Four and a half light years from Earth, Sol’s closest neighbour; the red dwarf Apollo, lazily drifts around the twin suns of the Alpha Centuri system. A singular terrestrial planet; Prometheon, clings closely to this tiny star. One half forever bathed in Apollo’s crimson light. The other side submerged in eternal darkness. A constant barrage of solar flares attacks the planet. Transforming the landscape of its sun-locked side into a scorching orange desert. A cruel place where any life is vaporised by the plasma spewing from the violent star. The dark side of Prometheon lives in perfect contrast to its sun washed face. A dark, frozen wasteland. Its chilling air every bit as unforgiving as the burning heat. Where the desert is awash with flame, the back side’s flat rocky terrain is pummelled by asteroids and peppered with craters. Yet still, life on Prometheon has managed to thrive. Between these two uninhabitable extremes lies a small ring of lush greenery. A sliver of the most fertile land ever to have existed. A place where apples grow to the size of watermelons. Where you could find carrots longer than your arm. It became known as the Belt of Civilization, and it was the reason that Prometheon was chosen as humanity’s new start among the stars. 

Apollo’s blood red sunset, unmoving on the horizon of Prometheon, set it apart as one of the most beautiful places in the known universe. Once a fortnight, its already exquisite skies transformed into a magnificent display of light and colour. A sight unmatched throughout time. At the point when all three of Alpha Centuri’s suns: The red wash of Apollo, orange glow of Toliman, and the blazing yellow light of Rigil Kentaurus. Could be seen sailing over the skies of Prometheon, and mixing together on the horizon, it looked like the sky itself was on fire. Not the sort of fire that made people run and panic, but the soft warm glow of a comfortable fireplace. It was welcoming, homely. Nothing could beat that sight. Anyone who set eyes upon the evening of a triple sunset, felt like they had found home.  

It was one of those nights. All three stars were drifting across the sky. Tens of millions of people gathered in the port of Deucalion. Such a number was far greater an audience than even the beauty of the triple suns would usually command. And all eyes were fixed not upon the horizon, but up, into the evening sky, where a gigantic ship was descending towards the surface. 

In fact, the Platides Interstellar University was more of a space station than a ship. Alongside a crew of six hundred and thirty-seven, its forty decks played host to over a thousand of the brightest students humanity, and its allies had to offer. Graduation from the prestigious school only occurred once a decade. The head of every corporation, government, and military organisation in the galaxy had gathered to vie for their share of the cream of this most lucrative of crops. Students and their grades were paraded in front of the mob of fat cats virtually, long before the station came into docking range. 

Inside the University students crowded the viewing deck, watching their future approach, and dreaming of the possibilities it held. Excitement filled the school as they babbled to each other, pointing out logos of the corporations where they would make their millions, or trying to pick out their heroes from the crowd of ants squirming below. 

Alone in his bunk a young man teased a stress ball between his fingers. He watched the electric energy of the bottom most deck on a small screen in the corner of the room. A pitying laugh escaped his throat. 

“Fools” he said to himself. He knew full well that Platides graduates rarely got to choose where they ended up, not truly anyway. The world saw them as commodities, prizes to be won.  Fat calves of the perfect age, ready to be led around a showring so butchers could wage bidding wars over their corpses. Once every ten years as the prestigious school approached Prometheon’s orbit, Deucalion would enter a state of vicious cold war. Bribery, blackmail, coercion, all tactics used by corrupted kingpins hoping to bag some prime beef. The citizens of the port jokingly referred to these times as labour pains. Claiming that it was only natural for the city to have contractions before birthing a litter of such perfect children. To an outsider that might make the city sound like a proud parent, but André knew better. 

André Vázquez was born in Deucalion. He had grown up on its streets, hiding in terror from the pangs of the city’s labour. Despite their jokes, he was painfully aware that all of the locals had a deep felt resentment for the university. He knew that from the second he had stepped on board he would never be allowed home. And unlike every one of his course mates, he knew there was only one way to guarantee his future. He’d seen the tactics that corporations employed. Met the discarded husks of Platides alumni after they’d served their purpose. Heard the rumours of extortion, kidnap, and murder being used to force graduates into life crippling contracts. Only one student every decade is immune to the harsh reality exploitation. Only one sits above the cattle auction. One student is saved, plucked from the pens before the gluttons can get their greasy fingers on the livestock. One student; the greatest student, of every graduating class, is hand-picked by the Eurasian Starfleet, destined to become a hero. None of the other warring parties dared stand against their might. And there was no one else André would rather work for.