaceful visitors show up. Or perhaps to set up a trap if the visitors were peaceful and naive, but that sort of thing was almost unheard of. The Belt devoured every ship that lacked proper defenses or sufficiently paranoid crew, and had been doing so for centuries. Only the Guardians could traverse it safely, though even their wrecks were rumored to float amidst the Belt’s million asteroids.

  The Guardians’ priestess was already present for the ceremony. Her dress was not any more expensive or showy than Zenya’s, but her deep-purple hair was made up far more intricately with multiple pins and enough honey-gel for the smell to spread all throughout the hall. Zenya never understood why her mother paid so much attention to her hairstyle, usually opting for a simple ponytail herself, but everyone had their own little passtime.

  Zenya half-hoped that mother would not notice her in the small crowd, a likely outcome given her worsening eyesight. But the priestess must have been looking out, for she looked straight at Zenya, said something that may have been a summon and made a gesture which was definitely a summon. One which Zenya reluctantly obeyed, pushing through the crowd and stepping onto the platform.

  No one tried to stop her, but there were some less-than-friendly glances thrown her way. The people of Petit-Prince did not like seeing one of their own elevated beyond others without a very good reason, and Zenya was not an exception. If she were invited into the command circle for her medical accomplishments it would have been one thing, but having that distinction granted by a parent was not only akin to hierarchy but to a hereditary one. Such a barbaric concept, that.

  “You are dozing off, I see,” Mother said, the remark softened by an affectionate smile. “Thinking about medicine?”

  “No, but I had been less than an hour ago,” Zenya replied as she entered the podium. “Had to patch Herm up. Again.”

  “Oh dear.” Mother didn’t sound particularly worried, even if she was trying to. Most people didn’t mind Herm, but not everyone cared about him. He was still an outsider, after all. “I presume he is alright?”

  “Well enough, though he will have a scar. I haven’t used any truly valuable stuff on him.” Zenya sensed the opportunity to breach the topic again. Maybe with some actual success this time. “Still have a full vial of lifeblood. Enough to perform some miracles with it.”

  “Defy nature, you mean?” The priestess sighed. “Zenya, is it really the time?”

  “There is nothing unnatural about rejuvenation surgeries.” Zenya opted to ignore the second question. “They are performed all over the Solar System, sometimes by people less skilled than I. And I’m sorry to say that, but you look more and more in need of one each day.”

  “Save your talent for injuries and diseases, and leave natural aging alone. I still have more than a decade ahead of me at least, and I do not wish for more. It would simply mean waiting more for the reward Guardians offer their faithful.”

  It took effort for Zenya not to sigh out of frustration. Her mother believed that the Guardians were more than gods of the material universe, that they took care of their followers’ souls. That whenever they came by, they would absorb these souls and neatly store them away somewhere in the circuits, preparing to transport them to heavens in some distant future. It was a common belief, almost fundamental to the faith which the people of Petit followed.

  But… Zenya knew everything there was to know about the human body, including the brain. She knew which parts of it were responsible for various aspects of what a person was, from their motor function and senses to the core identity itself. She witnessed various parts of that biological system failing and fixed those parts whenever possible. The idea that one’s consciousness was contained in some immaterial substance that would continue thinking and feeling after death… it just didn’t mesh with what Zenya knew about life and death.

  And it certainly did not mesh with what her mother believed.

  “Look, I’m not trying to defeat death here,” Zenya said slowly. “Everyone dies eventually, but why not prolong your stay with the living by at least a few decades? If we have immortal souls, then we can benefit from-”

  “Zenya. Dimitra.” Corydon, an elderly weapons officer, was audibly annoyed. “Please zero in on the Guardian. Our scopes and armaments already have.”

  “We shall talk later,” the priestess said, looking grateful for the interruption, then turned towards the officer. “Put the image on the screen, please.”

  At that instant, the large window-like screen on the wall lit up. It showed a beautiful image of star-lit space, only partially obscured by a cuboidal spaceship which Zenya knew to be kilometers long. No, calling it a spaceship was disrespectful; They were all looking in the face of a god.

  Some barbarians would deny it, claim that the Guardians were just man-made constructs from before the Calamity, but that was just folly. Whether or not they had power over souls, the Guardians were the creators of humanity, not the other way around. They guided human evolution back on ancient Earth and, once the time was right, they transformed the Solar System itself so that mankind could rule it in their name. Even now, after all the times humans have sinned against them, the Guardians could be observed building new ships out of raw asteroid matter and allowing existing vessels to travel with them, making large-scale travel across the System possible.

  Except… this one particular Guardian did not have a fleet of ships following behind it, or attached to its hull, as it usually were. There was only one vessel resting on the Guardian, and it wasn’t even a very large one. Fifty meters at the absolute most.

  Murmurs could be heard all throughout the crowd below, and they only intensified once the scope zoomed-in. Even at the first glance, the ship looked highly armed, with something like a rail-cannon running along its length. Weapons like these were not defensive measures, they implied a willingness to attack and destroy. “No markings. I do not like that.”

  “Do you sense a threat?” Zenya’s mother asked. “I wouldn’t think a single ship very threatening.”

  “It being alone is part of the problem,” Corydon replied, verbalizing what Zenya had been thinking herself. “It means it scared off everyone else from the Guardian. And likely did that intentionally.”

