His testing lab looked exactly like what it was.

  Although, technically, it was supposed to be a garage for both skycars and groundcars, given the excessively high ceilings. There was a whole driveway leading outside, plenty of space for an actual vehicle if he were the kind of person who cared about having one. But Zedd needed a workshop, not a parking space. So now it was a nerve center of innovation, a graveyard of half-assembled prototypes, scattered diagnostic tools, and the occasional wreckage of an idea that hadn't survived impact with reality.

  The air hummed, charged with the low-level static of active machinery. Every so often, the sharp snap of recalibrating emitters broke the silence, like the tech itself was protesting its own existence. The overhead lighting was bright, sterile, unforgiving; exactly the kind of illumination for this environment.

  It was designed to expose every flaw, every deviation from perfection. No room for shadows. No room for mistakes.

  And at the center of it all, Zedd worked.

  Sleeves pushed up, aviators sliding down the bridge of his nose, his eyes flicked between the hovering schematic and the V-Grip prototype in his hands. His fingers moved with mechanical precision inside his black micromanipulator gloves, adjusting the grip pad distribution. Last test run had been almost fine.

  If you ignored the part where the user lost traction mid-climb and nearly ate shit.

  "The distribution needs to be-"

  Zedd's head snapped up, focus ripped away as a solid thud echoed through the space. Across the room, Tommy was on his back, arms sprawled out, staring at the ceiling; a man making peace with his own life choices.

  Zedd sighed through his nose. Alright...

  The V-CATCH system had activated, which meant Tommy wasn't actually broken.

  But still.

  Zedd ran a hand down his face. "Well. At least that part works."

  From the floor, Tommy groaned.

  AYE-E, the shorter, more competent of Zedd's two drones, whirred over with a water bottle clasped in her tiny arm, nudging it toward him with robotic patience. Zedd watched her for half a second. I should really give her hover capacity.

  Tommy took the water, lifted his head just enough to squint at Zedd.

  "You know," he muttered, voice hoarse from the very real possibility of dying today, "if you're trying to kill me, there are easier ways."

  Zedd shot him a look. "I need to know what failed, Tommy."

  Tommy let out a dramatic groan, took a sip from his bottle, then another one for emphasis.

  "What failed," he grumbled, "is me trusting your glitch-ass tech."

  Zedd rolled his eyes, already pulling up the diagnostic logs on his omnitool. "If the tech was glitch, you'd be in a full-body cast right now. So, you're welcome."

  Another exasperated groan as Tommy pushed himself up and walked off in the direction of one of the basement's bathrooms, muttering something about hazard pay.

  Zedd ignored him. Man was getting paid more than he ever was at the water treatment plant, and if he wanted to whine about doing zero-gravity parkour for science, he could do it on his own time.

  Right now, Zedd had a problem.

  Something had been off. Not catastrophic, but noticeable enough that the system engaged late.

  Which meant someone could get hurt.

  Which meant unacceptable.

  No mistakes.

  His fingers twitched, mind breaking the problem down into a half-dozen possible causes, each branching into a set of solutions. One was straightforward in it's handling; adjust grip pad distribution to increase friction tolerance at higher angles. Another required altering the inertial compensators; more complicated, but possibly the real issue.

  His brain spun through six different possibilities at once, calculating adjustments, timelines, interference points. All of them with their own problems.

  The outside world faded as the problem consumed him.

  His mind was a storm, spinning six different potential solutions all at once, trying to fit the pieces together, trying to pull at the threads of something that made sense. It was then that his omnitool buzzed.

  A notification from ADAM.

  Zedd barely registered it, mind too deep into calculations, equations and fixes to care about some security update or whatever the hell ADAM thought was important. But the drone — AYE-U — the taller, clumsy one that always seemed to show up when he didn't need it, chose that exact moment to whirr past his legs, brushing the edge of his desk with a careless swing.

  Zedd's eye twitched.

  Great.

