Lieutenant Sophia Mernel took the elevator descending into the heart of Vulcanus, the command center of the underground city. From the glass capsule, she could see a large part of the complex: first, the residential units, where tiny blocks for singles were crammed together; further down, the family spaces, only slightly larger; and above them all, like a silent reminder of inequality, the special units: homes reserved for the wealthy families who had funded the initial construction of the underground cities.
The electromagnetic hum of the elevator was soft but constant. Sophia barely noticed it, more focused on the sharp pain that had been creeping up her neck for months. From up here, the inhabitants of Vulcanus looked like smudges of color moving through the corridors: some walked without a rush, others with a firm step, but none seemed to be in a hurry. This apparent calm, at this level of the city, caused a deep irritation in her.
The metallic voice of her Aicom sounded from the terminal wristband on her wrist:
"Lieutenant, your pulse has exceeded average levels again. It is recommended..."
"Shut up, Aicom," she grumbled as she pressed a button. The wristband screen flickered, and the assistant fell silent.
"Your voice gives me a headache," she added, clicking her tongue in annoyance. "A person can't even get a moment of silence in a damn elevator. Between the robots and the AIs, I feel sick to my stomach."
Everywhere she looked, there was one or more spider-like automatons: small four-legged robots with wheels at the ends, which climbed ceilings and walls, welding loose coverings, marking passable areas, and repairing electrical installations. A metallic plague, tireless and silent. A swarm of mechanical insects.
"They're like cockroaches... and I can't get rid of them."
The elevator stopped near the bottom of the city, where the workshops, factories, and entrances to the mining tunnels were located. Sophia adjusted her beret with an automatic gesture and stepped out, moving along a marked corridor. Two guards saluted as she passed. From the depths came the constant echo of work: motors, jackhammers, metallic clangor, and the occasional distant, unintelligible shout.
She took a side turn, shaking her head from side to side as if trying to loosen the knots in her neck. Her eyelids felt heavy. She stopped in front of a dark steel gate and held her wristband to the sensor. The scanner flickered, and the gate slowly opened with a low screech of steel against steel.
On the other side, two guards were waiting for her.
"Lieutenant. The General is waiting for you. This way, please."
The hallway was white and aseptic, illuminated by pale blue lights that gave it a surgical feel. Sophia couldn't shake the feeling that she was entering an operating room she wouldn't be leaving. The footsteps of the three of them echoed in a long resonance that distorted until it became uncomfortable.
The guards left her in front of an unmarked door.
"Go on in, Lieutenant."
The door opened automatically upon detecting her presence.
General Silvania looked up from her massive black steel desk, surrounded by holographic screens. Her blue eyes, cold as an autopsy room, scrutinized her as if trying to rip out her soul. Her straight, black hair fell symmetrically on either side of her face, giving her a frosty, impeccable look. Implacable.
The office was lined with graphite panels. The floor—the only one made of wood in all of Vulcanus, it was said—had been lacquered black by the general's order. A small but unsettling detail.
Silvania gestured for her to take a seat. Sophia obeyed. As she sat across from her, she felt an icy current run down her spine and settle in her already strained neck.
"General," she said in a shaky voice, "did you receive my request?"
The general checked one of the screens without changing her expression.
"Does this seem like a rational request to you?" she replied in a flat tone. "Tell me, Lieutenant: why should I authorize an operation involving three divisions?"
Sophia responded instantly, as if the words had been stuck in her throat for days:
"The data shows that the probability..."
The general raised a hand, cutting her off abruptly.
"The data is in the report. I've read it. What I want to know is why I should authorize it. Are you saying your men aren't capable?"
Every word from Silvania was a blade. Sophia felt the little determination she had left slipping through her fingers. She bit her lip as her heart began to race. She could almost hear her Aicom's voice warning her about her pulse. "Damn it," she thought. "This bitch wants to humiliate me and then give me permission. If I could, I'd rip out her eyes."
She replied in a trembling voice:
"It's the largest nest we've detected so far. It's not that my men aren't capable..."
The general looked at the screen again.
"A child, an old man, a lunatic, and a weirdo. Are you asking me to put my forces in the hands of that club of eccentrics?" She raised her eyebrows. "That's not going to happen."
Sophia clenched her fists. She couldn't allow herself to leave there empty-handed.
"My squad has a proven combat history, General."
"That's true," Silvania conceded, drumming her fingers on the desk, "although it's accompanied by an equally notable string of failures. Two years of wasted resources. Perhaps I should assign your squad to a more competent lieutenant."
Sophia felt her nails digging into her palms. Her breathing was ragged but contained. She lifted her face.
"I will put my position at your disposal if necessary."
Silvania raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
"I can't imagine you working in the processing plants."
"If you grant my request, I wouldn't mind," Sophia replied without hesitation. "My people may be eccentric, as you say, but they are the best. If we haven't destroyed that nest, it's because it's infested with beasts, not due to a lack of capability."
The general settled back in her chair. Her scrutinizing gaze slowly moved across Sophia's face, pausing briefly on her trembling chin. However, there was something new in her eyes: where there had once been emptiness, a spark now burned, a fire that wasn't there at the start of the conversation.
"Lieutenant," she finally said in a measured voice, "in recognition of your momentary display of courage, I will authorize Division Four to accompany you."
Sophia opened her mouth to speak, but Silvania raised a hand, stopping her.
"If you need more forces, you'll have to get them on your own. If you can get another lieutenant to agree to support you, I will not object. But don't expect anything more from me."
Sophia remained firm in her seat. She hadn't gotten everything she wanted, but it was an opportunity. A crack in the wall. Enough, for now.
Silvania rested both hands on the desk, slowly intertwining her fingers.
"And don't forget that your position is on the line. Neither I nor the Governing Council will tolerate another failure." Her eyes flashed for a moment with glacial intensity. "If you so badly want this mission to succeed, you can pilot your Aimex yourself. I assume it's still gathering dust somewhere in the hangar."
A rush of acid surged up Sophia's throat. Anger squeezed her neck like an invisible rope. Their gazes met, sharp as blades. In the lieutenant's mind, it all happened in an instant: she would stand up abruptly, grab Silvania by the collar of her uniform, and smash her fist into her face once, twice, three times, until the knot in her neck dissolved into a smile of brutal relief. But that only happened in her imagination.
In reality, the only thing they exchanged was a restrained look.
"I will go if necessary, General," she finally said in a hoarse voice, and stood up.
Silvania gave her an ironic smile, tilting her head slightly.
"Considering how things have gone for you these past few months... it seems it's very necessary, don't you think?"
"You're right, General," Sophia replied as she saluted with a slow movement, heavy with exhaustion. "With your permission."
"Go ahead, Lieutenant."
Silvania paused briefly. As Sophia was already walking toward the exit, her voice reached her from the gloom of the office, with a carefully measured hint of mockery:
"And... good luck."