“A Kallum does not rise for themselves alone. They rise to honor every sacrifice that came before them.”

  — Kallum Inc., Executive Ascension Handbook, Addendum II

  I pressed the gate buzzer and waited, already bracing for it.

  No answer.

  I glanced up at the glowing trim and let out a tired grin. “Please, I’m not thaaat late,” I muttered toward the intercom.

  Still no answer.

  I leaned in and added, louder: “Moooom!”

  The gate hissed open. The front door followed a second later with a faint chime. I’d barely crossed the threshold when her voice cut through the house: “DASH!” I froze mid-step. “Living room. NOW.”

  I exhaled and trudged forward like a man walking into court.

  The hallway was exactly as it had been this morning… slick and obnoxiously posh. Dark gloss-finished floors underlit with programmable lights. Walls embedded with kinetic art displays, shifting in rhythm to a silent algorithm, and a soft scent of lavender and sterile air floated from hidden vents.

  I walked past the stylized holo-screen sculpture, and into the living room, which was less “room” and more “corporate lounge.”

  A massive sofa dominated the center, formed of obsidian leather and memory-foam segments. Chairs flanked it, all angular and aesthetic, some with bio-sensors in the armrests. A vertical display window offered a real-time view of Earth 2.0’s skyline in digital overlay… even though the actual window was behind it.

  In the chair sat my mom.

  She didn’t look up from the holo-tablet in her lap. The screen lit her face faintly… shadows catching under her cheekbones, framed by her midnight-black hair cut straight to jawline, the way she always wore it. The style that said Impossible to argue with.

  Mid-40s, Vietnamese. Five-foot-nothing and made of titanium.

  Her blazer was soft silver, probably smart-fabric, woven in that subtle corporate pattern that only showed when the light hit just right. Her nails were painted deep blue, each one a perfect mirror of her mood: dangerous.

  I sat down slowly in one of the chrome-trimmed chairs across from her, trying to look casual. Spoiler: I didn’t pull it off. The cushions molded to my frame with a faint hiss.

  She didn’t glance up.

  “Dash,” she said calmly. “I was notified that you fought in a Gray-Four Incursion. At Ashford Terminal.”

  My stomach dropped.

  Of course. The IC mage had scanned my license. Even though it was salvaged from a man with fifty years of experience, it was still registered to my real name.

  She looked up at me, dark eyes locking on. “Where did you get the diving license?”

  I shifted in my seat. “Eddy sold—”

  “A forgery.” Not a question. She set down her tablet with care. “So many years of field experience. You’re twenty.” She leaned back, fingers steepled. “Do you think I’m stupid, Dash?”

  “No, I—”

  “Then don’t lie to me.” Her voice stayed level, but there was steel underneath. “The license is fake. You stayed in an active incursion zone instead of evacuating. You engaged a Gray-Four with salvaged equipment.” She tilted her head slightly. “And you killed it.”

  The last part hung in the air between us.

  I straightened in my chair. “Yeah. I did.”

  For a long moment, she just looked at me. Then she picked up her tablet again, swiped through something. “The IC report says you used an overcharged plasma rifle and a melee weapon. Against an armored incursor with active dampening. Alone.” She looked up. “That’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”

  “It worked.”

  “This time.” She set the tablet aside again. “Tell me, Dash. What happens next time when you’re alone and there’s no backup to clean up after you? When the IC doesn’t show up? When your rifle doesn’t overcharge fast enough?”

  “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

  “That’s what your father said.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, on the last word.

  The room went silent.

  She closed her eyes, took a breath, and when she opened them again, her expression had shifted. Not softer. Just... different.

  Resolved.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she mumbled. “Ever since you came home with that first mine paycheck, looking so proud. I told myself it was fine. That you needed to learn independence. That fighting bugs in controlled environments was safe enough.”

