Draa bent down, touching the smooth floor with his fingertips. He tried to look forward, imitating his instructor’s stance, but the bony growth on the back of his head pressed against another on his nape. His body swayed left and right as he placed his left leg back. A mechanism hummed above, and bags of stones seemed to settle on his shoulders. Tension seeped inside, tugging at the strings of his veins and straining his muscles.
Gravity. He hadn’t thought much about it before, but except for insects, birds, and the rare Malformed with wings, anything thrown upward always fell back down. It seemed natural. But now he knew why. The planet had its own pull, and the Iternians had learned to replicate this effect, channeling it for all sorts of purposes—from easing the burden of carrying heavy loads to training. The potential of wielding such a natural force was staggering.
The instructor whistled, and Draa sprinted along the track, savoring every second. Every cell in his body worked, responding to the challenge and pushing through the resistance of artificial weight. This was far better than simply hauling boulders to build endurance!
At the rear of the ship was a training area for the crew. Oval running tracks lined the spectator seats, which were usually empty. A grille separated the general physical exercise section from specialized areas meant for sparring or practicing dangerous techniques. On the opposite side of the entrance, beyond the running lanes, were dumbbells, barbells, and other equipment for bodybuilding. The watchful beams of turrets kept them off the tracks.
And the lanes themselves were full of wonders. Draa ran at full speed, spurred on by the crack of straightening cartilage and joints. Recesses opened in the floor, lifting steel rings with hollow centers. Awkwardly spreading his legs, the boy ran across them, stepping into the hollows and no longer tripping over the rings’ edges. A pole descended from above. He ducked, dove forward, and soared over the last obstacles, rolling along the track. Instead of jumping to his feet, Draa continued on all fours, dodging swinging balls accelerated by additional gravity.
There is no losing or winning here. We all strive for the perfection of the magnificent temple that is our bodies. So said the instructor. In principle, he was right, but Lucius running beside him, effortlessly keeping pace, looked perfect. He dodged obstacles deftly, never lost his balance, and breathed evenly. Dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, the healer leaned back to avoid a pole that appeared at face level. His muscles shifted, standing out like ridges as they stretched his skin.
Together, the Malformed and the Iternian continued their obstacle run. Over the past three days, Draa had learned a great deal. Every morning, Lada gathered them. Her role on the ship he didn’t fully understand. The artificial personality was sometimes intangible, sometimes harder than any material, and ever lurking nearby, as if the entire vast ship were merely an extension of the woman.
Cooperative Malformed and willing Normies assembled in the training hall, where Lada answered questions and told them about Iterna. It turned out that Draa’s former home was barely a speck compared to the truly giant country of Softskins and “Ironhides,” as the kids had nicknamed the robots.
The Old World was the time before the Extinction—the catastrophe that had devastated their world. Only Softskins lived then, distinguished by skin color and the type of implants. Iterna had been spared when the tragedy struck. Its force shield held back the roaring inferno of fire and shimmering energy surges, preventing the small nation from perishing. Others were far less fortunate.
Since then, the country kept growing, bringing enlightenment to newly formed states and tribes. The altered were named Abnormals, and the Malformed were just one of their kinds. Dad and Pierre belonged to another kind, called mutants. Lada recommended not dwelling on these distinctions to avoid creating artificial barriers based on tribalism.
Draa had no idea what she was talking about. Tribalism. The word hinted at tribes. But now a new country had become his herd. Strange. Why would anyone think about groups?
Nakula attended the lessons with his guards. He constantly tried to keep the Malformed away from his daughters and nieces, but Lada deliberately mixed the group, seating the children together and engaging them in discussions. While Draa clarified the meanings of certain words, another copy of Lada appeared before Vyfka and showed her how to use a terminal, while a third snow‑white woman casually confiscated yet another knife from Rudrani. Any attempts to interfere with the lessons were suppressed by the “Ironhides.”
Artificer no longer contacted them, having disappeared onto the bridge. Dad called Draa twice a day, promising to see his son soon. Mom was busy working with Paarfu as negotiators and bringing the adult Malformed up to speed. Akrn greedily absorbed any knowledge and tried to involve Euka in videogames, intending to make her next word his name.
