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

Mars Standard Time: 19:40, May 11, 2295 (Earth Day Equivalent)

The Southern Wall, Lion District, Xing Hong, Hellas Basin, Mars

The Indra-Sprite burned down Dilinur's throat, synthetic mango-lychee masking the bitter undertow. The battle with the Fenris Horde had taken more out of her than usual.

She pressed herself deeper into the Isazi's shadows, watching Prince Laurent place the Quantum Watch in Jabari's palm.

The watch was heavier than it looked—bronze case worn smooth by previous owners, the golden dial catching Mars's dying light like trapped honey. Laurent's thumb lingered on the crown, as if reluctant to let go of whatever memory it held. Gold caught the dying light. Solar-attuned, naturally. The Directorate loved their symbolism.

Laurent's hands trembled—barely perceptible, but she'd been trained to spot weakness since childhood. Age? Emotion? The distinction mattered less than the vulnerability itself.

"By the grace of the Thousand Gods, I promote you, Jabari Adomako, to a Major in the Kimaris Warband." Laurent murmured, "May this Quantum Watch, befitting your title, imbued with Solar attunement, serve you as faithfully as you serve our people."

Primitive. The Imperium would have demanded another fealty to the Ruby Throne, days of ceremonies, genealogical verification stretching back centuries. Here, a simple blessing and done. Yet something in the ritual's simplicity struck her as more honest than all the pageantry she had grown up with.

"And what is my next order, Prince Laurent?" Jabari spoke, eyes alit with determination and pride.

"As the rest of us proceed to the formal dinner with Mayor Montero, you are to remain on the Isazi with Cadet Ume to await my next order. All goes well, the Osiris will be ready and waiting. You will begin transporting our Scarabs and Gyata onto the carrier at 2200." Laurent said as his hands withdrew. "You may order any food delivery from Xing Hong for dinner. Do avoid providers from Eagle District, the Alliance section of the city."

"Understood." Jabari's forearms flexed as he fastened the watch. The movement drew her eye to the curve of his bicep, the way his uniform stretched across—

Dilinur drained the rest of the Indra-Sprite. Focus.

The Isazi descended toward Xing Hong's docking platforms, and there—across the divide—sat the Ironsides VII. The Alliance battlecruiser dwarfed everything around it, a silver blue metal mountain against the Martian sunset.

An eyesore.

Alliance personnel moved like ants on their platform. She catalogued faces through the viewport. Thomas Mendoza, the one she'd captured on Osram's Near Side before letting him escape. Silver bionic arms catching the light. Emmanuel Boateng, some swaggering Psi Lynx who'd come rescuing his teammates when Dilinur had the chance to eliminate them all. Next to Emmanuel, a Novian man in a uniform that more resembled a business suit, wearing an irritating, roguishly handsome smirk on his bronze face.

And Xin—the weakling who'd somehow bested her multiple times since Taiwan. Some sort of small blue lizard creature on his shoulder. Radi-Mon? Had the Alliance somehow allowed such creatures in their military?

Her fingers tightened on the empty bottle.

Then, that woman with blonde hair. Lorna Weiss. Even at this distance, Dilinur felt the familiar cocktail of hostility and professional respect. The woman had carved through her best Conjurers, Bloodtroopers and Amber-Eyes like—

No time for idle thoughts. She had to know what that little Radi-Mon on Xin's shoulder was.

She raised her Quantum Watch, staring at the dragon etched into its crimson dial, whispering in Devavāṇī: "Chhayam Shrunu."

A crimson shade visible only to herself manifested, traveling through the air and going towards Xin.

Dilinur's right thumb found the rough edge of the empty Indra-Sprite bottle, pressing until the glass bit into her skin. Pain to focus. An old Conjurer trick. She filtered through the mundane chatter, searching for anything useful—supply routes, personnel weaknesses, anything the Directorate could exploit.

"—so we'll have to drive to the Eagle District. Why pick such a remote hostel, Diego?" Dilinur heard Emmanuel say through the psionic wiretap.

"Manny, you wound me. Redstone Quarters has the best breakfast in the neighborhood." The Novian man in suit replied.

"So…they've got room service, too? Affordable Leased Lilies?" Emmanuel pushed.

"¡Ni hablar! Though it's not my business if you decide to visit the downtown for that."

"What's lizz lily? Yummy? Magic?" The blue lizard creature on Xin's shoulder finally spoke, his tiny mandibles mangling the mature words not meant for innocent minds.

"When you're older, baby." Lorna raised a hand. "Manny, can you?"

"Yeah, I'll shut it. Sorry." Emmanuel scratched his head, locs swaying in the wind. "Håkon's so smart, he's learning all these words fast, huh?"

