The sterile hum of Salvador's underground lab vibrated in Russell's bones.
Russell stared—mesmerized, and more than a little terrified—as his uncle worked with frantic precision. Salvador's fingers flew across a holographic interface, pulling up dense academic texts, complex mathematical formulae, and historical star charts. With a flick of his wrist, he compressed terabytes of information into a single, shimmering data-stream that flowed into a waiting port.
A small, automated arm nearby whirred to life, synthesizing a glossy red capsule with a soft hiss-pop.
"Xenobotanical Phylogenetics,"
Salvador announced, placing the capsule on a growing pile.
"Next up… The Economic Policies of the Martian Federation, Post-Terraforming."
He began the process again.
---
"I… I really need to eat these?" Russell asked, eyeing the crimson pills with deep suspicion.
They looked less like study aids and more like highly concentrated poison.
"Chill, nephew!" Salvador said, grinning without looking up. "They're perfectly edible. Bio-reactive nutrient gel casing. You eat one capsule for a subject," he explained, gesturing animatedly, "then you read a single summary page of that subject—just to give your brain a contextual framework—and bam! The mnemonic enzymes activate. The data integrates. You'll have it all: every date, every equation, every comma and footnote. Even the boring copyright information on the title page."
---
The promise was incredible. Too incredible.
Russell's eyes—wide with a mixture of awe and anxiety—drifted away from the capsules. The vast, humming lab seemed almost alive now, its glow reflecting against his face. His gaze landed on a large, isolated monitor panel flickering with data that was starkly different from the academic material his uncle was compiling.
It displayed a rugged, orange-hued landscape under a smoggy sky. Saturn's rings cut across the darkness above like a scar of light.
The text header read:
TITAN OUTPOST 7 – PERIMETER BREACH
The feed showed grainy, helmet-cam footage of hulking, six-legged creatures with chitinous armor, skittering across the icy terrain. They were being engaged by figures in heavy, modified environment suits—wielding broad swords, spares and ancient weapons.
---
"Uncle," Russell asked, his voice quieter. "What's running on that panel?"
Salvador glanced over. For a split second, his playful demeanor vanished—replaced by something sharp and cautious.
"Hmm? Oh, that. Nothing. Just… information on the 'Hunters' over on Titan. Routine stuff."
He tried to sound dismissive, but a note of tension crept into his voice.
"'Hunters'?" The word sent a thrill down Russell's spine, instantly more captivating than any calculus equation.
"What are they? Soldiers?"
---
"Not exactly," Salvador said, turning back to his work. His movements were still precise—but slightly more forced now.
"The Saturn system is… volatile. Titan's native life forms are aggressive and constantly testing our colony perimeters. The Hunters are… independent contractors. Skilled fighters who go out there to cull the hostile fauna. Some do it for the substantial bounty credits. Some are adrenaline junkies doing it to prove themselves. A few…"
He paused, synthesizing another capsule.
"…a very few, do it out of a sense of duty. A passion to protect the frontier."
---
Russell's imagination was set ablaze. This was real.
This was the action and purpose he secretly craved—a world away from academic failure and social rejection.
His eyes were glued to the screen, watching a Hunter expertly dodge a lunging creature and blast it into frozen chunks.
"That's… incredible," he breathed. "Do you ever—"
---
"No."
The word was sharp. Final.
Utterly devoid of its earlier teasing tone.
Salvador stopped what he was doing and turned fully toward Russell. His expression was grave—his eyes intense.
"Russell, listen to me. This is not a game. Those aren't holograms. Those things on Titan—they kill. They kill experienced, armored veterans every single day. You will finish your exams with these—"
he pointed at the red capsules,
"—you will get your boring, quiet, safe degree, and you will forget you ever saw this feed. Do you understand me? Don't. Even. Think about it."
---
The order hung in the sterile air—cold and heavy.
Outside, the distant rain thundered against the warehouse shell.
Inside, the glow from Titan's feed bathed Russell's face in a faint, burning orange light.
For the first time, he saw genuine fear in his uncle's eyes.
It wasn't a warning.
It was a plea.
And that made it all the more dangerous.