The security checkpoint at Station Sigma-5 felt like stepping into a cathedral made of scanners and skepticism. Inspector Valdez circled the Prometheus Rig like a predator evaluating prey, his handheld device painting lines of blue light across its salvaged components.
"Gravity manipulation unit, series seven. Military grade." He paused at Ghost's modifications. "Harmonic resonance amplifier, origin unknown. Photon mass converter..." His eyebrows rose. "Is the device held together with industrial adhesive?"
"And hope," Ghost muttered, crossing her arms. "Lots of hope."
Around them, the steady flow of arriving passengers created a river of movement and color. Artists from a hundred worlds streamed past, their equipment and entourages marking them as people who belonged here. Asher felt like a grain of sand trying to convince pearls it deserved a place in the jewelry box.
"Mr. Drak?" Inspector Valdez's voice carried professional neutrality seasoned with suspicion. "We need to discuss your equipment registration."
Ghost stepped forward, her blue hair catching the security station's harsh lighting. "Is there a problem?"
"Potentially." The inspector consulted his scanner again. "Our systems detected unusual energy signatures from your luggage. Specifically, a gravity manipulation device that isn't listed in any standard equipment database."
Vera Solis chose that moment to glide past, her assistants struggling with luggage that probably cost more than Asher's entire colony produced in a year. She paused just long enough to deliver her practiced smile—the kind that suggested sympathy while radiating satisfaction.
"How unfortunate," she said, her voice carrying the crisp diction of expensive education. "I do hope it won't delay the assessment process. The competition waits for no one."
The harmony crystal in Asher's pocket pulsed with sudden warmth, and for a moment he felt Vera's emotions with startling clarity: satisfaction mixed with anticipation, the predatory pleasure of watching prey stumble into a trap. She'd reported them. Of course she had.
"The device is completely legal," Asher said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Built from salvaged components under Colonial Authority guidelines for personal artistic equipment."
"I'm sure it is," Inspector Valdez replied. "But we'll need to conduct a full technical evaluation before you can bring it into the station. Standard procedure for unregistered technology."
"How long will that take?" Ghost asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer wouldn't be good.
"Could be hours." The inspector's expression could have come straight out of a station bulkhead. "Could be days. Depends on what we find."
Thirty minutes later, they sat in Security Processing Room C-7, surrounded by forms that seemed designed to crush artistic spirit through sheer bureaucratic weight. Ghost attacked the technical specifications section with the focused intensity of someone defending their life's work, while Asher struggled with questions that made no sense.
"Purpose of device?" he read aloud. "How do I explain that it makes light dance?"
"Try 'holographic projection with gravitational enhancement for artistic performance,'" suggested the processing officer, a middle-aged woman whose expression suggested she'd rather be anywhere else. "We need technical language for the files."
"But that's not what it does," Asher protested. "It creates possibility. It turns imagination into something people can touch."
The officer's fingers paused over her data pad. For just a moment, something flickered in her eyes—recognition, perhaps, or the ghost of dreams she'd once harbored. Then the professional mask slipped back into place.
"Holographic projection with gravitational enhancement," she repeated. "Next question."
Ghost looked up from her technical diagrams. "This says gravity manipulation requires military clearance for civilian use. But I'm not using it as designed—I repurposed it completely. It's like saying you need a weapons permit for a sword that's been turned into a plowshare."
"Regulations don't account for artistic innovation," the officer replied. "If the base technology is military grade, it requires proper authorization."
"We do not have that authorization," Ghost said flatly.
"Which you don't have."
The harmony crystal pulsed again, and Asher felt the room's emotional temperature: Ghost's frustrated anger, the officer's weary resignation, and beneath it all, a shared understanding that the system wasn't designed for people like them.
"What if," Asher said slowly, "we reclassify it?"
Both women looked at him.
"It's not military equipment anymore. It's salvage art. Ghost creates sculptures from decommissioned weapons. The base components might have started as military grade, but Ghost transformed them into something entirely new."
The officer considered this. "That would require technical evaluation to confirm the transformation is complete and irreversible."
"Fine," Ghost said. "Evaluate away. I'll explain every modification, every innovation, every beautiful bastardization of military hardware into artistic equipment."
"The wait time for technical evaluation is currently—"
"Three to five days," Inspector Valdez interrupted, appearing in the doorway. "Unless you qualify for expedited review."
"How do we qualify?" Asher asked.
