Nucleus 1: The Dust of Moon [Mature Sci-fi Romance]

19:55, March 27, 2295

The Millennium Club, 181 West Madison Street, Chicago, Illinois, Terra Alliance territory

The Millennium Club occupied a corner of Chicago's old financial district. From the SIMU databases, Lorna had learned it was one of the few buildings that had survived both the Digital Era Collapse and the reconstruction when the 21st Century ended. Its brownstone and brass fixtures screamed old money.

"Buddha," Xin muttered as they pulled up. "Like going into a period drama."

"The American dream. Back when there was one." Lorna said with a bitter smile.

"The media calls it the darkest time in history, but…" Xin replied. "…things from that era always looked great to me."

An attendant in crisp uniform opened their door, his expression professionally blank even when Håkon poked his scaled head out of the window. If seeing a baby dragon fazed him, he didn't show it.

"Lorna Weiss and party," Lorna said. "We're expected."

"Of course, madam. President Polk's other guest is already waiting inside. Right this way."

The interior was exactly what Lorna expected: dark wood, leather, the lingering smell of cigars that had seeped into every surface over decades. Portraits of long-dead industrialists watched from oil-painted eyes. This was the society preceding the Terra Alliance at its most best: honest, established, wealthy, and it success needed no convincing.

They were led to a private dining room on the third floor. Through tall windows, Chicago's skyline glittered, the rebuilt towers a testament to American resilience. Or stubbornness, depending on one's perspective.

Two tables had been arranged: one long and formal for the negotiations, another smaller one near the window where Olav already sat, his chunky and fuzzy form somehow managing to look dignified despite the too-small chair.

"Olav!" Håkon chirped excitedly, immediately squirming to get down.

"Let him," Harald said softly. "Better he's accompanied than listening to what's about to be said."

Without a word, Lorna set Håkon down on the table, watching him scamper to Olav's side. The Grávomb's face lit up, making happy churring sounds as he helped Håkon into a specially reinforced booster seat.

"They're making us wait," Harald observed as they took their seats at the main table. "Establishing dominance."

"Let them." Lorna adjusted her blazer, ensuring the pendant remained hidden but accessible. "We've got time."

Xin's eyes swept the room with efficiency, tapping his black green Quantum Watch. "Three cameras, visible. Probably more hidden. Audio pickup in the centerpiece. Secondary mic in that painting."

From the smaller table, Håkon's delighted voice carried over: "Olav! Many forks! Why many?"

Olav made a series of gestures, apparently explaining table etiquette to the fascinated young Diabolisk. Håkon picked up a salad fork, examining it like a scientific specimen.

Ten minutes passed before the door opened again. Not long enough to be insulting, but sufficient to make their point. President Harrison Polk entered first, his lean frame moving with calculated precision. The midnight blue suit was ironed to near perfection, the purple tie a controlled accent of individuality.

Behind him, Dante Pompeo filled the doorway like a dreadnought entering port. The Corporate Chamber delegate wore his military dress uniform, every medal placed. His platinum white hair gleamed under the chandeliers, emphasizing his bull-like neck. A cigar was already lit, its smoke preceding him.

Director Artak Otis came last, a white-suited mediator between the two powers. His bald head caught the light as he nodded to Lorna.

"Agent Weiss." Harrison's voice carried the same measured cadence as his public addresses. "Thank you for joining us."

"Mr. President." Lorna stood, Xin following suit. "Thank you for making time."

But Harald Omdal remained sitting, only addressing the Alliance President with a curt nod.

Dante's small eyes locked onto Harald immediately. "The Archmage of Buskerud. Still breathing, I see."

"Dante Pompeo." Harald's tone could have flash-frozen helium. "Still poisoning the air like your Helionite dumps had poisoned the Nordic fjords, I see."

"Gentlemen." Otis moved smoothly between them. "Perhaps we should sit."

"No need to stand at the door like savages, eh?" Harrison claimed the head of the table, establishing his role as arbiter.

Dante took his right hand, already ashing his cigar into a crystal tray that probably cost more than a teacher's salary. Otis settled to the left.

That left Lorna's group at the far end, physically and symbolically separated. She noticed Håkon watching from his table, those bright blue eyes tracking every movement with unsettling comprehension.

"Shall we order first?" Harrison suggested, his tone implying this too was a test. "The kitchen here is quite exceptional."

"Of course." Lorna accepted the leather-bound menu a male server offered, noting the lack of prices. If you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.

The ordering process became its own form of combat as the server glanced around the room with his professional detachment and elegance. "What would you have this evening, ladies and gentleman?"