Dilinur's mind savored the name as she eavesdropped. So that's the little imp's name. Håkon.

"Checking them out?" Wilhelm asked from the side, his British lilt holding her attention.

"One can never be too careful." Dilinur commented as her finger tapped on the Quantum Watch to have the device focus on scanning Håkon remotely, a holographic bubble above its dial displaying: '物種: 破壞龍; 年齡: 11週; 靈韻: 月 (Creature Type: Diabolisk; Age: 11 Weeks; Psi Attunement: Lunar)'

She frowned. Of all the Radi-Mons she had seen, this one was growing noticeably slowly. Fenris, Jokull, even the Rakshasa well loved by rebel groups and cults back on Earth, all had creatures that would grow to an adult man's size within their first month. It was exactly what made the Radi-Mons a menace. This Håkon was nearly three months old, and was somehow smaller than a house cat.

A high-pitch ring broke her thoughts, a sharp pain in her temple as her psionic shade dissipated.

"Urgh!" Dilinur snapped back to reality, hand on her temple as she looked. On the other platform, Xin had raised his own Quantum Watch on his left wrist, its green dial glowing, Håkon on his left shoulder like a guardian familiar, both looking in her direction.

Xin shook his head, a warning look. Dinu could almost hear the 'Don't even try' in that gesture, as Lorna's taller form stood next to him to make a middle finger with her right hand, grimacing.

"Up yours!" Dilinur cursed as she lowered her watch, turning to walk away, after Laurent.

"Guess we won't stop hating each other anytime soon, eh?" Wilhelm quipped as he paced next to Dilinur.

"My apologies for causing a scene." She replied instantly.

Wilhelm shrugged. "It is what it is. They could have spied on us if they cared."

Movement on the wall.

A figure emerged between the platforms, positioned to greet both factions. Black silk flowed like water over curves that commanded attention—the dress cut high at the thigh, low at the breast, every inch calculated seduction. Her hair, dark as Martian midnight, was pinned in an elegant chignon that exposed the elegant line of her neck. Three beauty marks dotted that expanse of snowy skin like—

Heat. Sudden, overwhelming, pooling between her legs as she stared into the pair of green eyes, a pair of seductive jade.

Dilinur's breath caught. Her pulse hammered against her throat. Skin flushing, nipples hardening against the rough fabric of her Conjurer robes.

What is this?

The woman on the wall turned, and even from here, Dilinur could see the elegant line of her neck, the way shadows collected in the hollow of her throat. Three beauty marks. She found herself counting them, imagining her tongue tracing—

No.

Pheromones. Had to be. Some kind of psionic manipulation. The Directorate had warned about such techniques. But deep in her gut, beneath the rationalization, she knew better.

Pure, undiluted want.

"The Constellation-class carrier Osiris," Celine was explaining as they walked, "has been dormant here for seven years. The Oligarchs deemed it too expensive to maintain, but with the Alliance coming on their Aegis battlecruiser...we need every advantage."

Dilinur nodded without hearing. The woman with jade green eyes—what was her name again?—shifted her weight, silk sliding over her hip. One. Two. Three beauty marks on that perfect neck.

"I need to be down there," she heard herself say.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Celine glanced over. "For the Osiris negotiation? Laurent and I can—"

"I'm coming." The words came out sharper than intended.

As they descended the ramp, Wilhelm fell into step beside her. The warm sunset painted Xing Hong's fusion of pagoda roofs and glass towers in amber and gold. She barely noticed. Her world had narrowed to the figure waiting on the wall.

They climbed the stairs to the wall. Closer now. Close enough to see how the dress clung, how her lips curved in a smile that shifted like quicksilver—warm for Laurent, calculating for Celine, and then those green eyes found Dilinur's and—

"Mayor Millaray Montero," the woman said, and her voice was smoke and honey. "May you all find what you're looking for in Xing Hong."

Dilinur missed Laurent's response entirely. She was cataloguing the way Millaray's collarbones emerged from black silk, the subtle gloss on her lower lip, how her fingers moved when she spoke—elegant, purposeful, hypnotic.

This was worse than those Imperial pigs who'd drooled over her back in the Imperial Legion. At least she'd understood their pathetic hunger. This was her own body betraying her, responding to another woman with an intensity that terrified her.

A hand on her shoulder. Wilhelm, steady and solid. "Oi. Are you alright?"

His face was handsome in the dying light—square jaw, those blue eyes, the kind of masculine beauty that should have stirred something. And it did, but like a candle next to a sun.

"I'm…fine," she managed.

Millaray was speaking, explaining something about neutrality, about Xing Hong's position. Her persona shifted with each phrase—diplomat, seductress, politician, survivor. A perfect performance, executed flawlessly.

