2 months later

The terminal of the Hades system was dead and empty, lacking any trace of human life. Robots were plodding across the mirror-smooth metal floor. They kept the spaceport clean, maintained the technology and transported the incoming goods from one side of the complex to the other. Nothing posed harm disrupting their order. They were perfectly coordinated, like ants in a colony. Anara knew: This type of Robot wasn't produced since seventy years ago. It was due to inform them of their status as endangered species. But who would do it? Definitely not Anara.

The young woman perked her head at the clatter and squeaks made beneath each step. From the railing of the space cruiser, she could overlook the main hall of the spaceport. Actually, the ship carried only goods and no people. The only passenger traffic that took place in this remote corner consisted of a convoy of prisoners, every five years.

The Hades system was no ordinary star system. It housed Tartarus, a prison, an institution for the most incorrigible of incorrigible cases.

From the corner of her eyes, Anara saw through the glass dome and recognized hundreds to thousands of metal plates swarming around the star, located in the center of the system, like a big swarm of grey bees. A Dyson sphere supplied the prison complex with energy for thousands of years. If it didn't exist, there would be no Tartarus, for the silver sun shone dimly and gave no life.

Anara shouldered her luggage and jumped over the railing. The low gravity helped her land silently. Hopefully inside the prison is generated automatically, she thought. Soon a red light flashed somewhere in a corner and within no time, many small robots surrounded the young soldier. They blinked and beeped excitedly, like a crowd of children.

Anara sighed and held out the back of her hand to identify herself. One of the robots pushed the others aside and rolled towards it. A soft click and a flash of light revealed that it had scanned her hand. It nodded, its whole body moving up and down with a clatter. Then it moved away. Its knee-high extras followed in a straight line.

They acknowledged Anara. Was this how Tartarus welcomed her? The young woman would have preferred to kick one of the tin cans instead of looking after them. During the flight, she had hoped the anger would die down, but since arrival, it caught new fire and burned hotter than ever. Tartarus was as far away from Rome as possible. So Anara's dreams were also far away. No trial separated her from it anymore, but three hundred light years.

She reached the exit of the spaceport. A huge hall, built like a modern airport in a big city. But unlike there, the terminal here was empty. Empty, cold and dead. Only the small robots were a reminder that time did in fact not cease. They ignored Anara and devoted themselves entirely to their busy work.

The young woman kept looking at her hands to make sure the journey had not left her color-blind. There was no trace of colors anywhere. Everything was Black, white or grey.

"I've been waiting!" Someone called from the other side of the entrance.

Anara stepped through the gate and saw the source of those words.

"Your ride," the girl laughed.

She possessed a petite build, sickly pale skin and deep circles under her big, round eyes. Light freckles dotted her froggy face, framed by dark brown curls and interwoven with strands of neon green and azure. She wore the Academy uniform, with a few alterations. On her right upper arm, It read "Unit: Tartaros."

The back of the girl's hand was adorned with the number 126.

"I am to take you to the entrance," the stranger continued, "Since you are neither a felon nor merchandise, we must take a special route. We haven't had a new colleague for a long time. I've forgotten what the spaceport looks like. Anyways, what's your name? Oh... I know it! You're... You're Anara Maxima! Our new nestling!"

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Anara hated the connotation of that word. Nestling. She prepared herself to be the youngest, but hearing it so abruptly robbed her of patience.

"And you are?" Anara asked irritably.

"Didn't I -"

"No."

"You can just call me Charon." Demonstratively, the girl slapped the bonnet of the black van behind her. " I take care of the new recruits. Or at least I did. Last time was many years ago!"

She counted off the number in tens on her little fingers and nodded confessionally.

"Forty years ... I think. Shoot, I miss the old times. Whole shiploads of new guards arrived back then. We had a really good time, living like in a little community. You're probably wondering what happened, aren't you? Hey, aren't you?"

She tilted her head like an owl.

Anara stepped past her demonstratively, opened the car door and threw her bag in the back seat.

"I can explain on the drive too," said Charon.

During the journey, the petite girl chattered incessantly. She spoke of the founding of Tartarus, about four hundred years before. The story of the prison planet in one of the most remote, yet populated, systems began with one person. Charon could not remember their name.

"Some consul," the girl explained, "They say he created Tartarus solely for one person. They committed many crimes and turned against the senate, wanting to seize power. But I think this is a rumor. There have long been problems with criminals, or so mother explained before. She remembers the usual prisons that were near bursting ... Somehow not surprising, given the demography of non-death. But you should know that. You also studied at one of the academy's schools. Where was that again? Argo system?"

"Aergia."

"Oh yes, I remember! And also the broadcast of the exam! We follow the live broadcasts every year, even those of the smaller and remote regions, and then bet on which recruits we will soon get to meet. It has become such a tradition with us, even though they haven't sent us anyone for a long time. Sometimes I have the feeling the academy has forgotten us. Oh, I'm rambling again! Back to the exam: We didn't expect this from you. Nobody betted on you! You were the favorite, weren't you? The way you fought was amazing! Even Magellan said he could learn something from you. And to be perfectly honest." She bit her lower lip. "We still don't quite understand why you're here."

"I think we arrived." Anara pointed past her to the entrance to the planet's interior, a metallic mouth that could fit at least twenty cars.

"Too bad, I would've loved to talk to you more about this," Charon pouted, "Next time then. Not so much happens here on the edge of the bubble. We'll have enough time to make friends there. After all, you're part of the family now and nothing will change for so long! What do they say? Home sweet home!"

Days, weeks and soon three months have passed. Anara settled into Tartarus and her role as a prison guard. The place became, as Charon had prophesied, her home. In the first few weeks, the other guards eyed her curiously and pestered her with questions. But as soon as Anara became one of them, this sensationalism subsided. Instead of questions, they now bombarded the newly trained soldier with tasks. Tasks that could be done by robots in the rest of the galaxy, but not in Tartarus with its outdated technology.

Day in and day out, Anara carried packages from one point to another, cleaned, repaired and transmitted messages, because the intranet regularly broke down. She learned quickly that the state-of-the-art prison was nothing more than a junkyard. She also learned what it meant to be cut off from the outside world. The only sign of human civilization was the faint television signal. In her spare time, Anara watched old movies and shows from the digital media library or explored her new home of steel and concrete. That was all there was for her. Work upon work and a maximum of two hours of free time a day.

"You're still not complaining," Charon chuckled, "Your how many Parcel job is this today?"

"The fifth."

"You're very desperate for a promotion. Every day I see you pacing back and forth without even making a face. Don't you want to take responsibility for once? Why don't you ask for a cooler task?"

"I'd rather wait."

"Oh, really?" Charon was leaning against the wall of the corridor, arms braced at her sides.

She had been waiting for Anara. For fifteen minutes. However, She decided to keep that detail to herself.

Instead, she raised her voice for another topic: "Meeting. In two hours. Magellan has something to announce."

Anara nodded. "Understood."

"You're weird," Charon said, "This cuts right into our free time. As far as I know, you have similar working hours to mine. Aren't you going to complain?"

Silence.

"Okay understood." Charon raised her hands placatingly. "See you later then."

Anara still didn't like her. But the hierarchy between the lines commanded at least basic politeness. Charon was exactly a hundred years older. On Anara's back of the hand, pale bronze letters showed a 26. Thus she was branded a child. A fact that would not change for the next fifty years. She was not even allowed to see the prisoners. Sometimes she thought she was the prisoner.

Without looking back, she stepped past Charon and finished the last errand of the day.