The transport glided away from the bastion’s private docks, descending through gleaming tiers of Caledon Prime. Laura pressed her forehead to the cool window, her breath fogging the glass. The ordered boulevards and geometric parks of the administrative district gave way to the bustling, dense warren of the city’s mercantile and cultural heart.

“It’s so… full,” Laura murmured.

Lysa followed her gaze, smiling. “The Grand Concourse. Best people-watching in the sector.”

It was true. The wide pedestrian thoroughfare teemed with life in a dizzying spectrum. Tall, pale-skinned Terrans in sleek Dominion fashion rubbed shoulders with a squat, moss-green species with four arms, their gestures fluid and complex. A pair of willowy beings with iridescent, feathered crests browsed a holographic kiosk, their voices a melodic chime. Laura saw scaled faces, furred limbs, bodies encased in environmental suits, and others that seemed to be more machine than flesh, all moving in a strangely harmonious river of difference.

“They all live here?” Laura asked, the sheer normalcy of it striking her. Artanis had been homogenous, a bastion of old Terran aristocracy.

“Trade hub,” Lysa said simply. “The Dominion mandates open ports here. If you can pay the tariffs, you can visit. Some even earn residency. It’s one of the few places the Integration Decrees haven’t completely stamped flat.”

The transport settled at a public plaza. Lysa led Laura out, her hand briefly touching Laura’s elbow—a guide, a protector. The first stop rose before them like a crystalline forest: the Universal Fauna Conservatory.

Inside was a symphony of alien biomes. They walked through transparent tunnels arcing over a swamp where six-legged, leathery beasts with lamprey mouths basked under a purple synthetic sun. In a zero-g chamber, schools of crystalline fish that pulsed with internal light drifted like living constellations. A humid jungle enclosure echoed with the clicks and whistles of arboreal creatures with prehensile tails and eyes on stalks.

Laura stopped before a vast plain exhibit, watching a herd of graceful, long-necked animals with coats that shifted color with their mood move in silent unison. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, a pang of loss for Artanis’s lost preserves sharp in her chest. “To have all this… just to look at. To keep safe.”

Lysa watched her face. “It’s a promise,” she said softly. “That not everything out there is about taking. Some things are just for seeing.”

The next destination was all about taking action. Neuron Nexus, the sign flashed. “Virtual immersion suites,” Lysa explained, her eyes sparkling. “I thought you might… enjoy a fight where nothing is real.”

The private pod was a sterile white room with two harness platforms. A polite, synthetic voice guided them to stand still for a full-spectrum biometric scan. Laura felt a tingling wave pass over her, and the world dissolved into a cascade of light.

When it resolved, she was standing on a windswept ridge under a binary star system. She looked down. Her body was powerful, clad in form-fitting armor of bronze and leather. She raised her hands—strong, scarred, unmistakably female. She was her, but amplified. A warrior.

Hesitantly, she cupped one of her breasts through the armor. The sensation was startlingly vivid, a firm, warm weight that yielded to her touch. The simulation’s feedback was flawless, completely overriding the persistent, slightly numb pressure of the silicone forms beneath her Myrden suit.

“Getting acquainted with the new equipment?” Lysa’s voice came from beside her. She was similarly attired, a grin on her face.

Laura flushed, dropping her hand. “It’s… very realistic.”

“The Nexus doesn’t skimp. Come on, the briefing says we’re clearing a Xylos hive.”

The aliens were nightmarish, chitinous things that skittered with blinding speed. Laura fell into the combat with a relief that was almost violent. Here, her body obeyed without question. She leapt, she spun, she drove a virtual energy blade into a thorax with a satisfying crunch. She wasn’t a fugitive heir in a skin-tight suit; she was strength and purpose.

She saw Lysa fight from the corner of her eye—efficient, precise, a whirlwind of controlled motion. They fought back-to-back, and for a glorious, exhausting hour, there was no past, no future, only the pure, adrenalized present of the game.

When the simulation faded, leaving them blinking in the white pod, they were both breathing heavily, grinning like fools.

