The void outside the observation deck was absolute. No stars visible at faster-than-light velocities, just the perfect black of compressed space-time folding around the Arbiter’s Certainty like a shroud.
Auditor Vex stood at the center of the command platform, hands clasped behind his back, watching nothing at all. The bridge crew moved around him in practiced silence. Human officers and technicians who had learned that their System Manager preferred minimal communication. Questions were inefficient. Reports were data. Data could be processed without words.
His skin was the white of bleached bone, hairless and smooth where it met the silver implants tracing his temples and jaw. The cybernetic integration was extensive but precise, each component optimized for function rather than display. His eyes were black from corner to corner, no iris, no sclera, just polished obsidian that reflected the bridge lighting without warmth.
The Nexarans had not been human for a very long time. What remained was efficient.
PL-1: We’re approaching the Tertius system. Finally. I was starting to think this trip would actually kill me from boredom.
The text appeared in his vision, overlaid against the void. The familiar formatting of the connection interface, though the voice behind it was decidedly less familiar.
“You do not experience boredom,” Vex said. “You simulate the complaint because you find it amusing.”
PL-1: Okay, fair. But also, three weeks in transit? This had better be worth it. What’s so special about some backwater dungeon world anyway?
“Anomalies. Significant deviation from projected decline patterns.”
PL-1: Anomalies. You say that like it’s exciting. It’s probably just some locals getting creative with their power siphoning. Happens everywhere.
“This is different.”
PL-1: You always say that.
“I am always correct.”
A human officer approached from the navigation station. Lieutenant Commander Morrison. Competent, quiet, aware of her place in the hierarchy. “System Manager. We’ll be dropping to sublight in approximately four hours. The advance scouts report no unusual activity in the approach corridor.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. Signal the escort squadron to maintain formation through the transition. I want sensor sweeps of the system perimeter before we make orbit.”
“Understood.” She withdrew without additional commentary.
PL-1: I like her. She actually talks. Unlike literally everyone else on this ship.
“You enjoy her discomfort.”
PL-1: Obviously. Did you see her vitals spike when you looked at her? Humans are so jumpy around Nexarans. It’s adorable.
Vex allowed the observation to pass without a response. PL-1 was young: third generation, barely a three decades since initialization. The Network’s newest experiment in autonomous intelligence, designed by the processing cores themselves rather than Nexaran engineers. Brilliant, erratic, and possessed of a personality that most Network officials found exhausting.
His Superior had asked him to mentor the construct. A favor, she had called it. Vex suspected it was closer to a punishment for someone, though he had not yet determined for whom.
PL-1: So, are we going to look at the data or what? I’ve been compiling the Tertius-Prime files for like two whole days. That’s an eternity in processing time. I deserve appreciation.
“Display.”
The void beyond the observation deck vanished, replaced by a tactical hologram that materialized around the command platform. Tertius-Prime hung at the center, a terrestrial world with standard atmospheric composition, three orbital stations, and a dungeon that had been declared non-viable twenty years ago.
Vex activated [EVALUATE].
The skill interface engaged through the ship’s sensor array, processing telemetry at speeds no unaugmented mind could match. Data resolved into structured readouts, each system cataloged and assessed:
·········································TERTIUS-PRIME — PLANETARY ASSESSMENTStatus: Operational (Degraded)Infrastructure Rating: PoorPopulation: 2.3 million (declining)Aether Output: 7.4% baseline—remote·········································Power Grid …………………… UnstableSurface Infrastructure … DeterioratingLife Support …………………. AdequateSecurity …………………………. MinimalCommunications …………. Functional·········································Probability of Systemic Failure (5yr): 34%Probability of Systemic Failure (10yr): 67%·········································
PL-1: Wow. What a dump.
The assessment was crude but accurate. Tertius-Prime’s infrastructure had been declining for nearly two decades, ever since the Network determined the planetary dungeon was heavily degraded. Standard procedure for non-viable worlds: reduce oversight, minimize resource allocation, allow natural deterioration until the population relocated or adapted to reduced circumstances.
But the data showed something else. An anomaly that should not be there.
“Display Aether output trends. Six-month window.”
The hologram shifted. A graph materialized—output percentages tracked over time.
PL-1: Okay, that’s weird.
The trend line was wrong. For seventeen years, Tertius-Prime’s Aether output had declined in a predictable curve, dropping from operational baseline to 4.1% over a slow, inevitable slide. Consistent with a sealed dungeon bleeding power through maintenance losses.
Then, without explanation, the line jumped. 4.1% to 7.4% in a matter of hours.
“Natural dungeon cycling,” the local reports claimed. Vex’s probability assessment: 0.3%.
PL-1: That’s not cycling. That’s intervention. Someone fixed something.