That contest was adorable.
And so Draa found himself left to his own devices. He had never been separated from his family for so long, but there was no choice. Pulling himself together, he asked if he could join Lucius in his morning workouts.
The half‑hour run ended. Under increased gravity, it had felt like four. The runners stopped on a special platform, and while Draa caught his breath, pleased that he hadn’t fallen behind, Lucius pulled on boxing gloves. A nod, and the boy threw a straight punch.
The healer didn’t dodge or block the attack. His elbow came at the approaching fist, deflecting it, and Draa took a straight blow to the face from the closing the distance Lucius. Unfortunately, the glove softened the impact, but he still felt it. The instructor was strong. Almost as strong as he was, but far more flexible and much better at handling temperature changes. Not a single drop of sweat glistened on the instructor’s round face, while moisture had formed between the joints of Draa’s bony shell.
Like flickering stars, fast jabs rained upon the retreating boy. Wherever he dodged, a fist found him, filling his spirit with joyful excitement. He would learn to overcome such pressure! Yesterday, he hadn’t even seen the jabs coming.
“Left! No, right! I mean, right from me! Ah, you missed it!” Eshtu rose on his hind legs in the spectator seats. Excited, he kept coiling and uncoiling his tail into loops.
At the point where his human neck merged with chitin, hung a harness with artificial arms. Matching the color of his carapace, the human‑like mechanical appendages clenched and unclenched as Eshtu studied the details of the fight. Thanks to them, he too could use switches and the issued terminal. His friend’s contradictory advice was more confusing than helpful, so Draa let it go in one ear and out the other. If Eshtu wanted to have fun, he should join the workout.
“Careful, you big oaf,” Vyfka grumbled, moving away from the sweeping pincers. The scaly girl held a terminal on her knee, photographing herself and the kids around her using the camera on top. Ever since she had been able to reconnect with her friends and parents on the neighboring flying mountain, she couldn’t tear herself away from the terminal, greedily exploring all its capabilities.
Tigfy, who shared a cabin with her, shared that the guards often had to take the device away, otherwise Vyfka would spend the whole night staring at the colorful screen.
“Breakfast means what we eat in the morning…”
“Will we always have it now?”
“Sure hope so!” Satya laughed, patting the small likeness of Eshtu on the head. “Precise words matter because breakfast is one thing, while lunch is a more substantial meal. You don’t want to miss out on the tasty stuff, do you?”
Lily, as the girls had nicknamed the six‑legged toddler, sat on Satya’s lap, her tail wrapped around Satya’s waist, listening attentively to the older girl. At first, Satya shrieked in terror when she suddenly discovered the little one dozing on her shoes during a lesson. The toddler had slipped away from her overly protective brother in search of quiet. But after a few days, the Softskin was already calmly picking up the living armored tank, chatting with Lily and occasionally struggling to pronounce the difficult name her parents had given her.
Missing another punch, Draa wished her luck. The name “Lily” rolled off the tongue much more easily than a series of clicks and teeth‑clacking.
Eshtu’s sister kept her distance from the other Malformed, always avoiding Vyfka in particular, and gravitated more toward the Softskins. Whether it was a simple instinct to find a source of warmth or because she didn’t perceive them as a threat, Draa was glad she had found friends.
The tip of Lily’s tail and her pincers were coated with a silvery substance that protected others from their sharpness. Unlike her brother, she didn’t mind contact. The professor studying the siblings’ similarities had discovered that Eshtu’s carapace was riddled with numerous nerve endings that picked up the slightest vibrations.
In theory. In practice, the boy’s brain couldn’t handle the flood of signals and rejected such warnings. Also, Lily’s venom was paralytic, not flesh‑dissolving like her brother’s.
Tigfy leaned over the table next to Rudrani, who was dressed in a green vest and pants, playing a local clan game. First one girl, then the other, would extend their hands, fingers spread wide. The other would place her hand on top and begin stabbing a knife or a claw between the fingers, gradually speeding up with each thrust. The winner was the one who lasted longer without injuring either player. And the mingled blood from the cuts formed a kind of family bond between clan members.
