The guests entered the URCC through a wide airlock set into one of the hexagon’s edges. Inside, the light faded layer by layer, and the floor gave a faint, responsive tremor beneath each step — a soft pulse of scanning that accompanied their passage. Within, the space was divided into compartments whose ribs opened toward the outer perimeter of the modular structure. Each compartment housed control panels and data screens, linked to one another by transparent corridors.

Through the transparent partitions, the hemispheres could be seen shimmering beneath the hexagon. From them emanated slow, faintly visible waves of bluish light — like the rare, measured breath of something alive.

In the center of the hall rose a spiral staircase of transparent armored glass, reinforced with metallic inlays; each step was illuminated by a soft white glow. The structure seemed temporary, yet it was assembled with perfect precision — no play in the joints, no trace of fatigue in the materials. The staircase climbed upward and stopped abruptly at the ceiling, as if its sudden break held something unspoken — and faintly alluring.

When Auran asked about it, the escort replied offhandedly:
“Technical access. Passage to the roof and communications.”

Yet the explanation did little to dispel the feeling that there was something more hidden there.

Auran caught himself standing and staring longer than he had meant to.

Auran set one helicam to follow Tirak, another to capture the crowd of guests, and directed the third toward the URCC itself.

When the general commotion settled a little, he approached the Chief Coordinator’s aide.
“I’d like to take a few shots for the broadcast — to show the structure itself, without people. It’s simply magnificent.”

The man brightened, clearly pleased by the interest.
“Of course — an excellent idea. I’ll have one of our people accompany you, just so you don’t get lost,” he said in a tone that made it clear get lost meant don’t go where you shouldn’t.

“Naturally,” Auran nodded.

Without the crowd, everything looked cleaner — but also stranger. Details once drowned in the noise now caught the eye: the barely visible seams along the panels, the gleam buried in the depths of the glass, the rhythm of blinking indicators. A faint chill stirred within him — the URCC was revealing itself without makeup, too bare, too honest.

Surveillance cameras appeared here and there — all dark, their lenses shuttered. Too neat to be a malfunction, and too silent to be normal.

The escort stopped by the restroom and said that he happened to need it himself.
“Will you be able to find your way back?”
“Of course. I have a good sense of direction,” the reporter smiled, feeling a quiet relief at being left alone.

They parted ways.

When the door closed behind him, the space around grew unusually still — and even more distinctly mysterious. The visit had raised more questions than it answered. In truth, he realized, he hadn’t learned a single concrete thing from the entire flood of words that had passed for a tour.

Returning to the aidmen, Auran once again noticed one of the rhomboid modules. Its vertical thrusters were now engaged, lifting it to a level above the URCC. Auran began to watch it. Within a couple of minutes, he felt a slight jolt and heard a low hum — he realized that the hexagon they were in had also begun to move.

“And now we shall demonstrate the landing of our magnificent structure — and with that, we bid you farewell, my dear heroes!” came the voice of the Chief Coordinator.

Through the window, he saw the magnetic hemispheres rolling back from beneath the hexagon.
“Attention,” a voice sounded through the loudspeaker. “Please assume a fixed position. Landing in twelve seconds. Twelve… eleven… ten…”

Auran gripped the handrail running along the inner perimeter. The hexagon descended smoothly, yet the moment it touched the ground, a jolt ran through it. One of the rhomboid modules began to move toward the hexagon and, after a few minutes, vanished from sight — docking above it.

A crash resounded — Auran realized it was the rhomboid module that had drawn his attention, docking above. A deep rumble rolled through the hull, the vibration echoing in his chest. The air quivered like a tightened string. The reporter stepped back into the shadow of a niche near the axis of the docking modules — a good spot from which to observe without drawing notice.

From the open doorway between the sectors came the voice of Tirak’s aide:
“You’re getting carried away again. You know how important the time of day is for this. We have twenty minutes left. I’ve already ordered the video to be shown — to heighten their arousal.”

Auran moved closer to the doorway to hear more clearly. Footsteps echoed along that same strange spiral staircase — apparently leading to the upper compartment formed by the docking.
“It’s ready. It’s about to begin.”

The voice of Tower sounded low but distinct — he was evidently very near, at the level of the docked module, right by the entrance to the stairway airlock.

A moment later, a scream rang out. Not human — a rending cry that stretched into a long, feral howl. It tore through the silence and struck him square in the chest. Auran’s fingers quivered; a wave of heat rose within him — the sound seemed to echo within his very core.

He recoiled instinctively, stumbled on a step, and nearly bolted down the stairs. In the darkness of the stairwell, the glow of his aura flared even brighter. He burst into the corridor and threw himself through the nearest door — the restroom.

He locked the door and leaned against the wall, staring at his hands. The light was fading, dissolving into his skin. He stood there until his breathing steadied, then turned on the water and washed his face, letting the noise drown out the last traces of the sound still ringing in his ears. In the restroom he checked and quickly packed the helicams — the familiar motion helping him regain control. Before stepping out, he unfastened the collar valve of his suit, just enough to make the impression convincing.

When he finally stepped outside, his voice was steady.
“Anyone here?” he called, pretending to look for his escort.

From around the corner appeared Tower — alert, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.
“You’re still here?”
“Hey, I lingered a bit! Was packing up the cameras — and my stomach cramped.”

Auran looked slightly embarrassed, shrugging awkwardly like someone caught in a private moment. “Sorry, I took a bit too long. Didn’t realize everyone had already left.”

Tower gave him a measuring look, then noticed the unfastened valve on his suit. His lips twitched faintly — and he relaxed.
“Happens,” he said curtly, sending a quick command through his communicator and instructing the attendant to escort the reporter back to his flipp.

They flew in silence toward the wreckage site. The reporter couldn’t shake the feeling that he still heard those cries — not human, but something between a moan and a roar.

The URCC, with its tormenting screams, had repelled him more deeply than any horror of the disaster itself, and the impulse to flee was far stronger than the will to help.

After landing, the first thing he did was contact Maush.

Although at first he had planned to stay and help at the ruins, lending Maush his kayak to transport his family, he had now made up his mind to get as far from this place as possible — to fly back to Tirvania with his friend’s family.