The heavy thud of the security door echoed as it swung open, releasing a gust of cool, recycled air that pushed back against the damp, metallic scent of the service passageway. Stepping through, the dazzling, artificial sunlight of the Sylvan Grove's lowest level hit the eyes, a stark, almost blinding white against the dim, grimy gray of the slums I left behind. The hum of unseen machinery replaced the distant, muffled shouts and clatter of the lower levels, a clean, sterile sound that prickled the skin. 

The arcology's air, crisp and clean, carried no trace of the acrid, metallic tang that stung the nostrils in the lower sectors. The circulating air, a cool caress on the skin, carries no trace of the usual miasma I had become accustomed to. Gone is the acerbic bite of overflowing, long-neglected refuse bins, the cloying sweetness of stale cooking oil and grease. The pervasive stench of decay that clings to the slums has vanished, leaving only a clean, hollow quiet. 

Here, the unsettling scratching of rats, as large as two-liter bottles, and the skittering, armored forms of mutated cockroaches beneath your feet, are absent. The Sylvan Grove, a verdant tapestry of emerald leaves and dappled artificial sunlight, offers a hushed refuge, a stark contrast to the harsh, dust-choked air and the persistent clatter of industry that marks the colony's struggling quarters.

"Nathan, my initial intention was to bring you to this level using an alternative route," explained Dr. Rhys. She gestures towards the expansive surroundings. "I wanted to show you one of my favorite areas. The planners emphasized... this." 

Her voice, a clear bell, resonates softly in the gleaming, mirror-like halls. With animated gestures, she points out the electric hum and dazzling, pulsating lights of this lively, bustling tier. 

"I love the energetic hum of conversation and clinking glasses from the arcology's middle entertainment and dining levels, a space alive with the savory aroma of diverse cuisines and the warm, soft glow of ambient lighting. The vast expanse of this level, spanning several kilometers in each direction, is a hub of activity and cultural richness.” 

"Doc, I saw there were several restaurants on this level," I said.

Dr. Rhys waves a hand around in the air. “From the diverse culinary experiences to engaging entertainment options, this wide-reaching level offers myriad choices for residents seeking leisure and pleasure. It is a testament to the vibrant and dynamic social scene that flourishes within the confines of the arcology's carefully structured layers.”

She takes my arm as we stroll along the Grove’s outer edge. We can hear the gentle splashing of the waves on the sandy beach. I wonder what causes waves in the vast artificial freshwater lake?

“Doc, does the lake have a name?”

“I am not sure, Nathan." She turned and looked behind us. "Tex, do you know if the lake is named?”

“I can find no official name, Madam. However, most simply refer to it as Lake Sylvan.”

I snorted. "That's hardly an original name."

"But it works, Nathan," Tex said.

"I'm more curious about how they retained the water in the lake when Eros used to spin, generating artificial gravity," I mused aloud.

"With the advent of gravity plate technology, external gravitational forces became obsolete on Eros," Tex said.

"I figured that Tex," I said.

"Nathan, historical records show that the lakes, pools, and hydroponic tanks were drained into storage basins and held by contracted freighters during the transition away from the spinning model," Tex explained.

"That must have taken more than a few ships," I said.

"Despite continuous efforts, it took almost a full standard year for the full installation of gravplates. Another full year was required to slowly return Eros to its historic state no longer spinning."

"The complexity of that maneuver must have been astounding."

"So it would seem," Tex said.

"Nathan, Tex and I moved to Eros several hundred years after the completion of the first series of gravplate installations."

"It's hard to imagine what the first Erosian colonists experienced in 2459 CE when they landed on this bare rock. No power, light, air or gravity."

"Nathan, the gravplate power load necessitated the installation of two more fusion plants, bringing the colony’s total to 24, if you count that each arcology also has a pair of independent back up fusion reactors. As the colony extends into the depleted mining zones, the expansion of habitats incorporates gravplates."

“Why don’t they immediately add gravplates for the miners,” I asked.