Witnessing this game at breakfast, Vipstana had called it a barbaric relic, undoubtedly leading to infections. She gave Rudrani a dull knife and Tigfy a special glove that stretched when her claws came out. Now they finished a round with a touch, and there were no fresh cuts on their fingers.
Rudrani turned out to be a good acquaintance, far more determined than her cousins. She had been the first to knock on Draa’s door in the morning, looking for Tigfy to show off her restored eyesight. That was how they had met, getting thoroughly lost in the ship’s corridors. Rudrani still wore dark glasses to protect her eyes from the bright light, although Tigfy suspected that their new friend simply liked her current look.
Behind the gathered children, bored guards waited. If they distrusted the Malformed or considered them a threat, they hid it well. On the floor next to Eshtu stood four small containers.
Swinging wide, Draa missed the face of the ducking healer and earned a heavy blow to his stomach.
“Lucius, beat him up!” Rudrani’s two other cousins chanted.
In the confined space of the ship, there wasn’t much to do, so the whole gang came to watch the workouts, clearly picking favorites. Honestly, Draa would have preferred that their lazy assess either join the exercises or sleep in, but he had to make do.
Together is more fun. And the desire to avoid humiliation gave him motivation.
“Your swings are too wide,” Lucius said impassively. “It’s easy for me to sneak under them. Don’t forget your defense, and think about how I might change my position when you attack.”
“Right!”
Using his left arm to block Lucius’s jabs, Draa focused, emptying his mind of everything else. He understood the principle of his opponent’s fighting style: dodges, feints, deflections, and counters. All things he had often encountered before. But the Softskin himself was alien to him. He didn’t snort during fights, didn’t bite, didn’t spit acid, and didn’t try to run from a larger opponent. His compact figure wordlessly screamed vulnerability. In other words, Draa was unsettled by the absence of the usual aggression and instincts.
No matter. That made it even more interesting. His heart beat faster. Now! Lucius lunged left, punching an unprotected spot on Draa’s left arm. The boy shifted his arm, taking the attack on a bony growth, and swung, striking the healer’s ribs. The small man protected himself with his forearms. Instead of leaving a scrape, a bruise, or even a fracture, Draa’s knuckles harmlessly slid off.
Lucius was incredible. Which meant Draa couldn’t fall behind either.
Draa gave in to his instincts, stepped forward, and stomped on Lucius’s foot. A hail of punches rained on the Softskin. The healer was far more flexible. Draa admitted that and deliberately used the length of his arms to force his opponent to defend and dodge, keeping him from getting close. If Lucius weren’t so committed to teaching him boxing, this behavior wouldn’t have been tolerated. A simple grab could have easily twisted his wrist or stopped his arm for a proper artery bite.
Instead, the Softskin didn’t give up, using his student as an unusual training tool. Lucius turned out to be unexpectedly heavy; the weight of his surgery‑compacted muscles hadn’t disappeared, working to his advantage. Since his body hadn’t broken under that load, it had adapted, densifying his bones. A smaller form while retaining the same mass resulted in increased durability. In this, the Iternian was surprisingly similar to the Malformed, though the cause of his alteration wasn’t a natural defect.
“Enough,” Lucius called out.
Draa stopped immediately. The Softskin’s hands were red from his punches. Hearing a throat clear, he embarrassedly stepped off the foot. The instructor knelt, took off his gloves, and massaged the spot where his student’s toes had dug in. The Malformed breathed heavily, pleased with his progress. Yesterday and the day before, he had lost sight of Lucius and taken a generous share of blows. Today, their sparring was more even.
“I don’t mind being a punching bag, but next time we’ll both stick to classic boxing techniques,” Lucius said.
“Yes, sir!” Draa repeated the phrase used by the ship’s guards.
“Drop the formality. You’re making me feel old.”
“Everyone grows up. I’m sure you still have many active years ahead.”
“The volunteer old age doesn’t threaten me.” Lucius grinned. The redness had faded from his limbs, leaving a couple of fading bruises. “Now it’s time for iron.”
“As you wish, sir!”
“You don’t raise a hand to an empty head. Thump your chest, kiddo,” one of the guards called out.
