The door closed behind Iago, creaking loudly and booming shut hard enough to shake the floor.

“Is anyone there?” he called. Perhaps he’d just walked in to his death willingly, perhaps this was an airlock and he’d-

A dim blueish-white glow appeared from above. He looked up, but his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, as it was too bright to keep his gaze on.

Someone stepped forward into the dim circle of light.

It was hard to see, but he appeared to be wearing a cowled robe. It was made of something beautiful, likely true silk, but it was ancient – faded, fraying ends lending it a solemn sadness.

“I am so sorry for your losses, Iago Caraval,” the cowled man said.

“Who are you with?” Iago demanded, taking a step back. The voice was familiar, he knew it – but he could not put a name to it.

The man reached up, pulling back his hood. “Do you not recognize your shipmate, Iago?”

“Dr. Zyzus . . . ?”

Iago did know the man. He was one of the chief doctors under Y, focusing largely on civilian medicine. Iago had met him, but only a few times, and he knew nothing of the man.

“It was you,” Iago realized. “You wrote me the letter.”

Zyzus nodded. “Yes. You have suffered greatly, my son, and I knew you needed comfort before you were lost. But you need not suffer any longer.”

Others stepped into the edges of the light, their cowls still down. They were varying heights, but he could make out nothing about them except that. Their robes were the same faded, frayed silk that looked ancient enough to pre-date humanity’s ascent to the stars.

“Who are you people?” he demanded.

“We are the Esoteric Order,” Zyzus said. “A faith dedicated to helping all who seek the wisdom and comfort of the Infinite.”

The name didn’t ring any bells, but Iago was hardly an expert on religions.

“I didn’t know you were a man of faith,” Iago said, trying to buy time.

Zyzus ignored that. “All of us present have been touched by the Infinite, Iago. It is something that brings great fear and confusion. At times, it can be a gift. At others – a curse. But for good or ill, we have been changed by it.”

Iago found that his heart was pounding in his chest, so hard that he almost couldn’t talk. All thought of suspicion was driven from his mind.

“The Infinite . . . you’re talking about Leviathans and tenkionic matter.”

“I am speaking of the Eldritch Truth, Iago. We do not call it by the words of people who only theorize and calculate, but have yet to know it. We have better words, better . . . understanding.”

He raised a hand. “Iago, I know that you have been feeling that the knowledge you have learned will destroy you. But I am here to tell you that it need not be so.”

“How?” Iago asked, his tone only a hair’s breadth from begging. “How can I beat this?”

Zyzus’s face turned into a sad smile. “You do not beat it, Iago. You embrace it. You must accept the truth of the cosmos, your place in it, and only then will you be able to bear its weight.”

Iago’s stomach fell.

No . . . No, he could not do that. He could not . . . He did not even understand what he had experienced, he only knew that it was true and that it was terrible beyond anything else . . .

“I understand your terror,” Zyzus continued. “But the Infinite does not only take from us, or give us burdens. So, too, can it give us gifts greater than we could ever hope.”

Zyzus’s words faded, and he stepped back, to the edge of the light.

Another stepped forward, and Iago’s eyes jumped between Zyzus and the new person before settling on the latter.

They reached up, their hands delicate, and before she even pulled back her hood, he knew who she was.

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“Hello, Iago,” the woman said.

Her face was trepidatious, her words nervous, but Iago would always recognize the woman he had married.

“Cassandra?” he breathed.

She nodded, her chin moving just a fraction. “I know it must be shocking seeing me here . . .”

“I thought you were dead,” Iago breathed. He could not move, he was frozen, his mind nearly as paralyzed as his body, as hope and joy and horror and terror fought inside him.

But she was here. She was real, he could tell. This was not a trick, no illusion . . .

His eyes roamed what little of her was visible. He saw the same creases under her eyes that he remembered, saw the small scar on the back of her hand from an accident with a knife, saw that her nails were still painted the particular shade of violet she had loved so much, whose edges always chipped off under her daily tasks.

“I did not die,” she said. “I survived. Thanks to the Infinite.”

“But where have you been?” he asked, feeling the tears now streaking from his eyes, his voice breaking.

“After the accident back home, I . . . I was not myself for a long time. I became lost. It was only when the Esoteric Order found me that I remembered who I was. Who you were . . . and our son.” Her voice took on an urgency. “How is Elliot, Iago?”

“Elliot is okay,” he told her. “He’s . . . he’s so smart, Cass . . . Such a trouble-maker.” He found himself letting out a laugh. “Like me at his age.”