"Atlantic salmon." Harrison pointed at a corner of his menu with a practiced ease that suggested countless power lunches. "Wild-caught, with the dill sauce. My husband insists I watch my cholesterol."

"Ribeye, Chicago style." Dante demanded. "Bloody."

"Respecfully, Delegate Pompeo." The server bowed at him cautiously. "We do not advise any person above the age of 120 to eat—"

"If I wanted it cooked through, I'd eat shoe leather!" Dante pointed his cigar at the waiter, cutting him off. "Bloody is better."

"Of course, sir." The server relented, jolting it down on his holopad.

Otis selected his courses with minimal fuss. "The house salad to start, and the roasted chicken breast. Nothing too heavy—we have much to discuss."

Xin studied the menu carefully, his brow furrowing at the Italian descriptions. He pointed at a picture on the holographic display. "This one. The... ling... lingui..." He paused, adjusting his glasses in that nervous way of his. "The pasta…with the small shells? Clams?"

The server's lips twitched, professionally suppressing what might have been amusement. "The—"

"Linguine alle vongole," Lorna interjected smoothly, her voice wrapping around the Italian syllables with ease. That she was already familiar with Ordovox, a language of same root, helped immensely. She leaned slightly toward Xin, close enough that he'd catch her lavender perfume. "It's delicious, alright. The clams are fresh, and they use just a hint of white wine in the sauce."

"Lin-guine al-le…von-gole?" Xin repeated, managing it better with her guidance. His ears had gone slightly pink, but he met her eyes with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Any time," she murmured, then louder to the server: "He'll have that. And make sure they don't overcook the pasta."

"Of course, madam." The server's expression had shifted to something more respectful, noting the casual authority in her voice.

Harald took his time, fingers tracing the French descriptions. "The duck confit. I haven't had proper duck since..." He trailed off, perhaps remembering better times. "'87. Aye."

Lorna was last. "The lamb rack, medium rare. With the mint chimichurri." She needed protein, something substantial. And lamb felt appropriate—an animal that survived in harsh climates, like her people had.

"And for the young ones?" The server asked carefully, glancing toward Håkon and Olav at the side table.

"Do you have anything raw?" Lorna kept her voice neutral.

"The kitchen can accommodate any dietary requirements, madam."

"Helionite-infused protein, if possible. Lightly seared exterior. And for my father's Radi-Mon—root vegetables."

"He's particularly fond of heritage varieties." Harald added, nodding.

The server didn't even blink. "Of course. Shall I have the chef prepare a medley with our twelve-herb butter?"

From his table, Olav made an enthusiastic churring sound.

Once the orders were placed and wine poured—Harrison made a show of selecting a wine on the menu—the President leaned back as he said. "2289 Château Margaux."

"Ah, the finest wine from Zorian Covenant lands, fitting for a meeting of this import." The waiter tilted his head as he wrote. In the next instance, he was gone like a wind.

"Now then. Shall we discuss why we're really here?"

Lorna cut in before Dante could. "We're here because the Moondust Crystal could change everything. And you need our expertise to handle it."

"Your expertise?" Dante lit a fresh cigar, the smoke curling between them like a challenge. "Interesting. Do you mean your infection? Your lies? Your terrorist father who—"

"Who made technologies your scientists still can't replicate." Harald's voice was ice. "Careful, Delegate. You're drinking from a very shallow well of knowledge."

"Gentlemen." Harrison raised a hand. His wedding band caught the light—titanium, not gold. Practical, like him. "We have more pressing concerns. Director Otis, perhaps you could outline the situation?"

Otis set down his wine. "The Fenris Horde has acquired the main body of the Moondust Crystal and withdrawn from Earth. Intelligence suggests they're consolidating on Mars. While it appears the Imperium of Dragons has exited the race for the artifact, the Emerald Directorate now possess fragments in quantity similar to ours."

"You fear we'll fall behind," Lorna stated flatly. "And you need us to catch up."

"We need," Harrison corrected smoothly, "to ensure Alliance interests are protected. The Corporate Chamber has approved funding increases—enough for additional equipment and..." he paused, "previously halted projects."

"Tower tall!" Håkon's delighted voice carried from the side table. He'd jumped into the bread basket served on his table and was building with dinner rolls. "Like Mama strong!"

Dante's jaw tightened, but Harrison's lips twitched. "Your son has architectural ambitions?"

"He has many ambitions, alright." Lorna watched her baby Radi-Mon carefully balance another roll.

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"A Diabolisk unlike any other." Otis observed.

