There are a variety of different descriptions, telling the tale of how we, Humankind, got to where we are today. Depending on who you ask, the version you get is bound to be different.
The fanatic Zealot will tell you we’re constantly being watched and judged by our actions. That the Photoli are always passing judgement and that only by living up to some, insert random Zealot standard, will we be found worthy. Then he’ll run off because someone just whispered to him that a Rainbow Chi has landed in hangar bay four.
The botanist would tell you that the eyes of our forefathers forgot the sight of life, that their fingers lost the sense for vitality and the touch of our feet could no longer feel the whisper of the grass, ground and trees around us. That our hubris nature killed the very thing giving us life and sent us off into the cold abyss that was space in search of something that might sustain us, but would not ever completely rival our former home, Earth. Well, come to think of it, when you phrase it so elegantly as that, the poet might say that as well.
Be that as it may, one thing we have learned as a species since the day of our venture into the darkness, is to keep our eyes open and facing forward. For if you peer long enough into it, things previously unseen, will reveal themselves.
It was in fact this sight that one man saw where others saw something withered and broken. Forgotten, lost and forlorn. He saw a rare beauty amid the vast world of things still unseen and it was the steadfast conviction and vision of this man that brought life within the battered old, abandoned space station in the Eritide Asteroid Belt.

Back when he’d found it, it had sat in solitude for more than three decades and been blasted back and forth by space debris. Nowadays, it looked like every scrapyard grunt with a blowtorch had gone to town on it, welding large chunks of solid iron into its walls, filling up holes of different calibers all around the station.

The walls of the station had undergone a street art overhaul.
Generally, people had reverted back to the old style of graffiti, but the 3D spray from years back when the station was still active, had been left alone. It had faded enough, not to be too visually straining. Mostly though, there was traditional graffiti art of beautiful women riding exotic beasts across strange, yet marvelous scenery that you couldn’t tell if it was imagination or a place at some distant planet, possibly terraformed by a Grenadier at some point in the past.
All sorts of vegetation climbed the walls and made the place a botanical paradise, filling every nook and cranny of the place. If there ever was a place where technology intertwined perfectly with nature, this was it. The manufacturers of Fimbul ECOS would have been jealous. I can say that for certain. Some of the flora covered the graffiti, while some bypassed it and often in a way that one assumed it had been made to do so.

Beneath all the graffiti and flora were numerous huts and cabins, stalls and smalls stores.
It seemed that some of the scrapyard workers who’d worked on the damaged hull of the station, had taken up residence there since the huts and cabins had been welded together out of whatever material people got their hands on. Large beams of irons often extending from houses, but the artistic nature of the residency had made sure that they had often been decorated with iron flowers welded onto them and painted in multiple colors by the people around. The houses were generally found in the hallways while capital areas hosted numerous stalls and smaller stores. There, vendors pushed products ranging from scrap metal to high quality jasphorus and chisenic, Sogmian clothing, Punjaab cuisine, and Mierese Astro Music. All the vendors would haggle their price as this was one place that was untouchable by governance or law. Whatever your heart desired, you could find it here in what was rapidly becoming known as the Cosmic Flee market.

However, there was a sight striking such a contrast in the middle of the grand, capital room that one could not but believe that the syntha-grass surrounding the bio-engineered concrete building was something out of a tale.
In the center of the patchwork space station, with all its flora and artwork stood a house of whitewashed walls and stone tiled gable roof. It was supported by syntha-beams that really did look like real wood. The gabled dormers had leaded glass windows and the first floor of the house was all red bricks. It even had wooden shutters for the windows. This was miraculously unorthodox and yet, marvelously… well, just.. different.
The house was a bar called “The Cove” and in a corner of the Cove sat a man, leaning; resting his back against one of the syntha-beams supporting the house.

His eyes scanned the room, seeing the truth of it that most within the confines of these walls didn’t, expect for a very few regulars. This was one of a few bases of operations for his guild; The Unseen.

