Layla shifted, sitting on her ankles in front of the altar as Arius arranged the artifacts. Meghan sorted through the contents of a large plastic case and retrieved a clear container full of a honey-colored liquid. She poured the oil into various small orifices in the altar, rough-drilled holes narrower than her smallest finger. The oil soaked into the thin layer of dirt Arius hadn't removed, turning the brown dust black. Deep grooves cut in the altar appeared as capillaries and pulled the oil through canals, weaving a pattern, intricate and meaningless. Arius stepped back after placing the last artifact.

The sword stolen from Qeryh joined the other items. The second item was a black rod, made of overlapping pieces of metal soldered together as if some kitschy snakeskin piece. The thing was heavy enough to be solid, but scans revealed the center to be hollow. The third was a wedge-shaped mass, an axe lacking a handle. The final item was a small brass-colored hemisphere, once perhaps a highly polished ceremonial bowl, but now cracked and tarnished. The artifacts fit into shaped nooks in the altar, cavities wet with the oil flowing through the grooves. The stonework was quite intricate, and only in the presence of the weapons, intended for such a purpose.

Meghan struck a flare against the altar and fire spread quickly over the stone. The glow was warm and radiant; the flames were dancing calmly along the engravings, licking and tasting the items.

"This is dumb," Arius offered.

Wisps of savory smoke rose towards the ceiling. The flames crackled brightly, popping. The rendered tallow had been hard to obtain, and Layla wished Meghan hadn't been so impatient. The luminescence of the flames lost luster. Nothing had happened, except that they would need to clean soot from priceless artifacts.

Grigory had been the one to discover the location of the temple, as well as the ritual, encoded on the items. All four had the text repeated on them, mathematical formulas, and language that had been incorrectly translated into the Book of Life.

Layla rubbed her shoulders. Meghan sighed and lay down on the dirt floor, and then picked, disgusted, at the brown stain the floor left on her shirt. Arius walked back to the single door in the room, heavy stone that had closed and locked and trapping them together; there were several reasons Grigory had not accompanied the three into the temple. They had plenty of food and water. They carried enough with them, expecting an extended expedition, though without an excess of hope. Layla leaned back onto the floor, and stared up at the roof, and was surprised to see stars.

"Open your eyes."

Meghan twisted her body so she could see Layla. "Huh? What?"

Arius found Layla's face and followed her eyes, and saw the shapes, nearly washed out against the illumination of the electric tripods standing around the room. Arius flicked off the lamps, leaving the one hanging at his waist for last, and fumbled for a place to sit in the dark. Meghan squeaked at the sight: the planet where they had found the temple, orbiting its sun, against the backdrop of the galaxy. She was certain she would have seen the design when they had entered, or that some one else would have noticed. The cause, whether the presence of the artifacts, or the effect of the ritual, seemed unclear.

Layla's hands slid across the rough ground, and drifted across the textured edges where stones met. The palms of her hands were black. "Arius, turn the lights back on."

Arius flicked the lights to full power, and Layla struggled to her feet as her eyes adjusted to the bright illumination.

"Help me with the floor. I think there's something under the dirt. I think we missed it."

Arius nodded and pulled off his linen jacket. Meghan watched with lazy eyes while Arius stirred up a storm of dust, sweeping the dirt into the corners of the room, ruining his coat, and revealing a solar system engraved in the stone, one that mirrored the projection that had been on the ceiling. Meghan coughed and glared at Arius until the dust settled in the corners.

Memorizing the patterns, Layla clicked off half the lights and stared at the ceiling. She glanced at her communicator; the planets were revolving around the sun at a lazy pace, and she guessed that the patterns would match in another six kiloseconds.

The group passed the time in near silence. Arius was sure Layla had fallen asleep, and Meghan picked at a ration bar in the dim illumination. She didn't actually eat the food, but rather tore chunks off the stiff carbohydrate-and-protein slab and flicked disgusting bits at the wall. Arius kept a sort of watch so that the others were prepared as the system came into configuration.

Meghan tossed the plastic wrapper on the dirt floor and poured more oil onto the altar, preparing to ignite it again. A few moments before the configuration aligned, Meghan lit the oil and the altar began to glow. As the solar systems overlapped, a loud crack reverberated through the room. The altar began to shift, slid away from the wall, and revealed a small hole hidden underneath the stone. Layla and Arius circled around to the hole while Meghan toyed with her communicator.

