We were assigned to different rooms on the same floor. My little room was small but quite cozy, quiet and peaceful. It had belonged to some officer from the air security system; where he was transferred, I don't know, but he left himself forever in this room.
On the wall near the window was a phrase scratched out with something sharp. I managed to make out what was written:
"We are all in a cage until we notice the door."
Lifting my head higher, through the window I saw only the sky—turquoise with white clouds, shimmering in different colors under the sun's rays. Whatever technology the Galts had, they had managed to recreate a world from scratch. Some destroyed, others built. How wondrous and complex the world around us is. We often live in people, in places, in memories, but it is our soul that binds them all together. It is what turns a boy into a man, a warrior back into a human.
Returning to the world of mortals, I made my bed, tidied myself up, and decided to go out into the world. Into the world of Apollo. I tried to convince my faithful companions to join me, but only Durs agreed; Reni stayed in his room, complaining of feeling unwell after the cribs.
Meeting Durs at the elevator, we set off for the streets of Apollo. At the complex's exit stood two soldiers with rifles. As we approached, they saluted us, and we returned the salute. Allies among strangers.
The doors swung open before us, and bright light flooded our eyes, forcing us to squint. After a moment of discomfort, our eyes adjusted, and I could see everything before me.
Before us stretched a square, from which tall, almost sky-high buildings and various structures radiated in different directions. In the center of the square stood a fountain, and at its heart was some soldier in uniform I didn't recognize; in his two hands, he held two atoms from which water flowed.
Near the fountain and a little farther at some stalls stood officers and commanders, chatting and laughing loudly about something. We moved forward. As we approached, they nodded at us and returned to their conversations. I felt a chill—outside was much damper and colder than inside. Stopping at the beginning of a street, I turned to Dursal.
"Shall we go?" I asked warily.
In response, he simply nodded silently, giving me some confidence. Out on the streets, a different world rose before us. There was dirt and stench everywhere, election posters, bandits, and street beggars. A boy ran past me—covered in blood and filth—fleeing soldiers who were shooting at an unarmed child. He fell.
The world that Apollo represented had revealed itself in different colors—black and gray, rather than green and blue. The deception that existed everywhere was here too. As we walked deeper into the streets, we noticed posters on the walls depicting elites promising to restore order and bring Apollo's streets to prosperity if they were voted for.
Whichever of them won, these dirty streets would remain as they always had been. Sometimes in corners between buildings where garbage had accumulated, you could see the bodies of children and women, devoured by some creatures—perhaps by humans themselves, if they could still be called that.
Soon, passing through a market, a hospital, and something like a school, we arrived at another square, from which a couple more streets led. But several of them were blocked by a massive electric fence, with soldiers posted guard. Squinting, I saw a sign indicating that this was a district for the upper class.
Entry to this district was strictly restricted, but the way was open to us.
The square we reached was more like an altar of sacrifice than a square itself. All the trees and bushes were burned or cut down, and in the center, instead of a fountain, stood a wooden, burnt cross—of such enormous scale that it rivaled two tug ships.
I looked up in horror, trying to gauge its size. Durs tried to do the same, but neither of us could.
"Holy shit, Kyle," Durs whispered, still staring upward. "They're fucking psychos and savages."
"I see it, Durs. Watch your language, you're still an officer," I replied dryly.
He shot me a contemptuous look but said nothing.
"Yeah, this place of theirs isn't paradise," he muttered, surveying the garbage and the rotting bodies lying in the square. The stench was absolutely horrific—as if we'd been stuffed inside a waste processing compartment.
"Probably worse places exist," I answered.
"Doubt it. Highly doubt it."
Approaching the fence—and, as it turned out, the gate to the elite district—we were met by soldiers demanding documents. Introducing ourselves as army officers, they let us through without questions. I had just started to enter when three people in masks made from dirty fabric threw themselves to the ground and rushed forward through the open gate. I jumped back and heard the soldiers behind us shouting and giving orders for them to stop, but they didn't listen.
Then shots rang out behind me, almost next to my ear. Turning, I saw Durs shooting at the poor, wretched people with his pocket pistol, hitting one in the back. The poor man fell dead. I froze in shock.
"Durs, what the hell are you doing?!" I started shouting at him.
"They broke through the barricade and started running. What was I supposed to do?" he retorted, gripping his pistol.
"Anything but firing at them like targets! We're officers, you idiot!" I shoved him in the chest, stepping back. He staggered a couple of steps and pointed his pistol at me.
"Don't you dare!" he shouted, still aiming at me.
"Have you lost your mind?!" I exclaimed, feeling fear seize me from within. Did I really think Durs would shoot? No, he couldn't… "Put the gun down now, Durs. We're friends, remember?"
These words got through to my comrade. Looking at the soldiers who stood there unsure what to do, he lowered his weapon and holstered it.