  “Mom—”

  She held up a hand. “Let me finish.” She stood, walked to the window, and willed the fake window up, revealing a real one overlooking the bio-sculpted garden. Her reflection was a ghost in the glass. “You’re going to chase incursions. I know that now. You’re exactly like him; you won’t stop until you prove something, even if it kills you.”

  “That’s not—”

  “So I can’t stop you.” She turned back to face me. “But I can control how you do it.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Your grandmother sent you a message six months ago. Resources. Access to Kallum equipment and services, and you refused even to open it.”

  My jaw tightened. “After what they did to you—”

  “This isn’t about me.” Her tone shifted. “This is about you throwing yourself at aliens with garbage equipment because you’re too proud to accept help.” She leaned forward slightly. “You want to hunt incursions? Dive into chaos shards? Fine. But not with a fake license. Not with salvaged armor held together with that weird tape.”

  I opened my mouth to argue.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she continued, voice firm. “You’re going to accept your grandmother’s gift. All of it. You’re going to use those resources to get proper equipment. I will sign the paperwork for a real Scavantis license.”

  “Gray? That’s—” I wanted to say enough, but she cut me off.

  “Non-negotiable.” She straightened. “You’ll also check in before and after every fight. And you’ll do your homework and attend your mining duties at the mining school… I’m not letting you drop out to chase incursions or dive chaos full time.”

  I stared at her. This wasn’t a negotiation. This was a list of terms.

  “And if I refuse?”

  Her expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll make sure Scavantis knows your real name and put it on a watchlist.” She paused. “I won’t stop you from risking your life, Dash. But I’ll be damned if I let you do it stupidly.”

  The words hit harder than I expected. She wasn’t trying to control me; she was trying to keep me alive.

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  “There’s one more condition,” she said, softer now. “Half a year. You have until the end of your first school year to prove you can do this. To prove you can make executive-level money hunting incursions legally and safely.” Her eyes met mine. “If you can’t... we’re moving somewhere cheaper.”

  “We can’t move. This is—”

  “Too expensive.” She cut me off. “Tago’s central district is for rich corporation’s executives, Dash. We’ve been living off what’s left from selling the Mars house for years. Your mine wages don’t even cover a tenth of the property tax.” She gestured vaguely at the surrounding room. “This life? It was never meant for us. I held on because I thought...” She trailed off, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Half a year until we move to Megabuilding. That’s what I’m giving you.”

  I sat there, heart hammering. Everything in me wanted to argue, to push back, to tell her I didn’t need Grandmother’s charity or her rules.

  But she was right.

  Going after incursions with garbage equipment and a fake license wasn’t brave. It was stupid. And if I wanted to prove I could do this, really do this, I needed to do it properly. “There’s something else,” I whispered. “I measured my compatibility. With a proper scanner from Eddy, not the rigged prep school one.”

  She looked up, something shifting in her expression. Hope, maybe. Or concern.

  “Over 80%,” I continued. “But something’s draining it down to 17%. It’s not that I’m incompatible, Mom. Someone’s taking it from me.”

  The silence stretched. Her fingers stilled on the tablet.

  “Is it certified? That machine Eddy sold you—” she started, voice careful.

  “Has a 10% margin of error, I know.” I leaned forward. “But even at the lowest reading, I’m still over 75%. I should have a system, Mom. I should have had one six months ago.”

  Her expression wavered between wanting to believe and not wanting to see me hurt again. “Dash...”

  “I know you think I’m looking for excuses.” I met her eyes. “But I’m going to prove it. And when I do, when I find whoever did this and get my system back—” My voice cracked slightly. “You’ll see I was right.”

  For a long moment, she just looked at me, but then she walked around the chair and reached up, touching the side of my face gently. Her fingers found the bruise I’d forgotten was there.

  “You have his eyes,” she whispered. “That same fire that wouldn’t go out. When your grandmother told him he couldn’t be with me, he stopped at nothing.” She pulled me into a hug, and I felt her hands shake slightly against my back. “But there’s a difference between brave and reckless, Dash. Your father never learned that.”