“Because asteroid mining prefers operating in a vacuum with nearly zero gravity. You might recall this from your brief experience in asteroid mining," Tex remarked.

“Thanks, Tex, I had forgotten that.” 

"Eros' leadership opted for a comprehensive installation of gravplates, providing a consistent Earth gravity throughout the colony. In contrast, Mars, with its natural gravity at 38% of Earth's, has selectively incorporated gravplates, mostly in wealthy and important areas," Tex said.

"Mars is wealthy enough to put gravplates everywhere, but refuses to," Dr. Rhys said.

"The choice was made to address the early challenges the first Martian colonists faced, who experienced atrophy because of lower gravity. While some tourists appreciate the unique experiences offered by unmodified Martian gravity, the widespread use of gravplates on Eros ensures a standard gravity level for all residents," Tex explained.

"Doc, our earlier conversation you mentioned moving to Eros. You are wealthy enough that you could have immigrated to any colony you wished. Why Eros?"

"You are correct, Nathan. I am quite wealthy on my own, not counting what I will inherit from my parents. I was tired of working for profit-driven megacorporations. I own several patents. As a matter of fact, I hold the several patents and am the person who designed the first model of your arm."

"That's why you are so familiar with it."

"Yes, my dear Captain. I chose Eros as I saw the need for comprehensive and competent cybernetic services in the disenfranchised community, particularly Slagville," Dr. Rhys said. "The circumstances of your birth do not matter, it is what you do with your life that matters."

"That's incredibly generous of you Doc. Someone may think you have ulterior motives."

She hits me with her glorious smile. "My dear Captain, only with you."

I snorted and started to reply, but Dr. Rhys cut me off.

"In my clinic, when possible, I use recycled or donated cybernetic items. By Martian government policy, used cybernetic devices are destroyed rather than recycled. Porra politicians!"

"Vote in better politicians. You know... ones that won't create laws requiring the destruction of the used cybernetic parts."

"Nathan, those in power fear losing it," Tex said. "Mars is currently the greatest human civilisation. Humanity has not had a truly democratic government for many, many centuries. A wise human once said, 'governments are illusions of the powerful to fool people.' Rather than genuinely enabling the public to determine policy, elections foster an illusion of control. Mars politicians are deeply in the pockets of the megacorporations. They are incentivized not to change those laws. Classic human institutional behavior."

"No matter where you are, politics tend to be the same," I remarked. "Always bet on people being fucking stupid."

"True, Nathan," Tex replied. “Control the narrative. Control the response.”

"Thanks, Tex." I turned and looked at the lovely woman on my arm. "Doc, where do you get your parts then?"

She hits me again with that dazzling smile of hers. "Oh, here and there. The politicians acted as if I had something the Prince of Darkness had whipped up in a lab to further his nefarious ends."

"Black market then?"

"Perhaps Nathan. I offer my services, depending on the recipient, as either free as in your case my dear Captain, or at exceptionally reduced cost."

"Am I getting recycled parts? Am I a charity case?"

"No, my dear Captain. Let us enjoy our walk. We will talk more later after we have fixed your left arm."

"Which you are holding."

"I am collecting more data my dear Nathan."

While talking, we strolled past two mercenaries casually dining, seated cross-legged on the grass near the sandy shoreline. The two have shed their imposing power armor, now dressed in sleek black haptic suits that snugly conform to their bodies. 

Positioned neatly behind them, the formidable Krijer black armor suits rest on their knees, a silent testament to their power. Proof that, to some degree, security in Eros is not all smoke and mirrors.

A slim and pale man eats his meal. He has brown hair and eyes. Vitiligo marks his skin. His meal is a quick-heat pack. It's labeled "spicy stir-fried soy-synth meat substitute." It also contains freeze-dried vegetables, soy noodles, and seaweed.

