Harsh thuds crashed from wall to ceiling, filling the empty space of the garage with the addled emotions of a busy mind.

Straight, hook, right hook feint, left uppercut, right round house, teep. Shay repeated one of the many drills his father had taught him, his recent discoveries of the mans mysteries connecting a concerning amount of dots in his head.

On the third day, Isla had finished with his chosen selection of limbs, the ‘essential systems’ he had no choice on, Isla taking hold of the decision making for him. Amid the myriad of organs that needed to be replaced, he knew his heart and lung should be handled by the professional, so he didn’t mind in the least.

He had lost many things, more than he cared to think about, instead striking his tattered heavy bag hoping the thoughts would erode with every impact. The pneumatic pistons in his left arm exploding with the force of a bull, he had learnt not to miss the bag lest he tear the muscles in his back again - a lesson his Vestman mentor had kindly recovered him from. That isn’t to say he didn’t plan to jailbreak the assistive AI housed within, it’s intrusions prevented the more violent repercussions that came with the raw power of machinery on flesh and bone – but it wasn’t anything a little home brewed modification couldn’t fix, he snuck a glance to the message that popped into his peripheral.

‘Don’t forget, check in at 8:00!’ Aunt Anne had taken on the role of his surrogate parent while his dad was off who-knows-where.

A barrel full of breath steamed from his nostrils, his new lungs giving him a surprising capacity for cardio. With the restless sway of a man with something to say and no one to say it to, he made his way through the garage door, entering a spartan kitchen.

It’s features went only as far as a sink, re-hydrator and NetVendor. The latter was installed into their kitchen wall, opposite the small island counter where a packet of hydrated protein oatmeal was fogging the granite table top.

“Elise?” He called, eyes devouring the oatmeal as he ordered lunch from the NetVendor for his trip to the clinic.

The machine rumbled and moaned as a bagged lunch was revealed beyond the confines of its metallic sliding door. Shay rolled his eyes at the advertisement playing on the things touch screen, marketing and convenience at it’s finest.

“Lise!” He called again, receiving a muffled yell from down the hallway. With the newfound emptiness of his home, she had grown to visiting more often. The company was appreciated, especially given the intermittent migraines he received from old memories recurring again.

Rounding the corner from his room, she held up a change of clothes, plain blacks with his favourite red jacket strewn over her shoulder, “Here, the shower is heated for you and I just ordered the GOPod for your check in.” She said between careful steps over the vacu-bot cutting a clean streak through his carpet crumbs.

Her hair fell in wet strands from the scrunchie she’d clearly stolen from his own stash, and matching pair of overalls and green sweater she wore. He felt a twinge of guilt in how much she’d been helping him lately, yet any attempts to lessen her self inflicted workload were met with closed eyes and a shake of her head; she’d made her way to the NetVendor now, working in an order.

“Thanks a bunch, ‘lise, and yeah, Anne just text,” he lingered on her busy form fretting over a salad for lunch or a burrito bowl, “Burrito bowl” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He got a quick look back from her as she selected the burrito bowl, before receding down the hall to clean up.

The tap of her foot could be heard over the machines workings, a perfectly steaming bowl of veef and rice appearing at the ding, she smiled.

Well, the karmic strings intertwine, do you feel it? What once was peace, probably, is turning sour. All from the comfort of a cushioned chair, I send the world spiralling into unknown turmoil. Shay might be isolated now, with his loyal friend in tow, though behind the scenes time passes like a tsunami - causality is such a fun concept to play with.

It so happens the bombing on Hobart’s day has launched a veritable storm of controversy between the ruling classes and the public. Even millions of miles away from their mother planet, Earth, humanity cannot escape its grasp.

In this particular moment, Captain Exo-Meridian is experiencing just that, his vacant eyes hidden behind an attentive glaze, able to fool even the most perceptive of delegates. His rippling form presiding above disembarking soldiers – mostly his own soldiers, as they funnelled into the suspended personnel carrier below his windowed perch, which overlooked the Moments docks.

