Nathan and Dr. Rhys walk arm in arm, followed by Tex. Prominent thorny hedges that smell similar to apples make secluded and sheltered trysting spots. Lovers in various combinations occupy most of the spots.

The farther Nathan Rourke, Doctor Evelyn Rhys, and Tex walked along the upper edge of the Sylvan Grove, the quieter the sounds of the restaurant district became. The distant murmur of conversation and soft music faded beneath the rustle of leaves and the muted splash of water far below.

They crossed a massive pedestrian arch spanning two hundred meters over part of the arboretum. The bridge itself was an engineering marvel; white composite stone veined with gold metallic flecks, illuminated from beneath by soft recessed lights. From this height, the Grove opened beneath them in breathtaking tiers of forest, winding paths, flowering terraces, and the enormous artificial lake reflecting the arcology lights overhead like liquid mercury.

Nathan slowed despite himself.

“Fuck,” he muttered softly. “Looks bigger from up here.”

“It was designed to,” Doctor Rhys replied with faint amusement. “Arcologies thrive on carefully engineered perspective. The wealthy prefer their habitats grandiose.”

Below them, tiny gondolas drifted above the trees while nude bathers lounged on the white sand beaches ringing the lake. The artificial twilight lighting gave everything a dreamlike quality.

Tex walked several steps behind them, posture relaxed but eyes constantly moving.

The bridge eventually descended toward a section lined with dense hedges of sweetbriar rose. Nathan immediately detected the scent, which was floral and earthy with a hint of fruity sweetness.

“Sweetbriar,” Doctor Rhys explained. “The wood is highly prized for wind instruments. Flutes, whistles, reed pipes. The fruit is used for chutneys and preserves.”

Nathan glanced sideways. “Seems like a damned expensive hedge.”

“On Eros, aesthetics are a competitive sport.”

Gardeners sculpted the hedges into flowing alcoves and winding green chambers. Soft lights hidden beneath the foliage cast warm amber glows through the leaves.

The trysting spots were busy.

Nathan tried very hard not to stare.

A woman sat astride another woman on a cushioned bench half hidden behind the roses. Farther down, two men and a third person Nathan could not clearly identify disappeared deeper into one of the alcoves while laughing softly. Elsewhere, couples reclined openly in the grass or against the flowering walls.

No one paid them any attention.

Ethical non-monogamy on Eros was so normalized that the encounters carried none of the furtiveness Nathan associated with such things back on Mars or Earth. Here it seemed casual. Recreational. Almost mundane.

Doctor Rhys ignored the various assignations with the ease of long familiarity.

Tex merely observed everything with detached android neutrality.

Nathan cleared his throat awkwardly after accidentally making eye contact with a naked man receiving enthusiastic attention from two partners behind a rose hedge.

“Well,” Nathan muttered. “People certainly seem friendly here.”

Doctor Rhys smirked faintly.

“Compared to Chendiuria centuries later, Eros is practically restrained.”

The sweetbriar paths eventually gave way to polished black stone walkways edged in brass inlays. The lighting shifted warmer. Richer.

Ahead, a long queue stretched beneath elaborate arabesque arches worked in gold and emerald-green composite tile.

Caligula’s Den.

The entrance looked less like a nightclub and more like the gateway to an emperor’s palace. Intricate geometric carvings framed the doorway while soft incense drifted through hidden vents. Armed guards in immaculate black suits stood beside discreet weapon scanners.

Nathan eyed the line.

“Hell of a crowd.”

“Invitation only,” Doctor Rhys said. “Excess exclusivity tends to attract people.”

“And you have an invitation?”

“I do.”

“You ever use it?”

“No.”

Nathan looked surprised.

“You don’t seem the type.”

“I am not.”

Standing near the entrance was a very tall, thin man dressed in immaculate traditional Saudi garments. His white thawb fit him well, and his red-and-white head covering sat with rigid precision. His swarthy, sallow skin stretched tightly over sharp bones. A long, hooked nose dominated his face above pale, deep-set eyes. When he smiled at someone entering the club, Nathan saw large, perfect white teeth. Predatory teeth.