"We could have brought the hydraulics and radar and made this so much easier," Meghan said with exasperation. "I'm gonna have to recycle this shirt."

Layla reached into the hole and removed a lacquered wooden box, purple and sturdy. Copper latches held the box closed. Layla set the box on the altar and released the latches. Inside of the box, wrapped in lush black fabric, lay a simple crystal sphere the size of her fist. The surface of the sphere was woven with an intricate, repeating pattern of arcs and lines; the grooves made by the lines had the effect of making the sphere act like a fresnel lens. The box was clearly visible behind and through the sphere; the lines corrected the distortion that should have made the view fish-eyed, but the colors were all wrong. Instead of warping straight lines into gentle curves, the sphere bent color.

Meghan yawned and stared past Layla. "Woo. Is that the last one?"

"Yeah."

"So... next is the Kingdom?"

Layla looked back at Meghan. "That's the plan. This will guide us into the temple, and then we deliver the artifacts. Time for your boy to get back to work."

Meghan nodded, and backed towards the closed stone door nonchalantly. One more tap on the communicator, and the door cracked and disintegrated. Arius looked at the door, surprised, as a shock-wave carried him to the ground. Meghan removed something - a memory chip, Arius thought - from one of the tripods.

Grigory walked through the ruined opening carrying a battle rifle. Meghan retrieved a Quorum-style pistol from underneath her shirt, and pointed it at Arius. She grinned as the black-haired man sucked in a panicked breath.

Grigory laughed, snickering and spitting through his inked lips. "I guess it's time, kids."

Confusion washed over Layla, turning to rage. Arius pushed himself backwards, sliding on the slick dust, trying to find an angle that would put the altar between him and the guns.

Meghan stepped sideways towards the door, and nearer Grigory. She remained silent while Grigory continued.

"Look, let's make this easy. Get in the center of the room and lay down. I'm taking the stuff and leaving. That's just all there is to it. Layla, you've treated me reasonably well, and if you don't resist, I won't have to shoot you. Arius, drop the gun."

Meghan shrugged and glared at Layla. "She's always creeped me out, personally. Ugh. You weren't so bad until you got that hero complex. You know, if you still considered yourself a treasure hunter, we could all be selling these things to the Ura."

Layla shook her head at Arius. "I see. Guess you took them up on the offer after I said no."

"Guess so," Grigory said.

Arius stood and sulked off towards the center of the room, hands up. He thumbed a hidden holster near his kidney, and a tiny handgun clattered to the floor.

Meghan took the rifle from Grigory and pointed the muzzle at Layla, then the center of the room. She held the gun awkwardly, heavy in the planet's moderate gravity, and her finger hovered over the trigger guard.

Layla slowly paced towards the center.

Meghan was dissatisfied with the pace, and ordered her to hurry, waving the gun threateningly.

Layla slowly knelt, and then sat on the floor, watching Grigory.

Meghan insisted they toss their communicators, and both Arius and Layla complied.

Grigory wrapped up the five artifacts carefully and took the discarded gun and communicators.

Meghan kept the rifle pointed until Grigory had left the room, and the pair backed out. Arius and Layla heard the thrusters of the landing shuttle ignite, a roar, then nothing.

Arius looked at Layla. "That was anticlimactic."

Layla stood, trembling. She walked out of the temple. Her neck was pulsing, her face bright red. Arius followed her along the straight hallway, and out the ragged exterior stone doors. He looked up at the sun, blotted by the shuttle jetting away.

"At least it's a pleasant day. We can go back to that settlement."

"Then what?"

"We could get a message to my brother."

Layla shook her head, fighting tears. "Even if they hadn't taken our communicators, this planet doesn't have a quantum relay. It'll take megaseconds to get to Rolf, and longer for him to get here. We're fucked."

***

Retractable airfoils and modular landing gear allowed the Quorum shuttle to maneuver in any environment, vacuum or atmospheric, dirt, craters, glass, ice. The atmospheric gear was extended, elegant wings and reinforced struts protruding from the teardrop-shaped hull. The struts were equipped with wheels, but the shuttle had spun up the gravity drive for a vertical landing. The whole shuttle was perhaps thirty meters in length, ten meters long, and four high, if one were to exclude the various protrusions and pods containing flight systems.

