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I slowly made my way down the stairs to Café Musain. Thumping beats met my ears. The bar and the tables were packed with people. This was where I was supposed to meet my contact. I didn’t know who she was. All I had was a name—Rimana—and the fact that she would be waiting for me at the bar.

At the far end of the bar stood a lone woman. A baseball cap, glasses, a long coat, a tattoo on her neck. I stood next to her, leaned against the bar, and said, without looking at her:

“Have you ever had the feeling that you weren’t sure whether you were awake or dreaming?”

She replied:

“The body cannot live without the spirit.”

The telltale sign. I turned to her.

“You’re the Spear Wolf of TYR?”

“Hai.” Her answer was quiet. She glanced around furtively. “We have to be careful what we say. Olaf Wokan is arriving soon.”

Confused, I looked at her. A babble of voices and music pounded at me. Oh right, Kjeld had mentioned that TYR’s arrival in Levski was supposed to go unnoticed, for now. Olaf Wokan was a code name. Kjeld had asked me to meet Rimana. She would prepare for his arrival. And I was supposed to find a meeting place where no one could tell that TYR was there.

I retreated with Rimana to a quieter spot.

“So you live on Levski. How long have you been here?” I began.

Her answer was a mystery. I liked mysteries and pressed her for more. Piece by piece, I coaxed one puzzle piece after another out of her. The picture that emerged was confusing—could that really be true?

Rimana was a clone from the Messer Era. As a slave, she had worked in the mines of the Nyx system. Damn, then she really was old. A clone? I was shocked. Was there such a thing? On the other hand—aren’t all those who are regenerated clones? My head was spinning. Alaska would have a scientific explanation for this.

I only vaguely registered Rimana’s further remarks. She had woken up on an Ironclad—a prototype. In Pyro, on Monox. Or was it somewhere else? She was looking for the Ironclad. There was a connection to the Blood Temple. Or was the Ironclad itself the Blood Temple? Kjeld had once mentioned it. Didn’t he have something to do with the Versipellis Sica? Those radical Nine Tails connected to ENOS?

The muddle in my head turned into a vacuum.

“They’re here,” Rimana stated.

“What?”

“Olaf is here.”

Oh, right, Kjeld. I was completely confused.

We met Kjeld at the terminals. He had several of his people in tow. And then someone else showed up, a guy named Beryl. He was one of Kjeld’s contacts and procured modified weapons.

“I found a suitable meeting spot. Inconspicuous, secluded, direct access to the hangar,” I said to Kjeld.

We took the elevator to Teach’s Ship Shop, an old hangar where several spaceships were for sale. In the back right corner stood an Argo Mole, a mining ship. Kjeld, Rimana, Beryl, and I went on board. The rest stood guard outside.

We sat down at the table in the Mole’s lounge. It was dark; the ship’s systems were running at a minimum. We were undisturbed, just a few potential buyers looking at the Mole’s interior.

Kjeld explained his intentions. He was looking for ways to establish the pipeline between Nyx and the Deadlight, his cousin Skallagrim’s nightclub in Area 18. Skallagrim had offered me the chance to take over smuggling from Nyx to the Deadlight, for good pay.

And Kjeld was looking for a guy named Raimund Everres. He’s supposed to have ties to the Versipellis Sica and be hiding in the Glaciem Ring. There it was again, the ENOS project. And I thought it was over. We’d taken out the masterminds in Stanton, but the project lived on, in Pyro. And now its reach extended all the way to the Nyx system. Would this never end? Luckily Brubacker wasn’t here; he would have freaked out.

After we’d exchanged all the information, we showed Kjeld and his people around Levski. It was Kjeld’s first time in the heart of the People’s Alliance. Our last stop was Café Musain.

We stood at the bar and chatted.

“Do you notice anything about Beryl?” Risa asked me.

“No, he looks normal. Why?”

Beryl held a medgun to his arm. No pulse. I stared at him in disbelief. Holy Prophet.

“Beryl is an android,” Risa stated.

“Can I hack you then?” I blurted out.

Beryl’s eyes widened in outrage.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Kjeld said. “Maybe that way we can find out where Beryl comes from and who built him. We’re hoping the designer will give us clues about Versipellis Sica.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“First an ancient clone, now an android. Any more surprises?”

“Jennifer isn’t even ten years old,” Kjeld laughed.

Jennifer? The fighter who was on the security detail during the Onyx investigation? I wasn’t sure anymore if I was awake or dreaming.

After Beryl showed us another Stealth Intrepid modified by the Banu Wikelo, we said our goodbyes.

My head was spinning. Too much information, too many new revelations that left me confused. In a daze, I walked to the Grand Barter Bazaar. Exhausted, I sat down at a table, a bottle of Schmolz in front of me.

Brubacker—maybe 700 years old, maybe a time traveler. Rimana—an ancient clone. Beryl—a humanoid robot of unknown origin. Jennifer—a ten-year-old adult produced in a test tube. I had to process that first. As if we hadn’t already seen enough attempts to alter humans with the bio-bots from Project ENOS and Dr. Jorrit’s Vanduul-human gene experiments.

And Kjeld was still searching for the Versipellis Sica. Was ENOS back? And he’d asked me to gather information on the Moraines, Dead Saints, and Claw Salamanders. It felt like a storm was brewing.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)