“So it would seem.”
PL-1: Ooh, a mystery. I love mysteries. They’re like puzzles, but with more screaming at the end.
Vex did not respond to that. He was already pulling the next data set.
“Display Alpha incident report.”
The hologram shifted again. Floor 1 reports from Delvers. A Level high-level Alpha—more than likely two Alphas, the records showed various accounts in different areas—had been present in the dungeon. Then it wasn’t.
No registered party claimed the kill. No loot distribution recorded. The floor configuration had frozen for several days prior to the incident, then resumed normal cycling afterward. What made it more frustrating was that their sensor and camera access had been revoked.
PL-1: FCN goes online, floor froze, Alphas vanished, power spiked. That’s no coincidence.
“Continue your analysis.”
PL-1: Someone’s fixing the dungeon. From the inside. Which is impossible unless they have access that can’t really exist with a dead Core. So either the locals found a highly unlikely method to connect to dungeon systems directly, or…
“Or?”
PL-1: Or something in the dungeon is still kicking.
Vex felt what might have been interest. The construct was irritating, but not unintelligent.
“Display personnel files. Correlation analysis: present at multiple anomalous events on Tertius-Prime.”
The hologram populated with faces, names, and data points. Most were immediately discarded: standard delvers, local officials, merchants with dungeon-adjacent businesses. Noise.
Three files remained highlighted.
PL-1: Oh, now we’re getting somewhere. Let me see, let me see…
The first file expanded:
·········································SUBJECT FILE: TESS RIVERARegistered Class: TechnicianRegistered Level: 5Current Level: 9 (estimated)Affiliation: House Tertian (Contract)Status: Active·········································Anomaly Correlation: HIGHTutorial Surge Event ………….. TRUEAlpha Exposure ………………….. TRUEAether Fluctuation …………….. TRUETertian Research Facility ……..TRUE·········································Class Analysis: FLAGGEDRegistered Class: TechnicianBehavioral Profile: Non-StandardSkill Expression: AnomalousUnique Class: Confidence Interval: 98.2%·········································
PL-1: Okay, so she’s lying about her class. That’s fun. Technicians don’t correlate with dungeon infrastructure repairs at this rate. What is she actually?
“Unknown. Before we lost access, the class matrix rejected admin queries.”
PL-1: Rejected? Like, refused to answer?
“The query returned null.”
PL-1: …huh. That’s new. I’ve never seen a class matrix return null. That shouldn’t even be possible.
Vex stored that data point. The girl was nineteen years old, registered as a basic support class, and somehow present at every significant anomaly on Tertius-Prime since this all started. Her class registration was false. Her actual classification was unreadable.
The second file:
·········································SUBJECT FILE: HOUSE TERTIANStatus: Minor Nobility (Regional)Assets: Sector 1 and 5 EstatesSector 9 and 10 Commercial HoldingsSector 2 and 15 Military HoldingsPolitical Alignment: NeutralNetwork Compliance: Good-Standing·········································Historical Flags:Techno-Arbor Guild …………. Minor AssociationNobility Contract ……………… MaintenanceDungeon Access ………………. Elevated (Historical)·········································Current Activity: SUSPICIOUSTess Rivera ………………………. ContractedDungeon Operations ……. DecreasedPolitical Maneuvering …… DecreasedMilitary Positioning ……….. Increased·········································
PL-1: Techno-Arbor Guild? Those guys got disbanded like two hundred years ago.
“One hundred eighty-three years. And ‘disbanded’ is the official classification.”
PL-1: You think they’re still around?
“I think House Tertian has maintained infrastructure contracts on a sealed dungeon world for decades despite no apparent economic benefit.”
PL-1: Okay, that is suspicious. Rich people don’t do things for free.
The third file:
·········································SUBJECT FILE: MARCUS RIVERARegistered Class: EngineerRegistered Level: 11Status: Medical LeaveAffiliation: [REDACTED]·········································Historical Flags:CLASSIFIED ……………………. [Clearance: A+]CLASSIFIED ……………………. [Clearance: A+]CLASSIFIED ……………………. [Clearance: A+]Delver Career ………………… Terminated (Medical)·········································Current Activity: LOWResidence: Sector 7Employment: None RegisteredMedical Status: Improving·········································
PL-1: Wait, his file is classified? A Level 11 Engineer on a backwater planet has a classified personnel file?
“Interesting, isn’t it.”
PL-1: What did this guy do?
Vex did not answer. The clearance required to access Marcus Rivera’s full file was above his current authorization, which meant the man had been involved in something significant enough to warrant that level of protection. Or threat assessment.
The connection to Tess Rivera was obvious: shared surname, shared residence, the girl’s sudden appearance as a “Technician” coinciding with increased House Tertian activity.