The man recognized Doctor Rhys. His expression shifted into something halfway between amusement and contempt.

“Doctor Rhys,” he said smoothly. “You continue to grace my district with your presence while refusing to grace my establishment.”

His voice was elegant. Cultured and unpleasant. Nathan disliked him.

Doctor Rhys inclined her head. “Emil.”

“Nathan,” she breathed to him, “this is Emil al-Ofay, proprietor of Caligula’s Den.”

Nathan thought the man was some sort of glorified maître d’. Emil’s eyes flicked over Nathan dismissively.

“A pleasure,” Emil lied.

Tex remained silent behind them, though Nathan noticed the android watching Emil very carefully.

Nathan extended a hand anyway. Emil looked at it for several uncomfortable seconds before accepting it, as though touching something distasteful.

“You work the door?” Nathan asked.

Doctor Rhys closed her eyes for a moment.

Tex produced a tiny choking sound, possibly suppressed laughter.

Emil smiled. “No, Captain Rourke. I own the door.”

Nathan blinked. “Oh.”

Doctor Rhys stepped in before Nathan could worsen the situation.

“Emil can be charming when he wishes to be.”

“I find cruelty filters clientele wonderfully,” Emil replied. “The more poorly one treats the rich, the more desperate they become for approval.”

Nathan frowned. “That seems backwards.”

“It is Eros,” Tex said helpfully.

Nathan supposed that explained it.

Emil’s pale eyes shifted toward Doctor Rhys.

“My birds thrive, by the way.”

Doctor Rhys nodded. “I assumed they would.”

Nathan looked between them. “Birds?”

“Haas eagles,” Emil said proudly.

That got Nathan’s attention. “You’re kidding.”

Very few surviving raptors existed anywhere anymore, especially not large, bio-engineered ones.

Emil visibly enjoyed Nathan’s reaction. “A mated pair and four chicks,” he said. “Magnificent creatures.”

Doctor Rhys folded her arms.

“Emil believes raptors are part of his ancestral heritage.”

“They are,” Emil said coldly.

Tex whispered. “The shipment was verified extensively before customs clearance. I ensured none of the animals or associated microbes posed ecological threats to Eros.”

Nathan stared at Doctor Rhys.

“You got live raptors through customs?”

Doctor Rhys shrugged. “I possess influence.”

Describing it as such felt like a gross simplification.

Emil smiled again, showing too many teeth.

“The mature female should reach nearly twenty kilograms. No one else on Eros possesses Haas eagles.”

The smugness in his voice could have powered a fusion reactor.

Nathan grasped how wealthy this man truly was.

Far above them somewhere in the darkness beyond the Grove, the arcologies glittered unseen like artificial stars hanging from the ceiling of Eros’s immense excavated interior.

Starspire Arcology Emil’s family domain was somewhere up there among them.

Nathan remembered the view from Slagville, far below. On bad days, the upper arcologies vanished entirely into haze and industrial gloom. Different worlds hanging inside the same asteroid.

Emil gave Doctor Rhys a slight bow.

“If you ever decide to indulge yourself, Doctor, Caligula’s Den remains open to you.”

“I somehow doubt I am your target demographic.”

“Everyone is eventually.”

Doctor Rhys smiled.

“Good evening, Emil.”

As they continued past the club entrance, Nathan glanced back once.

Emil al-Ofay stood motionless beneath the arabesque archways, looking less like a man than some ancient desert predator dressed in wealth and civilization.

Leaving Emil al-Ofay and the glittering line outside Caligula’s Den behind them, Nathan breathed easier almost immediately.

“That man gives me the creeps,” Nathan muttered.

“He gives everyone the creeps,” Doctor Rhys replied. “That is part of his appeal.”

“That makes absolutely no damned sense.”

“Again,” Tex said helpfully, “this is Eros.”