The first courses arrived. Harrison's salmon glistened with herbs, Dante's bread and butter appeared with a small dish of sea salt. Lorna's own appetizer—carpaccio—lay arranged like rose petals, the raw beef a reminder of her carnivorous needs even if she preferred it cooked.

"Let us be direct," Harrison said after the first bites. "We're developing the Nucleus Suit based on theoretical frameworks that…'referenced' your father's research. Now that he's here, we believe his expertise could help complete it. You, Agent Weiss, and you specifically, are most qualified to facilitate the project."

Harald paused, duck-laden fork halfway to his mouth. "Controlled cellular and Aether regeneration through harmonized viral load processing. Admit it, you've had the graduates at Boston Psi Univ copy my design."

"You've read the requisitions," Otis noted.

"I've read everything you've let me access. Saw my own equations in your corporate researchers' fumbling attempts." Harald took his bite, chewing thoughtfully. "They're all doing it wrong, of course."

"Then correct them!" Dante growled around his own bread.

"And just why would I help you weaponize my daughter?"

"Because the alternative is we all fall when Skarn returns to Earth with the full Crystal." Harrison's tone remained conversational, as if discussing weather. "The Suit is designed for psionics who carry the Nucleus Virus. It turns a liability into an asset."

Lorna felt the weight of their gazes. "This Nucleus Suit. You want me to test it."

"You're uniquely qualified. Powerful psionics, viral carrier, combat experience with the Fenris Horde, and..." Otis gestured delicately, "motivated to protect your family."

"Mama! Look!" Håkon held up a piece of his Helionite-infused tartare. It glowed pale green softly, like ghostly candlelight through ruby. "Pretty food!"

"Don't play with it, boy. Eat nicely." She held up a delicate finger.

"Okay!" He took a big bite, his sharp teeth making quick work of the tartare. "Mmmm! Good good eat!"

Even Dante watched with reluctant fascination.

The main courses arrived. Lorna's lamb was perfect, the meat pink at the center with a crispy herb crust. She caught Xin glancing at it and cut a piece, offering it wordlessly. He accepted with a small smile, their fingers brushing.

"The Suit's Aether requirements alone could kill an untrained psionic," Harald said, steering back to business. "You're using my biometric recycling theories?"

"Among…other designs Director Otis may explain." Harrison signaled for the main courses.

"Our R&D staff have integrated multiple frameworks. Shield matrices comparable to Directorate Scarab mechs, and even some NASA designs from the Digital Era." Otis added as his dish of chicken breast arrived.

"A Frankenstein's monster of technology, then?" Harald sounded intrigued despite his words. "What, my own design choices weren't good enough for you?"

"SIMU tech support have replaced any component that might be lethal to human body with alternatives we've deemed more humane." Otis raised his spoon. "The wearer should no longer perish from failing to use the Nucleus Suit properly."

Harald stroked his beard. "The Aether regeneration is made less effective, then?"

"It is an acceptable compromise." Otis replied simply.

"We're not just talking about the Suit, am I right?" Lorna said after savoring her first bite. "You want a full commitment. Mars deployment, field testing, the works."

"Within six weeks." Harrison's salmon were cut in precise sections. "Intelligence indicates Skarn is planning something significant. We need boots on the ground."

"Whose boots?" Xin finally spoke up, his linguine barely touched. "Because it sounds like you're sending us on a suicide mission."

"I prefer the term 'strategic reconnaissance.'" Dante carved into his ribeye with military precision. "Besides, what makes you think you're included, immigrant?"

Xin set down his fork carefully. "Well, I am the only one here who's worked with both Imperial and Alliance systems. Your teams would benefit from someone who can interface with whatever hybrid technology they encounter."

"Pappa smart!" Håkon called out, mouth full of glowing meat. He swallowed before adding, "Help Mama!"

"That's right, buddy." Xin's voice softened as he raised his fork at the little Diabolisk. "I help Mama."

"Touching." Dante's tone suggested otherwise. "But technical skills don't erase the security risk."

"What security risk?" Lorna leaned forward. "Xin's proven himself repeatedly. He helped secure the Moondust shards, saved my life, raises my son—"

"A son who shouldn't exist." Dante pointed his steak knife at Håkon. "What happens when he matures? When those claws can rend steel?"

Lorna went very still. The temperature around her seemed to drop several degrees. "What did you just say?"

"That the thing you call son is an abomination."

Lorna's grip on her wine glass tightened dangerously. The delicate stem snapped with an audible crack, the bowl of the glass hitting the table hard enough to splash burgundy across the white tablecloth like blood. She set the broken pieces down with deliberate control, her hand trembling—not from injury, but from the effort of not doing something worse.