  As they talked, the Guardian slowly approached Eugenia, the larger asteroid in the system. It was clearly going to enter the Eugenian cylinder, and probably stay there for a day or two. Normally, this would allow various merchant vessels glued to the god-ship to exchange goods with the natives before flying away, either with the Guardian or by going their own way.

  But this particular ship was not about to enter Eugenia at all. It detached itself from the Guardian long before the two of them could reach the larger asteroid and flew towards Petit-Prince instead. Its path was weirdly curved and its pace fairly slow, but it was undeniably getting closer to the satellite and would reach it… reach them within minutes.

  The crowd grew quiet as people realized what it likely meant. Zenya knew it too, though she knew it was not a time for silence.

  “Shoot it down,” she implored, almost ordered, as she looked straight at the elder. “It’s within our range, right?”

  “And it will be for a few moments,” Corydon replied. “Our macro-cannon is ready, we could-”

  “No,” the priestess shot the idea down. “If we miss, we may hit the Guardian. If we hit and destroy that ship, the debris will certainly hit the Guardian. We must not injure a god.”

  “But…” Zenya frantically searched for words, for arguments, for anything that would convince her mother, or just the weapon officer to take the shot. She failed. “At least shut down the main gate, so that they can’t just fly in.”

  “What if the Guardian decides to enter our cylinder?” her mother protested. “It will destroy the gate and punish us severely. We may not risk denying a god.”

  It was hopeless. The leadership would not listen to her, for they were being played. The ship’s commander, whoever they were, must have known about the natives’ reverence towards the Guardians. They were using the god-vessel as a shield and a hostage, knowing that Petit-Prince would not dare shoot it.

  That implied they were smart, cunning, insidious even. At the same time, they had to be either very reckless or hoping for a huge reward. And unless they were nigh-suicidal, they couldn’t have hoped for more than a few seconds of hesitation before-

  Suddenly, the unidentified ship slowed down. For a fraction of a second, just half a dozen frames, one could see some sort of projectile fly from the vessel’s main gun. And another moment later, one could feel the floor shake ever-so-slightly.

  They scored a hit.

  “Front guns offline,” the weapon officer informed, keeping a surprising deal of composure. “And the ship is exiting our optimal range anyway. I don’t think we can hurt them.”

  “Well, they sure as Cloud hurt us!” exclaimed a woman by one of the other consoles. “We can’t close our main gate.”

  “We cannot block them…” Zenya murmured, slowly realizing how bad the situation was. “And once they enter, we will have no way of shooting them down. Everything and everyone on the inner surface… it will all be scorched if that’s what the invaders want.”

  “The Guardian is here,” her mother pointed out. “Could it perhaps help us repel the attack?”

  It won’t, Zenya thought, the fear truly setting in. It may be divine, but we didn’t pray for protection today. It will do what it came here for, no more.

  “Dimitra… we cannot count on gods to save us if we don’t try to save ourselves.” Corydon was clearly trying hard not to sound faithless. “We should initiate the evacuation procedure.”

  Some people gasped, most stood here stunned, a few were already rushing out of the room. They all knew what the procedure was and what it implied. Petit-Prince was to be abandoned, well beyond saving, and taking evacuation pods to Eugenia was the only way to survive.

  “Is that a good idea?” the priestess argued. “Do we have enough pods? Are we even sure they work?”

  “As sure as we can be,” Corydon replied while meddling with the main terminal. “And don’t worry, we have enough even if everyone makes it. And most should. I am sending the signal with the illuminators, everyone on the surface will see it.”

  “What about those-” Zenya tried to ask, but an alarm sounded before she could finish, and nearly everyone rushed toward the exit doors. It appeared the staff has reached consensus, or at least something close to it.

  With some reluctance, Zenya turned around and walked off the podium, headed for one of the exits to the right. The evacuation chambers were not far, and she knew the way exactly; She would be one of the first people to get into a pod, and rather unlikely to be harmed during the procedure. She just hoped that the people in the central village would be able to…

  Zenya realized something. Two things, in fact, and they both filled her with dread.

  She turned on her foot, towards another exit. The one she entered the room through, one that led back onto the inner surface and towards the village.

  “What are you doing?” her mother called, running over as fast as she could. “The ship is already inside, we must-”

  “I left Herm in the infirmary,” Zenya explained, still on the move. “He won’t see the signal, and wouldn’t be able to run either way. Not to mention Mika. I have to find them.”

  “That man is a barbarian!” the priestess huffed. “And Mika will see the signal, she will-”

  “She’s not from here!” Zenya passed through the door. “She won’t understand what to do. And I’m not leaving Herm either.”

  “You may die!” There was fear and desperation in the woman’s voice. “Are some outsiders really worth your-”

  “I don’t leave my patients!” Zenya stopped and turned to face her mother. “Or my loved ones! So get to the pod yourself if you’re so afraid of the ship you’ve let in!”

  For a moment, Zenya thought her mother would keep arguing. But the priestess just stood there for a moment, shock and hurt in her eyes, before taking a step back. Then another. And only then did she turn around, and walked away back towards the command room.

  Even at her slow pace, she would be at the pods within three minutes at most. Zenya forced her thoughts away from her mother and towards the village. Towards Mika, praying alone by the altar as panic erupts around her. And to Herm, lying on the operating table, dazed with painkillers and too deep underground to even hear anything. Towards people whose deaths she would be responsible for if she failed to reach them.

  She ran.