Nathan snorted.

The trio continued along the outer perimeter of the Sylvan Grove, where the sculpted beauty of the arcology gave way to more practical infrastructure. The polished marble walkways transitioned into darker composite decking designed to support heavier foot traffic. Maintenance conduits and service access doors appeared more frequently along the walls.

Ahead, Nathan spotted a group of OGs.

Unlike the sculpted perfection of most arcology residents, the OGs looked functional rather than beautiful. Massive shoulders. Dense muscles. Heavy bones. Their genes clearly supported strenuous industrial tasks in low gravity and confined spaces, prioritizing function over form.

Six of them occupied a reinforced bench near a service kiosk, clad in dark gray maintenance coveralls, smeared with grease and metallic dust. One woman had her sleeves tied around her waist, revealing forearms thick with old surgical reinforcement scars and industrial wetware ports. Another OG drank from a liter-sized protein pouch while staring at a maintenance schematic hovering above the table.

Nathan smiled. “Been a while since I’ve seen a maintenance crew up here.”

Doctor Rhys glanced toward them.

“They are probably servicing one of the gravplate junctions or atmosphere exchangers. The arcologies require constant upkeep.”

The OGs noticed Nathan staring. One man gave him a lazy nod of acknowledgment.

Nathan returned it.

“You knew some?” Doctor Rhys whispered.

“Back in Slagville? Hell, yeah.” Nathan shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Most OGs down there worked mining or heavy maintenance. Good people mostly. Rough. Practical.”

Tex tilted his head.

“Eros employs approximately two thousand OGs currently. Ninety-two percent work directly in mining, ore handling, reactor support, or structural maintenance.”

“Not exactly arcology socialites,” Nathan muttered.

Doctor Rhys shook her head.

“Most could never afford to live up here permanently. The few that do usually possess senior technical certifications.”

Nathan watched the workers for another moment. One woman guffawed at something someone said. The sound carried through the artificial twilight.

“Miners make decent money if the yield's good,” Nathan said. “Especially on the rhodium strikes.”

“Commodity shares,” Tex agreed. “Worker productivity increases by twenty-three percent when profit participation is implemented.”

Nathan grinned. “People tend to work harder when they aren’t getting fucked completely.”

The OGs eventually disappeared into a restricted service corridor marked AUTHORIZED MAINTENANCE ONLY.

Nathan watched them go.

“I used to ride the ore haulers with miners sometimes,” he said. “Cheap way to get to Mars if you could tolerate six months on a five-kilometer flying ore can.”

Doctor Rhys looked amused.

“You voluntarily traveled on ore freighters?”

“They’re slow as hell, but cheap.” Nathan shrugged. “Lot of miners used them to visit family or go on vacation between contracts. You get enough protein bricks, beer, cards, and entertainment chips onboard and it ain’t terrible.”

Tex spoke. “Statistically, the ore freighters are safer than most civilian transports because of their redundant reactor systems.”

Nathan smirked. “They have to be. Lose one of those monsters and Mars screams about commodity shortages.”

The Grove’s perimeter curved onward until another glow appeared through the trees ahead. This entrance was older than Caligula’s Den. Older and stranger.

Silver-blue lights shimmered over Celtic knotwork and flowing metallic vines. Massive stylized antlers rose beside the doors while holographic mist drifted lazily across the walkway.

Tuatha de’ Danann.

Unlike Caligula’s decadent atmosphere, this club projected mystery and exclusivity. The line outside was equally long. Nathan immediately noticed several faces he recognized.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Doctor Rhys glanced sideways at him.

“You know some of them?”

Nathan nodded toward a woman with bronze skin and silver body jewelry speaking to a well-dressed couple near the entrance.

“Used to drink at my old bar sometimes.”

Several of the waiting women and men wore elegant, color-coded jewelry identifying them as members of the hetaerae union. Erosian sex workers organized aggressively. Some worked as private contractors, while others labored under debt agreements or corporate indenture structures.

