I watched from my corner as Mother prepared the thren, directing Brons to adjust the lighting for the third time. The functionaries had spent hours cleaning the already spotless space. The table was cleared of the usual clutter, the chairs were aligned, and Rashala’s toy chest gleamed.

  The functionaries themselves stood in neat rows, Yeller at the front. Its sensor eye glowed an unusually bright yellow. The older models filled the remaining spaces, their joints whirring softly as they moved.

  When everything met her standards, Mother brought Rashala to her place at the table.

  Only then did Larkin enter. His first steps were tentative, as if he was uncertain of our gravity, which had been weak of late. But he adjusted quickly, becoming more assured with each stride. The functionaries tracked his progress as he moved.

  "Welcome to Voidhold Zero," Mother said, her voice warmer than I had ever heard it. "We are honored by your presence."

  Larkin bowed deeply. "The honor is mine, Lady Mira."

  Mother's smile widened at the unearned title. "You must be weary from your journey through the void. Please, be at ease."

  As he straightened from his bow, Rashala shifted in her seat. Brons moved closer to her. My sister's hands were clenched in her lap, but she maintained her pose.

  "Brons," she said, her voice loud in the formal quiet. "What is my proper response?"

  Mother's smile tightened. "My dear, one does not ask such things openly."

  "But I must know," Rashala insisted. "Brons, tell me!"

  "The proper response," Brons said, its storyteller's voice pitched low, "is to acknowledge his presence and offer a greeting of your own."

  Rashala nodded, her lips pursing. "Thank you and welcome," she said to Larkin, far too quickly.

  I watched his reaction carefully. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps confusion—but his face remained pleasantly neutral as he took in the thren, the worn tiles in the flooring, the faded maintenance panels, the empty alcoves.

  "You are most gracious," he said to Rashala. Then he turned back to Mother. "I understand that I am to assist in strengthening the bloodline of this noble house."

  Mother's pleasure was palpable. "Yes, indeed. Our line must continue, must grow stronger." Her eyes glittered. "We have such hopes for the future, now that you are here."

  I noticed how her gaze lingered on him, taking in every detail of his form, as if she wasn’t even seeing a person.

  His cost of our starboard turret was now clearly forgotten.

  "But you must rest first. Shade," Mother said. "Show our guest to his quarters. Room 315 has been prepared."

  ?

  I led Larkin through the corridors, trying not to look at him. He moved differently from anyone I had ever seen, with a slow, fluid grace.

  "Your functionaries," he said softly as we walked. "May we talk of them?"

  "Yes," I said, thinking it an odd question.

  A small smile touched his lips. "They're older models than ours. But they function surprisingly well."

  "They have been with us a long time."

  "And they've adapted to your specific needs?" His voice was careful, probing without seeming to probe.

  "They serve as they always have," I replied, matching his tone. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

  "They seem very different from what I expected. The way they..." He made a gesture toward his own shoulder, then dropped his hand and shook his head. "On Voidhold Four, protocol is more stringent."

  I thought about Oren's gentle hand-holding, about how even Yeller's discipline was more sound than fury. "They maintain order," I said carefully, "but they do show kindness."

  His sharp intake of breath surprised me. "Kindness? That's not a word I’ve heard often in relation to functionaries. I have only ever known them to be exacting.”

  The word, , and the way he said it helped me understand him. Yes, I thought, like Yeller in the White Room, its movements methodical and sure. Not a hint of compassion for frozen Commander Sentix.

  We continued in silence. Room 315 was three levels up, far from the family spaces. I wondered if that was deliberate, keeping him isolated until he was needed.

  "Your veil," he said suddenly. "Is it a custom here?"

  I touched the edge of the fabric. "It is my custom."

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  "Just yours?" He fell into step with me. "I noticed neither your mother nor sister wear one."

  My hand dropped from the veil. "It was made for me."

  "Made for you," he repeated. His eyes studied the fabric, and I wondered what he saw – the fine weave, the bio-sealed edges, or the outline of my features.

  "Was it a choice?" His question was direct, unexpected. I was shocked. In our voidhold, no one asked such things. Even Father, in his more lucid moments, had never asked about my veil.

  "Some things are not discussed," I said, my voice carrying the same quiet warning that Oren used when I asked too many questions.

  But Larkin, it seemed, had not been trained to heed such warnings. "On Voidhold Four, marks of difference always had meaning. Purpose." His eyes found mine. "Sometimes punishment."

  I stopped walking. "You ask many questions for someone who has just arrived."

  "And you avoid them skillfully." A hint of something like approval crept into his voice. "They told me this voidhold would be different. That I should watch, learn, adapt. But they did not mention you."

  "There was no reason to mention me." I started walking again. "I am only a human-present."

  "No," he said, following. "You're much more than that. You understand too much to be what you pretend to be."

  The words were dangerous. I turned to face him. "You should rest. The journey has tired you."

  His lips curved slightly. "Another deflection." He glanced down the corridor. "Come in then, where are my quarters?"

  At Rome 315, I pressed my hand to the panel. The door slid open, revealing a space larger than Rashala's quarters. It had a pallet, a cabinet, a table and chair, and a modest viewport. Larkin entered, his eyes wide.