"Sorry, Kyle, I just…" he began to explain, but I cut him off.
"Forgotten," I said, still afraid, expecting a bullet in the chest from him. "Let's keep going."
And we walked on. Behind us, the soldiers watched us in surprise, shocked by what had happened. Surely word of the incident had already been reported to headquarters, and an investigation team would be waiting for us—the ones who handled disputes between officers and command.
"What the hell was that, Durs?" I hissed at him as we moved away from the soldiers. Looking at him, I saw shame in his eyes.
"I don't know. It just sort of… I reached out… It was like I wasn't the one shooting…" he began stammering, trying to explain. I listened in silence.
"Durs, you killed an innocent person. The Academy didn't teach us this," I began lecturing him.
"But the Academy taught us about collateral damage and losses," he countered, staring at his feet.
"Collateral damage? What did you do, blow up a military factory with engineers and soldiers?" I nearly shouted, looking into his eyes—though I couldn't make out his expression. "Are you kidding me?"
He said nothing in response. I didn't press him further on the matter, but anger and fury built up inside me, overwhelming me. The fear disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
Passing through that place, we moved on to the rich, ornate streets. They were decorated and painted with beautiful ornaments and cultural images. Somewhere a young woman with bright green eyes was painted, standing in a field holding a golden sword, with indescribable beauty before her. Elsewhere, patterns of some house or great organization adorned the walls. Everywhere were columns with flowers and small streams. The ground beneath our feet was white marble, occasionally mixed with sandstone.
The people here were dressed in bright garments of various colors—from snow-white to navy blue to deep crimson. There were many traders and diplomats alongside commanders and admirals. They stopped and joked. Some greeted us, while others looked at us with contempt. There were also many places for entertainment and free food.
Two opposing worlds were separated by only a few walls and the patrols guarding the area. It was no wonder the dregs tried to break through here for a better life, but none awaited them—they would be met by flying drones and elite guard patrols, armed not with ordinary rifles but with high-charge weapons that killed through torment.
Soon we reached some kind of museum or vault, adorned with a gold-silver arch bearing the inscription:
RELICS AND TREASURES FROM ALL CORNERS OF THE UNIVERSE.
Around it were parked levitating, circular machines with golden trim and tinted windows. Young women stepped out of them in white dresses that trailed to the ground, but their dresses were held by small children in blue suits with red caps. The children looked tired and exhausted while the women smiled and laughed, sipping alien wine.
Guards accompanied them, ensuring their safety. Durs and I entered the building, overtaking them and leaving the guards behind. Once inside, an enormous space stretched before us, its far end almost invisible. Along the walls and mounted on them were relics and various objects from planets and other states, all displayed on marble columns shaped like famous figures.
Instead of a roof, there were panoramic crystal-clear windows revealing a false sun and the clouds around it. Some windows were entwined with green moss and flowers—all reaching toward the sun, toward life.
Near the exhibits stood lords and counts from various houses, diplomats and admirals from different nations and states. To Durs's and my surprise, there was a delegation from our Liberian Empire, guarded by Galt soldiers. It was likely a negotiating group led by Duke Saltem, representative of all the Empire's northern regions, along with the Minister of Foreign Negotiations. He was the Emperor's third hand—and that hand was here.
He wore a dark green uniform adorned with medals on his chest and the blue Imperial triangle marking his special status. Beside him stood a young woman in a voluminous pink dress made of some alien beast's fur; in her hands she held sheets of paper with gilded edges. Treaties.
Could we be making peace? But the thought quickly left my mind when I noticed the guards had spotted us. Looking directly at them and the high-ranking duke with his charge, I saw two guards heading our way.
I started to get nervous and tugged at the edge of Durs's uniform. He turned to me.
"What now, Kyle?" he asked sharply.
I whispered in his ear that visitors were approaching. He nodded. A moment later, two soldiers reached us. Saluting, they began to question us.
"What are your numbers and the purpose of your visit?" asked one soldier, who outranked the other.
"We're just out for a walk, Sergeant. Have we done something wrong?" I asked calmly, looking at his helmet. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I knew he was staring into mine.
"I'll repeat the question. Your numbers and the purpose of your visit?" he asked in a cold voice. The voice coming from his helmet's speakers was loud enough that a few people nearby stopped to watch the scene.
"We're just out for a walk, Sergeant. Step aside if you don't want trouble," Durs said this time, pointing to the insignia on his shoulders.
The soldiers saw it, exchanged glances, and turned to the commander standing near the duke. The commander, apparently conveying something to them over a closed channel, turned away and continued his conversation with the important guest.
The soldiers apologized, saluted, and returned to the delegation.
We hurried away from that spot and moved deeper into the museum. Looking at Durs, I saw a burning gaze.
"I almost broke a sweat, Kyle," he began, looking at me.