He saw the relief on her face and in her eyes, and he rushed forward to embrace her.

She was crying now as well, and for what seemed hours they could only hold each other in their arms and let the tears flow.

When she broke the hug, he saw that her face was serious again.

“Iago, it is only thanks to Dr. Zyzus that I was able to return to you. You need to listen to him – to trust him.”

Iago was still reeling. But if the man had truly helped bring Cassandra back to him, then he could not argue with her . . .

He looked to the man.

“Iago, come with me back to the Craton. Do not worry,” he added quickly. “Cassandra will come with us. You can return, and your normal life will resume.”

“What will we tell them?” he asked.

“We will tell them the truth,” Cassandra said. “There need be no lies. We don’t have anything to hide, except . . .”

Zyzus smiled, but it was sad. “We must not tell them of my involvement, Iago. You know that the Sapient Union is suspicious of faith – should they know of mine, they will not allow me to continue my work as a doctor.”

That did not sound right to Iago, he’d known the religious, even clergy, to hold positions in the Sapient Union, they were only rare because such faith itself was rare anymore . . .

But he nodded. He owed this man everything.

“I won’t tell them anything about you,” he swore.

Zyzus’s sadness turned to a quiet relief. “Thank you, my son. Now . . . there is more we must discuss.”

----------------------------------------

Urle made his way to a bar known as the Spacerport.

It was outside of aug territory, but close enough that a lot of the clientele were enhanced, and Urle felt a dozen active scans ping him as he came in. A few focused on Kell, but finding nothing interesting, they gave up.

“Follow me,” Urle whispered.

Kell was on him closely as Urle moved to a set of steps and went to the next floor.

This floor was special, he knew. Only important, wealthy patrons typically came up here – not a rule, but a custom. Them, and people who wanted a favor from someone important.

He felt more scans, looking for weapons and traps on his person. Kell was mostly overlooked, his lack of augments and weapons probably making him read as harmless, which Urle found grimly amusing.

A large man surrounded by cronies and beautiful women, along with a dozen enforcers and bouncers, were watching them as they went to a booth, Kell sitting on the inside and Urle next to him. The guards did not even bother to hide their weapons.

It was not them that Urle wanted the attention of, though, and as they waited, their interest slowly waned. He wanted another type of contact, and lone figures in shadowy recesses seemed to be picking up on that.

“Someone’s going to come sit down,” he told Kell. “When they do, they will be a broker. Let me do all the talking unless I ask you something, all right?”

Kell nodded. And soon enough, a man joined them.

He was a short, ratty man with a thin face whose hair had been taken by radiation. An aug, wires wrapped around his ears to ports on the back of his head, but aside from that his mods were hidden from sight.

He said nothing at first, merely sliding a card across the table to Urle. It introduced him as Short Circuit.

Urle ran a search on the man, finding that he had been arrested before for information trafficking, extortion, assault, even a murder and a dozen other lesser charges. Most had never stuck, despite a lot of evidence, and he’d only faced a few short stints in prison.

So he was connected, Urle mused.

“I need to find someone,” Urle told him.

Cautiously, he messaged Kell, hoping the being would actually pay attention.

‘Be careful. This man is a real piece of garbage – list of crimes a mile long, including murder. But he might have the info we need.’

If Kell saw it, he gave no indication.

Short Circuit was watching Kell, though.

“I know who you are,” Short Circuit told Urle. “First officer on the Craton. Not bad, you know? But who’s your friend?”

“No one important,” Urle said.

Short Circuit clearly did not buy that. But he did not seem to want to stress the point, and Urle felt something creep up the back of his neck.

A feeling of dread was spreading through the room, he realized. The conversations were slowly growing quieter, until the entire floor seemed silent.

Was Kell doing this intentionally?

Urle glanced around, wondering if the people up here would know the source.

But no one was watching them. Their nervous glances were at each other, at dark corners. The heavy-set man with his many companions apparently had had enough, and rose to leave, his entourage hurrying along after him.

“I only have the alias of the man I’m looking for,” Urle said, hoping that Short Circuit wouldn’t run out next.

The man considered, then nodded. “Price depends on who it is. Minimum 100,000 credits.”

Urle nodded. It was high, almost all of his external trade credits . . . But he could do it.

“The alias is Ji,” Urle told him. “He’s connected-“

The blood drained from Short Circuit’s face.

He stood, without a word.

“You’re a moron,” he said. “Get back to your ship before you get hurt.”