Massive Disaster III-11 (Patreon)

Nova Kasiopea University smelled like pretension and overpriced caf (which was the best kind of caf, really). 

Zedd caught the faint whiff of both as he adjusted his aviators in the backstage prep area of the university-colony’s primary auditorium, the blue lenses displaying a dozen scrolling diagnostics he scanned out of habit rather than necessity. The presentation had been vetted, revised, and polished to a gleam that would look effortless to the audience of students and faculty packed into the auditorium beyond the curtain.

Not that Zedd cared much. 

Universities were really a giant prison, only one with nicer furniture, nicer food, pretty girls, and you had to pay for it, so honestly… not like a prison at all, actually. He frowned, shaking off the annoyance. Either way, the whole "we build the leaders of tomorrow" schtick played well for parents writing checks, but it was all the same recycled bullshit.

It was almost funny, really.Last thing I remember before waking up on the ship to Arkadia IV… he stared off at nothing, face blank with his mouth in a flat line of nothing … I was applying for colleges and hoping to make Mom happy with my choice. His jaw tightened a little at that, always aware that his family was lost to him in both lives. Still, it sucked either way."Two minutes, Mr. Victors," a production assistant chirped, the woman’s voice pitched high with the kind of nervous excitement that only came to people that lived for anything related to television and stage productions. Clipboard in hand, earpiece jammed against her skull, all preppy pep in that particular way that grated against his neurons if he had to deal with it for too long.

Zedd nodded without really looking at her. His attention was already split between the six simulations running in his peripheral vision and the tactical assessment of the room beyond the curtain. University President Hargrove was still droning on about "visionary partnerships" and other vague concepts that translated roughly to “please put money in our budget."A familiar weight against his spine shifted as he rolled his shoulders. The VEST prototype—Mark 7, downright sleek compared to the units they'd shipped to mining operations across three systems—remained in compact form, its panels folded into a deceptively small pack secured to his back, the round shape of it tickling a memory that his old self would probably have found hilarious if he could just remember why.Scattered memories aside, the thing was an improvement over the Mark 6, in a good many ways, but a downgrade in a few others. Hell, the Mark 6 was barely a model at all. Truthfully, Zedd had designed that suit special for the expo, something lightweight enough focused solely on flight speed and deployment capability. That thing could deploy in a little over a second and fly fast, but asking it to do as much as the average VEST Mk 2 or even his Mk 3 design in any other metric was just being greedy. At the very least, this one could deploy in about 5.2 seconds if needed and he considered that a success. Not that he was expecting trouble at a university product launch, but... Chesapeake hadn't expected trouble either. Never be too careful."You sure you want to lead with the pricing angle?" Dev asked, half his attention on his orange omnitool displaying the exits of the building."Yeah," Zedd replied, not elaborating. The pricing wouldn't impress the university board or the corporate reps in attendance, but it would hit the target audience where it mattered—broke students with more brains than credits.

Kai Leng hovered at the periphery, a predator among the backstage crew. His VI-issued tactical uniform made the university security staff look like kids playing dress-up. None of them had approached after one tried to explain the building's security protocols to him and received a stare from the former N7 that could have flash-frozen hell.It was hilarious.

As for Caleb...

Despite himself, Zedd found his eyes tracking to where Caleb stood checking equipment, the young man's movements precise and efficient in a way they'd never been before. Four weeks post-enhancement, and the changes still made Zedd do a double-take a third of the time. Hell, just his clothes were a new thing. Personally, weird as hell to not see him in something that isn’t four sizes too big. Now, the former tech’s blue t-shirt stretched tight across shoulders that had filled out with even more lean muscle over the last month. Purple eyes turned his way and that sharp, newly stoic-looking face turned vaguely nebbish as Caleb gave him an awkward wave and a smile, the piercing purple eyes and muscles almost incapable of making the guy not act the way he had for almost two decades.He fought the urge to sigh. This fucking guy.

"—our honored guest, the founder and CEO of Victory Innovations, Zedd Victors!"

Showtime.