He picked up his mug of ale, engulfing it within the palm of his massive hand and took a generous sip. In no way was he reserved or moderate about his love for the drink as he exhaled a deep “Aaaahhh!” and slammed the mug back on the table.
“Oi! Careful not to break the table, eh!” The barman boomed in a stern voice and a glint of devious, but good-natured banter in his eyes.
Scattered amongst the customers of this fine establishment were the members of his crew.
The barman in fact was one of them, a man somewhere in his fifties. He was running back and forth with the agility of someone half his age, picking up bottle after bottle from a synthawood framed wall with a reflective, solidified liquid called Reflecta, behind the bottles. Castor might have just preferred an old mirror instead, but the customers preferred this, and it was the customers that brought so much of the crucial information that circled The Cove.
He knew that those who sought out the barman for his warm and inviting demeanor and shared their deeper secrets with him, often paid a hefty price; that is to say, if the information came in handy for the Unseen. An absolute gem of a man to have, he thought.
Vines of plants wrapped themselves around the beams of the household and spread across the ceiling, blooming flowers of every color around the room. Unless you belonged to or had acquired one of the Fimbul ECOS’s, then this was something of a rarity in space and people came from all over just to witness the collection of flora and the masterpiece of work that it took for this vegetation to grow in unison.
On one of many tables, sat the man responsible for this brilliant work, as well as much of the stations vivacious bloom. A botanical genius. With him sat some of the long-standing members of the guild. The one that sat across from him matched his skill in every way when it came to the subject of bio-engineering and their friendship was built on their common interest of the natural world. Whether it was assisting it or manipulating it.
Men like these were spread across the room. Men carefully picked and groomed for The Unseen. Men of multiple skills and brilliance that he felt proud to call his members.
There were many other members of the three factions in the bar as well. People that brought the gossip, he thought.
Castor shifted his gaze back to his mug and his thoughts back to something that had been dancing around his mind this morning.

“How come it was, that Humankind always had to venture out to realize the folly of their egocentric way of thinking. So long ago, they considered the earth flat, then came to discover it was round. Considered the earth the center of the galaxy, then discovered that the sun was the center of their solar system. Spoken of the star of earths solar system as “The Sun” well into the 22^nd century.”

Funny, he thought. He loved humans but found it to be somewhat vain. For some reason he found that amusing him while he waited for the ONI mercenary to arrive. His eyes were now cast upon a window in the ceiling that at certain times in the day, let in light from their own sun. A yellow dwarf comprised of hydrogen being pressed into helium. It was called Proxima Cinder.
A singer on-stage, with a helium infused hookah pipe sung to the chill, ambient sounds of a theremin wrapped in reflective foil and a hangdrum that looked the way humanity had imagined alien spaceships looked a couple hundred years back. Flying saucers, they had called them. The woman playing the theremin seemed to have one foot in this world, the other in another as she swayed the whole of her torso back and forth.

Castor noticed a compact man, short of height and with piercing focused eyes moving through the crowd towards his table. With the index and long finger of his left hand extended towards the floor he said in a soft tone as he reached Castor.
“Is that Greer’s beer you’re drinking there?” to which Castor replied, “Greer’s premium.”
The man pulled out a chair and sat across from Castor.
“Not really all that inconspicuous, this place, is it?” he pointed out.
“There’s a lot of people here and every one of them is fully invested in their own little problems or agendas. We’ll be fine.” Castor waved a hand, calling a barboy over.
“What will you be having?” He asked the mercenary to which he replied, directly to the barboy. “Bring me a Fitzbringer and you tell the barman not to go easy on the jotyx drops.”
“And anything for you, sir”, the boy asked Castor.
“Bring me another Armstrong.” Castor said, lifting his almost empty glass.
“I hear you have a spirit to travel and wish to go about unhindered.” The mercenary opened the subject.
Not a man to beat around the bush then, Castor thought. Not that he’d thought any less of a mercenary.
“Yes. Me and a couple of friends were planning a vacation to the Farat solar system.