“Another class two altercation in upper Augusteer, a class one in Cleer-Over CBD – Wensago involved. Team reports also indicate growing conflict in the outer transit zones between the two cities, Overlead Angela recommends increased EEA presence in the surrounds.” A young fair-skinned man rattled off the daily brief, taking his duties with every ounce of respect you’d expect. Exo felt a certain nostalgia in his ethic.

His current office sat well away from the captains quarters, that was closer to the bridge, and thus closer to his own work and responsibilities.

Following the Hobart’s Day bombings, he and his crew, though most importantly, he, had been approached to lead the investigations into who or what was responsible. This on top of the already busy schedule of being anointed the new Tethership for this station, lead to compounding workloads that he simply didn’t have the mental energy to juggle. That isn’t to say Captian Exo-Meridian, Greatest Warrior to grace the Formid Sea, and Commander of the first Fortress-Class Vessel to fly her Majesties flag, was lazy. No, he begged to differ, it was just that his own goals had been course corrected by the sudden, and decidedly very much welcome holiday that eventuated afterwards. The lull of peace time had shown the captain the value in artistic expression, or to make a long story short, he had traded the powersuits for oversized tees, and the rifles for paintbrushes and pallettes.

The product of which now hanged above the mahogany desk sat across the side of his temporary office. Exo scanned its orange hues and the not-so-symmetrical portrait of a servo floating through the void with a critical eye, being sure to act considerate of the young mans report - he was doing a fantastic job after all.

“Thank you, Jacob.” He said, the young mans eyes lighting up, “That will be all.”

“Sir!” With a rigid salute, Jacob left the room in a rush.

Exo relegated himself to observing the commotion in the docks, three personnel carriers had come and gone now, hauling hundreds of his combat class officers to various drop points all along the station. Long meetings had been held in the three weeks since the bombings, most of which concerned his new appointment, and the list of anti-wensago extremists that arose thereafter.

If it weren’t for Angela and the iron will she imposed on everything she did, the logistics would have spun out of control, he was never suited for such things. He mentally thanked her for being his voice through these kinds of hellish slogs.

It vexed both of them that Mr Mudgway held a pivotal role in the decision making process, yet he only ever appeared as an AR avatar in the meetings, deferring to the state of his injuries as an excuse not to show. Exo and Angela were sceptical, Station Founders were rarely undergunned in the tech department, and they’d not even thought of the nonsensical funds the man had at his disposal. Despite their grumblings, they were still stuck on glorified guard duty for the Wensago.

A low, almost whining groan escaped his lips as the devil delivered on his brooding, a white gold vessel surfing down to the Moments express boarding bay, which not-so-conveniently lead directly to their ambassadorial wing, which was right behind this very room. Politics; he almost fell over at the thought, but continued out the door anyway.

They - being the ambiguous but probably a guy - Wensago, were seated across the beautifully carved depiction of the first humans to walk the moon, his side of the tungstite table ending in their eventual colonisation of Mars.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Several of House Medes’ nodes have been isolated amid this dilemma, I have counted exactly three of your units patrolling said nodes, save the robots who meddle within our networks.” They said the last part with a hint of disdain. “Given your supposed forces, we believe these allocations are insufficient.”

Captain Exo couldn’t ignore the azure glow of the House Medes representative’s perfectly symmetrical eyes, ablaze with a scrutinising glare, “Look, Struts and it’s grids simply aren’t within our purview when considering strategic placements,” it’s glare grew stronger at that, but Exo couldn’t care less, “You’re lucky I’ve sent anyone there at all.”

It was true, the ‘Nodes’ the Wensago so affectionately called them, were their jargon for city districts and in almost all cases with House Medes, industry rich ones. It was no wonder they’d take a hit with the recent damages to the pipeline. The Wensago definitely knew this, yet came to him regardless, something wasn’t right.

“There are several reasons as to why we’re requesting additional support, the forces in The Frame have… displaced various security protocols surrounding The Struts nodes,” In other words, their attack dogs were killed, and they don’t want to risk anything more, “It is a growing concern amongst the House representatives that this be dealt with as soon as possible, yet we lack the proper jurisdiction to act.” It said all of this with an implacable expression, neither with shame nor embarrassment.