Valdez's expression might have softened by a microscopic degree. "Cultural significance. Innovation contributes to the advancement of artistic expression. Or..." He paused meaningfully. "Sponsorship from a recognized entity."
Two hours later, they sat in the station's main concourse, sharing a single order of processed protein strips while watching the impossible unfold around them. The space defied Asher's understanding of physics, featuring ceilings that shifted height based on viewer perspective, holographic weather systems that felt genuine enough to necessitate umbrellas, and artwork everywhere that resembled children's drawings.
"Is that performer actually juggling miniature suns?" Jin asked, pointing to a Chromarian whose crystalline body refracted light into burning spheres.
"The sonic fountains," Thara whispered, her eyes wide. "They're playing in frequencies I've never heard. Some of them aren't even technically sound."
Rex-9's optical arrays whirred in rapid analysis. "Calculating... This station's artistic energy output exceeds my colony's total power generation by a factor of twelve."
"We're not in Kansas anymore," Asher muttered.
Ghost glanced at him. "Your ancient Earth references are showing."
Across the concourse, Vera Solis moved through the space like she owned it, which she probably could have. New equipment materialized around her as if summoned—cases of instruments Asher couldn't identify, technical gear that made the Prometheus Rig look like a child's toy, and assistants to carry it all.
"It must be nice," Ghost said, following Asher's gaze. "It must be nice," Ghost said, following Asher's gaze.
Don't buy what we have," Asher replied, although he was no longer entirely sure what that was.
"Debt and determination?"
"Authenticity."
"Rialthough he was no longer entirely sure what that wasequipment store."
"Excuse me." The voice was soft, its tones suggesting bioluminescent patterns even in audio form. "You're the artist from the transport? The one who helped the Morphogenic refugees?"
They turned to find Flux, the Cultural Scout who'd visited Ferros-7, but they looked different here—more relaxed, their skin patterns cycling through warmer hues.
"Scout Flux," Asher said carefully. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I'm off duty." Flux gestured to their civilian clothes, which, on an Aurelian, meant different light patterns rather than fabric. "Mind if I join you? The protein strips here are overpriced, but I'm buying them."
After twenty minutes and their first real meal in days, Flux leaned back in their chair and studied Asher with those multifaceted eyes that saw in spectrums humans couldn't imagine.
"I recommended you specifically, Asher Drak," they said finally.
After twenty minutes and their first real meal in days, Flux leaned back in their chair and studied Asher.
Flux witnessed some of the most impressive performances of my career. Watched colony after colony trot out museum pieces masquerading as living culture." Flux's patterns shifted to something like amusement. "Yours was the first that didn't feel like taxidermy."
"So why the cold act?" Ghost asked, her protective instincts still on high alert.
Flux's patterns shifted to what Asher was learning to recognize as embarrassment. "Administrator Drek was watching. And I have... history with mining colonies."
They revealed their natural luminescence, which Asher recognized as a dampening field. Scars crossed their bioluminescent cells, creating dead zones where no light could shine.
"Kavros-3 Mineral Extraction Facility," Flux said quietly. "That was before I became a scout." This realization came to me before I understood that art held greater value than processed ore quotas.
The harmony crystal pulsed, and Asher felt the deep well of pain behind Flux's words—years of suppression, of being told their natural light was a distraction from productivity, of scarring themselves to fit in.
"So when you saw my performance..."
This realization came to me before I understood that art held greater value than processed ore quotas. tended. "Which is why I'm going to tell you something important: the assessment isn't really about talent."
"What?" Jin leaned forward, his optimistic worldview suddenly shaken.
"Having talent helps you gain access." But the festival has politics, hierarchies, and unspoken rules about who deserves to advance." Flux gestured to the magnificent space around them. "This beauty comes with a price—conformity. 'Having talent helps you gain access' to innovation, which may threaten established artists."
"Like Vera," Ghost said.
"The Solis family has produced festival winners for seven generations. They donate to the right causes, attend the right parties, and say the right things." Flux's patterns darkened. "But they haven't produced genuine innovation in decades. Just prettier versions of the same old forms."
"So we're screwed," Asher said flatly.
"No." Flux leaned forward, their patterns suddenly intense. "You possess a unique quality that neither teaching nor purchasing can match. But you need to be smart about how you use it."
The Technical Evaluation Laboratory occupied an entire section of Level Five, its clean lines and pristine equipment a sharp contrast to the cobbled-together workshop where Ghost had built miracles from scraps. Lead Technician Yun moved around the Prometheus Rig with the careful precision of someone who understood both art and engineering.