  He ignored the drone. Ignored Tommy in the background, still whining about whatever was bothering him today. His focus was locked on the feed from ADAM, so much so that everything else seemed to blur into the background.

  The incoming feed popped up on his omnitool.

  Ironwood, out west.

  A loading dock.

  A small group of cargo handlers gathered in a tight semicircle, watching something in the air with a skeptical eye. They weren't hiding it, considering their doubt was thick enough to taste. A crate, a full half-ton of industrial equipment, floated a full meter off the ground, suspended as if gravity was a simple sweet suggestion.

  It was effortless.

  It was impossible.

  And yet, there it was.

  Zedd knew what they were thinking as ge'd seen this exact test, the one that'd passed all the safety checks, at least a dozen times now. The V-Lift system worked. The math was sound, the tech was solid, and it had exceeded expectations in every field test. It was outperforming the colony's current equipment by such a wide margin that it was almost ridiculous.

  But none of that mattered.

  The dockworkers? They weren't buying it. Not yet.

  One of them—a broad-shouldered guy, sun-weathered, the kind of man who had spent his life working jobs that didn't care about your health or your safety or your hours — stood there, staring at the floating crate like it might come alive and eat him.

  Zedd didn't need to be there to know what was going through his head.

  Finally, the guy did them all a favor and broke the silence, arms crossed over his chest like he made his living being gruff and doubtful and unprepared for the future. "How much eezo's in this thing?" His voice was just as rough as Zedd expected, like someone who'd swallowed too much dust over the years.

  Zedd's eyes flicked to the feed, the corner of his mouth twitching. Here we go.

  The technician standing next to the crate didn't blink, just shifted his weight slightly, and replied. "None. That's the point."

  Zedd exhaled, barely more than a breath. This again.

  He shifted, stretching out his legs as he watched the foreman's frown deepen. The guy's arms were still locked across his chest, his body language screaming that trusting this thing would cost him something.

  Zedd didn't interrupt, considering he already knew the drill.

  This wasn't about the tech. It never really was.

  The hesitation? It was about control. Familiarity, even. A lifetime of knowing exactly how things worked, knowing what the rules were; and now someone was telling him that everything he knew about gravity was optional.

  And people didn't like that.

  They didn't like being told they were wrong. They didn't like the feeling of obsolescence creeping in. It didn't matter if it worked, didn't matter that it was better; all of that was pointless.

  Unless something drastic happened, it was easier to stick with what they knew, clinging to to the devil they understood.

  Zedd didn't try to defend it. He didn't have to. He didn't even want to. He'd been here before. He knew that it took weeks of real-world usage before the skepticism finally cracked. It was always the same, and it wasn't his job to convince them.

  Still, his fingers drummed against his knee, a silent irritation bubbling beneath the surface. The tech worked. He knew it worked. The bigger question was simple enough; how long would it take for people to stop asking stupid questions?

  And then, as expected, the foreman opened his mouth.

  "That's not how it works."

  "Things don't just float."

  "You're telling me this is safer than what we've been using?"

  Zedd didn't even have to look up from his omnitool to know exactly what was coming. He had heard it a thousand times before. The same tired, skeptical bullshit wrapped in pretend concern for safety.

  What really bugged him? He already knew the tech worked. They already knew the tech worked considering they had frickin' eyes.

  He didn't need the validation. What bothered him was the waste of time. The slowness of progress because people couldn't just accept it.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  Zedd hadn't been involved in the marketing campaign.

  That... that had been something Shen-Abraham had said he'd handle. Fine. Great. It wasn't Zedd's job to sell the thing, just to make sure it worked. And it did. He knew that, had proven it, tested it past every point of failure. He had better things to do than watch some hyper-polished corporate ad, but when the first public rollout hit, he found himself watching anyway. Maybe out of morbid curiosity. Maybe because it was something to keep his hands busy while his mind spun with the next project.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  On-screen, a worker misstepped.

  Slipped.

  Plummeted.

  Zedd's pulse didn't even flicker. He already knew what happened next.