“Each of you holds influence three fold that of even myself. From what I’m told, even your House has been here since Wenso shared borders with the void.” Exo waved his hand dismissively, “how is any segment of this station closed to that little council of yours?” A heavy silence ensured the moment his hand hit the table.

The Wensago was still for a moment, he could practically see the gears turning in that brain of his, the only human thing remaining in any of them. “They loathe to admit it, Captain Exo-Meridian, but The Frame has been closed to us for weeks now.”

The news came as a shock, with all their social shortcomings and nigh impenetrable hierarchy, the Wensago were ultimately the first residents of The Station, each one older than the buildings surrounding them. To think an entire segment of the station had been rested from their control was startling, to say the least.

“Make no mistake, there are dozens of sections closed to us, Captain. Though each by choice, now is the only time it has been forcibly taken from us.” A calendar lit up in the air from its hand, now resting between them, “Three days prior to the Hobart incident, The Frame and it’s constituent networks were overrun by a malicious actor. Granted, we did not have sentient overwatch on the networks. However, to bypass our sleeper protocols should have been next to impossible.” Its voice was steel, and for good reason, Wensago code was at the forefront of humanities technological capabilities.

Exo leant back, lost in contemplation for a time, “Not as impossible as you thought, it seems. Any idea how?”

“The incident is still under investigation.” No idea then, Exo thought. “It is likely we have a rogue Wensago, or sympathiser organisation acting against us.” It’s eyes once again illuminated in a dangerous hue, “Heed this news, Captain, for if one of our own has truly turned against us, or is colluding with an antagonistic faction, Hobart will be but one of many tribulations to face this station.”

He took the news with a stoney façade, with all the power the Wensago held, if even one of them turned against the station, it could spell disaster. Exo was thankful their rigid ideals for advancement tended toward preservation over destruction. Though, If the reverse came to pass? The thought gave him pause.

The Captain took a moment to contemplate the situation at hand, and seemingly having made up his mind, gave the Wensago a levelled stare, “Despite that, to redirect forces to The Struts would be disadvantageous given our current goals of preventing anti-wensago sentiment. Because, in case you’ve forgotten, The Bombings of Hobart’s Day has left you lot standing with one foot in the proverbial fire.” He swiped away the Wensago’s projection from the air, “That isn’t to say I’ve taken a side, but diverting forces would make it look as much, and I’d prefer retaining my ambiguity on the matter.” Exo mentally nudged his plan into action.

The Wensago’s glare was interrupted, seemingly distracted for a moment as Captain Exo stared back, “I see, I thought Captain Exo-Meridian would be smarter than that.” It’s lithe frame rose from its seat, the flowing mess of drapes it wore untangling themselves. Exo could see the dangling penchant of House Medes lost between the many pieces of jewellery it wore, falling from it’s porcelain like mask.

“Goodbye and good luck, Representative Carmine.” He said, it’s name shining in his heads-up-display. The Wensago returned the farewell with a pointed look and wave of it’s shining, taloned hand, the glow of the exit hallway bathing it’s silhouette before it disappeared beyond the wall of light, company in tow. Exo belatedly realised the three Wensago accompanying him hadn’t said a single word their entire exchange.

He leant back and observed the undulating ellipses in his vision, the next second a reply came from the Representative.

“I look forward to this partnership, Captain.” The representative replied. The risks weren’t lost on Exo, but his gut told him there were more forces at play here than he realised. If he had to turn a few of his men into ghosts to get to the bottom of it, so be it. As far as he was concerned, his own plans had to be off the books, and who knew who, or what, was listening in.

Retiring to his quarters, he made an immediate b-line for the only piece of old-age tech on the ship, his laptop. Not exactly discreet by todays standards, but it was too archaic to be intruded from the outside, and wouldn’t tether to any of the ships wireless systems like everything else.

He sighed as the system booted for what felt like an eternity compared to todays standards, and then almost lost his balance when he had to fish out a portable charger of all things, when it yelled at him for having low battery.