  I hugged her back, throat tight.

  “Half a year,” she repeated, pulling away. “Use Katheri- I mean, grandmother’s resources. Get proper equipment, follow the rules and prove to me you can survive this.”

  I nodded slowly. “And if I do?”

  She gave me a tired smile. “Then we won’t need to move. And maybe...” She hesitated. “Maybe I’ll stop seeing your father’s funeral every time you walk out that door.”

  The weight of that settled over me like armor.

  “Deal,” I mumbled.

  She nodded once, then picked up her tablet again. “Good. Now go watch your grandmother’s message. And Dash?” She glanced up at me. “Accept the gift. Not for her, but for me.”

  I vanished to my room, quickly taking the steps to another level two at a time.

  My room greeted me with its usual barely controlled chaos. The lights flickered on automatically, revealing a fairly large space that somehow still felt crowded. My desk dominated the left wall… or what should’ve been a desk.

  In reality, it was a battlefield of unfinished projects: half-disassembled servos, coils stripped of insulation, a colony of screws sorted into mismatched cups, and a thermal regulator I’d promised myself I’d fix “tomorrow” three months ago. Somewhere under all that metal and wiring was a holo-tablet where I was technically supposed to do homework. I could see the corner peeking out like a trapped animal begging for rescue.

  The room smelled faintly of solder, old plastic, and the industrial cleaning spray Mom used when she’d storm in and “de-grease” the room after the cleaning bots failed.

  The comfy bed sat in the far corner, the one part of the room I bothered keeping clean. Dark blankets rumpled from last night’s half-sleep, pillow sunken on one side where I’d collapsed after returning from the mines.

  Posters covered most of the right wall. Official AD holo-prints of the big-name Alliance Heroes, with them endorsing corporations, but with glee I had scratched every mention of Palistra.

  A TV screen took up nearly the entire wall opposite the bed, one of those ultra-holo models, thinner than a credit chip. When I dropped into my chair, it whirred to life the moment it sensed my presence, my account loading without me touching anything.

  I put on a holo-glove, one of the projects that was actually finished, and navigated to the message screen.

  Timestamp: six months ago.

  Sender: Katherine Kallum, CEO of Kallum Inc.

  My chest tightened.

  Yeah, I’d been putting off listening to it. Grandma sent it a few days after my twentieth birthday, shortly after I’d learned I wasn’t good enough for the system.

  Or so everyone said.

  Not now, I swallowed hard and tapped the message as the room fell silent and the fans of the holo-frame slowed to a soft hum.

  The video opened with an older, stern-looking Caucasian woman seated in a high-end executive chair, the kind made from real leather, not synth-mesh. The chair’s back swept up behind her like a throne, edges trimmed in subtle gold filament that caught the light every time she shifted.

  Behind her stretched a massive window overlooking the moon, ragged gray regolith under floodlights, and beyond it, the curved dome of a Moon-based corporate district. Towers of glassy alloy rose inside the habitation dome, their lights forming constellations of white and soft blue.

  Automated skimmer pods drifted along suspended tracks, leaving faint trails of luminescent vapor in the thin artificial atmosphere.

  She was always showing off.

  “Happy birthday, Dash,” she said, and the smile looked... genuine. The kind she probably didn’t give out often. “I’m sorry for being late, but I’m swamped with work. I hope you celebrated your birthday peacefully.”

  She paused, took a long breath, and her expression tightened.

  “I warned your father this might happen when he married—” She caught herself, lips pressing into a thin line. Her hand lifted slightly, as if to wave the words away. “No, that’s... that’s not fair. It has nothing to do with you.”

  She looked down at her desk, at something off-camera. When she looked back up, her eyes were harder. “I disowned your father, Dash. I won’t pretend I didn’t, but you’re still a Kallum, whether or not your mother likes it.”