Employing his chopsticks with more brute force than dexterity, he swiftly scooped up noodles bathed in sauce and a medley of colorful veggies and brown meat substitute chunks before promptly stuffing them into his mouth, slurping the food with gusto.

His smaller female companion, with shoulder-length midnight-dark hair, slightly darker skin and slightly almond-shaped eyes suggesting Asian ancestry, was deftly consuming her own food pack. I cannot see the label on her food pack until she turns and sips from a teal-blue metal container.

The label on her food pack identified it as "spicy Hong Kong-style cart noodles in satay sauce with freeze-dried vegetables, soy-synth fish balls, and red soy synth Chinese-style sausage pieces." In stark contrast to her male companion, who is loudly devouring his meal, she eats delicately, skillfully manipulating her chopsticks.

 Her male companion grabs a second food pack from his armor; this one labeled as “extremely spicy sesame flavored soy-synth meat substitute with soy noodles.” He cracks the seal, causing the contents to heat and rehydrate with a sharp hiss. While waiting for his food to heat, he looked around the area, sipping from a dented black drink container.

I wonder which food pack tastes better. From my time in the EC, I remember the food packs as barely edible but better than the universally despised, nearly inedible Sean Cawley ration bars.

“Nathan, you are awfully quiet and seem very interested in the two mercenaries.”

"Uh, not really, Doc. I was recalling the times when I helped Phoebe in and out of her armor."

"That was your mercenary girlfriend?"

"Yes. I also find it curious that no one is attempting to engage either mercenary or proposition them for sex. Everywhere I look, people approach each other, with some finding a secluded assignation spot. I didn’t notice any color-coded jewelry on either of the mercs."

“Madam, I performed a quick check. The former mercenary Phoebe completed her 20-year penal colony sentence last year. She took advantage of the former convict's reduced passenger fare and booked passage on a shuttle to the Tlerraria Terminal station. Her current whereabouts are unknown.”

“Do you think she might be a problem?”

“I am uncertain, Madam, which is a state that I despise. I have placed alerts should Phoebe approach Eros. I will modify those alerts while we are on Mars.”

“Keep me advised, Tex. Last thing I need is a doido varrido, and an armed, spurned former lover coming after Nathan.”

“I will, Madam.”

"I forget how long you have been away from the arcologies, Nathan," Doctor Rhys remarked. "This is another aspect that you might be responsible for changing. Mercenaries are now prohibited from engaging in sexual contact with any arcology residents."

“I bet it still happens. Most of the mercs were single last time I was up here.”

"Nathan, I believe you are correct. The majority of the mercenaries are still single. I am certain that secret rendezvous happens between mercenaries and arcology residents. However, should a mercenary get caught with a resident, they are immediately discharged from service."

“Doc, do you think I am responsible for that rule change?” 

“Partially Nathan. The arcology council modified the mercenary contract because of your relationship with Phoebe and the resulting chaos when she was spurned.” Nathan grimaces at Dr. Rhys's description but does not refute her assessment.

“Nathan, Eros is not yet large enough to house all of the mercenaries, plus families,” Tex said. “Only the most senior NCOs and senior officers may bring life partners and children to Eros.”

We fall silent as we walk around the perimeter. While we may have avoided the reporters, we had to divert around various couples and even a few small groups engaged in sex. Most of those walking between the trysting spots do not bother wearing clothes. Most are naked, save for shoes and jewelry.

Remembering the enormous clock in China Grove’s kitchen, I believe it is close to midnight. People faintly illuminate small spots throughout the dark Sylvan Grove.

“Doc, I take it that the light color in the assignation spots corresponds to the same meaning as the jewelry?”

“You are correct, Nathan. The trysting spots in the Grove can be reserved on the arcology’s personal meetup page. However, in the Grove, there is one difference. The white lights indicate we are free to watch but not join. During the day, colored blankets are used. Would you care to watch Nathan? That woman over there appears to enjoy being sandwiched between two men.”

“I wonder if it’s Stravola?”