Zedd strode onto the stage with the precise calibration of confidence and casual indifference he'd perfected since the first VEST demo. Dark blue suit jacket over black t-shirt, designer jeans, those trademark aviators—calculated down to the last thread to suggest a specific message: smart enough not to need your rules.

The applause hit him like static, white noise he filtered automatically, focusing instead on the data stream feeding through his glasses. Demographic breakdowns, attention indicators, social dynamics in the crowd. University execs front row center, corporate partners to the right, scholarship students clustered in the back rows where tickets had been cheaper.The space was packed. 

And not in the casual, slow-trickle, background-hum-of-voices way. No, this was a charged, overstuffed beehive of a crowd, all students and faculty and whatever other scavengers had squeezed their way in—eager, half-feral energy rolling through them as they buzzed about the event.

He could feel the weight of thousands of eyes. All of them; students, entrepreneurs, corporate plants, professors who thought they were too good for this but had still dragged their asses into a seat, aliens... 

And all the way past that, the indirect presence of the whole damn extranet, where this event was being streamed to every relevant tech outlet and social board across the galaxy that cared.

His event.

"Thanks for the warm welcome," he said, voice carrying with perfect modulation across the space without sounding amplified. "And thanks to President Hargrove for only being mildly hyperbolic in that introduction."

The audience laughed, hitting the expected response beat. Behind him, the holographic display shimmered to life, the VI logo rotating into existence.

"I know you guys are expecting me to come up here and give another basic boring speech about how technology is changing the galaxy, shaping the future, blah blah blah blah to infinity and beyond and whatever else..." He paused, just long enough for anticipation to build, but not long enough for attention to waver. "But you get enough of that in class. So instead, let's talk about something that actually matters… access."

The display shifted above and behind him, the hologram shifting to show the standard price tag for a standard mid-grade civilian omnitool, magnified to absurd proportions. Even if his eyes were closed, he could probably have heard the collective wince.

"The average cost of a basic omnitool is equivalent to three months' salary on most frontier colonies," Zedd continued, moving across the stage with casual precision. Not pacing—pacing implied nothing but nerves. "For students? That's your entire food budget for a year, if you're on a standard scholarship."

He stopped, letting the silence build for almost two full seconds.

"And that's bullshit." Zedd clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he did so. 

Another wave of laughter buzzed through the audience, mostly from the students, most of the adults and teachers not exactly having the same appreciation. Case in point, President Hargrove's face performed an interesting contortion somewhere between scandalized and attempting to look composed in front of the students. “The only reason I’m here today is that most of you don’t have a functioning goddamn omnitool and I’m about to make that everyone’s problem but yours.”That got them. Hook, line, and motherfucking sinker.

Zedd reached up, tapped the edge of his aviators then smoothly slid them off, holding them up so the reflective blue lenses caught the stage lights just right.

“These,” he said, voice casual, but charged, “are mine.” 

He tilted his wrist, showing them off even more as the camera drones focused on the spectacles in his hand. “But these?” A flick of his hand, and a second pair of glasses landed in his open palm, seemingly out of nowhere, tossed from Dev at his left in a move so smooth it barely registered to the crowd.

“These are yours.”A holographic display expanded in front of and above Zedd, the image of the other pair of glasses rotating slowly before they suddenly broke apart into component schematics, specs flickering to life beside each element.

"V-Shades," his smile widened. "Smart glasses with integrated Dumb VI capabilities at one-fourth the cost of any medium-grade omnitool on the market.” That was half the cost of a severely out of date omnitool, like nine years out of date.

"I call it a Dumb VI because it's not trying to be clever," he continued on, paying attention to the wide eyes focused his way as he tucked his aviators away into his jacket pocket. "Not trying to guess what you want or suggest things you didn't ask for. It just does what you tell it to, quickly and efficiently."

He slid the new glasses on, their design sleeker than his personal pair. “They’re not Omnitools, they don’t have holo-projectors or fuck-you money security protocols or Citadel licensing bloatware. But you know what they do have?”He glanced around, the system activating with a tap on the frame. “An onboard, localized VI, powered by adaptive heuristic processing.” He gestured lazily in the air as the V-Shades lit with a subtle blue glow along the temples as systems engaged. Data streamed across his field of vision, as the massive display behind him showed all of them a sanitized version of what he was seeing.