"Yeah, I was a little scared too," I said, studying a painting. It depicted an old man with a long white beard sitting on a chair painting. He was painting the painting on which he himself appeared—an elegant trick granted to human consciousness through evolution or by something greater. Many scientists had wondered and still wonder where we humans came from, but despite the years and scientific discoveries, this question would likely remain controversial—perhaps until the very end of human existence.
"Let's go look at this," Durs interrupted my thoughts, nodding his head in a direction. I followed him through a crowd of people in exquisite, astonishing costumes that carried various scents—some foreign, some familiar.
Passing guests and onlookers, we reached where Durs had indicated. There was a glass dome inside which, on a pedestal, stood a quartz tablet with an inscription carved in some language. I looked at Durs hoping he knew the translation, but he simply shook his head in ignorance.
Higher up on the glass, I noticed some numbers:
72107892965
And an inscription beneath:
ENTER INTO TERMINAL TO VIEW RELIC.
We did so. Entering the numbers into the terminal's search bar, a page opened with a photo of the relic before us and a description beneath.
The tablet originated from Earth and was made around seven thousand years ago, back when people still traveled by carts and horses. The tablet was in Latin, so the similar letters mixed up my understanding. On the tablet itself was a message:
"He who has found the answer will also find the next question."
I continued reading its description when Durs interrupted.
"What the hell is this, Kyle? Ancient people were clearly out of their minds," he said, his face showing surprise upon reaching the translation of the tablet's phrase.
As it turned out, this relic had been confiscated from smugglers dealing in ancient artifacts, selling them to houses and lords at inflated prices for their collections.
This particular piece was destined for the Duchy of Janke in southern Centurion. Who ruled there and which lord or countess wanted to buy the tablet was classified. Likely, after the confiscation, squads of the Great Intergalactic Court, led by the Nakhids, paid them a visit. Terrible warriors who knew no mercy. They came at night and killed all whom the court deemed guilty and ordered eliminated.
These lords probably met such a fate, as smuggling ancient Earth artifacts carried the harshest sentences, and execution was not uncommon.
After spending some time there, I went to view other exhibits and the artistic achievements of humanity and other races. There were paintings, cave drawings, and weapons crafted with jeweler's precision. Soon, weary of the crowds of nobles and dignitaries, we decided to leave and head elsewhere.
Leaving the museum, we set out again along the clean, magnificent streets of Apollo.
"How did you like it?" Durs asked, keeping pace.
"Noisy," I replied briefly, glancing at him. "And you?"
"Liked it. Never seen anything like it before. So much exists that you wouldn't even imagine," he began telling me, looking somewhere ahead.
Passing through crowds of people standing by floating cars and past those sitting at outdoor tables, we turned down an avenue and found ourselves on a street where there was no one. Everything was gray and dusty, windows and houses boarded up. Surprisingly, there were no drones or cameras.
"I don't like this place," Durs said as something fell behind us.
I turned to look. A man with a covered face stood there. I began backing away from him.
"Durs, let's get out of here," I commanded, and we quickened our pace. Looking back, we saw him start to follow. After turning a couple more times, there were four of them. Instinctively, I reached for my pistol; Durs did the same.
On these streets, the pavement was cracked and in some places entirely missing, occasionally slowing our pace. Durs stumbled a few times, and I had to wait for him.
There were now five of them. Each, I noticed, had a pistol in a holster and wrist terminals. They weren't just bandits looking to rob us—they were something else.
After walking another two blocks, we tried to turn right toward the high-class district with its soldiers, but as we approached the intersection, a black armored vehicle with a skull on its door pulled out in front of us.
It was them…
We decided to go back, but the five with pistols blocked our way, and from the vehicle, four more emerged—these with heavier weaponry.
"We're officers of the Galtian Empire, let us pass!" I shouted to the masked man in the center.
"You're not officers of the Galtian Empire, that's for sure. Drop your weapons, agents, and we won't harm you," said one in a cold, male voice.
I looked at Durs. There was fear in his eyes. It consumed him, just as it did me. They knew who we were. But how?
"Who are you, and how do you know who we are?" I asked quickly.
"That's not your concern, agents. I'll repeat once more: drop your weapons to the ground, and we won't cripple you."
"Try it!" Durs shouted at him, drawing his pistol from its holster and aiming.
All these people, whoever they were, drew their pistols and aimed at us. I felt the tension between us all.
"Don't test my patience."
"Who are you?" I asked.
Suddenly, I heard a body fall beside me. Turning, I saw Durs lying on the ground, his pistol in his hand. Drawing my own pistol and turning toward the people in front of me, I took a shot to the chest and started to fall. Feeling my body weaken, I managed to glance at my chest and saw a dart—green.
My legs wobble, my pistol feels like it's melting in my hand, and I drop it. I hear them approaching, saying something.
My eyes close, and everything goes dark.
Again.