The thing had been designed to survive submerged in water, to depths of a few hundred meters. The shuttle featured a turbine for atmospheric maneuvering, peeking out from a pod between the landing struts. Hidden inside lay a high-powered gravity drive for sustained exo-atmospheric flight while captive within gravity wells; this same drive which pulsed to arrest the shuttle's fall. The gravity drive could also be used for maneuvering and acceleration during prolonged spaceflight, but the power requirements for large changes were enormous and expensive.

More pods on the aft housed traditional ion engines for microgravity operation. The whole ship was powered by a low-yield fusion reactor which would provide enough energy for the shuttle to cruise in space for hundreds of megaseconds, along with a high-yield electrolytic cell for atmospheric or high-thrust work. The lack of combustible fuel and propellant greatly increased the robustness of the shuttle, at the expensive of limiting maneuverability. None of the technology was particularly novel, but the design greatly exceeded the typical budget for manufacturing a shuttle.

The craft had been only recently manufactured in a tech lab, and was equipped with a reinforced frame, light stealth capability, and missiles more typical of fighters. Only the size and propulsion would separate the typical current-generation Quorum shuttle from a combat craft. The local sectors with the capability to augment their systems comparably were also making these sorts of changes; the Ura and Zwielicht in particular were augmenting even the most basic civilian ships with tactical upgrades.

***

The Quorum transported a small crew on one of their middle-tier ships, the Suijin. The ship was remarkable, one of the smallest vessels equipped with a sentient computer core, designated as one of the first science cruisers. Engineers scurried to refit the craft with more advanced weapons while orbiting the planet called Al Assaf.

The shuttle touched down on the planet thirty kilometers from a primitive settlement. The village was populated by religious fundamentalists who desired a peaceful life; these kinds of groups tended to isolate themselves near the borders between sectors and free space. They descended from a group that could trace their origin through the Avenant sector back to Earth, displaced through religious persecution and expanding corporate resource gathering operations. They lived outside the Gorman sector and represented a much older and more peaceful way of life, one from which the dominant Gorman Faith had eventually descended.

Commercial interests dominated the planet. As the sectors had expanded several times, radially outwards from the Quorum hub on Earth, such isolationists found themselves on the receiving end of relocation plans. They had fought to live on proper soil, and as with most of the relocation efforts, had traveled to free space hoping to find peace. They weren't alone on the planet, joined by several agrarian corporations that produced various commodities sold into free space, but otherwise the place was as undeveloped and isolated as one could find in an inhabited planet. People from civilized space rarely visited, and the Quorum crew undertook careful preparations to ensure there would be no misunderstandings.

Parasite drove the six-wheeled vehicle through the dry desert. The vehicle had an automatic navigation mode, but the computer-controls didn't work well in the dusty climate, and besides, Parasite enjoyed the sensation of driving the machine. The plastic panel covering the top half of his face glowed neon orange in the sunlight, brilliant green robotic eyes scanned the horizon for routes through the hills. The thin layer of glass and foam in the car's cabin provided sufficient protection from the heat of the sun, as the vehicle carrying its complement of five passengers and equipment plowed through the dunes. The car was designed for work like this, being light and maneuverable. The sand turned to dirt, and the knobbed wheels of the car tore apart fragile sunburnt flora.

The village was surrounded by a wall of wooden logs. They were hacked, almost sharpened into pointed tips. Clara was excited by the sight; so much wood could fetch a year's salary back home. Parasite was more pessimistic, since one only manufactures barriers like that to send a message. Still, the wall framed an open portcullis.

The vehicle rolled through the opening in the wall and came to a stop in an open, trampled gravel lot next to two others of similar manufacture, though old enough to show signs of deterioration. Parasite and Clara stepped out of the vehicle, followed by Marshe. Benefactors Andrew Wiggs and Darcy Bedge remained with the vehicle. All of the newcomers wore relaxed clothing instead of military uniforms; Cantor Marshe and two Benefactors carried their side-arms inside concealed holsters. The soldiers wore standard hot weather uniforms, while the civilians were dressed in light tank tops and perforated synthetic pants, all underneath white solar jackets made of a weightless foamy material.