"Fascinating," she murmured, running diagnostic tools over Ghost's modifications. "You've created feedback loops between systems that shouldn't even recognize each other's existence."
"They didn't at first," Ghost admitted, warming to someone who spoke her language. "I had to construct translation protocols from the beginning." See this section? It essentially involves teaching military hardware to communicate like an artist.
Asher watched the two engineers dive into technical discussion, feeling both proud and useless. His job was to dream impossible things. Ghost's job was to make them possible. Right now, his dreams were on trial.
"Mr. Drak," Technician Yun said eventually. "Would you demonstrate the device's basic functions?"
Asher strapped on the Prometheus Rig, feeling its familiar weight settle across his shoulders. The power limiters they'd installed felt like trying to conduct a symphony with weights on his wrists, but he pushed through the discomfort.
A single point of light appeared above his palm. Then another. Soon, a constellation of impossible stars filled the laboratory, each one casting real shadows despite being made of photons given mass through gravitational manipulation.
"Extraordinary," Yun breathed. She reached toward one of the stars, gasping as her fingers encountered actual resistance. "The applications for this technology..."
"Are artistic," Ghost said firmly. "Not military. Not commercial. Artistic."
Yun nodded slowly. "This is either genius or insanity."
"Can't it be both?" Ghost asked.
A smile cracked the technician's professional facade. "In my experience, the best art typically receives approval, but under certain conditions. It's approved, but with conditions."
"Conditions?" Asher allowed the stars to dim, anticipating the forthcoming response.
"Power limiters must remain in place. Safety protocols need updating. typically receives approval, but under certain
"Insurance costs more than we have," Ghost said bluntly.
Yun glanced around, then leaned closer. "Check the Innovator's Fund. Station Level Three. They help... unconventional artists. Tell Zara that Yun sent you."
Station Level Three existed in the space between aspiration and reality, where dreams went to either flourish or die. The Innovator's Fund occupied a small office squeezed between a pawn shop and a nutrient paste dispensary, its windows covered with posters from festivals past.
Zara Chen looked nothing like what Asher expected from a financial benefactor. Young, wearing clothes that had been mended rather than replaced, she moved through her cluttered office with the effortless grace of someone who'd learned to dance around obstacles rather than remove them.
"Yun sent you?" She studied the Prometheus Rig's technical specifications on her ancient data pad. "That means you're either brilliant or desperate."
"Both," Asher and Ghost said simultaneously.
Zara laughed, a sound like coins falling into a donation box. "At least you're honest. Could you please demonstrate what this thing does?
The office was too small for a full demonstration, but Asher created a miniature galaxy above Zara's desk—complete with orbiting planets made of light that cast shadows on her paperwork.
"Well," Zara said after a long moment. "That's not something you see every day." She pulled up financial forms on her pad. Could you please demonstrate what this device does? and covers insurance, basic expenses, and even some equipment upgrades. In exchange, if you place in the top ten, you perform three shows for fund recipients—colonies that can't afford to send representatives."
"Just three?" Asher questioned the reasonable terms with suspicion.
"You're expecting the process to get worse? Most sponsors want your soul, your firstborn, and merchandising rights in perpetuity." Zara's expression grew serious. "But there is a catch."
Asher questioned the reasonable terms with suspicion.
receive a label: "charity case." 'Diversity hire.' Some judges won't care. Others..." She shrugged. "Let's just say it's more difficult to take the recipients of the fund seriously."
Asher thought about Vera's smirk, about Inspector Valdez's suspicion, and about every barrier between him and his dreams. "They already don't take us seriously."
"Then you have nothing to lose." Zara smiled. "Welcome to the Fundle, where it is more difficult to take advantage of the recipients' resources."
The Public Practice Hall hummed with competitive energy. Artists from across the galaxy tested equipment, refined techniques, and sized up their competition. Asher's corner of the space felt like an island of junkyard innovation in an ocean of polished perfection.
The power limiters made the Prometheus Rig harder to control, like trying to paint while wearing thick gloves. His first attempts at creating complex holograms flickered and failed, drawing snickers from nearby competitors.
"The mining colony kid can't even maintain a stable projection," someone whispered.
"That kid has probably never seen real equipment before," another competitor replied.
Ghost's hands clenched into fists, but Asher touched her arm. Through the harmony crystal, he felt her protective rage and channeled it into determination.