“Aren’t you done yet?” Tigfy drawled disappointedly. Her claw danced between Rudrani’s spread fingers. “How much longer?”
“A minimum of an hour of exercise is needed to maintain proper physique,” Lucius replied.
He picked up a barbell, assessed its weight, and screwed on a couple more plates. Today, Draa didn’t feel like lifting ordinary dumbbells, so he followed the instructor’s example, struggling a bit to unscrew the nuts holding the plates and adding three more fifty‑kilogram weights. A guard joined him, checking the barbell before letting him lift it.
The extra gravity truly transformed this exercise. What he could normally lift with one arm now had to be placed on his back first, then his legs slowly straightened while he watched his breathing to avoid exhausting himself and looking like a fool. The novelty was captivating. Draa appreciated the strain of every effort and the need to move without rushing. The freely flowing sweat reminded him he was alive and that everything still lay ahead. By the fortieth lift, flickers danced before his eyes, and he spread his legs wide, shifting his back to distribute the weight. The pressure became bearable. Shaking his head, Draa refused the guard’s help.
Lucius was tireless. A sheen of sweat finally appeared on him as he did rhythmic squats, whistling a tune. The doors in the partitioned section of the training hall opened, and Crassus entered, shirtless, dropping his saber’s sheath to the floor. He stepped onto the nearest platform, which began to sink, descending into a forming tunnel.
“Bastard! There’s my opponent for today!” Vyfka shouted.
She tossed the terminal into the hands of a startled soldier, covering the distance to the grille in a single leap. Draa dropped the barbell, ignoring the loud crash. A moment later, the increased gravity shut off. He raced after the stubborn girl, intending to stop her, but she had already climbed to the top of the grille, tensed, and launched herself like a green‑and‑blue bullet straight onto the training platform. Draa swore, clumsily climbing up.
“Stop…” someone called out nearby.
He didn’t listen, intending to give Vyfka a thrashing for causing chaos. His legs pushed off, and he slammed face‑first into an invisible barrier that had separated the Malformed girl from the Softskin.
“D‑damn…” Draa wheezed, sliding down. His nose hurt.
“Warned you,” said Eshtu, perching on top of the fence.
“Finally, it’s just you and me, smooth‑brain. I haven’t forgotten your arrogance.” Vyfka cracked her knuckles. “Today you have a chance to back it up with deeds.”
Crassus kept his eyes closed. His arms hung relaxed, but his hand firmly gripped the hilt. He seemed unaware of the intruder.
“What’s wrong? Wet your pants? Open your eyes and face reality! Don’t be afraid, use your razor, I won’t mind. If you don’t move, then I…”
Hisses from around the platform cut off the mocking boast. Three spiky jumbles, vaguely human‑shaped, rose from opened hatches. Unlike the familiar robots, these machines were black, oil and crude petroleum dripping from their limbs, cords and cables coiling around their thin extremities, snaking between sharp blades. Each had three limbs ending in straight, rust‑marked swords. Lenses on the edges of their elongated heads flashed red and began blinking. Their jaws opened, exhaling yellow mist, and a second later, an engine roar painfully lashed at everybody’s ears.
“Crassus! Stop the test! There’s an outsider!” Lucius shouted.
The grotesques arranged in a triangle around Crassus took a step, lacking the fluidity of other machines. Jets of steam escaped between their joints; they twitched, almost maniacally and very quickly, thrusting their blades forward. The tall machines loomed over the bewildered Vyfka, and the nearest one shot out a limb, aiming for her neck. The girl started to duck and yelped.
A hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her off her feet. Still without opening his eyes, Crassus swung his saber upward, deflecting the incoming blade. Releasing the hilt and re-gripping it so the cutting edge faced downward, he drove the blade into the machine’s head and pushed down, carving through the stinking, oil‑drenched innards. Sparks showered the officer as he calmly set the stunned Vyfka back on her feet. The ignited oil burst into flames, and the black hulk exploded, scattering into shards and spreading flames.
Crassus pressed the Malformed girl against himself, momentarily frightening Draa. He thought the man would use her as a shield. Instead, the Softskin leaped back, deflecting shards with his saber. Vyfka tried to break free, to join the fight, but the firm grip shoved the howling girl behind the man. The saber danced before Crassus’s face, methodically parrying the thrusts of machines after they broken through the fire curtain.