  The V-CATCH stabilizer engaged. A shimmer in the air, a controlled deceleration, force redistribution in a fraction of a second. Instead of a fatal drop, the guy hit the ground in a rough stumble. Startled, maybe. Winded. But alive.

  Then came the voice-over, the polished corporate sheen over something Zedd had spent months breaking and rebuilding in his garage.

  "In industrial work, gravity is non-negotiable."

  Dramatic pause.

  "But now, you can negotiate the landing."

  The footage faded to black, VI's electric-blue logo cutting across the screen like a brand searing itself into the market.

  Zedd snorted, unimpressed. "Talk about dramatic."

  Still, it was clearly working with the way the numbers were looking. Pre-orders had skyrocketed, VI was about to rake in stupid money, and by every objective metric, this was a success.

  So why didn't it feel like one?

  His mind had already latched onto something else. Efficiency percentages. ADAM's report from a few days ago. 47%. Still not good enough. It wasn't the money, and like he said before, it wasn't even the validation here. No, his issue was the margin of failure. Too high. There were still things left to fix. His fingers tapped against his leg, his brain shifting gears as his hand reached for another prototyp-

  And his omnitool buzzed.

  Zedd frowned, barely glancing at the caller ID. He almost ignored it. He was busy.

  Then he saw the name.

  Kira Varne.

  His stomach tightened.

  He let out a sharp breath before sliding up on his omni. "Zee-"

  The way she said it made him stop.

  Not her usual mild exasperation, not the dry amusement, not the teasing or the half-hearted annoyance he could brush off.

  Something else.

  Wrong.

  He straightened, attention snapping into focus. "What happened?"

  "Elias called me. He said you're not checking your messages."

  Zedd blinked, letting out a low hiss through clenched teeth. "Yeah, that's my ba-"

  "There was an explosion at the Ironwood Energy Hub." Kira cut in, not even letting him finish.

  His brain parsed the words without fully processing them, a single eyebrow rising high as he tilted his head to the side. "Yeah? That's... unfortunate?"

  The blond girl exhaled hard through her nose, the sound barely filtered through the omni's speakers. "Look, you remember how the Batarians launched surge missiles at the hubs?"

  Zedd's brow furrowed. That had been months ago. The cleanup should have been handled by now, or at least mostly done. Why is this my problem?

  "They needed someone with experience at the prime Hub to do repairs at Ironwood. The damage from the Batarians. Caleb was one of the guys up for it."

  His stomach dropped.

  Caleb.

  Caleb, the nebbish little guy who never complained about overtime or shit hours. Who showed up, did his job, didn't push, didn't expect more than Zedd was willing to give. Caleb, who never tried to fix him like Kira, never argued with him like Nina, never treated him like some social project like Dev and Adele. Never tried to fight him or push for authority like the guys back on Earth.

  Caleb, who was nice to have around because he didn't ask for anything.

  His throat went dry.

  The silence stretched. Too long. Kira filled it.

  "He was caught without safety gear."

  Zedd's thoughts flatlined.

  Then kicked back to life all at once as the world blurred at the edges, white static pressing in at the sides.

  His stomach twisted violently and his hands shook for a half-second before he clenched them into fists. Tried to shove the feeling down.

  Didn't work.

  Kira's voice cut through the haze, steady, grounding. "Zedd?"

  "Where is he?"

  "Ironwood Major Medical."

  His brain didn't process the words. Didn't need to.

  His body was already moving.

  The omnitool snapped shut.

  He was already gone.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  Zedd hadn't realized how fast he was going until the Victory Innovations shuttle nearly overshot the entrance, engines whining as he cut power mid-turn. The skids hit the landing pad too hard, the momentum forcing a jarring shudder through the frame, but he was already unclipping his harness before the inertial dampeners had even fully kicked in, out of the hatch before his mind caught up.

  His boots hit the ramp with too much force, stride already eating the distance to the entrance. The few people outside turned at the noise, security shifting instinctively, eyes tracking him with the tension of men debating whether or not to stop him. They didn't.

