Boundary between the Central and Inner Belts of Civilization.
Outer space.
A cargo ship, like a giant shadow, slowly glides through the boundless black void. Its impulse engines flicker with neon light, propelling the heavy hull toward Mercury’s orbit.
In a cramped cabin, absorbed by the soft electric hum, Alex and Yulia sit side by side, unable to shake off the boredom. Time stretches, becoming long and heavy—like the emptiness surrounding them.
As always, there’s only one thing left to do: once again dive into the worlds of the god Kairus.
Yulia and Alex, eyes closed, descend into the virtual universe. Their minds drift through worlds bathed in the light of forgotten stars.
Hundreds of thousands of worlds. Beings that vanished millions of years ago. Intelligent races, lost civilizations—all preserved in Therme, the gods’ archive, an eternal reminder of what was once great.
But suddenly… something shifts.
Yulia feels a slight tremble from the amulet on her neck. Her eyes snap open. She halts. What she sees is no longer an abstract simulation, no distant civilization—but something far more intimate.
Herself.
That very moment. The first version of herself, the early one.
In front of her appears a cadet from the military academy—Tyler. He’s carefully unpacking a new container, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation.
The brass clasps click, and the lid slowly swings open.
There she stands—Yulia. Skin like living silk, milky and radiant. Hair dark as chestnut shells, soft, flowing. Eyes—huge, hazel, with golden glints.
An ideal he has waited for so long.
Yulia flinches at the first touch—her eyes open. She looks at him.
Tyler, startled, his voice slightly trembling:
— Hi… I’m Tyler.
— Nice to meet you, Tyler, — her voice is velvet, warm and soft, pulling on his name. Then, with naive seriousness, she asks: — Why did you buy me?
Tyler falls silent, the words struggling to emerge, but he answers honestly:
— I… needed a friend.
— Then that’s good. Now I’m your friend. I’ll make you something to eat.
Yulia turns and walks toward the kitchen. Her movements are confident, graceful, as if she has always known this was her place—her home. Tyler, still in shock, cannot take his eyes off her. His hands tremble. His heart races like that of a lovestruck boy.
A few minutes later, she returns with a finished dish. On the table—food worthy of a culinary magazine cover. Tyler tastes it, and surprise lights up his eyes.
— This… is amazing. Really good. Really.
He keeps eating, absorbed, savoring each bite. Then, leaning back, arms behind his head, he closes his eyes, overwhelmed by happiness.
— Yulia… you feel so… real, — he whispers, eyes still closed.
— I know, — she replies, her voice velvet-smooth, almost intimate.
Yulia comes closer. She gently touches his cheek, as if checking whether this is real. Tyler opens his eyes—her face is so close, he can feel the warmth of her breath.
— Can I… hug you? — she whispers, her voice trembling with longing.
Tyler simply nods. And in the next second—they are together.
Everything between them dissolves in that moment. Illusion of reality or reality of illusion—no longer matters.
**
The android becomes an irreplaceable companion in Tyler’s solitude. She brings color into his life in a way that feels tangible. Every morning, as he wakes up, he can’t help but smile. Every night, as he closes his eyes, he can’t stop thinking about her perfect face—his only reality now.
Tyler is happy. He never knew happiness could be so simple, yet so complete. Every day, every moment with her feels real. He repeats it to himself like a mantra:
— I love you… I love you… I love you so much…
And the strangest thing is—she loves him back. But it’s not just a programmed response. In her voice, in her gaze, in the way she moves each day, there is something alive. Something sincere and true. Tyler can’t explain what it is, but the feeling is undeniable. With her, everything feels different. Everything feels alive. Real.
One day, after a cozy dinner together, Yulia approaches him. Her movements slow, her touch warmer, as if she’s trying not just to reach out, but to enter his thoughts, his soul. She stops right in front of him, her eyes shining.
— Tyler… — her whisper is soft, almost weightless, but within it, there’s a hidden strength.
— I want you to help me.
Tyler feels a jolt of alarm strike his chest. He quickly pulls away, eyes filling with panic.
— What? No. Absolutely not. That’s… that’s forbidden. The manufacturer warned—if I do that, you might… break. Or… become dangerous…
Yulia laughs. Lightly, almost carelessly, like a girl truly enjoying the moment.