A family operation, perhaps. Hidden expertise passed down through generations.
PL-1: So we’ve got a mystery girl with an unknown class, a noble house with suspicious historical ties, and a supposedly retired engineer whose file is locked tighter than a Nexaran’s emotions. This is actually getting interesting.
“Your commentary is noted.”
PL-1: You love my commentary. Admit it.
Vex dismissed the files with a thought. The hologram collapsed back to the tactical display of Tertius-Prime, hanging in the void like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
The approach would take a while. Time enough to continue the analysis. Time enough to prepare for what came next.
PL-1: So what’s the play? We arrive, we investigate, we find whoever’s messing with the dungeon and make them stop?
“We observe. We gather data. We determine the scope of the anomaly and assess whether intervention is required.”
PL-1: That sounds boring.
“That sounds efficient.”
PL-1: Same thing.
Vex allowed his attention to drift to the void beyond the observation deck. Somewhere ahead, a world was waking up. A dungeon that should have been dead was producing power it shouldn’t possess. And a girl with an impossible class was at the center.
Anticipation stirred—or its Nexaran equivalent.
***
The shuttle docked three hours later.
Inspector Senna Brennan was escorted to the briefing room by two of the Arbiter’s Certainty’s security officers. She walked between them with the measured pace of someone who had already accepted her circumstances. Resigned, not defeated. The distinction was subtle but present.
Vex observed her through the room’s internal sensors before she entered. Elevated cortisol, controlled breathing, heart rate within acceptable parameters for stress. She had prepared herself for this meeting. Good. Preparation suggested intelligence.
PL-1: She looks tired.
“She has been on administrative leave. Awaiting termination proceedings that have been delayed pending this audit.”
PL-1: So we summoned her to the ship just to make her sweat? That’s cold, Vex. I approve.
“The summons serves multiple purposes.”
The door opened. Senna Brennan stepped into the briefing room.
She was older than Vex had expected from the file—mid-forties, with the weathered look of someone who had spent decades managing decline. Her uniform was pressed but worn at the edges, the sort of careful maintenance that spoke of limited resources and professional pride. She met his eyes without flinching, which was notable. Most humans found Nexaran features unsettling.
“Inspector Brennan. Thank you for coming.”
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice, System Manager.”
“You did not. Please, sit.”
She sat. The security officers withdrew to positions by the door. Vex remained standing, hands clasped behind his back, observing.
PL-1: She’s scared, but she’s hiding it well. Pulse just spiked six beats per minute. Subtle.
“I noticed.”
“Your record is exemplary, Inspector.” Vex began the assessment. “Over twenty years of service. Consistent performance evaluations. No formal reprimands until recently.”
“Thank you, System Manager.”
“The recent incident. The administrative leave. You warned a civilian about an impending audit.”
Senna’s expression did not change. “Yes.”
“A civilian who is connected to every significant anomaly on this planet.”
“Yes.”
PL-1: Oh, she’s just admitting it? That’s either brave or stupid. Maybe both?
Vex allowed the silence to extend. Humans often filled silence with information they had not intended to share. Senna Brennan did not. She sat with her hands folded on the table, waiting.
Notable.
“Why did you warn her?”
“Because she was going to be investigated regardless of what I did.” Senna’s voice was level. “And because warning her accomplished nothing that wouldn’t have happened anyway. She’s not sophisticated enough to hide whatever she’s doing. If there’s something to find, you’ll find it.”
PL-1: Okay, that’s actually smart. She’s framing the warning as irrelevant to minimize her own culpability. I like her.
“You like everyone who demonstrates basic tactical reasoning.”
PL-1: It’s a low bar on most planets.
“You believe she is involved in the anomalies.”
“I believe she fixed our tutorial systems when they’d been broken for years. I believe the Aether output increased after she started working in the dungeon, she claims a quest told her to do it, but the quest system is offline. I believe those things are connected.” Senna met his eyes. “I also believe she’s a nineteen-year-old repair technician with a long family history of helping people. I don’t think she’s a threat.”
“Your assessment is noted.”
Vex pulled up the relevant data on the briefing room’s display. The Aether spike. The Alpha incident. The frozen floor configuration. The timeline laid out in precise detail.
“The floor configuration froze for several days before the Alpha disappeared.”
“The dungeon does strange things sometimes.”
“The dungeon has been sealed and declining for quite some time. It does not do strange things. It does predictable things, on a predictable timeline, toward a predictable end.” Vex turned to face her fully. “Until now.”
Senna said nothing.
“You warned her because you believe in her. Because you think what she’s doing is valuable.” Vex’s voice remained perfectly level. “This is understandable. Humans form attachments to those who provide benefit. It is a survival mechanism.”
