The Spire View's lobby was quiet, eerily so, in the way only luxury could afford. Morning light, filtered through the simulated dome above, pooled gently across the polished black floors. Automated climate systems whispered quietly in the background, adjusting airflow without a sound. Everything was clean, precise, composed.
And waiting for him.
Near the central lift, a small escort team stood in formation. No salutes, no dramatic displays—just quiet, professional readiness.
Two officers in Federation dark blue uniforms stood at attention, each with a sleek datapad holstered to their waist. Their collars bore subtle silver insignias denoting them as administrative aides. Important enough to be present, discreet enough to say little. Flanking them were three security personnel, led by a taller figure clad in combat black, his chestplate marked with an angular red crest: Tactical Division, Inner Ring Clearance.
Their weapons were holstered, but Ethan had no doubt each one of them could draw and fire before most people blinked.
The lead officer stepped forward and gave a short nod.
"Mr. Walker. I'm Officer Dren M'Razoo, attached to Governor Krell's executive security office. These are Lieutenants Sarin and Vel. We'll be escorting you to the Command Sector as per your appointment."
No excess words. No welcome speech.
Just efficiency.
"Understood," Ethan replied. "Lead the way."
They exited through a private rear entrance of the hotel, stepping onto a raised platform where a sleek mag-transport pod awaited them. Its exterior was matte graphite, adorned only with the faint silver rings of the Federation's emblem. No identification numbers, no station route markings.
This wasn't a public transport.
It was a VIP shuttle, and it hummed with the quiet promise of power.
Inside, the pod was lined with kinetic-adjusting seats, each one designed to absorb shock, fine-tune posture, and monitor biometrics in real time. The windows were made of smartglass, adjusting tint based on light and motion. The air was filtered, dry but cool, carrying just the faintest trace of sterile citrus. It smelled like Federation design: clinical, functional, clean.
The pod glided forward as soon as the last officer stepped in.
It moved without sound, shifting through private rails that bypassed the main commuter lines, accelerating along a carefully managed route that wound through Ashen Prime's upper structure. As they advanced, the windows began to reveal a different side of the station, one Ethan hadn't seen yesterday during his solo wanderings.
Here, the change was immediate.
Gone were the multi-level plazas and winding civilian sectors. The Command Sector was built with brutal, crystalline precision. Every wall gleamed, not from decoration but from relentless maintenance. Angled towers rose like spires of authority, interlocked by skybridges and transit tubes built with a minimalist aesthetic that felt more military cathedral than government facility.
Drones floated silently overhead, red-eye sensors blinking in rhythm, scanning without pause. They didn't repair, they watched.
Security gates segmented corridors every few hundred meters, monitored by layered biometric systems and pressure-sensitive tiles embedded in the flooring. No one here simply walked in. Every step was cataloged.
Ethan watched it all quietly.
The Federation didn't just build for function.
They built to remind you of its presence.
Each building they passed was a monument to order. No ornamental flourishes, no unnecessary structure. Clean edges. Straight lines. Strategic placement. Every detail felt like it had been simulated and stress-tested a thousand times before being approved.
Even the air here felt different.
Cooler. Drier. Sharper, somehow. He wasn't sure if it was psychological, but it felt as if the oxygen had been distilled to perfection.
Outside the smartglass window, they passed dozens of uniformed personnel. Officers, analysts, diplomats, and silent couriers all moving in tight, seamless flows, their steps in sync with internal timetables Ethan couldn't see but somehow felt. No shouting. No delays. Just the smooth, constant pulse of something vast and tightly run.
Eventually, the pod slowed.
Ahead loomed the Command Complex. A massive, tiered structure that jutted out from the uppermost struts of the Command Sector like the crown of the station. It was flanked by a pair of holographic banners, each projecting the emblem of the Orion Federation, a blue star encircled by orbital rings, hovering dozens of meters above the entrance.
Landing pads surrounded the building, each one neatly occupied by sleek diplomatic shuttles, military transports, and a few Mercenary Guild vessels bearing higher-tier command codes.
This was it.
The heart of Ashen Prime.
The pod doors hissed open.
Ethan stepped out, boots touching the spotless white-gray alloy of the landing ramp. A liaison officer, younger, sharp-featured and flanked by two assistants, approached him immediately.
"Mr. Walker, welcome to the Command Complex. If you'll follow us, Governor Krell is ready to receive you."
The tone was crisp, professional. But not cold.
They knew exactly who he was. And in this part of the station, that meant something. Not just a name on a list or a file in a secure database, but a reputation that had earned a place among Federation priorities. Not a hero like in Kynara. But someone who mattered.
The corridor he was guided through was flawless, lined with recessed lighting that flowed like a pulse beneath his feet. Illuminated veins of circuitry ran beneath the polished alloy floors, occasionally flaring as they processed encrypted traffic to nearby nodes. The walls were a muted steel blue, interrupted only by sleek black terminals and data interfaces.
Everything here was designed with intention. Clean lines, no excess. Precision in every detail.
As they moved, officers parted in quiet deference, not saluting, not speaking, just shifting smoothly out of the way with silent recognition. These weren't civilians or desk-bound bureaucrats. They were career professionals, analysts, tacticians, high-clearance operatives. Their uniforms were immaculate. Their steps synchronized with something larger than themselves.
No questions. No stares.
Just subtle glances. Quiet nods. And the kind of acknowledgment that didn't need words.
Ethan walked in silence, each step echoing faintly off the corridor's polished surface. He didn't speak, didn't ask questions. He let the space speak for itself.
Because here, every wall, every corner, every carefully muted light fixture whispered the same thing:
You're inside the machine now.
This was the true face of the Federation. Not the broadcasts. Not the propaganda posters or the polished speeches. This...the machinery behind the image. Power, systemized and humming beneath his feet.
They reached a tall, imposing set of doors. Polished to a mirror sheen, framed by segmented alloy that shimmered faintly with power lines running just beneath the surface. Embedded above the arch was a tri-ringed symbol, pulsing a soft white glow. The unmistakable mark of high-tier clearance, reserved only for the most sensitive administrative zones on Ashen Prime.
A pause.
Subtle. Intentional.
One of the aides stepped forward in silence. He reached into his uniform, withdrew a black access badge with silver trim, and pressed it to the biometric panel. The system scanned it in less than a second, the glow changing from white to emerald green.
A soft chime.
A beat of silence.
Then the doors opened, not abruptly, not slowly, but with the kind of deliberate precision that made even the air feel rehearsed.
The hiss of sealed pressure equalizing whispered through the corridor as the entryway parted, revealing the chamber beyond.
Ethan took a step forward, the first sound in the quiet moment the tap of his boots against the threshold.
The room within was spacious but restrained. No wasted luxury. Everything was curated, symmetry, order, and the unmistakable gravity of power. A long holotable occupied the center, its interface idle but alive with potential. Thin bands of blue light lined the walls, flowing like arteries feeding into the building's nervous system.
And standing at the far end of the chamber, arms calmly at his sides, posture exact, expression unreadable, was Governor Tallis Krell.
The man didn't speak. Not yet.
But his presence filled the room as if he'd been expecting Ethan not just for hours, but for days.
The doors sealed behind him with a quiet finality.
And just like that… the meeting began.