Let them underestimate us, he thought.
"Excuse me?" A small voice interrupted his concentration.
An Aurelian child, maybe six years old, stood at the edge of his practice space. Their skin patterns cycled through curious blues and hopeful golds.
"Can you make stars dance?" they asked. "My guardian says it's impossible, but I saw you on the transport..."
Asher knelt to the child's level. "What's your name?"
"Lumi." The child's patterns brightened. "I want to be an artist too, but everyone says I'm too young."
"You know what? They told me I was too poor. I told my friend, who is present, that she was too technical. Told our whole colony we were too forgotten." Asher activated the Prometheus Rig with careful precision. "Want to know a secret?"
Lumi nodded eagerly.
"'Too' is just another word for 'different.'" And different is where the magic lives."
He created a simple constellation above his palm—nothing like the complex displays he'd been attempting, just five stars connected by threads of light. But then he made them dance, spinning and weaving in patterns that followed Lumi's delighted laughter.
Other children began gathering, drawn by Lumi's joy. Soon Asher had an audience of young artists from a dozen different species, all watching stars perform impossible ballet in defiance of physics and expectation.
"How quaint." Vera's voice interrupted the children's laughter sharply, comparing the performance to a "street performance masquerading as art."
Asher didn't stop the performance and didn't acknowledge her presence. But through the harmony crystal, he felt her emotions—annoyance at being ignored and frustration that his simple display was drawing more attention than her technical perfection.
"All performance starts on the street," he said quietly, making the stars spell out 'DREAM' in Universal script.
"Yours will end there too," Vera replied.
Ghost stepped forward. "Want to bet?"
"I don't gamble with the help." Vera turned on her heel, but not before Asher caught a flicker of something else in her emotional signature—uncertainty. Perhaps there was even a hint of fear.
The stars faded, but Lumi hugged Asher's leg before running back to their guardian. "Thank you for showing me the magic."
That evening, Jin led them to his discovery—a rooftop garden that someone had abandoned years ago. The art installations had weathered into abstract beauty, allowing plants to grow wild. The artificial stars of Sigma-5's night cycle provided just enough light to see by.
"How did you find this place?" Ghost asked, settling onto a bench that might once have been a sculpture.
"I followed the plants," Jin said simply, tending to seedlings he'd somehow already started. "They always know where the peaceful spots are."
They shared food from the day's adventures—Jin's growing garden contributed fresh herbs, Thara had found a shop selling sonic fruit that chimed when eaten, and even Rex-9 had purchased what he called "nutritionally optimized flavor experiences."
Asher pulled out the harmony crystal, watching its inner light pulse in rhythm with their contentment. "I've been experimenting with this. Want to see something?"
He held the crystal while activating the Prometheus Rig, creating a simple hologram of home—Ferros-7's mining shafts, but rendered in warm gold instead of industrial gray. The moment the crystal's influence touched the projection, everything changed.
The others gasped as they didn't just see the image but felt it—the weight of recycled air, the distant rumble of extraction equipment, the paradoxical comfort of enclosed spaces when they meant safety and community.
"It's as if I can sense your homesickness," Jin said softly. "But also your hope."
"The resonance," Thara whispered. "It's similar to my sonic work but deeper. You're not just showing us your home—you're sharing how it feels to remember it."
Rex-9's optical arrays whirred in rapid analysis. "Fascinating. The quantum entanglement evoked strong emotions. The crystal creates a bridge between performer and audience consciousness."
"Or it could overload and fry your brain," Ghost pointed out, ever practical.
"Only one way to find out," Asher replied, though he felt the crystal's warning pulse—too much connection could overwhelm both performer and audience.
They spent the rest of the evening taking turns with the crystal, each sharing a memory made tangible through art. Jin showed them his grandmother's garden, so real they could smell the flowers. Thara shared the sound of her colony's ocean, deep currents singing stories older than civilization. Rex-9, after much coaxing, revealed his first moment of aesthetic appreciation—a sunset calculation that had somehow produced beauty instead of mere data.
Even Ghost contributed, though she claimed it wasn't art. She reminisced about constructing her initial functional gadget, relishing the delight of infusing lifeless components with a fresh function. Through the crystal's influence, they all felt a fierce satisfaction in creation.
"We're going to change everything," Jin said quietly as the night grew late.
"Or die trying," Ghost added with dark humor.
"No dying," Asher said firmly. "We've come too far to fail now."