Problem is, getting a visitor’s pass through ONI territory isn’t exactly easy.”
“…and that’s where I come in.” the mercenary said.
“Exactly.” Castor replied.
“Counterfeiting isn’t easy now-a-days. The new security protocols of the ONI are a killer, but… If the price is right, it can be bypassed… Which I guess is why I am here…”
The two men were interrupted by the young barboy’s approach. They stopped their conversation before he was within hearing distance and waited while he placed the drinks on the table. The Fitzbringer in front of the mercenary and the Armstrong in front of Castor.
“You know, a couple of years back, I used to think that beer was made by the ship making company.” The mercenary commented, pointing at Castor’s beer. “I used to think it might have been some “in company” custom brew that became so popular that it was eventually sold throughout the galaxies.”
The two men sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other, then they both broke out laughing!
“I can picture it. Armstrong: Quality mining beer!” Castor jested. Then he added a comment, “…though I have heard they really do drink it. And a lot of it!”
“Figures!” the mercenary replied, then continued “…as I was saying. Compensations.”
“Ah! The price, yes. You wanted ten thousand ATLAS, quite a good price all by itself, and content, confiscated by a couple of my associates while out on a mission for our guild. The Link, I believe the ship was called.” Castor said, feigning disinterest.
“That’s right… Here.” The mercenary slid a small card that held an electronic signature across the table to Castor. It was a ship identification card.
“Have it delivered to my ship, and we’ve got a deal, you and I.”
Castor slid the card back to the mercenary.
“Why don’t you hold onto this a little longer. I’ve got conditions of my own.”
“Oh, do you now.” The mercenary said, then continued. “Look, I know what your little operation is all about and frankly, I don’t care. If the pay is good, I aint got no problems, even though you seem to have something against us ONIs… The truth is, that you need me a lot more than I need you…”

Castor looked for any sign of hesitation or doubt in the man´s demeanor. He saw none. He had to give it to him, he was good, but Castor knew something the mercenary thought he didn’t. This part was Castors favorite part. Nobody ever expected him to have the information he did, but the Unseen’s information network was vast and the reason the mercenary wanted the Links content gave him some bargaining chips of his own.
He let the mercenary continue if for nothing more than the joy of seeing how deep a hole this ONI would dig before climbing out of it with ease.
“…Without me, your guild is like a Tyrannosaurus with an itchy scalp and I don’t imagine you see a lot of people lining up to scratch it, eh?” the mercenary continued.
“You are part of the Zyatelk mercenaries, are you not?” Castor asked the mercenary.
“Look, do we have a…” the mercenary started.
“Humor me.” Castor spoke in a soft voice, before the mercenary could finish his sentence.
“Well, yes. I’m part of that guild, yes.”
“How is old Bron doing these days?”

There it was! A slight drop in the mercenary’s jaw. That split second widening of the eyes that told Castor he had him right where he wanted him.

A flash of thought ran through his mind, as a child he’d been all politeness and manners. He seemed to have forgotten not to play with his food.
“He’s.. he’s doing good.. Why do you ask.. this is totally off…”
“Well now, is it? Is it totally off topic?”
“We’re doing business here.. not talking about guild leaders.” The mercenary stated coldly.
“Well, seeing that it is a small, but very valuable item to your guild leader, I say he’s worth a mention in our deal. I believe this…” Castor slid a small screen with an image of a hard drive to the mercenary. “…is something Bron may be looking for. Something he wants to retrieve quite a lot in fact, and he has entrusted this mission to you. Tell me, does Bron make it a habit to trust people and hand out private missions a lot?” Castor knew the answer to this question was a hard, no! A mission like this would mean much more than just money to a mercenary of the Zyatelk guild.
Grinding his teeth, the mercenary spit out the words.
“I’m listening.”
Castor continued.
“Well, the visitors pass that I need is important to me. The hard drive is important to you. I suggest I pay ten thousand up front, you provide us with the visitors pass and when we’ve gone on our little voyage and returned with our bellies full and the corners of our lips reaching for the crow feet of our eyes, you’ll get your hard drive. An insurance policy, if you will.”
The mercenary burst out of his seat.
“That is not the deal we talked about!” he proclaimed, outraged.
“Have a seat, before the men, fully invested in their own agendas, start to pay attention to us.” Castor said calmly, to which the mercenary reluctantly complied.
“That is not what we talked about.” The mercenary repeated as he sat back down.
“Well, you scratch my scalp. I scratch yours.” Castor said.
The mercenary sat quietly for second, assessing the situation, then he simply said “Touché. I seem to have no option here, but I must tell you, this puts a little strain on this fine working relationship we were building here.”
“That’s fine with me.” Castor said, rising from his seat and swiping his hand, “Come. I’ve got something to show you.”
The mercenary rose and followed him through the crowded room.

