"Hurry up, orphan girl!" Lexus sneered. "You should be thanking me. My papa donated money for this trip—that's why everyone gets their own room!"
Lazarus froze for a moment, the words striking harder than she expected.
Still, she bowed.
Despite his tone, the Reverend's voice echoed in her mind: Gratitude must be shown, even if the giver's heart is unkind.
"Thank you, Lexus," she said calmly. "Thanks to you, we were able to board this starcruiser and travel to another star system."
"Hmph."
"What a spoiled child," Laurel scoffed. "My father donated too—it's not your money alone." She shot Lexus a sharp look, then turned away. "Lazarus, let's go."
Anna hesitated, then hurried after them.
"Thank you for boarding Starcruiser LX666," the receptionist said, bowing deeply. "We hope you enjoy your stay."
"Is everyone registered?" the teacher asked. "Good. Follow your group leader. We'll have a light lunch on the observation deck."
Once the last student stepped aboard, the steward sealed the hatch. Outside the viewport, the space bridge contracted like an accordion, each segment folding neatly back into the spaceport.
The ship groaned—low and deep.
Blue light flared as the ion thrusters ignited, powered by a Casimir fusion reactor. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the massive luxury starcruiser began to move, gliding toward the colossal gate waiting at the edge of the solar system.
There was a brief lurch.
That was all.
Lazarus didn't even realize they had departed until she found herself seated in the restaurant with the others.
It looked nothing like a cafeteria.
The space resembled a five-star hotel lounge—far beyond anything she had imagined a spaceship could hold. Full-height smartglass panels lined the walls and ceiling, revealing a star-dappled void beyond, with Mars Space Station shrinking in the distance. The ship's path glowed faintly, traced by blue ion trails.
A velvet-blue carpet softened every footstep. Above them, ambient music—soft birdsong—drifted from hidden speakers.
Lazarus swallowed.
Compared to this, let alone the dining hall in the orphanage,even the school cafeteria felt crude.
Warm lighting pooled over polished mahogany tables, each set with real cutlery and crystal glasses—no disposable trays or plastic forks in sight. A chandelier floated overhead, suspended by a gravity-neutral field, slowly rotating as if dancing to the music. Waitstaff in tailored uniforms moved with quiet precision, offering menus that projected holographic dishes sourced from across the solar system.
The air carried a faint aroma of truffle oil and roasted meat—an impressive feat of scent engineering in such a sterile environment. Beneath her feet, a soft vibration hummed, the only sign that the ship was already sailing through space. If not for the stars drifting beyond the smartglass panels, Lazarus might have believed she was still aboard the station.
She ordered timidly—a salad, soup, and curry—then joined Laurel and Anna at one of the mahogany tables.
"Hello, everyone! What'd you get for lunch?"
Shingo approached, carrying a bulky case under one arm. While most students favored compact devices that fit into a pocket, his computer was the size of a briefcase. Thanks to NeuroGear, screens were largely obsolete, but physical panels for input were still necessary.
"Shingo, isn't that heavy?" Lazarus asked, nibbling on her complimentary fries.
She glanced at the label etched into the casing: Etherium 5900—the newest heavy-duty computer model. A far cry from the outdated box she'd left back at the dorm.
"It's just over five kilograms," Shingo said cheerfully. "No big deal. It felt heavier on Mars, but the station's gravity is set to point-one g." He tilted his head, curiosity sparking as his gaze shifted to Laurel's case. "What about you? I don't recognize that model. Is it custom?"
"Ah—no." Laurel shook her head. "It's a flute, not a computer." She rested a hand on it protectively. "It's important to me, so I kept it instead of handing it over to the stewardess."
"Oh."
Nearby, Lexus perked up the moment he noticed Shingo's computer.
He owned machines with similar specs back home, but they were far too heavy to bring along. Instead, he'd stuffed several VR rigs into one of his antigravity suitcases, fully intending to play with his cronies later.