Nathan spotted one woman he remembered charging obscene rates even twenty years ago.

“Some of those escorts make insane money,” he muttered.

Doctor Rhys snorted. “Not particularly.”

Nathan blinked. “Doc, one of them charged five thousand credits a second back when I knew her.”

Doctor Rhys looked unimpressed. “That is still very low.”

Nathan stared at her. “Five thousand credits a second is low?”

“When I am operating, I make considerably more than that.”

Tex added helpfully, “Madam performs charity surgeries at a financial loss.”

Doctor Rhys waved a hand. “Those do not count.”

Nathan looked back toward the line.

The escorts standing outside Tuatha de’ Danann looked almost as polished and curated as the arcology elites themselves. Some laughed with potential clients while others maintained careful emotional distance.

High-end companionship on Eros was less taboo and a more luxury commodity.

“Still weird seeing them lined up outside a damned sex club,” Nathan muttered.

“Networking,” Doctor Rhys replied. “Tuatha de’ Danann attracts powerful clientele.”

Nathan frowned. “You’ve got an invite here too?”

“Yes.”

“You ever gone inside?”

“No.”

“You really ain’t into these places, are you?”

Doctor Rhys smiled. “I enjoy intimacy. I do not particularly enjoy turning it into a spectator sport.”

That answer reassured Nathan more than he had expected. They eventually left the glowing entrance behind and headed toward the lift systems leading back upward through the arcology.

Nathan walked silently for several minutes before finally speaking.

“Alright, Doc.”

“Hm?”

“What’s your angle?”

Doctor Rhys looked sideways at him.

“My angle?”

“Yeah.” Nathan gestured vaguely. “You fixed some of my synapses. You’re rebuilding my arm. Bought me clothes. Returned my pistol. Fed me enough food to bankrupt a small moon.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Usually when somebody starts buttering me up this hard it means something horrible’s coming.”

Tex made an amused electronic clicking sound.

Doctor Rhys laughed softly.

“Nathan, your paranoia is showing.”

“Paranoia keeps people alive.”

“That is unfortunately true.”

Nathan stopped walking briefly near the lift queue.

“So what do you want from me?”

Doctor Rhys studied him for a long moment.

Amusement gleamed in her eyes. And something else. Something harder to read.

“Some of my reasons,” she said quietly, “are easier to explain inside my abaton.”

Nathan frowned. “Abaton?”

“My private sanctuary.”

“That sounds ominous as hell.”

“It is actually very comfortable.”

The lift arrived before Nathan could press further.

Inside the spacious, transparent car, large public display screens scrolled through news feeds and economic reports while the lift silently ascended through the arcology levels.

One display showed a massive ore freighter slowly departing Eros’s external docking spines, engines glowing blue white against the darkness. Another newsfeed discussed expansion proposals.

“Eros Colonial Planning Committee projects mining completion estimates revised upward another ninety-seven years…”

“Additional habitat excavation proposals approved…”

“Luxury residential investment opportunities expanding…”

Nathan watched the scrolling headlines.

“Already planning for after the mines run dry.”

“They have to,” Doctor Rhys said quietly. “Eros survives because it adapts.”

Tex folded his hands behind his back.

“Unlike many earlier colonies, Eros maintained extremely controlled population growth during its first century. Resources and habitable space expanded simultaneously.”

Nathan nodded.

“No mandatory birth quotas either.”

Doctor Rhys glanced at him with mild surprise.

“You know your colonial history.”

“I read a lot after my life turned to shit.”

One screen displayed another announcement.

“Eros Immigration Authority welcomes additional technical workers and high-value investors…”

Nathan barked a laugh.

“In other words: we need a few more miners and wouldn’t mind a couple more obscenely rich idle bastards.”

“That,” Tex said, “is a reasonably accurate summary.”

Far above them, the arcologies glittered like artificial stars suspended from the vast carved interior of the asteroid, while far below, beyond layers of gloom and distance, Slagville continued grinding onward in darkness.