After two long weeks of deep space travel, the stars finally shifted.
Ethan sat forward in his seat as the Obsidian Wraith exited FTL transit with a ripple across the void. The stars reasserted themselves first, glittering against the black backdrop like ancient eyes and then came the silhouette.
Proteus.
The main world of the Avenos System slowly rotated into view, dominating the screen like a divine engine.
"Whoa," Ethan breathed, voice barely audible.
The planet, or what had once been a planet, looked like it had been swallowed by its own machinery. Enormous orbital rings encircled its equator, each segment bristling with antenna arrays, fusion vent stacks, and modular docks. Magnetic elevator tethers stretched down like iron vines, anchoring to the scorched surface far below. Plasma jets burst rhythmically from transfer hatches, illuminating clouds of industrial vapor in pulsing orange.
It was not natural. Not beautiful in any conventional sense.
And yet Ethan couldn't look away.
"Is it... still a planet?" he asked aloud, unsure if he wanted an answer.
"Technically," Iris responded over the ship's comm. "The planetary core remains intact. But what you're seeing is the result of nearly two centuries of modification. The surface was overhauled into fabrication strata, forge belts, reactor fields, and gravity-calibrated docks."
She paused. "You are now observing Avenos Core Hub One: Proteus."
The Wraith's nav systems chirped as Iris engaged docking protocol. The ship banked gracefully, moving into one of the heavily trafficked orbital approach lanes. Ethan glanced at the holographic display, a spiderweb of colored routes, each marked with caution indicators and clearance codes. Ships of every shape and size zipped past: long-haul cargo barges, angular salvage cruisers, and sleek modified military-class vessels that certainly belong to mercs flitting between security checkpoints like insects.
Ahead, a slow-moving carrier drifted into position, its hull half-melted, bristling with scarred armor. Fusion welders swarmed over its frame like ants, refitting some long-dead behemoth for another life.
"Remind me," Ethan said, still staring out the viewport, "how exactly is this place legal?"
"It operates under layered neutrality treaties. Formerly a classified Federation military drydock," Iris explained, her tone clinical. "Now privatized and operated through a joint council of corporate syndicates, rogue engineering guilds, and... less transparent interests."
"Fringe innovation," Ethan muttered, quoting a phrase from one of the holo pamphlets in his tablet. "Sounds like a euphemism."
"It is."
The Wraith entered the outer holding pattern, spiraling toward lower orbit. The rings above loomed large, glittering like the skeletal bones of a mechanical serpent. Ethan spotted dismantled stations rotating gently through zero-G scaffolding, some displaying company logos, others tagged with crude graffiti in half a dozen Federation dialects.
He adjusted his seat, watching as drones darted between the latticework. He noticed sleek black spheres mounted along the spires, anti-personnel turrets, likely automated. Even here, order came with a trigger.
"Iris, any warning I should know about before we dock?"
"Do not speak to the syndicate enforcers unless addressed directly. Avoid unauthorized scanning. Limit psychic output. And most importantly…" Her voice even but somehow sounding grave. "Don't barter in open air without watching your flanks."
The Wraith dipped through a filtered ion layer, briefly shuddering as it passed beneath a security scan arch. From here, Proteus' full surface came into view.
The ground glowed like burning circuitry, miles of molten conveyor lines, engine silos, and kilometer-wide forges operating around the clock. Even the mountains had been repurposed into casting cradles and coolant towers. The entire equator pulsed with an industrial heartbeat, synchronized to mechanical time.
"Beginning final approach to Docking Sector 17-Delta," Iris said. "You may wish to prepare your documents."
Ethan stood, stretching out his legs as the artificial gravity calibrated. His hand hovered briefly over the harness before letting go, muscle memory from that first rough landing on Kynara. This one, at least, felt... orderly. For now.
The docking platform came into view. Sector 17-Delta looked like a rusted cathedral built from scaffolding, cranes, and forgotten banners. Holosigns flickered on giant billboards suspended between support pylons.
Languages scrolled across them in unison. Cranes creaked overhead, suspending massive cargo containers in midair. Engineers in exo-suits scurried along railings. Arc welders burst to life with flashes of ultraviolet.
Ethan watched as a ship painted in emerald and silver lifted off a nearby pad, its hull bearing the unmistakable logo of Tarkon Biomechanics. One of the megacorps.
The Wraith hissed as it touched down. The docking arms clamped with a satisfying thunk, and the stabilizers locked in.
"Docking complete," Iris reported. "Welcome to Proteus."
Ethan remained still for a few moments, hand on his belt, eyes scanning the external feed. The sense of scale still hadn't fully processed. He wasn't just docking at a spaceport, he was stepping into the circulatory system of something larger. Something ancient and still evolving.
A ping from his info tablet reminded him of his real purpose here. The component list flickered on-screen, Tolarian glass-thread, triple-phase dampener mesh, and the elusive Gryllex shard.
Each one critical. Each one rare. And if the rumors were true, this was the only place in the sector where they could all be found. For the right price.
"Iris," he said quietly, gaze lingering on the external monitors. "Keep the ship sealed and the shields on. Nobody boards without a full DNA lock override."
"Confirmed," the AI replied, her voice calm and unwavering. "I will monitor all approach vectors while you are absent. Any unauthorized activity will trigger immediate lockdown protocols."
"Good," Ethan muttered. "Don't take any chances."
He moved toward the airlock, his boots echoing softly against the metal floor of the corridor. With each step, a faint tension built in his chest, a mixture of anticipation and wariness. His jacket rustled as he adjusted the collar, tugging it higher against the heat radiating from the docking gantries outside.
As the airlock cycled, he took a deep breath.
The pressure equalized with a sharp hiss and the outer doors slid open, revealing the threshold to Proteus. Sound and scent hit him in a wave.
The roar of machinery grinding metal into purpose. Voices barked in Federation languages, merchants haggling, foremen shouting orders, dockworkers cursing through their helmets. The air vibrated with the shriek of plasma cutters slicing through alloy plates and the mechanical clatter of loading cranes shifting freight containers the size of small buildings.
Ethan stepped onto the gantry and squinted into the haze.
The atmosphere was thick, choked with heat and metal dust. The sharp tang of ozone stung his nostrils, mingling with the acrid scent of lubricant and scorched carbon. A wave of hot air rolled past him, carrying the scent of machinery in motion.
He paused, surveying the sprawl before him.
Walkways stretched in every direction, suspended above deep shafts and conveyor lines. Massive overhead gantries loomed like mechanical gods, their cables swaying with the rhythm of loading cycles. Towering scaffolds bore rusted banners and neon signs flickering with incomplete syllables. This was a place where codes broke down, where rules bent around the weight of galactic credits, craft, and survival.
Ethan's hands hovered near his sidearms, fingers curling reflexively around the grip of his laser pistol and the Astral Slayer. Concealed, but never out of reach.
For a long moment, he stood at the edge of this industrial storm, feeling its rhythm seep into his bones.
A grin tugged at the corner of Ethan's mouth, dry and sardonic.
"Let's see if you have what i want, Proteus," he murmured.