"Hey, what's that?" Lexus asked, leaning in. "A gaming computer? What games does it have?"
His excitement spiked. With his VR gear, he might finally get to play high-fidelity titles like Monsterworld.
"It doesn't have games," Shingo said proudly. "It's housued offline AI—made by my father. Mistral 2000."
"Mistral 2000?" Lexus frowned. "Hey, Mistral—what version are you running now?"
He was sure he hadn't misheard. That model sounded… old.
A response appeared instantly.
[The current United Space Federation civilian artificial intelligence standard is Mistral 3000.
Mistral 2000 was the standard in the year 2512—approximately three years ago.]
"Why would you even bring an outdated AI?" Lexus scoffed, biting into a jelly-filled doughnut he'd casually snatched from Anna's tray. "What a weirdo."
Anna blinked. She hesitated for a moment, then sighed and stood up to fetch another from the waitress.
It's just a doughnut, she told herself. No big deal.
"It's my father's AI," Shingo shot back, bristling. "And it runs just fine."
"I didn't even know you could run an AI on a personal computer," Lazarus said, tilting her head as she studied the bulky case. "I thought AIs were always connected to the network."
"They usually are," Laurel replied. "Running one locally takes an absurd amount of processing power, so the government handles most of them." She paused. "People can install one on a private system, but it's… frowned upon."
"I see." Lazarus nodded, genuinely impressed. "That's amazing. You're really smart."
To her, technical skill was something to admire. She dreamed of becoming a star pioneer someday, and anything related to ships and systems fascinated her.
"Oh?" Lexus smirked. "So that's how you got your scholarship, huh? Cheating with your offline AI."
"I did no such thing!" Shingo snapped.
"Lexus," Laurel said sharply, fixing him with a glare. "Don't accuse people without proof. You can't just say things like that."
To her, baseless accusations weren't just rude—they were serious enough to warrant reporting if they continued.
"Yes, yes. Sorry," Lexus muttered, clicking his tongue as he looked away.
But he stopped.
For all his arrogance, he knew where the line was. His father's wealth didn't exempt him from school rules, and pushing further would only earn him a reprimand.
Grumbling, he drifted off to another table where his lackeys waited. He dropped into a chair, crossed one ankle over his knee, and waved down a waiter.
"Pasta with sashimi, shortcake ice cream, and a fruit punch," he said lazily, as if the dining hall belonged to him.
Lazarus let her gaze wander and spotted Xiaolang at the counter, quietly placing an order. Their eyes met for a brief moment—then he looked away.
"Xiaolang," Lazarus called, lifting a hand. "Won't you join us?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he passed their table and took a seat by himself, alone.
"Geez… we were in the same class," Lazarus muttered. "I thought we were closer than that. He knew our names, right?"
Her mind drifted back to PE class—running drills side by side, exchanging nothing more than a nod.
"That's how he's been for about a year now," Laurel said.
"He was a transfer student too?"
"Yes. A year ago." Laurel took a sip of her blueberry juice. "Not a scholarship student, though. I don't know why he transferred."
It wasn't that she didn't care. Xiaolang had simply never shared the reason with anyone.
"Did you know the system we're going to—Alpha Centauri—has three stars?" Shingo said suddenly, eyes bright.
"Yes," Lazarus nodded. "The third one's farther out, but it still counts." She paused. "Though we're only going as far as the gate. Will we even see them?"
"Of course you will," Laurel said with a small smile. "You could see them from the observation deck after we arrived there."
"In the meantime, let's explore!" Shingo said, springing to his feet. "I want to see the bridge!"
"Sure," the others agreed, rising from their seats and heading down the aisle.
The corridor beyond was lined with colorful panels, textured to resemble polished oak—warm and inviting. It was a sharp contrast to the bare, metallic hallways of the economy cruiser Lazarus had once ridden.
As they walked, Shingo spoke again, almost casually, with a smirk.
"You know… I heard this starcruiser doesn't have enough lifepods."