“You know what that means?” His smile sharpened. “It means you get 99% of Omnitool functionality without paying out the ass for Citadel compatibility.”

The rest of the presentation went just as smoothly as Zedd expected it to, even as he wrapped it all up with the focus-group tested slogan that made him cringe down to his brand-new socks: "V-Shades. See the Future. Stay Ahead." And fuckin’ kill me.

When the applause finally died down to barely nothing and people began milling in their seats, Zedd nodded to President Hargrove as he walked offstage; Dev, Caleb and Kai falling in line like army ants. "Appreciate the platform. We still good on that campus tour?"

The university president beamed, the old man showing too many sparkling white teeth. "Of course, Mr. Victors. We've arranged a complete campus walkthrough, culminating in our state-of-the-art research facilities."

"Great." Zedd slipped his personal aviators back on. "Let's see what you've got."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The Nova Kasiopea campus sprawled across artificially terraformed hills, its buildings a mixture of starkly modern glass and softened up a good bit by the deliberate organic curves old-world design with stone and art harkening back to probably something Roman or Greek, or whatever, Zedd really wasn’t much for the humanities. The architectural clash was apparently intentional—"honoring humanity's past while embracing its future," according to President Hargrove, who hadn't stopped talking since they left the auditorium, and moved past sweeping arcs, garden terraces, and skybridges that wove between buildings like high-tech arteries.The air was clean in that synthetic way that all terraformed worlds had, filtered, balanced, chemically perfected—but beneath it, he could still pick up traces of real life.

Zedd half-listened, cataloging useful information while filtering out the marketing fluff. Founded thirty years ago by Elias Kasiopea, tech billionaire with delusions of creating a "perfect society" free from "outdated Earth traditions." One of dozens of similar vanity projects scattered throughout the Traverse—utopian colonies established by the wealthy, each convinced their particular vision would succeed where centuries of human civilization had supposedly failed.

Most collapsed within a decade. Some survived by abandoning their founding principles. A few, like Nova Kasiopea, evolved into something more practical—in this case, a prestigious university colony that attracted students from across human space with its cutting-edge research facilities and distance from Alliance oversight.

The impromptu entourage that had formed around Zedd grew with each building they walked past. Students appeared from nowhere, omnitools recording, questions overlapping:

"—so the optical resolution on the V-Shades—"

"—can I just say, you’re kind of a huge deal on Nova Kasiopea—"

"—but wouldn't the reduced latency conflict with the standard processing rate of—"Kai Leng followed at a distance that was probably extremely calculated; close enough to intervene if needed, far enough not to crowd. Even beneath his bodyguard’s shades, Zedd knew his eyes never stopped moving, assessing every approaching student, every open window, every shadowed doorway. Zedd knew without looking that Kai’s eyes had clocked every camera, every drone, every potential tail in the crowd.

It wasn’t paranoia if people actually were keeping tabs.

Dev, on the other hand, was out of sight completely. The big guy had broken off to inspect the research facilities ahead of their current stop with the campus security team. The last member of the entourage, a young Mr. Rogers, stayed much closer to Zedd, occasionally stammering past technical questions from students who mistook him for just another assistant. Zedd didn’t miss the female attention pointed his way either, no matter how much Caleb seemed to wilt under their gazes, which… honestly only made some of them more interested.

Weird.

Zedd tilted his head slightly, glancing toward one of the more athletic students—wiry, tall, glasses, too much caffeine in his bloodstream if the way he talked in bursts was anything to go by.

The scheduled tour eventually led them to what the campus map labeled as the "Cultural Exchange District"—a fancy name for what was essentially a food court with delusions of grandeur. All in all, it was pretty much a circular plaza in design, with the material of the ground they walked on either actual carved stone or a good simulacra. Said plaza was surrounded by shops and restaurants offering cuisine from at least a dozen different Earth regions and several alien cultures, especially Asari, while clothing boutiques displayed the latest Citadel fashions at marked-up prices.