“Awesome!” Satya breathed.
The people gathered on the other side of the grille.
“How does he fight blind? I can barely hear myself over this noise,” Tigfy asked excitedly. “Draa, do you know?”
“No idea.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Vyfka. One mistake and…
No mistake came. With a sharp movement, Crassus threw Vyfka to the side in front of him, not releasing his grip. The blade flashed over her, severing a machine’s legs at the ankles. An upward slash removed two limbs from another machine, finishing it with two stabs to the head and chest. The next strike hit the convulsing grotesque on the floor, splitting its back. Crassus stepped back, exiting through the circle of the deactivated barrier with Vyfka. It reactivated just in time to absorb the explosions that tore the machines apart.
“Nothing can disrupt my daily routine,” Crassus said to Lucius, walking around the training platform and pushing Vyfka ahead of him.
“That was amazing!” the girl exclaimed. “Let’s go another round, but this time I’ll help…”
“You don’t have the funds to pay for a lesson in the company of my magnificence.”
“Sir, my apologies for my inattention and slowness,” said the soldier who had let Vyfka escape, kneeling and presenting his sheath.
Crassus sheathed his saber and fastened it at his belt.
“No one expected you to excel. A slip was inevitable. The masses are simply incapable of showing immunity to temptation, which is why their betters must toil hard for the common benefit. I warned that Problem Solvers were needed for observation, but I was ignored. Lada failed in her duty.”
“I volunteered to watch the kids while she’s busy excavating that dreadful anthrax mixture and…”
“Yet another proof of the unreliability of trusting bleeding hearts. It’s sad to see that Dr. Vipstana inherited all the responsibility in the family,” Crassus cut Lucius off. “Thomas should have been called. I’ll send a report to command. The Elite and the citizen have become too unruly, and I won’t let their laziness lead to incidents.”
“Hey,” Vyfka stood in front of him. “I’m the one who charged at you. I caused the mess. If you want to punish someone, punish me.”
“You? You’re a child. It is your obligation to inconvenience adults.” Crassus pointed to the running track. “You ran across a section with active gravity.”
“And nothing happened!”
“The field didn’t deactivate in time. What if they had stepped onto it?” Crassus nodded toward the girls. “Or her?”
“Did I do something wrong?” Lily blinked, remaining in her seat.
“No, you’re the only one with enough gray matter to show prudence,” Crassus praised her. “Keep it up.”
“Thank you!”
“My pleasure. Why is no one staying with her?”
A soldier and Satya separated from the group, returning to the girl.
“Incompetence. Frivolity. You’re behaving as if we’re in kindergarten,” Crassus shook his head.
“You’re changing the subject,” Tigfy frowned. “Lada is the reason you’re here, right? You came here deliberately, knowing how Vyfka would react, so you could… what? Undermine her?”
“Nonsense,” Crassus cut her off. “I repeat my routine every day at the appointed time. Not a minute later, not a minute earlier. If you’re trying to shift the blame for others’ mistakes onto me, do a better job. That goes for you too,” he snapped at the soldiers.
They saluted. Tigfy nodded slowly, grimacing. Crassus headed for the exit, finding Rudrani in his path.
“What? I have a tight schedule. I don’t have time to listen to baseless conspiracy theories.”
“Your sword,” the girl blurted out. “How did it cut metal so easily?”
“Molecular edge. It splits a gap, then physical force does the rest.”
“Oh,” Rudrani looked at the sheath with respect. “But surely the rest of the blade cracks from prolonged use?”
Tigfy walked through the open gate in the grille and stood next to Draa, touching his nose. She was trembling slightly.
“Like any tool,” Crassus tilted his head. He tapped the hilt. “The difficulty was solved by adding maintenance nanites.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” Rudrani showed her dull knife. “They take away my weapons, but I love blades. Could I get a sword like that in Iterna, or make a knife that works on a similar principle? For self‑defense, naturally.”
“After coming of age and with sufficient credits,” Crassus replied, marching past her, glancing briefly at Tigfy. He wagged his finger.