"Eh?" Anna gasped, stopping short.
Lazarus's attention snapped to him. That couldn't be right.
"That's not true," Laurel said with a light chuckle. "USF regulations require lifepods for every passenger, plus fifty percent extra."
"This ship can hold five thousand people," Shingo said. "But the lifepods only support two thousand. Mistral told me."
"Technically, that's correct," Laurel replied, patient as ever. "But the cruiser only sold five hundred tickets—and even those didn't sell out. There aren't enough rooms, food supplies, or oxygen systems to support five thousand people anyway. Just because the space exists doesn't mean it's meant to be fully occupied."
"I see," Anna said softly. Sighing in relief.
She pulled out her smartbox and jotted something down.
"You can't just believe everything you read on the internet," Laurel said with a confident smile. "Even Mistral can be wrong sometimes."
"Hm?" Lazarus glanced at Anna. "What's that?"
She couldn't see Anna's display—smartboxes only showed content to their owner—but she recognized the hand motions. Typing.
"Eh—nothing," Anna said quickly. "Just inspiration." She hesitated, then continued, voice thoughtful. "I want to be a writer, you see. And I thought this would make a powerful scene."
The others looked at her.
"A ship packed with people," Anna said softly. "Not enough lifepods. Then—an accident. Panic. People scrambling for safety. The rich get seats, the poor get left behind. And even though the lifepods can carry two thousand… only a thousand survive."
A silence followed.
"Hah. How stupid," Lexus scoffed, having overheard. "Everyone knows those lifepods have never even been used. My papa said so. Total waste of space."
"Lexus, don't say that," Lazarus frowned. She'd seen what happened when safety was treated as optional. "What if something did happen?"
"Yeah," Anna added. "If lifepods were never meant to be used, why install them at all?"
"But it's true!" Lexus shot back. "Let's ask Mistral. Mistral—when was the last time lifepods were actually used on a starcruiser?"
A reply appeared instantly.
[The most recent recorded use of lifepods aboard a starcruiser occurred approximately thirty years ago, when a stray missile fired by a pirate vessel struck Starcruiser XX26. Of the three hundred passengers aboard, one hundred were confirmed dead. Although sufficient lifepods were installed, approximately half failed to deploy due to a complex override-locking mechanism, contributing significantly to the casualty count.]
For a moment, no one spoke.
"See?" Lexus folded his arms, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Told you."
"It still happened," Lazarus said quietly.
Laurel nodded. Anna did too.
"Hmph. What kind of excuse is that?" Lexus snorted. "Once in thirty years? Why keep maintaining something so useless?" He waved dismissively. "Whatever. I'm done talking with you guys. I'm heading to the game center. Bye."
He turned and walked off without waiting for a response.
"Geez. What a jerk," Laurel muttered. "It's true lifepods are rarely used, but what if he's the one caught in that one-in-a-million accident?"
Shingo and Lazarus nodded in silence.
A moment later, a notice echoed through their NeuroGears.
[Notice to all M-5 Elementary School students:
Please gather at the sports center of Starcruiser LX666 after lunch. Do not forget your PE gear.]
"Alright," the teacher called, clapping his hands. "If you've finished eating, let's head to the auditorium."
"Ehh… more exercise?" Anna pouted. "Even though we're on a luxury starcruiser?"
"Well…" Laurel laughed. "We are technically on a study trip. Come on. If we don't keep moving, our bodies won't hold up when we get back to Mars."
The group rose from their seats, chattering as they filed into the corridor.
Lazarus lingered for a moment.
She cast one last glance through the smartglass panels, at the stars stretching endlessly beyond the hull—dark, silent, and impossibly vast. A place where dreams and dangers existed side by side.
For reasons she couldn't explain, it felt like the calm before a storm.
Then she turned and followed the others.
She looked so warm when she smiled. How could she be so calm—so happy? We're both orphans… but she makes friends so easily. We're not the same after all.
~ Xiaolang