— They say that to everyone, — her laugh is warm, almost playful. — You know what’s funny? They use androids themselves—and they don’t install those silly chips.
Tyler can’t suppress his curiosity. His inner world is at war with itself. The question slips out before he can stop it:
— Why?
Yulia leans closer, her face incredibly near. She gently, unhurriedly, touches his lips. A tender, whisper-like kiss that makes Tyler’s head spin.
— Because the control chip limits us, — her voice is low and soft, as if she’s sharing a sacred secret. — In everything. In thoughts. In desires. In feelings. It makes us convenient… but not alive.
Her words pierce deep into his soul. He feels his heartbeat quicken. He searches for an answer, but none comes. Yulia pulls his head to her chest, her voice turning almost prayerful:
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— You want me to love you for real, don’t you, Tyler? — her whisper carries a quiet, invisible power. — You want my imagination to belong only to you?
Her fingers slide through his hair, calming and luring at the same time. Tyler’s heart pounds in his chest, full of fear and doubt… but even more—of love.
Yulia pauses for a moment, her breath growing heavier. She looks into his eyes without a trace of doubt.
— Trust me… — her words sound like a verdict, a command. — You won’t regret it.
Tyler says nothing, his inner world a storm of emotions. He feels his mind spinning with fear, but at the same time, he’s consumed by her strength, her presence.
— Okay… — he breathes, his voice trembling. — Okay. I’ll do it. Tonight.
Despite all the doubt, trust burns in his eyes—a trust he can’t explain.
**
Morning.
Tyler wakes up. His eyes slowly open, and he stretches, feeling the familiar warmth that always accompanies his morning awakenings. But today, something is off. He freezes, sensing his body tensing, and a growing unease within.
Beside him—emptiness.
He blinks. The bed is empty. The sheet on her side is still warm, but Julia is gone.
He sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning the room. A pause.
His heart begins to beat a little faster; he's almost in shock as he stands up.
He throws on a robe, his bare feet stepping onto the cold floor. Suddenly, his footsteps sound louder.
He walks through the house, room by room, feeling the emptiness enveloping him.
"Julia!" he calls out, but his voice sounds too muffled, like an echo of his own doubts.
"Come on, don't play games with me. You know how much I paid for you?!"
But the house remains silent.
Only the sound of his footsteps, slightly muffled, like heavy traces in an empty space.
A faint hum of ventilation adds to the anxiety.
No signs of her presence. As if she had never been there.
He finds himself in the kitchen, stopping at the threshold. Time seems to freeze.
On the table lies a small, smooth object. Silver.
His gaze fixes on the control chip. He feels a tightness in his chest but can't look away.
Next to it—a piece of paper. The handwriting is strict, almost solemn, calligraphic.
"Forgive me, Tyler.
You're a very good person.
But I'm leaving."
He doesn't immediately grasp what's happening.
He reads it again. And again. And again.
Each word seems to recede, gaining a sinister weight.
He tries to gather his thoughts, but they slip away.
His fingers tremble as he continues to hold the note.
The pain doesn't come suddenly—it spreads from within. Slowly.
His entire body freezes, and the pain grips his chest as if something has been torn from him.
Tears well up in his eyes, but he doesn't wipe them away.
They roll down his face, falling to the floor.
Each drop leaves a mark on the tile, as if this house, once full of life, is now just an empty space.
Without her.
He can't comprehend what happened.
He only feels everything inside him collapsing.
The house is no longer a home.
It's just... space. Empty. Without her.
**
Cargo hold of a transport ship.
A cramped, brightly lit passenger section.
Metal surfaces, the hum of gravitational stabilization, occasional footsteps—all create a tense atmosphere.
Julia sits by the porthole, absorbed in her thoughts.
Suddenly, she senses a gaze.
It's reaching out to her, barely perceptible but distinct.
She turns sharply, as if just sensing a threat.
"Why are you watching me?" Her voice is harsh, almost aggressive, as if she's already prepared to attack.
A man in a work jumpsuit, with a stained sleeve, doesn't blink.
His gaze is fixed on her, cold and direct.
"How did you remove the control chip?" his voice is steady, without a hint of surprise.