  She stood, the chair gliding back with barely a whisper. She walked to the window with measured, elegant steps, a movement drilled into you by etiquette tutors, like Kallum provided me, while I was still heir.

  She had Hands clasped behind her back and stared out at the moonlit city. “You don’t have a system,” she said. “I know that now. And I know...” Her shoulders rose and fell with a breath. “I know what that means for your future. The doors that won’t open. The opportunities you’ll never have.”

  She turned back toward the camera.

  “So here’s what I can give you.”

  Her posture straightened, shifting from grandmother to corporate executive in a blink. “Effective immediately, you have Level-2 access to all Kallum Holdings company stores. Better prices than public retail, priority on inventory, access to items not available to standard consumers.” Her expression shifted slightly, almost apologetic. “It’s not Level-5; that’s reserved for executives and family members of legal age. You’ll receive that when you turn twenty-six. But Level-2 should be... sufficient for your needs.”

  She walked back to her chair but didn’t sit. Instead, she rested one hand on the backrest.

  “I’ve also transferred some credits to your account.” She said it casually, like she was mentioning the weather. “Enough to get started properly. Don’t waste it on junk, Dash. Buy equipment that will keep you alive, not just make you look impressive.”

  She didn’t say how much.

  Typical.

  “There are restrictions, naturally. No controlled substances. No performance enhancers. No stims.” Her tone hardened. “Stims are dangerous for plebeians, Dash. Your body isn’t adapted the way ours are. Even low-grade neural accelerants can cause permanent damage without a system to regulate them. Some system users can handle them safely, but not all… and certainly not someone without a system.”

  She leaned forward slightly, and for a moment, I saw something that might’ve been concern.

  “I’ve seen too many unranked fighters burn themselves out chasing an edge they couldn’t sustain. Don’t be one of them.”

  She straightened again, and the moment passed.

  “The store access is permanent. It won’t expire, or be revoked.” She paused. “Even if you never speak to me again.”

  Her hand moved to the desk, fingers brushing across the holographic displays. Data cascaded like waterfalls of light across her face. “I’ll be babying new explorers soon,” she said, voice quieter now. “We’ve got new explorer division inside Kallum, and the expedition will take a standard year. Communication will be... difficult, if not impossible.”

  She looked up, stared straight through the camera. Through time. Through the distance.

  At me.

  “When I get back, I’ll contact you again. And...” Her expression softened just slightly. Just enough. “I’d like to hear about what you’ve done with these resources. What you’ve built. Who you’ve become.”

  She smiled; a genuine smile this time.

  “Measure twice, stay safe and nice,” we both said at the same time.

  Our family slogan.

  Dad used to repeat it every time he left the house. Even the last time. And damn if hearing it now didn’t twist something deep in my chest.

  The video ended, the screen faded to black, leaving only my reflection staring back at me. I sat there for a long moment, not moving.

  The Kallum name could open doors, but I’d still have to walk through them myself. Still have to pay. Still had to prove I belonged there. It was... exactly what I’d have designed if I were trying to help someone without making them dependent, and was restricted by the Kallum board.

  Which made it harder to hate her for it.

  I pulled up the Grome interface and navigated to the corporate services tab. Sure enough, there it was:

  **Kallum Holdings Store Access**

  Status: PENDING

  Level: 2/5

  Restrictions: no controlled substances, no performance enhancers, no stimulants

  Upgrade Eligibility: Age 26 or Executive Appointment

  I stared at the screen.

  Mom was right. Going after incursions with garbage equipment wasn’t just stupid… it was suicide. And if I wanted to prove I could do this, I needed every advantage I could get.

  Even if it came from a grandmother who’d disowned my father.

  Even if it meant swallowing my pride.

  I closed the interface and looked at the posters on my wall. The Vanguard with his glowing shield. The Bunny-Caller mid-skip.

  All of them in armor I could never wear… unless I found out who was draining me.

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY Katherine Kallum

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