“Nathan, I do not believe so,” Doctor Rhys said, her tone conveying some annoyance. “That woman’s shoes are the wrong color. I doubt Stravola had time to return to her apartment, change her shoes, and enter the Grove.”

“You have to admit that Stravola can rock the ‘I just got my brains fucked out’ look.”

Despite how jealous his comment makes me, I resist the sudden urge to swear at Nathan. I also resist the temptation to slap the stupid out of him. Why does he insist on mentioning Stravola? Is he trying to anger me?

I need to get a grip on my hormones. Yes, the Captain looks yummy and has a nice tight ass that I like, but damn, down girl. I also find him irritating, crude, and not nearly as well-educated as most men I have dated. Considering my past relationships, perhaps Nathan’s lack of education and culture is a good thing.

“Nathan, that woman is also somewhat taller and has significantly wider hips and larger breasts than Stravola,” Tex added.

"Madam, the medical nanites in Nathan are detecting an unhealthy amount of soot and carbon in his lungs, along with significant scarring.”

"Why are you conveying this information to me via our neural networks, Tex?"

"I am uncertain, Madam, whether you wish to apprise Nathan of his lung damage or if you intend to investigate the extent of the harm."

"I believe I have delved sufficiently into the Captain's affairs, Tex. Instruct the nanites to persist in repairing his shoulder, neuronet, and wetware. We can attend to his lungs and other ailments at a later time. If additional nanites are necessary, we can administer them when the Captain is back on our table."

"I suspect the harm to Nathan's lungs likely occurred during his residence in Slagville, where the air quality is notoriously subpar."

Several immense creatures fly overhead in the darkness, their beating wings prompting me to shield Doctor Rhys instinctively. "What the fuck was that? Tex, do I need my pistol?"

"Relax, Nathan. The sounds you hear are from sizable fruit-eating tropical bats. They are among the few surviving bat species integral to the Grove's ecology. And, I should remind you, we do not have any pistol ammunition."

With a hard shove, Doctor Rhys distances herself from me. Even in the dim light, I can sense her anger. "I am not a helpless woman needing your protection, Nathan. Make sure you remember that."

“Sorry, Doc, I reacted without thinking. And thanks, Tex. I forgot about the lack of ammo. Waving an empty pistol around wouldn’t do any good.”

“Madam, I believe Nathan meant well. No woman is an island unto herself.”

I ignored Tex’s observation, even though I appreciated that they spoke to me in my native Brazilian Portuguese. Despite nearly 60 years of speaking Standard English, I still think in Portuguese and tend to swear in the same language when pissed off. 

My faux pas forgiven, Doctor Rhys returns, a soft weight against my side. Her sleek skin, cool and smooth to the touch, slid as she nestled under my arm. She fits perfectly against me, a warm weight molding into my side. Not wanting to anger her, I lightly rested my hand in the middle of her back. I resist the temptation to grab her luscious ass.

"It has been years since I walked on the beach on the arm of a handsome man. Sadly, these boots are not ideal for sandy walks. May we take one of the brick-paved forest paths instead?"

“Madam, there is a path coming up shortly.”

“Thank you, Tex.”

The cool, bright white sand crunched softly underfoot, a stark, almost blinding contrast to the artificial azure sky. The gentle murmur of waves lapping the shore was a soothing counterpoint to the soft rustle of fabric as the beautiful woman, her skin warm against my arm, walked beside me. Trailing us was the faint, almost imperceptible hum of the synthetic person, a silent, smooth presence on the shimmering sand. This perfect moment was entirely new to me.

A colossal, emerald-green lizard, its scales glinting wetly under the sun, breaches the water's surface with a thunderous **WHOOSH**, sending a stinging spray of icy droplets against our skin. The creature's thick, scaly hide, rough and cool to the touch, stretched taut over its powerful, four-legged frame. As its monstrous mouth gaped open, a chilling hiss echoed, revealing a terrifying expanse of jagged, bone-white teeth glinting menacingly in the dim light.