Castor took the mercenary outside and the two men walked through crowded hallways, their now somewhat strained relationship causing them not to speak. Not that it meant anything to Castor. Despite his effort to make friends.. well, friends relative to the profession he found himself in, many of his deals seemed to end this way. He found that it didn’t stop people from coming back for more work if there was money involved and that worked just fine for him. He had plenty. He wasn’t that keen on making friends with ONI, anyway.
Through a door in a dark side corner of one of the less inhabited hallways, the two men entered a hangar. It wasn’t a big hangar. Enough to host a couple smaller ships. In the middle of the room, hovered a ship with the absolute smoothest reflective surface. It was a beauty. A technological marvel. A Rainbow Chi.
 With a glance, Castor saw the mercenary taking in the sight of the Rainbow. There was a good chance he’d never seen one up close and Castor believed it was so by the look on the man’s face.
“A beauty, isn’t she?” he inquired, to which the mercenary responded with a nod and a “mmhmm, she definitely is.”
Everything in the hangar was properly bolted down and had its designated place. On the side of the wall there were huge gas and fuel pipes. There was a repair station with all its tools and a platform of screen used for diagnostics, check-in, cargo transports and a variety of other things.
“Definitely indeed!” A voice boomed from behind a cart of tools at the repair station next to them.
Rising from behind it, Castor’s brother came into view. He was a tall man, same as Castor. Somewhere over six feet. He was muscular and stout. The same short, dark brown hair. In fact, the only thing that set the twins apart were acquired features. Temporary, like the oil grease and soot that filled the lines of his weathered face and extended up to his elbows and others a little more permanent, like Castors large scar to the right of his right eye or the extensive burns on his arms which he kept covered at all times by long sleeves. To this day, the scars brought memories of the war from his childhood and fueled his deep-rooted hatred for those who forcefully trampled those without the ability to fend for themselves. In his case, the ONIs and the USTURs.
“But, you’ve got to keep this baby in a secluded hangar, or you risk the zealots attaching themselves to it, to the degree that you could fly them out to space still attached to it and they wouldn’t mind. Bloody idiots!” he said, approaching the two men.
“Cas, I finally figured it out! I managed to improve the shield generator. If I keep this up, any incoming missile is gonna be like…” the man grabbed his own arm tightly and slid the grease down from the elbow to the wrist and then off the hand, throwing the arm off and away into the space behind him. Tiny droplets flying off as he did.
“At some point we’ll have to stop calling it hull shock and start calling it hull glide. Damn, these Photolis know their shit!”.
“Jindo, this is Tasun Foss. The mercenary who’ll be providing us with a safe passage on our travels.” Castor said.
Eyeing the mercenary up and down, Jindo replied.
“You sure you’ll be able to rise to the occasion?” Castor understood the sarcasm in his brother’s words, aimed at the mercenary’s height. The mercenary didn’t.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good.” Jindo said. Passing a ship identification card to the mercenary. “We’ll need about fifty of them. You can start with this one!” He gestured towards the Rainbow Chi.
“Your card.” Castor said to the mercenary and the man passed the card to him once more.
“Great. Now, if our business is concluded, I need my brother as you just heard. We’ll get you the other forty-nine cards soon, so… uhm, stick around. Okay?” Jindo told the mercenary. Neither of them really wanted to spend more time with an ONI than was necessary.
The mercenary shrugged his shoulders without care and walked off towards the door they had entered through a moment earlier.
“Come. Come. Let me show you….” Jindo gushed and the two men walked through a door to another very large hangar where forty-nine ships stood ready and waiting for deploy.

COMING SOON!