"My son," her voice was deadly quiet, "exists because I chose to let him. Because despite how he came to be—despite everything—he deserves love. He deserves a chance!" Her blue eyes had gone arctic. "So choose your fucking words very carefully, Delegate."

"Careful?" Dante leaned back, cigar smoke wreathing his head. "Like your father was careful when he created the Jokull Horde?"

"Don't you dare." Harald's single word carried decades of suppressed fury.

"Now you speak." Dante turned his bulk toward Harald. "Tell me, Omdal—when you built those Vöxtr machines, those Rót extractors, did you consider the consequences? Or were you too busy playing God?"

"I was conducting research YOUR government funded." Harald's knuckles had gone white around his fork. "Every prototype, every experiment—signed off by Terra Corporate Chamber representatives. Men like you."

"The Corporate Chamber under my leadership funded theoretical science—not Radi-Mons!"

"You funded weapons development and dressed it up as research." Harald's laugh was razor-sharp. "The purchase orders, the specification requirements—did you think I wouldn't recognize military applications? You wanted controllable soldiers. And I gave you exactly what you paid for."

"That's a lie. I never asked you to make Radi-Mons out of Nordic beasts and animals."

"Truly?" Harald's voice rose. "'Subject must be capable of operation in extreme environments. Must demonstrate regenerative capabilities. Must respond to hierarchical command structures'." He quoted from memory. "I've even kept your requisition forms, Delegate. So tell me, who's really responsible for those 'monsters'?"

"You twisted our intent, misinterpreted the business requirements to justify—" Dante would not relent.

"I fulfilled the contract as I understood it!" Harald was standing now. "And when it worked too well, when you realized what you'd unleashed, you burned the contract, withdrew the funding to cover your shame. And you wouldn't even help when my homeland burned to ashes under Fenris invasion!"

"Just fuck you, really!" Lorna slammed her palm on the table. Plates jumped. "All of you!"

A soft whimper from the side table broke through their anger. Håkon had curled into himself, scales shifting to worried purple, tears forming in his bright blue eyes. Olav had wrapped both arms around him, but the little dragon was shaking.

"Can no fight?" Håkon's voice was barely a whisper. "Family eat. Happy time?"

The adults froze. In the sudden silence, they could hear Håkon's quick, frightened breathing.

"Please?" he added, looking between them all. "Håkon scared when family angry. No like. Please happy?"

Even Dante looked stricken. The battle-hardened delegate who'd faced down corporate wars and political assassinations looked undone by a child's tears.

"You're right, little one." Otis raised his wine glass with a hand that trembled slightly. "Perhaps we should remember we're all on the same side here."

Harald sat back in his chair, mumbling, lost in thought. Lorna's hand moved to her fork as she looked at Håkon's tiny form and Olav supporting him, feeling her heart clench a little.

"I have an idea." Xin's tone had moderated. "Not asking for much. I'll risk my life for the team. If you give us something real in return. Not just promises."

"And exactly what, Mister Wu, do you want?" Harrison asked directly.

"Alliance citizenship. I know you can afford one." Xin met his gaze. "Real citizenship, not some provisional status you can revoke at convenience. I do want to belong here."

"Interesting. And in exchange?"

"I'll wear your Nucleus Suit, too. Test your technologies. Fight your wars." Xin glanced at Lorna and Håkon. "I'm already on my probation period in SIMU. I have reasons to see the Alliance succeed."

Harrison considered this while cutting into his salmon with surgical precision. "Perhaps we've all said things in the heat of negotiation that were...unnecessarily sharp." Not an apology, but an acknowledgment. His eyes flickered to Håkon, who was peeking from beside Olav's bulk. "The stakes make us forget we're looking to protect our people, not just assets."

Dante grumbled something into his ribeye that might have been "fair point" or might have been a curse. He set down his steak knife—no longer pointing it at anyone—and took a long drink of wine. "This Imperial boy's got guts," he said finally, meaning Xin. "Most immigrants would be begging. He negotiates."

"Pa," Lorna said quietly to Harald, who was still rigid with anger. "Eat. Your duck's getting cold."

Harald looked at his daughter, then at Håkon who was watching him with those little blue eyes. Some of the tension left his shoulders. He picked up his fork.

"The duck is excellent," he said after a moment, his tone carefully neutral. "Properly rendered fat. The Alliance knows its French cooking, at least."

"We Valorans try," Harrison said, reaching for a small bottle of olive oil and applied it to his salmon. "This country, and the one before it, were both built on diversity and trust."

