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The Aurelian responds to my father’s bluster:

“Don’t worry, Mr. Carani. We’re not after a fee – and we knowallabout how business is done on Marn.”

The words are said politely – but they’re a velvet-covered crowbar. My mouth suddenly becomes dry.

How business is done on Marn.

He’s referring to the business magnates and noble families who infiltrate, steal, kidnap, and take any advantage they can in the wheeling and dealing of Marn – just like every bottom-feeding crab will crawl all over the other crabs as it tries desperately to pull itself out of a bucket.

You don’t come to a planet like Marn – well beyond the Aurelian Empire or the Human Alliance – to play fair. You come to a lawless place like this to make your fortune without the yoke of high taxes – or the oppression of an over-zealous legal system shackled with notions like ‘justice.’

Here on Marn, our justice system extends as far as your credits do. The rich can act with virtual impunity, and are unaccountable as long as they maintain the right connections and have deep enough pockets. Once my father’s mining is fully operational, we’ll be that level of rich…

…assuming we get that far.

Speaking about getting far – I’ve now reached the bottom step. I feel the thrill of adventure – one I’ve never felt before. It must be akin to the thrill a baby bird feels, opening its wings for the first time and plunging from the nest, not knowing if it’s going to hit the ground or learn how to fly.

I step softly to the entrance of the lounge and peer through the door.

“If you’re not here for a fee,” my father’s voice is heated, “then whatdidyou come here for? Show your hand!”

My father is sitting in his favorite leather chair, staring across at the three alien men.

Men?

No – Gods.

The three Aurelians are so immense – they carry themselves with such presence – that to describe them as ‘men’ like my father or Gerard seems like calling a lion a housecat. Compared to the two human men in this house, the three Aurelians are veritable – literal – Gods.

But these are not benevolent Gods. These are violent Gods – sent from the Heavens for a righteous purpose. As I peek at them through the barely-open door, it’s like I can taste their pent-up energy. The three of them lounge like lions in the sun – and though they’re sitting in my father’s most sturdy chairs, each of them look like they could spring into violent action at any moment.

The chairs they’re sitting in barely fit their huge bulks, and the wood creaks beneath their muscular weight. The ivory skin of the three Aurelians is inhumanly pale in the flickering light of the antique oil lamps of our lounge. The shadows play on their body, highlighting the peaks and valleys of their lean muscles as they sit stock-still. They resemble marble statues so much, it’s uncanny.

But their stillness is only an illusion. Even peeking from the doorway, I can see the heartbeats of the three Aurelians throb in the carotid artery of their necks – hammering in unison, as if the three of them all share the same heartbeat.

My father was wise. He brought four Sentinels into the room with him, despite the Aurelians being robbed of their weapons and stripped of their armor. Even at their most defenseless, the three alien warriors look utterly lethal; and ifOn Aurelianshas taught me anything, it’s that those three warriors are absolutely as deadly as they appear.

The Sentinels look over them. Two stand behind the Aurelians, and the two others flank my father at either side of his chair. All four have their weapons locked on the alien men – but the Aurelians sit there, facing death, with disconcerting comfort.

The leader of the Aurelians shifts in his seat, and the Sentinels target him. It’s subtle, but you can hear the servos move in their eye lens, and see their rifles shift ever-so-slightly to track the warrior’s slight movement. Even without their weapons – even staring down the barrels of our high-velocity slug rifles – the aliens stillfeeldeadlier than this estate’s robotic defenders. The Aurelian’s hands alone look capable of tearing the limbs off those Sentinels.

I shudder.

Their hands are so big, one could wrap almost all the way around my throat.

I swoon at the very thought of that – until the conversation continues, and ice trickles down my spine.

“We’re here for your mine, Mr. Carani,” the leader of the Aurelians says coolly. “You’re a minor businessman here on Marn – and you’re swimming in a sea of sharks. You might not be able to see them coming, but they seeyou– your legs kicking in the water, just waiting to be devoured.”

The chair creaks as the Aurelians leans forward.

“You don’t know how to manage an operation of this size, Mr. Carani. You’re going to get eaten alive.”

My father stiffens in his seat. I, too, feel like I’ve been slapped.

My father has invested so much time and money to create the illusion of security – the secretive mining operations, this fortress-like estate, and the army of Sentinels.

Gods, I’ve been like a prisoner here myself – sacrificing my freedom for security.