She’d been here before. Plenty of times. Sector 6 was familiar territory now—Vera’s shop, Big Yuri’s restaurant, the markets where people knew her name.
But Sector 5 was different.
Vera had sent the job through with all the bells and whistles. Sector 5 repair. Not Yuri. Asking for you by name. Good pay. Dungeon tech—it has to be. Take it.
Tess stepped onto the lift platform and waited for the attendant to hit the control. The mechanism groaned, then lurched upward with a metallic shriek that made her wince.
The last week had been good. Better than good. Rivera’s Repairs had actual customers now. She’d fixed three more refrigeration units, two hauler diagnostic arrays, more plasma cutters than she could count, and a commercial oven that Big Yuri was definitely not using for cooking. Her credit balance was higher than it had ever been.
She still felt bad taking money from Sector 7 folks. The dock district didn’t have credits to spare. But components cost money, and she couldn’t run a shop on goodwill alone.
The lift shuddered to a stop at Sector 6. Tess stepped off and kept walking.
Sector 6 was so alive now. Shops open past sundown. Dispensers stocked. People moved through the streets with purpose instead of exhaustion.
She walked through the market, past Vera’s shop, and toward the gates that separated Sector 6 from Sector 5.
The gates were massive. Ferrocrete pillars topped with old security sensors, most of which didn’t work anymore. A single attendant sat in a booth, reading something on a datapad.
Tess approached and cleared her throat.
The attendant looked up. He was older, maybe sixty, with a House Tertian insignia on his jacket. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for a repair job,” Tess said. She pulled out her comm and showed him the address Vera had forwarded.
The attendant squinted at the screen. Then his eyebrows went up. “Oh! Repairs, that makes sense.” He studied the address again. “You’re sure it’s that address?”
“That’s what I was given.”
“Huh.” He waved her through. “You’ll need a tram. Straight through, platform’s on your right. Can’t miss it.”
Tess nodded and stepped through the gates.
Sector 5 opened up in front of her.
Huge apartment buildings rose into the smog-choked sky, their facades a mix of ferrocrete, steel, and actual glass. Actual glass windows that reflected the amber glow of the city’s lighting grid.
Haulers flew between the buildings, their running lights cutting through the haze. Tess had only seen Sector 5 once before, from a distance, when Kade let her ride along on a supply run. The view had been amazing. The random loss of thrust halfway through had not been.
She found the tram platform and stepped aboard.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The car was clean. Actually clean. No graffiti, no stains, no smell of burned coolant and desperation. The seats were intact. The lighting worked.
Tess sat near the back and tried not to look as out of place as she felt.
The other passengers noticed her. A woman in pressed business attire glanced at Tess’s tool belt and stained jacket, then looked away. A man in House Tertian colors studied her for a moment before returning to his datapad. Two kids whispered to each other and pointed at the new welding torch clipped to her belt.
The tram’s advertising screens cycled through promotions. Luxury housing in Sector 4. Apply now. A medical clinic offering Aether-compatible treatments. A restaurant Tess couldn’t afford even if she saved for a year.
She looked out the window instead.
The tram glided along its track, suspended between buildings, and for a moment Tess saw the city the way it must have looked before the collapse. Lights. Movement. Infrastructure that worked.
Then, her comm beeped.
BEE: Tess, I am experiencing signal degradation. Audio input has dropped to zero. I can still receive your voice if you speak, but the audio signal appears to have been lost. Text communication remains functional. The distance to the dungeon is too great.
Tess frowned. “Bee? You there?”
BEE: Confirmed. I can hear you, but cannot monitor you through audio signals.
“It’s okay, I’ll keep you updated as best I can.”
BEE: Understood. Please be careful.
“It’s a washing machine, Bee. What’s the worst that could happen?”
BEE: I have nine hypotheses. Would you like to hear them?
Tess smiled. “No.”
BEE: Saving hypotheses for future reference.
The tram slowed and chimed. Sector 5, Central District. Please exit to the right.
Tess stepped off onto a platform overlooking the sector’s core. The buildings here were taller. Cleaner. The streets below were paved with something that wasn’t cracked ferrocrete. People moved through the plaza in clothes that didn’t look scavenged.
She checked the address and started walking.
The building she was looking for sat near the center of the sector—a tall, multi-level structure with balconies and an actual lobby entrance. Tess climbed the steps and found an intercom panel beside the door.
She pressed the button for the address Vera had sent.
A pause. Then a voice, male and friendly: “Yes?”
“Uh, Rivera’s Repairs,” Tess said. “I’m here about the washing machine?”
“Ah! Yes. Come on up. Second floor.”
The door clicked open.
Tess stepped inside and stopped.
The lobby was… sparkling. Polished floors, real lighting instead of flickering sodium vapor, ambient climate control that actually worked. The air was cool and dry, nothing like the humid recycled atmosphere of the freighter or the chemical stink of the recycling district.
She tried not to stare as she crossed to the stairs.
The second-floor hallway was just as immaculate. Doors with actual nameplates. Sconces provided warm, even light. A window at the end of the hall overlooked the rest of Sector 5, sprawling out beneath the haze like a city from another world.
Tess found the door and knocked.
It opened immediately.
A man in formal house attire stood in the doorway—pressed jacket, House Tertian colors, silver buttons polished to a mirror shine. He was older, maybe fifty, with a neat beard and a welcoming smile.
“Miss Rivera,” he said. “Thank you for coming. Please, follow me.”
Tess hesitated. “The washing machine…”
“This way, please.”
He turned and walked deeper into the apartment.
Tess followed, her hand instinctively moving to her tool belt.
The apartment was larger than the entire main hold of the freighter. Polished wood floors—actual wood, not composite plating. Art on the walls. Furniture that looked like it had been crafted instead of manufactured.
The man led her through the sitting room and into the receiving hall.
More polished floors, fancy furniture, and banners in House Tertian colors hanging from the walls.
And sitting in a plush chair near the center of the room was a man.
Late fifties, maybe. Tertian uniform with gold chains across the chest—more than Petra’s, clearly higher rank. Gray patches at his temples, perfectly groomed. A neat beard. Gentle eyes that looked exactly as they did in every holo Tess had ever seen of him.
She went completely still.
BEE: Tess? Your heart rate just spiked to 142 BPM. Are you in danger?
The man stood and gestured to the chair across from him.
“Please, Miss Rivera,” he said. His voice was calm, warm, genuinely welcoming. “Why don’t you sit?”
Tess didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Gray temples, a neat beard, gold chains, that gentle smile she’d seen in every holo.
BEE: Tess, please respond. Should I alert Marcus?
It was Duke Amos Tertian, ruler of Tertius-Prime.
-Still me