The trio walked away from the lot, into the village, and found stares instead of greetings. The place was largely constructed of natural materials. The Gorman government had attempted to terra-form the planet, and the Quorum stepped in after the failure. Most of the planet was uninhabitable wasteland, there were only a few spots where the ground was fertile enough to support life. The clear blue sky and dry air indicated a low natural moisture content, something also evident from the shuttle on approach, and from the Suijin, circling in a slow, high orbit.

Clara searched out Marshe. "What now?"

"We buy food. Hopefully they can work with credit chips. We'll give the locals time to see us, and not freak out. We'll ask a few questions and then head on to the site. We're just here to make sure we won't have problems with the locals. If they get upset, our soldier boys'll get us out of here, and we'll call in a large landing party."

Clara coughed. "Um, Ma'am, we didn't talk about eating down here?"

"I'm not requiring that, if you don't want. I brought biotics for all of us. The others brought some food, I'm sure they'll share if you don't want to eat here."

Parasite asked, "Clara, is something wrong?"

Clara said, "No, John. Is eating this a bad idea?"

"I've had planet food before. Take the pills. You'll be fine until we get back into space - then you're going to spend a megasecond in the bathroom whether you eat here or not."

Clara smiled and decided to convince herself. "Right. It would be a travesty to visit a place like this and not eat, given the opportunity..."

"Right. I would, you know, if I could get away with it without surgery."

Parasite was exhausted; his mechanical body didn't tire, but he became weary through the act of living in his body. Clara wished she could understand.

Full-body transplants were uncommon during youth and unheard of once an individual had reached adulthood. Adult auto-euthanasia rates increased exponentially among those with high levels of prosthetic augmentation, leading to the institution of mandatory 'suicide insurance' for those who could not pay for their new body at once.

For a mature human, the resultant damage to the nervous system made effective control of one's body very difficult. Beyond the matter of physical manipulation and coordination, inhabitants of machine bodies struggled to adjust as sensations related to respiration, blood circulation, digestion, and healing vanished, resulting in a parasympathetic void and frequent panic attacks.

Rather than checking his pulse, Parasite could bring up a menu overlaid on his vision that would provide diagnostic data on his limited circulatory system. His brain was nourished by a system that maintained blood nutrient levels from a stored supply he refilled every half-megasecond with a series of syringes. He felt hungry sometimes, but with no stomach to feed, the sensation stemmed from boredom and fatigue.

Clara was uncomfortable in her clothes, sweating under the heat. Glistening sweat had formed on her skin, and the enlisted men had paid her too much attention when she left the vehicle. She was attractive, and Parasite felt slightly jealous as he tugged her jacket closed, reminding her of heat exhaustion, and that closing the jacket would keep her cool enough, despite what her body told her.

Marshe found a cafe serving sandwiches. She asked a dark-skinned hostess if she could pay with a credit chip. The hostess shrugged, muttering something unintelligible and wandered off. Parasite observed a red-haired woman staring at them; she averted her eyes when he noticed. The woman stood out alone with her synthetic hair color and pale skin amidst locals with matching brown hair, eyes, and flesh. He wondered how they perceived him, with his half-mechanical synthetic face. He realized that the treatment they had received, all the attention, might mostly be due to his presence, and briefly considered returning to the vehicle to wait out the encounter. He thought about Clara's unease and reconsidered.

The hostess returned and guided the three to a table. She spoke with halting words, reciting a welcome from memory. She promised they would be fed well. She started to turn away.

Parasite watched the red-haired woman. Clara smacked his leg under the table; Parasite felt the attack, but ignored it.

The woman returned two hundred seconds later with large pieces of folded parchment containing simple, natural food: rice, bread, and some sort of meat. The meat was covered in a thick, spicy sauce with a sweet odor. The women enjoyed the meal and felt guilty about the pair of guards guarding the vehicle. They had brought plenty of food, though, and the meal had more to do with reconnaissance than hunger. Parasite kept his portion in the paper. He could eat, but his prosthetics couldn't digest human food. The meal would pass into a bag, and he would have to purge the contents later. Clara seemed to enjoy her food enough now, and she might want more later.