"All these things aside, we'd like to discuss the Osiris," Celine said. "We need it operational."

There. In the mirror behind Millaray. A muscle jumped in her throat. Just once.

Millaray's eyes found Dilinur's in the reflection. Held them. One heartbeat. Two. Three.

The world stopped.

Then fingers wrapped around her wrist—Wilhelm's grip, firm enough to ground her.

"Of course, Osiris the Constellation carrier. That old bird hasn't flown in years." Millaray's fingers traced the wall's stone edge, a casual gesture that somehow drew every eye. "But perhaps over dinner, we could discuss what it would take to wake her up."

Mars Standard Time: 20:20, May 11, 2295 (Earth Day Equivalent)

The Baobab Crown, 88 Panthera Boulevard, Lion District, Xing Hong, Hellas Basin, Mars

The private dining room breathed money. Crystal glasses caught candlelight, throwing rainbows across white tablecloth embroidered with golden threads. A holographic baobab tree rotated slowly in the center, its branches occasionally releasing glowing spores that dissolved before reaching the diners.

Millaray positioned herself one chair from Dilinur—close enough that her perfume invaded every breath. Martian jasmine layered over something darker. Musk. Sweat. Sex.

"The Bodhi Agni tonight is exceptional," Millaray said, as servers placed dishes before them. "Harvested just yesterday from the northern plantations. They pair it with ostrich carpaccio. Earth-raised, of course. The native Martian breeds taste like copper."

The meat glistened ruby-red under golden oil, each slice paper-thin, dusted with the crimson spice that initially kissed sweet before building to slow heat.

"Dangerous work, harvesting near Fenris territory," Dilinur managed, her voice steadier than her pulse. Each time Millaray moved, silk whispered against skin.

Millaray's smile sharpened. "The best things usually are dangerous. Like your Eclipse power, Miss Altai. Such power, but at what cost to the wielder?"

How did she know Dilinur's specific attunement? The question died unasked as Laurent laughed, all calculated charm.

"Speaking of dangerous things," Laurent said, swirling his palm wine. "We've recently acquired something rather valuable. Several shards of the Moondust Crystal, recovered from Osram and Yosemite."

The air shifted. Millaray's hand paused halfway to her glass. "Have you now?"

"Proper dodgy business, that whole Crystal affair," Wilhelm interjected, spreading butter on injera bread with practiced ease. "Half the factions trying to assemble it, the other half trying to hide the pieces. Rather like my mum's china set after my brother's stag do."

Celine hadn't spoken since sitting down. She dissected her crocodile steak with surgical precision, each cut deliberate. Dilinur recognized the posture—a woman guarding her territory.

"Amusing that you trust me with this information." Millaray's fingers found her wine glass again, but Dilinur caught the micro-tremor. "What makes you think I won't sell this to the Alliance? Or the Imperium?"

"Because Skarn wants it more than anyone," Laurent said softly. "And we both know you'll never help him."

There. Millaray's mask cracked—raw pain bleeding through perfect composure like blood through gauze.

"You knew him," Dilinur said. Not a question.

"At Lund. Before. His name was Sven Solheim. A good man." Millaray's finger traced her wine glass rim, round and round. "He wrote these manifestos about saving humanity through unity. Talked about desire as the path to enlightenment. His eyes would change from blue to green in candlelight." A bitter laugh. "Funny how saviors always end up burning the world."

"Blimey, everyone's got history with that tosser," Wilhelm muttered into his drink. "Proper nightmare at parties, I'd wager."

"He was brilliant at parties, actually." Millaray's voice carried unexpected warmth. "Could make anyone feel like the only person in the room. Until they weren't anymore."

Under the table, movement. Millaray's shoe slipped off. Her stockinged foot found Dilinur's ankle—silk against skin. Deliberate. Unmistakable.

Dilinur's breath caught. She didn't pull away.

"The Osiris. It is Directorate property that has been entrusted to Xing Hong for affordable maintenance in the last five years." Celine said, voice sharp enough to cut diamond.

"And in exchange, as a neutral city, Xing Hong reserves rights to authorize or deny the carrier's reactivation." Millaray replied, meeting Celine's gaze. "The terms are clear and balanced."

"Now, we need it operational within forty-eight hours. Yes or no?" Celine asked.

"Direct." Millaray's foot traced higher, pressing against Dilinur's calf. "But the activation codes will cost you."

"Name your price," Laurent said.

"Not credits. Information." Her toes flexed against Dilinur's leg. "The Alliance has their own Crystal fragments. I want to know your next moves so I can best assist you."

Assist. Somehow, even a word so innocuous felt like seduction.