For three days, the Main Performance Hall lived up to every impossible description. The space seemed to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously, with seating that reconfigured based on optimal viewing angles and acoustics that adjusted to each performer's needs.
The opening ceremony was a masterclass in established artistic excellence. Returning champions performed snippets of prize-winning pieces—a Chromarian collective whose crystalline bodies created symphonies of light and sound, a Void Dancer who manipulated gravity to paint with liquid starlight, and a human virtuoso whose holographic orchestra included instruments from every known civilization.
Asher's group occupied the designated economy section, with the performers perched so high up that they resembled elaborate toys. But even from this distance, the artistry was undeniable. These were people who'd devoted their lives to perfection, who'd had every advantage in pursuing their dreams.
"We don't belong here," Krix muttered from the seat beside them. He'd attached himself to their group with the grim determination of someone who'd given up on hope but couldn't quite abandon habit.
"Speak for yourself," Ghost shot back.
"I am. Asher's group occupied the designated economy section, with the performers perched so high up that they resembled elaborate toys. Krix gestured towards the VIP section, where Vera was presiding. "See those judges? Half of them taught her family. Think they're going to score fairly?"
Through the harmony crystal, Asher felt the bitter truth behind Krix's cynicism—dreams deferred so long they'd curdled into resignation. But he also felt something else from their section: quiet determination from Jin, curious excitement from Thara, calculated probability from Rex-9, and fierce loyalty from Ghost.
"Then we make them score fairly," Asher said. "By being impossible to ignore."
The ceremony continued with introductions of the judges—five beings representing different artistic philosophies and species. Asher's heart jumped when the third judge was announced: Councilor Hadid from the Outer Colonial Cultural Division. This individual could truly understand their origins.
"And now," the master of ceremonies announced with practiced drama, "the moment you've all been waiting for. The first round of competition will be... Heritage Performance!"
A holographic display showed the rules: represent your colony's cultural essence, showcase traditional techniques adapted for modern expression, and connect your past to the galaxy's future.
"Three days to prepare," Ghost calculated. "We can work with that."
"Performance order will be randomly assigned," the MC continued, "beginning with..."
Quantum probability ensured true randomness when drawing the lots. Names and time slots appeared on the massive display. Asher held his breath, hoping for a middle slot where judges would be warmed up but not yet exhausted.
"Day One, Opening Performance: Asher Drak, Ferros-7 Mining Colony."
The economy section erupted in groans of sympathy. The first slot was death—judges still settling in, audience still arriving, no momentum to build on. The few performers who'd started strong from that position were already legends.
Quantum probability ensured true randomness when drawing the lots. teasing. "We can work with this."
"How is going first good?" Asher asked, feeling the weight of impossible odds.
"Because after you, everyone else will be playing catch-up." Ghost's grin was sharp enough to cut diamonds. "They want to bury us in the opening slot? Fine. We'll make them regret giving us a stage."
"Or they'll forget you entirely," Krix pointed out with grim satisfaction.
A presence appeared beside them—Flux, somehow navigating the crowded economy section despite their notable status. Their patterns were carefully neutral, but Asher caught flickers of urgent gold at the edges.
"Meet me tonight," Flux said quietly. "Level Seven, Maintenance Corridor B. Bring the crystal."
"Why?" Asher asked.
Flux's patterns shifted, taking on the appearance of a smiling face. "Because someone needs to teach you how to weaponize wonder. First slot isn't a curse if you know how to make it a blessing."
They disappeared back into the crowd before anyone could respond, leaving only the faint scent of bioluminescent promise.
"Well," Jin said after a moment. "That was either very encouraging or deeply ominous."
"Both," Ghost and Asher said simultaneously.
On stage, the ceremony continued with displays of technical perfection and traditional excellence. But Asher remained still, embodying potential and demonstrating ways to turn disadvantage into opportunity.
The harmony crystal pulsed against his chest, warm with shared determination. First slot. The competition began at dawn. It was a time when all possibilities remained open.
"Hey," Ghost said quietly. "Remember what you told Lumi? About 'too' being another word for 'different'?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, we're about to be the most different thing this competition has ever seen."
Despite everything—the odds, the politics, the sheer weight of established excellence arrayed against them—Asher smiled. They had come to achieve the seemingly impossible.
The competition began at dawn. to the galaxy what they could achieve.
End of Episode 4
The next episode, titled "The Invitation," has already been written and follows Asher's training with Flux in Deep Space, as well as his revolutionary performance in the Heritage Round.