“How the fuck did Poppa do it back in the day.” Exasperated, he skimmed thru supposed-to-be protected files on every officer both enlisted to the Moment, and the EEA combined - copies he’d made as soon as he was given access.

Three individuals were cast in the backlight of his laptop screen by nightfall, his calls had gone unanswered, and Angela had intruded on his privacy halfway thru, and then several times further when he admitted what he was up to, a dangerous effect she had on him, he knew.

“So you left the meeting, abandoned all of your duties, and came straight here to your man-den looking for some undercover A-team?” Angela was draped over his sofa next to him, one of her long-limbed legs ran across his thighs as he was hunched over his laptop, features lit by the ‘A-Team’ he had found.

“I deserve a break every now and then, Angie.” The file of one of the officers they’d chosen popped up, “and it wasn’t for nothing either. Look, twelve years on Calios Station, during the Iden crisis! Five as a contractor prior, and he passed the Space Force exam before he even stepped foot in the initiate grounds.”

“And? This is a, potentially, rogue Wensago we’re talking about, twelve years is a blink of an eye for them.” She continued her domination of whatever poor AI faction was facing her in the combat sim projected between them.

For the first time in an hour he looked her way, “That’s just what I can access, over half of his file is redacted, and I expect certain portions entirely erased if the inconsistencies are anything to go by.”

That got her attention, the sim pausing half way through her drone swarm engulfing the enemy, a favourite strategy of hers despite the logistical improbability of it working in the real world – she needed to vent somehow, and not at him was preferable.

“You can’t access it?” She was almost in his face now, “What do you mean, you can’t access it.”

“I mean what I say,” he said mirthfully, “I did’t even think there was an access level above mine in the system, but I couldn’t access it. Believe me, the program would’ve cloned it if it could.”

Skepticism was very apparent on the supple lines of her face, her chocolate features crinkled into a frown, “What about the others?”

The clicking of keys rung out into his quarters, the two watching as page after page was flipped thru, “No one as mysterious, he wins that, but…” the remaining members files presented themselves side by side.

“What the- “ she read for a second before her nose knitted itself into a pretzel, “The first Servo EEA Officer, and the grand daughter of Maree Tullis, the Maree Tullis. Meri, are you fucking with me?” Her expression fell flat as she scrutinised him.

“You think I’d be smart enough to pull this off?” He could feel the corners of his mouth straining from his forced smile, “Honestly I’m impressed I found them at all, a congratulations is in order if anything.” He earned a jab for that.

“This is exactly what we’ve been talking about, there’s too many unknowns that have popped up ever since the Moment touched down on this fucking station.” Getting up, she began pacing around the room, “The disappearance of Tethership Tullis, our appointment as it’s replacement, the bombing during the inauguration slash memorial, Chase Mudgway injured, for christs sake,” she made a stabbing gesture towards him, “which we both know is bullshit! Now The Frame is off-grid, and we have a rogue Wensago doing who-the-fuck-knows-what in the background.” The veritable inferno that was Angela was suddenly doused as the realisations hit her one by one.

“And now we have the biggest red flag of a team about to be sent into the middle of it all.” Perhaps he sounded too nonchalant about it as she stared daggers at the man, “If they say yes.” He joked.

Eventually her defeated form landed next to him, “Meri, you know I’m in this with you, but are you sure this is something we can deal with?” Her ice blue eyes looked into his own.

He sat there and let the thought fall to the back of his mind as he appreciated her, “It won’t just be us, I’ll arrange a meeting with the redacted Lead of theirs, see if we can turn this twosome into something more interesting.”

A coy smile slid across her face, “Oh, I’m not interesting enough for you, huh?” She rose with the agile gait of a predator.

“Who’s to say, maybe this Xylexi fellow knows a few tricks you don’t.” His mischievous grin tempted fate, he knew it.

She pounced on him, his seven foot frame engulfed like the AI faction she’d been versing moments before. She didn’t need words or quippy remarks, Exo already knew no one could replace the woman in front of him, and he was happy to admit it.

Time faded as the two embraced.