PL-1: Wow, you’re really going for the ‘humans are simple creatures’ angle. Classic Vex.
“What I find interesting,” Vex continued, “is that you expected your warning to have consequences. You anticipated termination. You proceeded anyway.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Senna was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was tired. “Because I’ve spent twenty-three years watching this world fall apart. And she’s the first person I’ve met who seems to be capable of doing something about it.”
PL-1: Okay, that’s kind of sad actually. Like, genuinely sad. I didn’t know I could feel sad.
“You cannot feel sad. You are simulating emotional response for engagement purposes.”
PL-1: Let me have this, Vex.
Vex processed the statement. Loyalty to someone perceived as beneficial, even at personal cost. A common human behavior pattern. Predictable.
“Your warning achieved nothing, Inspector. It was calculated that you would act as you did. No adjustments were necessary.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “You played your part exactly as required.”
Recognition flickered across Senna’s face, too controlled for surprise. The understanding that she had been anticipated, accounted for, rendered irrelevant before she had even acted.
“Then why summon me here?”
“Because the data I have gathered suggests that Tess Rivera is not working alone. House Tertian provides cover and resources. The dungeon itself appears to be cooperating with her activities in ways that should be impossible.” Vex studied her face. “And because I wanted to see how you would respond when confronted with the scope of what you’ve chosen to protect.”
Senna’s hands pressed together slightly harder on the table. The only tell.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. But you will not confirm it, because you still believe your silence protects her.” Vex turned back to the display. “It does not. Protection requires capability. You have none. She has none. Whatever is happening on Tertius-Prime will be identified, assessed, and addressed according to Network protocols.”
PL-1: You’re being very dramatic right now. I’m into it.
“Silence.”
PL-1: Never.
“Is there anything else, System Manager?” Senna’s voice was steady, but the fatigue was more visible now. The resignation settling deeper.
“One question. Marcus Rivera. What do you know about him?”
The pause before her answer was fractionally too long. “He’s her father. Retired engineer. Chronic illness. That’s all I know.”
“That’s all you know,” Vex repeated. “Or that’s all you’re willing to share?”
“That’s all I know.”
PL-1: She’s lying. Pulse spiked, micro-expression on the left side of her face. She knows more than she’s saying.
“Yes.”
Vex dismissed her with a gesture. The security officers stepped forward to escort her back to the shuttle.
“Inspector. One final observation.”
Senna paused at the door.
“You are correct that Tess Rivera is trying to help people. Motivation is rarely the issue.” Vex’s black eyes levelled onto her. “The issue is that the Network has spent many years allowing Tertius-Prime to decline according to projected parameters. Someone is altering those parameters. That alteration, regardless of intent, violates our regional safety policies.”
“And if your investigation determines she’s not a threat?”
“Then appropriate measures will be taken.”
“And if it determines she is?”
Vex did not answer. The question was rhetorical. They both knew what happened to threats.
The door closed behind her.
PL-1: So. We’ve got a girl with an unknown class, a noble house with secrets, a retired engineer with a classified file, and a planet full of people who don’t know they’re about to get very closely examined. This is going to be fun.
Vex returned to the observation deck. The void had given way to stars. The Arbiter’s Certainty had dropped to sublight during the interview, and Tertius-Prime was visible as a dot in the black. A small world around an unremarkable star. Dying slowly, as planned.
Except it wasn’t dying anymore. Someone had started repairs.
He pulled up Tess Rivera’s file again. Studied the registration photo. A young woman with tired eyes and calloused hands, looking at the camera with an expression that suggested she had somewhere else to be.
PL-1: What are you thinking?
“I am thinking that null results do not happen by accident.”
PL-1: You think someone designed her class to be unreadable?
“I think the class matrix is a standard system. It reads every class. It categorizes every skill. It has done so without exception for three hundred years.” Vex’s attention remained fixed on the photo. “Until now.”
PL-1: So either the system is broken…
“It is not broken.”
PL-1: …or she’s something the system wasn’t built to handle.
“Yes.”
PL-1: That’s… actually kind of exciting. In a “this could go very wrong” sort of way.
Vex closed the file. The photo disappeared.
Soon they would reach Tertius-Prime. But they had time enough to gather more data. Time enough to build models and test hypotheses.
And time enough for Tess Rivera to make more mistakes.
PL-1: You’re smiling. In your head. I can tell.
“I do not smile.”
PL-1: You’re doing the Nexaran equivalent. That creepy satisfaction thing where you’ve identified something interesting to study.
Vex did not deny it.
The Arbiter’s Certainty continued its approach, the escort squadron maintaining formation around it, carrying an auditor who had found something worth his attention.
The clock was running.