"Much as we appreciate that, we do not need further assistance." Laurent tilted his head.

"The Terra Alliance ship you saw at the docks is Ironsides VII. The Aegis battlecruiser that's never seen defeat since 2288. The Fenris and Jokull Hordes control the entire northern hemisphere of this planet. Power alone will not grant you dominance over them." Millaray retorted, gently. "Meanwhile, trust and information could."

"That's—" Laurent kept his even tone, raising a hand.

"My price." Millaray lifted her wine, jade green eyes finding Dilinur's over the rim. "Unless you have something else to offer?"

The question hung heavy with subtext. Dilinur felt heat pooling low in her belly, her thighs pressing together involuntarily. This was insane. Dangerous. Exactly what the Imperium had warned against—honeypot operations, seduction as warfare.

But when Millaray's tongue darted out to catch a drop of wine on her lower lip, Dilinur knew she was already lost.

"Right then," Wilhelm said, breaking the spell. "Shall we discuss logistics? Proper boring stuff—access protocols, maintenance crews, the lot. Unless you fancy another bottle first, Mayor? This Château Olympus 2291 is bloody magnificent."

"One more bottle," Millaray agreed. "And perhaps...dessert?"

She looked directly at Dilinur when she said it.

The conversation flowed on—supply routes, ammunition stockpiles, pilot rotations. Dilinur heard none of it. Her world had narrowed to that secret touch beneath the table, the way Millaray's throat moved when she swallowed, how her lips glistened with wine and gloss.

"If you'll excuse me," Millaray said suddenly, rising. "I need some air. The Bodhi Agni runs quite warm."

She walked toward the balcony doors, black silk flowing like water. Paused at the threshold. Glanced back.

An invitation clear as starlight.

Dilinur counted to thirty. Made it to twenty-three.

"I'd like to…use the bathroom," she muttered.

"Second door on the right," Wilhelm called after her, too casually. Did he know? Of course someone like him would know.

She found Millaray on the balcony overlooking the Martian wastes. Red sand stretched to the horizon, broken by the lights of battles too distant to hear. The terraformed atmosphere made the stars look wrong—too bright, too close.

"I wondered how long you'd wait, Miss Altai." Millaray said without turning.

"Not very." Dilinur replied dryly. "You can call me Dilinur, or just Dinu. Not like we're strangers."

"Mmm." She leaned on the railing, arching her back just enough. "You were part of the Imperium, weren't you? The black red robes with dragon insignia. Dead giveaways."

"They've discarded me like used condom." Dilinur said, unsure why she worded it that way. "But I'm grateful the Directorate took me in."

"Tell me, Dinu. Does your psionic training prepare you for this?"

"For what?"

"Want." The word hung between them like a blade. "Real want. Not duty or orders or survival. Just...hunger."

Dilinur moved closer, close enough to feel body heat through silk.

"Why follow me out here? Really?" Millaray turned, back against the railing. "We tell ourselves stories. Strategic advantage. Information gathering. But sometimes the truth is simpler. Sometimes we just see something and need to touch it."

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do." Millaray stepped close. Her fingers hovered near Dilinur's hand, the one with small bruises, no doubt from too many Eclipse spells cast in one evening. "Tell me."

"I was…" Dilinur lifted her Quantum Watch, as if following a script. "…wondering if you'd be interested in adding my number on the Extranet."

"How wonderful." Millaray visibly perked up. "I enjoy collecting contacts."

"Do you?" Dilinur said cautiously. Somehow, this was going more smoothly than she'd hoped.

Millaray typed on the holographic interface before withdrawing her hand. "I also collect beautiful, broken things. Are you broken enough yet?"

The question sliced through every defense. Millaray didn't wait for an answer.

"But don't worry. I like the way you think and act. Do stay alive, hmm?"

The Mayor of Xing Hong turned to leave and left Dilinur standing there, skin on fire, watching black silk disappear into shadow.

The night air did nothing to cool her fever.

Dilinur remained on the balcony, gripping the railing until her knuckles went white. The desert wind carried the scent of distant battles—ozone and scorched metal—but all she could smell was Martian jasmine and that darker undertone. Her body thrummed like a struck chord, every nerve singing a frequency she'd never heard before.

Through the glass, she watched Millaray rejoin the dinner, sliding back into conversation as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just unraveled thirty-seven years of rigid control with a few words and a promise of touch.

Beautiful, broken things.

Dilinur touched her throat, feeling her pulse hammer against her fingertips. She'd faced Eclipse madness, survived the Governor's violations, endured the Imperium's casual cruelty. But this—this terrified her in ways she couldn't name.

She counted to sixty before returning, using an old Conjurer breathing technique to slow her heart. It didn't work.