Pain.
That was the only thing Kaelen was sure of when he woke. Not the metallic cold of the cryo-bed, not the sterile sting of disinfectant in the recycled air—just pain. An old, deep, bone-level ache he'd thought he'd made peace with years ago.
Ten years ago, a rebel's stray bullet had shattered his third lumbar vertebra. Since then, pain had been his most faithful companion. It woke with him, slept with him, accompanied him through every afternoon spent in his wheelchair, trying to remember what running felt like.
The cryo-bed hissed open.
He tried to move. Failed. The paralysis was still there, a phantom limb where his legs used to be. But something was different. The cold was gone. The sterile, metallic smell of the starship Providence was gone. The air that filled his lungs was thick, humid, and carried a sweetness he couldn't name—like wet soil after rain, mixed with the perfume of unseen flowers.
"You're awake." A woman's voice. Tired, but not unkind.
A face appeared above him. Older, maybe fifty, with sharp eyes behind smudged glasses and gray-streaked hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She wore a simple khaki shirt with a patch on the shoulder: a spiral symbol inside a circle.
"Welcome to Verath, Corporal," she said. "Sorry for the rough landing. The atmospheric entry was... spirited."
Kaelen blinked. Verath. The name meant nothing. He remembered signing papers. He remembered the recruitment officer's smooth voice: "A simple mission, Corporal. Your military experience is exactly what we need. Good pay. Medical benefits. A chance to walk again."
A chance to walk again.
"Where..." His voice cracked. The woman handed him a canteen. The water was cool, slightly metallic, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever tasted.
"You're in the science pod of the Odyssey, our research platform. I'm Dr. Elara Vance, head of the Verath Ecological Initiative." She paused. "You're the new security consultant. Though, between you and me, I didn't ask for military muscle. The Company insisted."
Kaelen processed this slowly. "The mission... the Avatar Program..."
"Yes." Vance's eyes flickered with something—hope? concern? "Your new body is ready. The link should be stable. But I need you to understand something before we begin, Corporal."
She leaned closer.
"Down there"—she pointed toward a small viewport, where Kaelen could see the curve of a purple-and-green planet—"is a world that doesn't belong to us. We are guests. And some of our guests..." She glanced toward the closed door, lowering her voice. "Some of our guests have forgotten that. Your job, officially, is to protect the science team. But your real job"—her eyes met his—"is to learn. To watch. To see. Because if the Company gets what it wants, there won't be anything left to protect."
The door slid open.
A man in a crisp military uniform strode in, his boots clicking against the metal floor. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. A scar ran from his left eyebrow to his jawline—not a battle wound, Kaelen guessed, but the kind of scar you got from being too close to an explosion.
"Corporal Kaelen." His voice was a drill-ground bark. "I'm Commander Thorne. Welcome to the madhouse."
He ignored Vance, stepping closer to the cryo-bed. "I read your file. Ten years infantry, special reconnaissance, two tours in the Belt Insurgency. Honorable discharge after injury." He almost smiled. "You know how to fight. You know how to follow orders. That's what we need down there."
"The Commander believes the indigenous population is a threat," Vance said flatly.
Thorne's eyes flicked to her, cold as space. "The indigenous population destroyed a survey team last month, Doctor. They shot arrows through reinforced glass. They killed six of my people." He looked back at Kaelen. "You'll be linked to your Avatar body in twelve hours. You'll go down, you'll observe, you'll report. You are not there to make friends. You are there to gather intelligence. Understood?"
Kaelen hesitated. Vance was watching him, her expression unreadable. Thorne was waiting, his patience already worn thin.
"Understood, sir," Kaelen said.
But as Thorne turned and left, as Vance helped him prepare for the link, Kaelen couldn't stop thinking about her words: Your real job is to learn. To watch. To see.
What was he supposed to see?