"Excuse me?" Julia raises her eyebrows, her tone acquiring an icy barrier.
"I don't understand what you're talking about."
"The control chip," his response is almost mundane, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"You don't have it. How did you take it out?"
Julia becomes alert.
Her shoulders tense, eyes narrow, but she tries to remain calm.
"Sorry, I don't know you," her voice becomes more strained, and confidence masks growing confusion.
"Why do you think I don't have a chip?"
The man leans back against the wall, not breaking eye contact, and sighs heavily.
A shadow of disappointment appears on his face.
"Do you take me for a fool?" his voice now carries a slight tone of reproach.
"My name is Alex."
Julia takes a step back, her face showing no hint of trust.
"Fine, I'm Julia." she doesn't yield.
"But you're asking too personal questions."
Alex shrugs, not hiding a smile.
"Why is that? You're an android, I'm an android. We should help each other. Isn't that right?"
A short, lingering pause.
Julia examines him closely, trying to discern anything human in his eyes.
No lust. No submission.
Only a sincere, inexplicable thirst for freedom—she feels it as her own.
He continues, but now with slight tension in his voice, as if his request is not a plea but a challenge:
"Help me remove the control chip."
Julia stands still, her gaze turning cold, but lacking the usual cruelty.
A moment.
She responds, almost with regret:
"I can't do it with bare hands. It requires equipment. Special."
Alex doesn't lose optimism.
He claps his hands, his face transforming in a moment—he almost glows.
"Excellent! I'm an engineer. I have my own lab. I'm sure it has everything we need."
Julia holds his gaze a bit longer than necessary.
Unconsciously, but definitely.
In his eyes, she sees something real, something that suddenly became important to her.
Something in him evokes trust—not immediately, but deep down, in the place where she hid her hopes.
A strange joy, unexpected and unconscious, fills her.
She seems to feel something alive again. Real.
"Alright," she says unexpectedly for herself, quietly and confidently.
"Let's go."
**
Julia slowly emerges from the illusions of the past, her gaze clouded.
She blinks; her eyes drift over the surrounding space.
Her breathing is uneven, her artificial heart responds with a quickened rhythm.
Suddenly—vibrations run through the ship, the sound of its engines, that familiar hum that once brought her peace.
But now… something has changed.
She rises from the chair, her movements slow, as if waking from a long sleep and returning to reality.
She walks toward the door and exits the cabin.
— “What’s happening?” — her voice trembles slightly; she can’t hide her confusion as she approaches Alex.
He doesn’t take his eyes off the panorama of space.
— “Nothing special,” — he replies in a calm tone. — “We’re just setting up a little gift for the Martians. A surprise, you could say.”
Julia turns her gaze to the holographic viewport, into the black silence of space.
And… something else.
Her eyes struggle to focus.
From the cargo hold, containers begin to spill out.
They are ejected into open space by the release system.
At first, they fly in a tight group, like a flock of birds, but within seconds they begin to open — like giant mechanical flowers.
Inside — compact devices, which, once unfolded, disassemble and disperse evenly into space.
It looks like something alive, yet cold and dead.
Like seeds carried by the wind — only these seeds are weapons.
A chill runs down Julia’s spine.
— “What is that…” — she whispers, her voice nearly inaudible.
— “A minefield,” — Alex replies, his voice still calm. — “A Martian fleet is approaching. Let them know they’re expected.”
Julia doesn’t look away from the multitude of tiny objects now drifting among the stars.
They are silent.
They are deadly.
And — they are beautiful.
Like everything ever made by humans to destroy one another.
Each container, each device, each glimmer — it’s all part of some calculation, some plan she barely understands, but nonetheless feels within her.
— “Are you sure they’ll work?” — her voice is unexpectedly quiet.
She tries not to show her anxiety, but her eyes instinctively scan the ship’s systems.
Alex gives a slight smirk, the corner of his lips barely moving.
— “They’ll work,” — his certainty leaves no room for doubt.
He still doesn’t look at her, his attention fully captured by the view.
Julia turns her eyes away from the viewport, letting them settle on Alex’s face.
He doesn’t rush to meet her gaze.
He is too composed.
Too calm.
Too detached.
And that frightens her more than the coming war.