They ate in relative quiet for several minutes. Lorna's lamb was pink, the mint chimichurri bright against the rich meat. She caught Xin stealing glances at her between bites of his linguine, which he ate carefully—twirling each forkful against his spoon.

Dessert arrived—crème brûlée for most, fresh berries for Otis, though nothing for Dante who was on his third cigar.

At the side table, Håkon had discovered that Olav would make funny faces when given ice cream, and was giggling—a sound like wind chimes—as he offered spoonful after spoonful to the Grávomb. The two Radi-Mons were becoming like brothers now.

"Good," Håkon announced to no one in particular. "Family quiet-eat is good too."

Even Dante's mouth twitched at that.

"Here's what I propose," Harrison said, tapping his spoon against the caramelized sugar. "Mr. Omdal assists with the Nucleus Suit. In exchange: protected status, limited freedom within Stardust Command until mission success. Agent Weiss continues with SIMU, including field testing the Suit. Her son, the Diabolisk, remains under joint medical and protective supervision. Mr. Wu, provisional citizenship upon successful completion of the Mars mission."

"Provisional." Xin's voice was flat.

"Prove yourself. Survive Mars. Then we'll discuss permanent status."

"And if we refuse?" Harald asked.

Harrison's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then you return to holding. Your daughter faces fraud charges. Your…grandson, remains a SIMU research project. And Mr. Wu is deported."

"Some choice," Lorna muttered.

"The Mars mission," Otis interjected, clearly trying to defuse tension. "Will launch from our Kansas facility. The Olathe Starport houses our finest Aegis-class battlecruisers."

"Olathe?" Lorna recognized the name. "That's middle of nowhere."

"Most would assume so. Secure, isolated, and equipped with our latest technologies, including the latest Quantum Watch upgrades that might prove useful." Harrison had almost finished his dessert. "Let's give it two weeks for training and Suit calibration before deployment."

"Two weeks?" Harald scoffed. "To master technology that doesn't properly exist yet?"

"Then you'd better work quickly." Dante stubbed out his cigar. "Unless you'd prefer we send your daughter in untested equipment?"

"Farfar?" Håkon had wandered over, ice cream forgotten. He tugged on Harald's sleeve. "Why sad?"

Harald looked down at his grandson—this impossible child who shouldn't exist. "Not sad, little one. Just thinking."

"Think too much bad." Håkon climbed into his lap with easy familiarity. "Better to feel. Heart knows."

From the mouths of babes, Lorna thought. Or baby dragons.

"You know what?" She stood, decision crystallizing. "We'll do it. But on our terms."

"Which are, Agent Weiss?" Harrison seemed unsurprised.

"I control the testing timeline. If the Suit's not ready, we don't deploy. My life, my call." She looked at each of them. "My father works freely—no guards or those junior Psi Lynxes breathing down his neck. As long as he's wearing the Suit, Xin gets extraction guarantees in writing. And Håkon..." she softened, "Håkon gets a chance at a real life. Education, medical care, legal protection."

"Quite a list, girl." Dante grumbled.

"That's the price. That's our offer." Lorna remained standing. "Take it or leave it."

"Sounds like a good one, no?" In support of her, Xin also stood up.

The three Alliance leaders exchanged glances. Some silent communication passed between them.

"Agreed," Harrison said finally. "With conditions. Testing delays must be justified. Your father's work is monitored, not guarded. Extraction protocols follow standard Alliance procedures. And your son...HAW-koon..." he paused, doing his best to pronounce the little Diabolisk's Norwegian name, "must remain under you or Mr.Wu's direct guardianship. For his safety and others."

"Deal." Lorna extended her hand.

Harrison rose to shake it. His grip was firm, dry, practiced. "We've started quite an operation. May we all survive it."

"Yay!" Håkon clapped his little claws together. "Family-win-together!"

Olav made a cautious but optimistic series of chirps.

If only it were that simple, Lorna thought. But looking at her son's pure joy, her father's grudging acceptance, Xin's determined hope—maybe it could be.

"I'll arrange a transport to Olathe. Thomas, Emmanuel, Diego, Nikki. All will be there." Otis informed them as they prepared to leave. "Pack whatever you need. We may not come back to Earth until October."

"We'll be ready," Lorna promised.

As they filed out, President Harrison called after them. "Agent Weiss? That pendant on you—I'd learn to master it before it masters you. I heard the Moondust Crystal has its own agenda."

Lorna's hand moved unconsciously to her chest, feeling the crystal's warmth through her shirt. Another problem for another day.

Tonight, she'd won her family a chance.

It would have to be enough.