“You’re good,” Lysa said, unclipping her harness.

“So are you,” Laura replied, the compliment feeling more real than anything had in days.

The final stop was a haven of quiet opulence: The Celestial Spring. “It’s famous,” Lysa said as they approached the serene, waterfall-adorned entrance. “The mineral waters are sourced from a dozen nebula-adjacent moons. It’s… ah.”

She stopped, her face falling. “Laura, I’m sorry. I forgot. It’s a women’s sanctuary. We don’t have to—”

Laura’s heart hammered. The idea of being naked, exposed, among strangers was terrifying. But the memory of Sara’s lessons echoed: The cover must be lived, even in its discomfort. To refuse would be to draw a line, to act like Vernon, not Laura.

“It’s fine,” Laura said, her modulated voice steady. “It’s… part of the cover. It’ll be believable.”

Inside, the air was warm and humid, scented with exotic blooms and minerals. The clientele was, as Lysa had warned, exclusively female, and as diverse as the concourse outside. A Terran woman with silver hair lounged in a steaming pool next to a non-Terran whose skin had the texture of polished basalt. In the changing alcove, Laura’s fingers fumbled with the seals of her tunic. She hesitated, then, with a held breath, peeled the outer clothes away, standing only in the seamless, pearl-grey Myrden suit.

Lysa, already undressed, gave her an encouraging nod. Following the lead of others, Laura found the nearly invisible seam at the suit’s collar and peeled it downward. The cool air hit her skin. She stepped out of the puddled polymer, utterly exposed. The silicone breasts sat prominently on her chest, the prosthetic hip contours defining her silhouette. She kept her eyes forward, avoiding her own reflection in the polished stone, and followed Lysa into the massaging chamber.

It was a large, dim room where individuals lay on warmed slabs. Graceful, multi-armed automata moved between them, administering pressure and sonic waves. Laura lay down, the warm stone against her back. The machine’s limbs began their work, and despite everything—the weight of the false curves on her chest, the trapped, aching tension of his own suppressed physiology beneath the suit’s former confines—a deep, involuntary relaxation seeped into her muscles. For a few minutes, she was just a body, being cared for.

After the massage, they moved to the main springs. The water was silken, buoyant, and impossibly clear. Laura sank into it with a sigh, the heat dissolving the last knots of stress. She floated, eyes closed.

When she opened them, she found Lysa watching her from a few feet away. Not staring, just… observing. Her gaze was thoughtful, traveling over the lines of Laura’s shoulders, the curve of her waist as defined by the prosthetics, resting for a moment on the plausible swell of her chest. There was no malice in it, only a quiet, appreciative curiosity.

Instinctively, Laura’s own eyes traced Lysa’s form. She was beautiful in a way that was entirely natural, strong shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, her skin glowing in the ambient light. Laura hadn’t allowed herself to really look before.

Their eyes met.

Lysa’s cheeks colored instantly. She looked away, flustered, sinking a little deeper into the water. “Sorry,” she mumbled, the word almost lost in the gentle burble of the springs.

Laura felt her own face grow warm. She looked away too, focusing on a trickle of water down the wall. But a strange, quiet thrill hummed in her chest, cutting through the embarrassment. It was the first time she had been seen as Laura, and found… acceptable. Perhaps even appealing.

After a long, silent moment, she risked a glance back. Lysa was looking at her again, but now she was smiling—a small, private, slightly embarrassed smile that softened her features. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, This is strange, isn’t it?

Laura managed a small smile in return. No words were needed. The shared silence in the warm, mineral-rich water was its own language.

They dressed in quiet companionship back in the alcove, the Myrden suit once again becoming Laura’s second skin. The journey back to the bastion in the twilight was peaceful. The dazzling, diverse life of the city streamed past the transport windows, but Laura saw little of it. She was absorbed in the memory of warmth, of weightlessness, and of a shared, wordless look that had, for a moment, made the armor she wore feel less like a prison and more like a part of a very confusing, but not entirely unpleasant, new reality.