  The hospital doors took too long to open. He shoved through before they could fully retract, barely noticing the way a nurse flinched at his sudden arrival.

  The hospital smelled like antiseptic, a synthetic sterility that barely masked the underlying cocktail of blood, disinfectant, and the electric burn of ozone. The lighting was sharp, casting no shadows, and the air hummed with low conversation, the distant murmur of status updates, the rhythmic beep-beep-beep of biomonitors. None of it mattered.

  He already knew where he needed to go.

  Third floor. Intensive trauma. Left wing. He had read the schematics of Ironwood's medical grid before, absorbed the layout without meaning to, after receiving a request for something to assist the hospital. The knowledge resurfaced now, automatic, as his path cut straight toward the elevators. A receptionist started to speak—something about visitors, about protocol.

  He didn't acknowledge them.

  "Zee!"

  His head snapped sideways so fast his vision blurred, movement jarring through his skull as his brain caught up to the voice. Kira.

  She was already on him, grabbing his sleeve, yanking him toward the waiting area. Her face was too tight, eyes shadowed, mouth pressed into a thin line. She looked like she'd been here for hours.

  "Third floor," she said, voice clipped, controlled, the sharp edges of exhaustion bleeding through.

  Zedd knew that. Didn't wait for her to say anything else. He turned, boots striking the tile with sharp, measured force as he moved back toward the elevator. Kira kept pace.

  The ride up was silent.

  Neither of them spoke.

  Neither of them needed to.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

  ?

  The intensive care ward wasn't silent, but it was close. Dimmed lights, softened edges, an artificial hush that wrapped around the walls like insulation. The hum of machines filled the air, quiet, steady. Breath sounds from a ventilator. The low-frequency murmur of air recyclers. The beep of biomonitors.

  Zedd barely processed any of it.

  His eyes locked onto the bed.

  Caleb.

  He stopped in the doorway, movement clipped, body wound too tight.

  Caleb looked small. He'd always been small, short, wiry, built like he could fold himself into a crawlspace and not complain about it. But now... now, he looked like nothing.

  A body wrapped in sheets, hooked up to stabilizers, drowned under the bulk of medical equipment.

  Zedd's glasses tracked the display readouts instinctively, cataloging the numbers, parsing the damage and reading back to him a system diagnostic. Ribs: fractured. Punctured lung. Left leg: crushed. Severe concussion.

  His mind processed it with cold, mechanical efficiency, slotting each injury into probability brackets, calculating long-term prognosis, factoring in recovery variables. It didn't make it easier to look at.

  Kira exhaled sharply, arms crossed, weight shifting. "They said if he'd had any kind of stabilizer..."

  The sentence trailed off.

  Zedd didn't need her to finish it. The word sat heavy in his mind, a dull, useless weight.

  If.

  If he'd had better gear.

  If someone had thought to give him a failsafe.

  If they'd been faster. If someone had planned ahead. If. If. If.

  It shouldn't have happened.

  ----------------------------------?

  Kira left after a while. Said something about food.

  Zedd barely noticed.

  The world had narrowed to the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor, to the silent static in his head, to the weight pressing against the back of his skull.

  A shift in the air.

  Movement.

  He didn't turn. It wasn't even necessary considering he knew who Nina was there before she even had the chance to speak.

  His girlfriend stepped into the room, eyes flicking from Caleb to Zedd, reading everything he wasn't saying. She was always really good at that.

  Her voice was steady, quiet, meant to break through without pressing.

  "You can't save everyone."

  Zedd let out a slow breath, long, controlled, jaw clenched as he exhaled through his nose. "No."

  His fingers stilled against his omnitool, the glowing interface flickering in the low light. In front of him, a new schematic was already taking shape.

  V.E.S.T. (Variable Environment Safety Tech)

  Something to make sure this never happened again.

  A failsafe. A chance.

  Nina stepped closer, her hand resting firm against his shoulder.

  He didn't look up.

  "But I can give them a better chance."