His attention caught on a food vendor—a modernist interpretation of an ice cream parlor, featuring what the sign called "molecular gastronomic dessert experiences." 

The menu flickered on a holo-display, and one item caught his attention immediately.

Caspian Freeze – Deconstructed Cryo-Glace with Molecular Sugar Webbing

Zedd let out a slight hum. “You ever had that?”

The girl at the counter blinked at him. “What, the Freeze? Yeah, it’s like—uh, well, kind of like if ice cream and a slushie had a high-tech baby. The sugar web crystallizes at contact temp and—"

“Yeah, yeah,” Zedd waved a hand. “Give me one.”

In under three minutes, the dessert was in front of him, all in separate components—”f-flash-frozen c-cream spheres, enzyme-activated flavor crystals, temperature-variable s-sauce,” announced the girl shakily as she pushed it forward, quickly stepping back as the cameras from the students turned her way.Huh. Spoon in hand, Zedd combined them all together, testing a few different ratios, and honestly couldn’t help the hum that left his lips, approving and audible. "That," he murmured, rolling the flavor across his tongue, "is some next-level chemistry bullshit."

Someone behind him laughed.

A girl  leaned in. “Good, huh?”

Zedd took another bite and smirked. "Yeah," he admitted. "Kinda is."

"It's their specialty," said a voice from the edge of the crowd. "Owner’s an alumni. She says the neural-reactive flavor enhancers are synced to individual taste preferences."

Zedd turned to find himself facing that tall, lean student from before, the one with deep black skin and precisely maintained short hair. He stuck with the group the whole time, huh. His black sunglasses stood out—not fashionable ones, but specifically designed for photosensitivity, with subtle reinforcement at the frame corners suggesting they were definitely more medical than anything else.Beside him stood a young woman with vibrant red hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, her figure curvy and solid, dressed in a simple green top and jeans. Her hand rested lightly on the young man's arm, not restraining, but grounding—the familiar touch of someone accustomed to providing subtle social cues.

"Neural-reactive…” Zedd nearly let out an actual snort at that, the CEO struggling to contain a laugh with his mouth half-full, especially with his mouth half-full. “That’s pure bullshit, man. Don’t tell me you’re buying that.”He turned to face the young woman working at the confectionary and offered her a shrug. “No offense, of course.”She blinked back his way, brown eyes fluttering nervously under the sudden attention. “U-uh, n-none taken, I mean… yeah.”With a slight nod her way, he turned back to the gathered students. "If anything, it’s more like pH-responsive to individual saliva composition.” He took another spoonful and swallowed, savoring the taste. Still good shit. “Clever marketing, though, I’ll give ‘em that."

The young man's mouth curved in a small smile. "Marketing and ice cream aside, I had a question that I was hoping you could answer.”Zedd took another spoon. “Shoot.”The athletic student nodded. “The adaptive interface algorithms you mentioned for the V-Shades. You said they adjust to user metrics with adaptive algorithms focused on behavioral patterns, right?” The young CEO nodded, smacking his lips. “Sounds like something I would say, yeah.”“...wouldn't that create vulnerability points in the encryption protocols?"

Zedd paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, and blinked. 

For a second—half a second—his mind stumbled.

Not because the question was complicated. But because it wasn’t the kind of thing people just casually asked at street level.

Most of these students? Tech enthusiasts, sure. Some actual engineers, a few ambitious entrepreneurs. But this? This was a real fucking question."Good catch.” He tilted his head to the side, looking at the other guy head-on. “Really good catch, but no. The adaptation is sandboxed in local memory. So, no external access points. Encryption layet sits underneath, completely separate."

The other young man in sunglasses nodded, clearly taking this in. "What about the lifespan given the quantum processing you implied your device to have? I just don’t understand. It all seems really ambitious, given the power constraints of standard battery cells, and that’s not even mentioning the 12 millisecond response time."

Zedd set the bowl down, straightened, and let his grin sharpen.

"Alright," he said, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the guy in front of him as if seeing him for the first time. "Not bad. Not bad at all. What’d you say your name was?"

“Scot. Scot Winters.”