The hostess indicated no payment was necessary, that something would be worked out later. This seemed awkward to Marshe, but Parasite was not particularly concerned. On Quorum ships, financial economies ruled, but in many of the religious communes, a gift-based economy would emerge. They might eventually be asked to help with some token activities, and if they stayed long enough, to participate in the basic upkeep of the village.

The group left the table. The red-haired woman approached Clara outside of the cafe, carrying a tray of paper cups that each contained a small amount of steaming liquid.

"You can't leave without trying this. Real coffee. Like, grown from beans."

Marshe tasted the liquid and politely nodded. The flavor grew on her, though she was never one for bitter flavors, and the gift made her feel uncomfortable. Clara twisted and scrunched her face into a knot. A moment passed before Marshe realized the woman had spoken the Uran language with enunciation typical of the Avenant people.

The red-head laughed, "I know, right? Hey. So... er... you all are tourists?"

Clara shook her head while Marshe responded. "We're here for work. Research."

Parasite joined the conversation after forcing his coffee on Clara. "Yeah. There's an old temple a few kilometers from here, we were hoping to check it out."

Clara jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, not hard enough to hurt, but he got the point. The red-haired woman hooked her arm around Clara's elbow and flashed a blinding smile.

"So, who do you work for? How long are you going to be here?"

Clara blushed slightly, finding the personal contact awkward. The group walked back towards the vehicle. "Er, who are you?"

"Name's Layla Tal. I guess I'm sort of a researcher, like you."

"Oh. Hmm... nice to meet you? I'm Clara, and this is John, and the boss, Ca, uh... Marshe."

Layla nodded and offered her free hand to John, who shook it politely.

"Call me Parasite," he said, as Clara glared.

Marshe flashed a threatening smile. "Marshe."

"Nice to meet you all. So you're here to see the temple? It's not much more than a bunch of fallen-down rocks. Some vandals smashed it up recently. Not much to see."

Clara agreed. "Probably, but we'd like to investigate for ourselves. Have you spent time there?"

"Not much, unfortunately. I've been here for a few megaseconds, with a colleague, but certain things didn't work out like I hoped they would and so I think we're done with this place."

Marshe rolled her eyes, stopped, and spun in place. "I get it. Your little corporate con didn't work on the locals."

Layla's eyes lit up, and she pulled Clara closer to her. "No! It's not at all like that. Con? Please. I really did come here to... well, study the history of the temple."

Marshe glared at the woman, let her jacket fall open, and gestured towards her holster.

"Listen, I can take you to the temple. I know a bit about the old history of the place. You won't find anyone in this sector who knows more about the Sole Ex Lux cult."

Clara's head turned. "The sun worshipers who live here?"

"Sun worshippers? No... the name's a decoy. They were mostly Neo-era Mainyuists with a lot of money and home-made psychotropics they engineered into the food. Look, I know this stuff. And I'm not a looter or a con artist."

Layla put her arms straight out, disengaging Clara, and gave an exaggerated questioning face to the three. Marshe thought the woman was a little too charismatic, and decided she was definitely a thief. Unfortunately, she had sold Clara.

Marshe looked at Layla and let a false smile creep across her face. "The cycles on this planet are one-hundred-eight kiloseconds. The next cycle starts in about sixty. Call it tomorrow morning. So, we'll meet there then, ok?"

Layla nodded excitedly. "Yeah. I'll bring a friend of mine. Hey, who did you say you worked for?"

Marshe shook her head. "We didn't."

Layla shrugged, hugged Clara, and waved to the others before wandering away.

***

"I fucked up."

Arius was naked, sitting on a towel. Without a razor, fine stubble formed on his cheeks. He raised his shoulders. "What else is new?"

"There are spacers here. They said they are going to the temple tomorrow morning. We'll need to get back to the temple and clean up."

"Ok. So we meet up with them and hitch a ride."

"That was my idea, except I tried to be all peppy and helpful and now I think they hate me."

"Yeah," Arius agreed, dressing. "You're pretty terrible at fake-happy. You're pretty terrible in general."

A hum grew in the distance and then passed by, diminishing with time. A second sound followed. "Tomorrow morning, huh?"

"Fuck. I guess we should go and play. Arius, help."