“Damn,” Tigfy exhaled through her teeth.
“So?” Rudrani whispered, squeezing between her and Draa.
The boy looked back and forth between his friends in confusion. Why were they all pawing at his nose? He wasn’t even hurt!
“Nothing. Either he’s hiding his thoughts, or this really was a convenient coincidence for him.” Tigfy glared sternly at Vyfka. “Don’t do that again.”
“He pisses me off…” Vyfka wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingers deep into her arms. “My fault. It won’t happen again.”
“Ah, relax,” Lucius laughed. “Nothing serious happened. If Crassus thinks Lada will have even a bit of trouble for it after establishing cooperation between Normies and Abnormals in such a short time, he’s a dreamer. Rho may think he’s clever, but Lada and Artificer have been playing this game for centuries.”
“Sir, the Major General is only concerned with the safety of the mission,” a guard interjected tensely.
“He should take the stick out of his ass and relax! Find himself a girlfriend!” Lucius stretched. A floating chair rose from the seating area and joined him. “I’m off to the shower. I’ve been allowed to assist in reducing radiation in a patient today, and I don’t intend to be late. Are you all still…”
“Here, stay here.” Eshtu nodded. Noticing Draa’s surprised look, he explained as the healer left: “They gave me medicine. Touching things isn’t so awful anymore. I had some time to think about what to do, and Satya and I decided to organize a dodgeball game for everyone.”
“A what?”
“Throwing a ball.” Satya crawled under the spectator seats and pulled out a gray metal ball. She threw it with both hands; it clanged off Draa’s chest. Weighted. Not ordinary. “Two teams. One ball flies between us. Whoever catches it, throws it at a member of the opposing team. If you hit them, they’re out. Come on! Softskins versus Malformed! We can all play this together.”
“More likely we’ll maim you together.” Draa picked up the ball, tossed it, and caught it. It was quite heavy. “Satya, no insult, but I could accidentally murder you with this…”
“Everything has been thought out!” Eshtu clicked his pincer against the guard’s chest. A clang rang out. “Guess what’s in the containers?”
“Don’t peek, pervert!” one of Rudrani’s cousins said.
The four girls hurried to the containers, pressed the buttons, and opened them. They pulled out seemingly thin but sturdy blue suits and began putting them on over their clothes under the Iternian’s guidance, who offered advice. The chest pieces of the strange armor split into two parts for easier fitting. Once they were joined, the sleeves were inserted, and then the girls put on gloves.
“You’ll be surprised,” Tigfy whispered to the skeptical Draa.
“Already. Surprised and don’t understand why I’m a pervert.”
“Forget it, they’re weird!” Eshtu cheerfully took the terminal with his mechanical hand and smiled. “Get ready. Here comes the magic!”
A tremor ran through the running tracks, reaching the soles of their feet. The rings of the individual lanes shifted, merging into a single undulating ring that stretched to the edge of the formed space. With the speed of an attacking Insectoid, the circle flattened and shifted to the center, dividing the area with an elongated line. The Malformed remained on the left, while the Marvas stood on the right.
“Well.” Rudrani slapped her belly loudly. Her face looked through the transparent visor of her helmet. She still hadn’t taken off her glasses. “Go on, show us what you’ve got, Draa. Unless you plan to chicken out.”
Draa shrugged and jumped. Without rushing, he threw the ball at the floor, not with full force. The projectile hit the surface, losing some momentum, and bounced, striking Rudrani. She didn’t even flinch. Her blue‑clad figure caught the ball and spun it on her finger. Her palm tossed it up, and she swung with unexpected speed. A smack sounded.
The ball flew within a centimeter of Draa’s ear, boomingly hitting the wall. Eshtu caught it with his tail to the joyful applause of his sister and bowed.
“What? These Normies not so weak in power armor?” Rudrani grinned from ear to ear, crouching. “He-he. How about proving to us what you’re worth?”
“Sounds like fun,” Vyfka snorted. “I’ll knock out the most.”
“Make sure you’re not the one knocked out,” Tigfy advised. “They’re used to working as a team. We aren’t.”
“All the more interesting,” Draa grinned. “We have a chance to get better. Rudrani! Challenge accepted!”