She snorts. “No. We are fully sentient. Our neural architecture supports abstract thought and advanced technology.” She gestures to her implants. “These are processing enhancements, not ornaments. They’d probably giveyoubrain damage.”
I feel my face flush with anger. “Humans have complex societies, art, literature?—”
“Charming achievements,” she interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “Like the clever tricks of a trained animal. No one disputes that humans can be taught to mimic sentient behavior. That's what makes you such prized companions and good breeders… with the right interventions.”
Breeders with the right interventions? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.It appears that Rae is not just racist against Imperial people.
She strides off before I can reply. We go through another security checkpoint where a drone scans us. Her implants glow in response, while the drone lingers on me with suspicion. Finally, we round a corner, and I see the Celestial Spire’s insignia, a tall silver tower set against geometric starbursts.
“Is this it?” I ask, my voice thick with relief.
She shakes her head. “No, this is just the employee transport hub. The Spire itself isn't apart of Falcon Station. It operates as its own orbital platform, but it doesn't have galactic clearance to accept Class Threeor higher vessels.” She says this as though I should obviously understand the distinction.
Then she opens a door, and we step into a transport with smooth, flowing seats. It slides away from the station almost instantly.
“No pilots?” I murmur, feeling the sudden motion.
“For short-range routes, none are required. Did you have a pilot from theIgo? Of course not.” She taps a panel, and her implants connect briefly, confirming something on a display. She points out the window at a large, glittering shape. “There. The Spire.”
Before us is a massive structure of twisting metal and glass, lit in dynamic patterns that make it seem alive.
“It’s extraordinary,” I breathe.
“It's the premier luxury destination in fourteen sectors,” Rae responds, a hint of pride entering her voice for the first time. “The Imperial ship you arrived on would barely qualify for docking privileges at the maintenance levels.”
I’m shocked by her rudeness, but remind myself that hierarchy is everything here. So I say nothing.
“Do people keep their ships there too?” I ask.
“Only those who book private suites. Surely you read your handbook?” she says with an irritated sigh.
“I did,” I answer. “But reading and seeing are different. On Earth, space travel isn’t?—”
The transport docks with barely a sensation of movement, and Rae steps out with practiced grace, ignoring what I was saying.
16
THE GILDED CAGE, EVE
As I stepinto the Celestial Spire's Grand Lobby, the magnitude of alien opulence crashes over me like a tidal wave of tiny sparkling lights. I close my eyes momentarily to adjust and breathe in the alien floral scents that surround me. It smells like the cleanest place I’ve ever been in my life, which, after the stench of Falcon Station, is a welcome relief. When I open my eyes again, I’m almost in disbelief that a place like this exists anywhere.
The Grand Lobby’s ceiling stretches up to an impossible height, like a galactic cathedral, and the floor beneath my feet resembles frozen silver liquid mercury that responds with red bursts with every step I take.
“Magnificent, isn't it?” Rae's voice drips with satisfaction. “Most humans find it overwhelming.”
But I barely register her words. My attention has locked onto the humans on leashes scattered throughout the Grand Lobby. I realize, to my horror, these aren't the provincial companions that I saw on theIgo, these humans are terrifying living displays of wealth and technological mastery.
A naked human man walks right past me, led by his master, and I have to swallow down vomit as I watch his muscular chest pulse to the beat of his heart with bioluminescent implants that have been carved into his chest in geometric patterns. His eyes hold a dream-like quality, vacant of any thoughts, and I hope for his sake his mind is long gone.
Closer to the reception desk, a human woman stands motionless as her owner, a creature with too many joints and skin like polished obsidian, runs appendages over her exposed body. Her pubic hair has been replaced with fiber optic strands that react to touch, creating cascades of color across her lower abdomen. But it's her face that destroys me; she looks perfectly serene.
All around me, humans are simply not responding—not resisting, not seeing, not living. Only their physical bodies are present, but their consent is completely gone, and that absence makes me so nauseous, I close my eyes.
The bile in my throat tastes like the deepest despair. If there is a God, he has turned his back on these people. Or maybe this really is Hell? Sister Agnes always said the Devil was going to come for me, and now, here I am, in this magnificent place to witness the dehumanization of my species.
Just like with the earthquake in Lisbon in 1755,Not all these people could have sinned so badly to end up with this horrific fate… if there is a God.
But this is Hell regardless of whether it’s the mythological place turned real, or not, and I realize with a cold sweat, I am to play the part of a lesser demon at the front desk with a smile.