  "It's enormous," he said, moving to the viewport. Outside, Mosogon’s purple winds churned. "On Voidhold Four, I had just enough space to lie down and to stand up." He turned, his face shadowed. "We lost a significant portion of our habitable section ten years ago. There was an…incident." His hand went to his shoulder again.

  "You'll have a functionary assigned to you," I said. "For your personal needs."

  He nodded. "Your voidhold is remarkable. So much space. So much potential." He walked slowly to the viewport and pointed outside. "Do you know what's out there?"

  "I've heard there are other voidholds," I said. "Like yours."

  He smiled, but not at me—at some private thought. "Yes. Many." His eyes watched through the viewport, searching for something. "There should be signs here, somewhere, from before. When all the voidholds were still..." He caught himself. "When things were different."

  "Different?"

  "When Voidhold One was still with us. Before it was lost." He glanced at me sharply. "Have you heard of One?"

  I looked down. "No."

  "I see." His voice remained casual. "Your functionaries, do they maintain records? Archives?"

  "I think they do. They don't tell me." I could feel his eyes on me, and it took all my effort to remain still.

  "I have much to learn about this place." His tone was conciliatory, encouraging. "Will you help me understand it better?"

  This question felt like the most dangerous, like when Rashala looked at me with a bored and cruel glint in her eyes. Nevertheless, I nodded. "Yes, I will."

  "Thank you, nrw sister. It means a lot to me. Now, I won't keep you. I'm sure we'll speak again soon."

  Recognizeling the dismissal, I nodded silently and left. Behind my veil, I felt a flutter of something I couldn't name. A worry, perhaps, or an unmade gasp. I was the quiet shadow, the obedient presence. It was wrong of me to have paid such attention to him, his careful words, and the way he spoke of things beyond our walls.

  It wasn't my place to want to know so much.

  ?

  After leaving Larkin, I made my way to the Garden Room. It was not part of my duties, but the functionaries allowed me this small comfort of a haven of calm away from my duties.

  The door slid open with a soft hiss, releasing warm, humid air scented with green things. Our garden was small but well maintained, with plants arranged on a labyrinth of walls with vegetation cascading down them. The blue-white growth lights cast shadows through the leaves, making the space feel larger than it was.

  "Greetings, Shade." Turq, the garden functionary, moved silently among the plants, its rough, aqua-coloured frame almost invisible against the foliage.

  I touched the slender wisteria that grew near the entrance. It had only a few flowers left. Mother had once called it unnecessary – everything here was technically unnecessary, as Redd produced all our food in the Nutrition Center – but the functionaries maintained it anyway. Perhaps they understood that even something as pitiful as a dying tree could bring joy to some humans.

  "Shade." Turq's soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "Your sister approaches."

  I turned toward the door just as Rashala burst in, her face flushed.

  "There you are! I was waiting for you but you didn't come."

  I had assumed that our new arrival would disrupt our afternoon schedule, but it seemed that she did not think this way.

  "I am sorry, dear sister," I said softly. "Let us spend time together now. What game shall we play?"

  "No games," she snapped. "Tell me what he said about me. That Larkin."

  Her beautiful face was creasing in rage. I sank into an appeasing posture. "He said very little. He was tired from his journey."

  "Liar!" She moved closer. "You were gone too long. What did you talk about?"

  "We discussed the functionaries and the size of his quarters. Nothing more."

  Rashala's eyes narrowed. "But did he not ask about me?" Her voice dropped to a hiss. "About us?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  "Brons!" she called suddenly.

  The functionary entered the garden. "How may I assist?"

  "Make Shade tell me what he said." Rashala's voice had taken on a higher pitch, the one that usually preceded violence.

  "Rashala, I cannot elicit an answer from Shade in this matter. Her protocol allows her--"

  "I don't care!" Rashala stamped her foot. "I need to know. She will tell me."

  "Dear sister, I am telling the truth, we didn't talk about you."

  "Why not?" She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "I know. You're just jealous. You know what you'll be missing, hidden behind that ugly veil."

  "Rashala," Brons said, its tone shifting to the one it used for storytelling. "Perhaps we should discuss this in your quarters."

  "No. Here. Now." Her grip tightened on my arm. "I know. Shade, tell me what you think of my Larkin."

  I thought of his scars, of the careful way he moved. "I think he has a lot of thoughts inside him."

  I shouldn't have said that. My words were confusing, and her little eyes narrowed.

  "Rashala, you can observe him yourself," Brons interjected smoothly. "That is part of the protocol. You will have many opportunities to learn about each other before--"

  Rashala broke the wisteria's main stem and tossed it at Turq.

  "Such pretty things," she said, "don't last long." She turned away. "Come on, Brons. Let's go."

  As they left, I pressed my hand against the wall to steady myself. The garden didn't seem so peaceful anymore.

  "Shade?" Turq asked. "Shall I request a stabilizer from Redd?"

  "No thank you, Turq. I am quite well"

  As I hurried back to my duties, I tried not to think about this newcomer and the way he spoke of other voidholds. Such things were not for me to wonder about.